Yesterday I was watching the news and saw that B-list celebrity and Playboy playmate Yvette Vickers was found dead in her home in LA. Nothing struck me as notable about this story. Another celebrity death, again someone I had never heard of... so I prepared to change the channel to Seinfeld. But just as I was about to push the button I heard the reporter say, "Vickers was believed to have been dead for close to a year when her neighbor discovered her."
A year.
This poor soul was dead for ~365 days until someone finally noticed she no longer existed. My subsequent progression of emotions were: stunned, empathetic, introspective, paranoid, resolved.
I initially thought, "How can someone live a life wherein they have so little human interaction no one would miss their presence FOR A WHOLE YEAR?" A day, understandable. A week? Maybe. Two weeks? You're pushing it. A month? No way. Once my mind had resolved the straight logistics, my heart got involved. This Ms. Vickers led a solitary life, devoid of family, friends, even amicable neighbors- the kind who might leave fudge on your porch around the holidays or yell "Hi!" as they get in their car and see you trimming your begonias. Humans are inherently social beings (even the bat-shit craziest of us), and for this woman to be able to go a year without being missed speaks volumes about the intense reclusiveness she must have experienced. I felt in my heart a pang of grief for not only her, but for the what I'm sure are many solitary souls nudged aside by themselves or society. Sure, we all feel a little like Lucy Ricardo in the "Friends of the Friendless" episode once in a while, but (I hope) none of us can come close to relating to this extreme.
Then the focus turned to me. How long would I have to be dead before anyone noticed I was gone? I hope I have lived my life in such a way that I have enough human connection/interaction that people would not only notice I was gone (and rather promptly, at that), but they would also care. An excerpt from Linda Ellis's "The Dash" reads:
For that dash represents all the time
That she spent alive on earth
And now only those who loved her
Know what that little line is worth.
Of what has my dash been thus far comprised? Sure, I'm still relatively young, but I'm also a realist in knowing I could die at anytime. Maybe we should all be in constant evaluation and re-evaluation of what that dash would represent to those who knew us. Many would measure that dash based on accomplishments and milestones, but it's about more than that. What have you meant to the lives of others? If you know me, you know how much value I place on relationships. It is my personal credo that life is wholly, completely, unequivocally, 100% about the relationships you build and keep- be they with God, your family, your friends, your belongings, or yourself. I can only hope I've meant something (however big or little) to the lives of everyone I've had the pleasure to have known. Of course during this introspection a bit of paranoia crept in, as I tried to piece together the entirety of the relationships of my past, but that didn't last long. One of the many things I'll credit to my soccer career in terms of life lessons is the stark realization that while the past cannot be changed, the future is entirely up to you.
And that's what led me to my final emotion: resolution. Sometimes it takes the pitiable death of an ex-Playmate to serve as a reminder that we control what that dash will represent to those we will leave behind. It's not that I want everyone I've ever known to experience an intense sadness when I die, but it is my great hope that I will leave behind enough of a profound legacy that in my absence, those I knew will be touched. I've lost (to Heaven's gain) people in my life whose deaths certainly had that effect on me, and because of that they will never be forgotten.
I believe that dash is a worthy one when everyone in the room at your funeral would know the last thing you would want is for them to feel grief, yet simultaneously would internalize the sentiments of W.H. Auden:
(S)he was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
If you died tomorrow, what would your dash mean?
Monday, May 16, 2011
Saturday, May 7, 2011
And away they go
Today marks the 137th running of one of America's most storied sporting events: the Kentucky Derby.
Throngs of track enthusiasts and garishly big-hatted ladies will swarm Churchill Downs today, whiskeys neat in hand for the former, mint juleps for the latter, knowing that they are among the select few privy to witnessing what many dub "The Greatest Two Minutes in Sports." Most of us, however, will be sitting at home or at a bar or at our local track, having to rely on the clearest picture our HDTVs can provide to capture the majesty of the beasts' powerful gallop. The exhilarating victory. The crushing defeat.
Growing up about 7 minutes away from the Santa Anita Racetrack (see link above... you may recognize it from such films as A Star is Born (1954), The Debtors (1999), and Seabiscuit (2003), to name a few), I've frequented this great American pastime a bit more than most my age, a surprising revelation discovered when I departed the cradle of the San Gabriel Valley. I grew up loving everything about the races; from the spectacle of the red-coated, top-hatted bugle player calling the first race's entrants to the post, to the array of emotion on the faces of bettors, depending on how their picks ran. Then there was the time between races. As I aged, that time evolved from half-hour intervals to make mischief with my cousins to precious 30-minute slots for beer refills and going over the next race's potential bets with friends.
Ah yes, playing the ponies: in my opinion, the most exciting form of gambling. Through the years I've had the opportunity to witness countless "sure-fire" systems different types of track-goers employ to pick winners. The following types of bettors are my favorites:
1. The bet-small-to-win-small-ers: aka the bettors who never lose. Unfortunately, they don't really win anything either. These are the people who will pick the egregious favorite (i.e. 2:9 odds) in every race to show (show= come in first, second or third place). They will bet $1-$2 to win about 20 cents. My Grandma falls into this category. Then again Grandma ALWAYS goes home from the track having made some sort of profit, even if it is 70 cents, which is more than most of the rest of us can say.
2. The I'll-pick-whichever-horse-whose-name-I-like-best-ers: This demographic tends to be dominated by girls, or those who have no idea how to read a racing form. I have many friends who utilize this system (*cough* Alice Binns *cough*) and they lose. Every time. The horses with the cutesy or clever names, for some reason, are usually the 50:1 longshots (perhaps they have a complex from having such ridiculous names as "Fantasy Cream Puff", etc). There are two good things about this bettor-horse relationship: 1. Their money will go straight the winner's pool, increasing your profit and 2. The names make for some hilarious commentary.
3. The ride-on-the-coattails-of-a-first-timer-ers: There is an inexplicable law of the universe holding that people who have never bet on horses before, or even been to a racetrack, who have absolutely no idea what they're doing, always win. It never fails. Some call it beginner's luck. Call it whatever you want, but it almost always happens. Some bettors have gotten wise to this, bringing track fledglings along with them and betting on whichever horses they do. The only problem with this, however, is that it usually only happens for one race, and you never know which race that will be.
4. The whichever-horse-takes-the-biggest-dump-right-before-the-race-ers: Before every post-time, the horses take an exhibition walk around the paddock area, then slowly make their way around the track to the starting gate- an ordeal that usually takes about 15-20 minutes. During this time, everyone present can make any last-minute observations before they run over to the betting window to place their final wagers. These bettors count on the sureness of anatomy: if a horse takes a huge shit right before the race, he will consequently be lighter and more comfortable with newly-vacant intestines, and therefore will run faster. My dad swears by this method.
5. The I-do-my-research-beforehand-ers: These people tend to be inherent nerds. The day before going to the track, and the morning of, they scour blogs, newspaper handicaps, and past results to try and construct a scientific formula to apply to every horse in every race the next day. This method is both time-consuming and often leads to said nerds reevaluating the "importance" of studying, because if it were that easy, every math geek in the country would be a filthy-rich track junkie.
6. The I-know-a-guy-on-the-inside-who-gives-me-foolproof-picks-ers: These bettors tend to be wiseguys who think they know it all. My brother Jimmy falls into this category. More experienced and having a greater interest in horse racing, these are the people you'll find at the track multiple days a week, every week. The regulars. They get in good with those affiliated with the track who can tip them off, give them insider information: the trainers, sometimes the jockeys. These bettors always seem to have "hot picks" or "sure-fire winners." Though you'll often hear of the huge trifecta they hit a month ago or the pick-six that brought them several-$K last year, remember they are losing money on all the days in between on bets they conveniently tend to leave out of conversation.
Me? You'll have to come to the track with me one day to find out. No matter what type of bettor you are, the key to playing the ponies is remembering what it is at its core: gambling. There is no fool-proof system. Any horse can win on any given day. Who will it be today? Your answer, I'm sure, will reflect the type of bettor you are.
If you're interested, post-time for today's race is 6:24pm EST. Enjoy!
Throngs of track enthusiasts and garishly big-hatted ladies will swarm Churchill Downs today, whiskeys neat in hand for the former, mint juleps for the latter, knowing that they are among the select few privy to witnessing what many dub "The Greatest Two Minutes in Sports." Most of us, however, will be sitting at home or at a bar or at our local track, having to rely on the clearest picture our HDTVs can provide to capture the majesty of the beasts' powerful gallop. The exhilarating victory. The crushing defeat.
Growing up about 7 minutes away from the Santa Anita Racetrack (see link above... you may recognize it from such films as A Star is Born (1954), The Debtors (1999), and Seabiscuit (2003), to name a few), I've frequented this great American pastime a bit more than most my age, a surprising revelation discovered when I departed the cradle of the San Gabriel Valley. I grew up loving everything about the races; from the spectacle of the red-coated, top-hatted bugle player calling the first race's entrants to the post, to the array of emotion on the faces of bettors, depending on how their picks ran. Then there was the time between races. As I aged, that time evolved from half-hour intervals to make mischief with my cousins to precious 30-minute slots for beer refills and going over the next race's potential bets with friends.
Ah yes, playing the ponies: in my opinion, the most exciting form of gambling. Through the years I've had the opportunity to witness countless "sure-fire" systems different types of track-goers employ to pick winners. The following types of bettors are my favorites:
1. The bet-small-to-win-small-ers: aka the bettors who never lose. Unfortunately, they don't really win anything either. These are the people who will pick the egregious favorite (i.e. 2:9 odds) in every race to show (show= come in first, second or third place). They will bet $1-$2 to win about 20 cents. My Grandma falls into this category. Then again Grandma ALWAYS goes home from the track having made some sort of profit, even if it is 70 cents, which is more than most of the rest of us can say.
2. The I'll-pick-whichever-horse-whose-name-I-like-best-ers: This demographic tends to be dominated by girls, or those who have no idea how to read a racing form. I have many friends who utilize this system (*cough* Alice Binns *cough*) and they lose. Every time. The horses with the cutesy or clever names, for some reason, are usually the 50:1 longshots (perhaps they have a complex from having such ridiculous names as "Fantasy Cream Puff", etc). There are two good things about this bettor-horse relationship: 1. Their money will go straight the winner's pool, increasing your profit and 2. The names make for some hilarious commentary.
3. The ride-on-the-coattails-of-a-first-timer-ers: There is an inexplicable law of the universe holding that people who have never bet on horses before, or even been to a racetrack, who have absolutely no idea what they're doing, always win. It never fails. Some call it beginner's luck. Call it whatever you want, but it almost always happens. Some bettors have gotten wise to this, bringing track fledglings along with them and betting on whichever horses they do. The only problem with this, however, is that it usually only happens for one race, and you never know which race that will be.
4. The whichever-horse-takes-the-biggest-dump-right-before-the-race-ers: Before every post-time, the horses take an exhibition walk around the paddock area, then slowly make their way around the track to the starting gate- an ordeal that usually takes about 15-20 minutes. During this time, everyone present can make any last-minute observations before they run over to the betting window to place their final wagers. These bettors count on the sureness of anatomy: if a horse takes a huge shit right before the race, he will consequently be lighter and more comfortable with newly-vacant intestines, and therefore will run faster. My dad swears by this method.
5. The I-do-my-research-beforehand-ers: These people tend to be inherent nerds. The day before going to the track, and the morning of, they scour blogs, newspaper handicaps, and past results to try and construct a scientific formula to apply to every horse in every race the next day. This method is both time-consuming and often leads to said nerds reevaluating the "importance" of studying, because if it were that easy, every math geek in the country would be a filthy-rich track junkie.
6. The I-know-a-guy-on-the-inside-who-gives-me-foolproof-picks-ers: These bettors tend to be wiseguys who think they know it all. My brother Jimmy falls into this category. More experienced and having a greater interest in horse racing, these are the people you'll find at the track multiple days a week, every week. The regulars. They get in good with those affiliated with the track who can tip them off, give them insider information: the trainers, sometimes the jockeys. These bettors always seem to have "hot picks" or "sure-fire winners." Though you'll often hear of the huge trifecta they hit a month ago or the pick-six that brought them several-$K last year, remember they are losing money on all the days in between on bets they conveniently tend to leave out of conversation.
Me? You'll have to come to the track with me one day to find out. No matter what type of bettor you are, the key to playing the ponies is remembering what it is at its core: gambling. There is no fool-proof system. Any horse can win on any given day. Who will it be today? Your answer, I'm sure, will reflect the type of bettor you are.
If you're interested, post-time for today's race is 6:24pm EST. Enjoy!
Friday, April 22, 2011
Running down a dream
Most mornings between the hours of 8-10 AM you can find me running through the streets of Boston. Sometimes I get adventurous and decide to explore, but the majority of the time I stick with a few key routes. My favorite, hands down, is running along the Charles River. Because that path was made for the sole purpose of allowing Bostonians to exercise with a stellar view, even at 8 AM it is sprinkled with (dog)walkers/joggers/runners. I also love watching the old men try to fish (are there really fish in there?).
As per most of your knowledge: I LOATHE exercising indoors. Therefore I have stayed true to this river path through rain, sleet, hail, snow, and extreme winds. We've been through a lot, that path and me. I can't escape the feeling I've created a relationship with not only the actual route, but also my fellow morning runners. Some decked out in the latest Nike Dri-fit gear, others reppin' old school gray sweatsuits (complete with those sweatbands made from towel material). There's a certain amount of arrogance that comes with the knowledge that you are out watching the city wake up while 95% of your acquaintances are in that sleepy state of limbo between snooze alarms. We all know it. And as we run past each other, we'll give a slight nod of the head or closed-mouth grin or even a split-second of eye contact as silent reinforcements of how good we feel about ourselves; and if other noble souls are out doing what we're doing, then they should be proud too, gosh darnit. These constant reciprocal affirmations create an indelible cycle of ego inflation. Sometimes our heads get so big it's hard to run past one another on such a narrow stretch of pavement. And when we find ourselves off the path and on the street, you know, having to share our way with other laymen say, on their way to work or something, the pompousness continues. We'll run by you or your car and examine that look on your face as you watch us stride past. You're really thinking, "Why on earth is this lunatic out running so early?" but we interpret it as, "Maaan, I really wish I could get up early and work out like this fine citizen." Like it or not, it's the inescapable truth about earlybird exercisers. We have our own little unspoken We-Run-First-Thing-In-The-Morning-So-We-Have-Mad-Swag Club.
I loved being a part of this club. Yes, past tense: "loveD." I loved it until the morning of April 19th, 2011.
April 19th, 2011 was the day after the 115th Boston Marathon. I initially set out that morning feeling inspired by the agonizing, personal feats I witnessed over and over standing 1.2 miles from the finish line. This feeling of inspiration quickly transitioned to shame as I realized that my whole life as a long-distance runner (now 2 months old) has been a sham. A lie. Deceit. A farce. Nothing but smoke...and...mirrors.
That morning, the subtle yet smug gestures we swag club members usually give one another were replaced with heads bowed in ignominy. No one made eye contact or gave the tooth-pressed grin. Not one head-nod took place. Every runner out that morning had to come to terms with the fact that perhaps they are not deserving of their self-awarded status of the Archetype of Admirability. No one who went running on April 19th had taken part in the city's most heralded athletic event the day prior, and as a heretofore self-proclaimed "runner" in Boston: that was humbling.
The result of this running revelation? I've decided I will be a registered participant in the 116th Boston Marathon on 4/16/12. 26.2 miles from Hopkinton to Copley Square. I'm in.
Monday, March 28, 2011
ET phone home?
I've always been an admirer of the night sky.
Humans have been mesmerized by its wonder since the first recorded civilizations. The earliest records of cosmological posits date back to the ancient Mesopotamians (5300-ish BC), who believed earth was more or less a flat disk. They also believed the universe was contained in a dome above the earth's horizon, and beneath the earth's surface lay the netherworld. Each subsequent (and though there's no written record, probably antecedent) culture had its own idea of the universe which usually related somehow to their respective gods.
Then came the Renaissance (1500s) and astronomy finally began receiving accreditation as a legitimate scientific field. Copernicus debunking the universally-accepted belief that the earth was the center of the universe, Galileo using one of the first telescopes (20x more powerful than the human eye) to scan the night sky, Kepler's suggestion that the sun somehow affected the planets' orbital paths (this was before Newton got hit with that apple, folks).
Nowadays we know a bit more about the universe thanks to modern technology. We know that there are billions upon billions of other galaxies. But even with all this modern science, we aren't even close to being able to fathom how infinite it is, and how ever-expanding.
I sometimes get mad at myself for being a math ignoramus (basic algebra gives me fits) because if I weren't, I would have definitely been an astronomer. Staring at the night sky while camping or in various other remote places is among my absolute favorite activities (good thing I've always lived in a big city, huh?). While gazing into the black abyss that seems so carelessly splattered with stars, a few recurring thoughts always creep into my mind:
What's beyond the universe? Scientists say it's ever-expanding. Then what is it expanding into? One of my professors thinks we are "just a ball of lint in someone's pocket in an alternate universe." When I get to thinking about ideas like this Ball of Lint Theory, one of my first questions always relates to time. How can a ball of lint exist for the estimated 4.54 billion years earth is said to have been in existence? Perhaps time is relative. Perhaps because we are so miniscule in the grand scheme of things, time is slower for us. For example, the average lifespan of a gnat is 4 months. But maybe to them, since they are so small both in size and brain capacity, those 4 months seem like 80 years. Maybe we are the gnats of another universe.
Most of the stars we see when we stare into the night sky are hundreds of light years away. The closest star to earth (excluding the sun) is Proxima Centauri, which is 4.2 light years from us. That means when we look at that star, we are seeing it as it existed 4.2 years ago. That's crazy to me! It's possible that many of the stars we see in the sky don't even exist any more, but since it takes so long for their light to reach our eyes we are seeing them as they were years and years ago. Blows. My. Mind.
And lastly, perhaps the most popular question of those with an interest in the cosmos, how did it all come to be? There are plenty of theories out there to explain this one, but none have come close to being proven the unassailable truth, accepted by all. Some believe in the Big Bang Theory. Others buy into the Inflation Theory. Creationists think God created it all (and even that has its branches- Deists believing God created the universe, set it into motion, and left us to ourselves vs. most major religions believing God created it AND still runs the whole show).
While I am not arguing for any theory over another (my stance is one of constant wonder and questioning), I do find it interesting that many scientists say the more they study the cosmos, the more they believe some higher power created it. A few quotes:
Ed Harrison (cosmologist): "Here is the cosmological proof of the existence of God – the design argument of Paley – updated and refurbished. The fine tuning of the universe provides prima facie evidence of deistic design. Take your choice: blind chance that requires multitudes of universes or design that requires only one.... Many scientists, when they admit their views, incline toward the teleological or design argument."
Frank Tipler (Professor of Mathematical Physics): "When I began my career as a cosmologist some twenty years ago, I was a convinced atheist. I never in my wildest dreams imagined that one day I would be writing a book purporting to show that the central claims of Judeo-Christian theology are in fact true, that these claims are straightforward deductions of the laws of physics as we now understand them. I have been forced into these conclusions by the inexorable logic of my own special branch of physics."
John O'Keefe (astronomer at NASA): "We are, by astronomical standards, a pampered, cosseted, cherished group of creatures.. .. If the Universe had not been made with the most exacting precision we could never have come into existence. It is my view that these circumstances indicate the universe was created for man to live in."
I perhaps am captivated by the night sky because, like so few things in this world, it rigorously challenges the boundaries of my imagination. And though on any given night you can be either strangely comforted by the universe or feel insignificant and alone in its ever-expansive bounds, its ability to inspire deep thought is always just a backward thrust of the head away.
Humans have been mesmerized by its wonder since the first recorded civilizations. The earliest records of cosmological posits date back to the ancient Mesopotamians (5300-ish BC), who believed earth was more or less a flat disk. They also believed the universe was contained in a dome above the earth's horizon, and beneath the earth's surface lay the netherworld. Each subsequent (and though there's no written record, probably antecedent) culture had its own idea of the universe which usually related somehow to their respective gods.
Then came the Renaissance (1500s) and astronomy finally began receiving accreditation as a legitimate scientific field. Copernicus debunking the universally-accepted belief that the earth was the center of the universe, Galileo using one of the first telescopes (20x more powerful than the human eye) to scan the night sky, Kepler's suggestion that the sun somehow affected the planets' orbital paths (this was before Newton got hit with that apple, folks).
Nowadays we know a bit more about the universe thanks to modern technology. We know that there are billions upon billions of other galaxies. But even with all this modern science, we aren't even close to being able to fathom how infinite it is, and how ever-expanding.
I sometimes get mad at myself for being a math ignoramus (basic algebra gives me fits) because if I weren't, I would have definitely been an astronomer. Staring at the night sky while camping or in various other remote places is among my absolute favorite activities (good thing I've always lived in a big city, huh?). While gazing into the black abyss that seems so carelessly splattered with stars, a few recurring thoughts always creep into my mind:
What's beyond the universe? Scientists say it's ever-expanding. Then what is it expanding into? One of my professors thinks we are "just a ball of lint in someone's pocket in an alternate universe." When I get to thinking about ideas like this Ball of Lint Theory, one of my first questions always relates to time. How can a ball of lint exist for the estimated 4.54 billion years earth is said to have been in existence? Perhaps time is relative. Perhaps because we are so miniscule in the grand scheme of things, time is slower for us. For example, the average lifespan of a gnat is 4 months. But maybe to them, since they are so small both in size and brain capacity, those 4 months seem like 80 years. Maybe we are the gnats of another universe.
Most of the stars we see when we stare into the night sky are hundreds of light years away. The closest star to earth (excluding the sun) is Proxima Centauri, which is 4.2 light years from us. That means when we look at that star, we are seeing it as it existed 4.2 years ago. That's crazy to me! It's possible that many of the stars we see in the sky don't even exist any more, but since it takes so long for their light to reach our eyes we are seeing them as they were years and years ago. Blows. My. Mind.
And lastly, perhaps the most popular question of those with an interest in the cosmos, how did it all come to be? There are plenty of theories out there to explain this one, but none have come close to being proven the unassailable truth, accepted by all. Some believe in the Big Bang Theory. Others buy into the Inflation Theory. Creationists think God created it all (and even that has its branches- Deists believing God created the universe, set it into motion, and left us to ourselves vs. most major religions believing God created it AND still runs the whole show).
While I am not arguing for any theory over another (my stance is one of constant wonder and questioning), I do find it interesting that many scientists say the more they study the cosmos, the more they believe some higher power created it. A few quotes:
Ed Harrison (cosmologist): "Here is the cosmological proof of the existence of God – the design argument of Paley – updated and refurbished. The fine tuning of the universe provides prima facie evidence of deistic design. Take your choice: blind chance that requires multitudes of universes or design that requires only one.... Many scientists, when they admit their views, incline toward the teleological or design argument."
Frank Tipler (Professor of Mathematical Physics): "When I began my career as a cosmologist some twenty years ago, I was a convinced atheist. I never in my wildest dreams imagined that one day I would be writing a book purporting to show that the central claims of Judeo-Christian theology are in fact true, that these claims are straightforward deductions of the laws of physics as we now understand them. I have been forced into these conclusions by the inexorable logic of my own special branch of physics."
John O'Keefe (astronomer at NASA): "We are, by astronomical standards, a pampered, cosseted, cherished group of creatures.. .. If the Universe had not been made with the most exacting precision we could never have come into existence. It is my view that these circumstances indicate the universe was created for man to live in."
I perhaps am captivated by the night sky because, like so few things in this world, it rigorously challenges the boundaries of my imagination. And though on any given night you can be either strangely comforted by the universe or feel insignificant and alone in its ever-expansive bounds, its ability to inspire deep thought is always just a backward thrust of the head away.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Technical difficulties
Alright, I know a lot of you have been waiting for this post. It was only a matter of time.
A rant on cell phones.
First, try really hard to think back to the time right before everyone had a cell phone. Bill Clinton was president. "Seinfeld" was cleaning up at the Emmys. Super Nintendo was the newest video game system. Your wardrobe consisted of B.U.M. Equipment shirts and stirrup leggings. Life was simple then. And if you're my age, cell phones didn't become truly ubiquitous until about freshman year of high school. I got my first cell phone in the 8th grade and had to share it with my brother Danny, and we only really used it when one of us was going somewhere and we needed to be picked up by mom later.
What did people DO without cell phones? Well, here are a few of my recollections:
1. When you needed to be picked up from somewhere (if you were too young to drive/didn't take a bike or skateboard or rollerblades or....) you'd call your parents Collect on a pay phone. Just dial down the middle, remember? 1-800-C-A-L-L-A-T-T. Then when the lady would leave 2 seconds for you to say your name, you'd say "It's-Lisa-come-pick-us-up-at-*wherever*-please" before they could cut you off. And of course nobody ever accepted the charges because you got really good at talking fast and saying only the vital information. A free and easy way to communicate while abroad. I'd like to take this time to thank AT&T for years of free payphone service.
2. You had to actually make plans ahead of time and stick to those plans. It's ridiculous how being late has become acceptable these days, all because you can send a quick text to someone who's waiting for you saying you'll be there in x amount of minutes, you're running late (which always ends up being way longer, but that's the substance of another rant). Before cell phones, if someone didn't show up on time, it was called being "stood up" and the consequences were far greater, so people took being on time a bit more seriously.
3. You actually had to use your brain to figure things out. Now, if you don't already know, I'm a huge dissident of smart phones. My cell phone only has the capacity to send/receive calls and texts. And that's all I want it to do. I like to keep my technologies separate. I'll go on my computer at home if I want to use the Internet. I'll break out the old fashioned board game if I want to play Scrabble (yes, I just took a jab at Words With Friends). It's amazing how dependent people have become upon the nifty gadgets on their smartphones. For example, there are few of us left who can navigate new surroundings, or even know how to read an old-fashioned map (that's right folks, on actual paper with a key and legend and everything). And then when technology fails, which it always will at some time or another, most are left dumbfounded and pissed off. Smartphones are even affecting memory capacity. All the information we used to store in our brains so we could have it whenever and wherever we are is now stored in smartphones (thanks to cloud computing) which are, you guessed it, whenever and wherever we are.
4. You actually had to get to know people's families. Remember when the only way you could get ahold of your friends was by calling their house? It was rare if that person actually picked up, so you'd end up having to chit-chat for a while with their parents or siblings. This provided good practice in developing respectful manners and for parents it also meant that you knew the kind of crowds with whom your kid was fraternizing. It was a pretty rare thing that a kid had their own phone line. Now that even 2nd graders have cell phones, how many kids do you think actually have to call their friends and get through that familial first wall of communication before actually talking to them? Cell phones are only contributing to their social wuss-dom. These kids don't have to experience the gut-wrenching anxiety that goes into calling someone they have a crush on, and having to talk to their whole family first (as if just calling them wasn't bad enough!). Or on the flipside, having a boy (or girl for you fellas) call your house and subsequently your whole family knowing your dating life or being taunted by your big brothers as they jump to conclusions! Furthermore, they don't even call anymore. They hide behind their screens and just text. Wimps.
5. And my personal favorite rant: you actually had to give your full attention to the person with whom you were hanging out. Perhaps my biggest pet peeve on this entire planet is when I am with a group of people and half of them are looking down at their cell phones at any given time, texting away. Or even worse if you are having quality time with someone 1 on 1 and they stop listening to what you're saying, or stop what they're saying MID SENTENCE to text, or in extreme cases answer a call. I'm sorry, is my company not worthy of your full attention? Am I boring you to tears? Would you rather be having a root canal than a conversation with me? Oh, then by all means talk to someone else! To me, this is the ultimate rudest form of an interruption, and the scary thing is that it's quickly becoming more and more socially acceptable. The funny thing is I think I'm the only one under the age of 40 (that demographic who lived over half their lives without cell phones and did just fine) who finds this deplorable.
Cell phones are certainly not without their benefits, and I'm not trying to lead a worldwide cell phone burning by any means. All I'm saying is this: let's not lose sight of the importance of our inherent human instinctual capacities and basic social manners in this world of frighteningly swift technological advancement.
To wrap this up, I'm going to issue a challenge to my readers (all 3 of you... hi mom!):
Leave your cell phone at home for just one segment of your day, anywhere from 3 hours to the entire time the sun is up. Treat it like a housephone (you know, those archaic wiry things that used to be connected to the wall). At the end of the day I would LOVE to hear how your experience went, all your thoughts/emotions, whether you felt liberated or naked, had anxiety attacks because you felt like you were missing out on everything, etc.
Just do me a favor and don't text or call me or e-mail me with your findings when you're in the company of others.
Can you live without a cell phone?
A rant on cell phones.
First, try really hard to think back to the time right before everyone had a cell phone. Bill Clinton was president. "Seinfeld" was cleaning up at the Emmys. Super Nintendo was the newest video game system. Your wardrobe consisted of B.U.M. Equipment shirts and stirrup leggings. Life was simple then. And if you're my age, cell phones didn't become truly ubiquitous until about freshman year of high school. I got my first cell phone in the 8th grade and had to share it with my brother Danny, and we only really used it when one of us was going somewhere and we needed to be picked up by mom later.
What did people DO without cell phones? Well, here are a few of my recollections:
1. When you needed to be picked up from somewhere (if you were too young to drive/didn't take a bike or skateboard or rollerblades or....) you'd call your parents Collect on a pay phone. Just dial down the middle, remember? 1-800-C-A-L-L-A-T-T. Then when the lady would leave 2 seconds for you to say your name, you'd say "It's-Lisa-come-pick-us-up-at-*wherever*-please" before they could cut you off. And of course nobody ever accepted the charges because you got really good at talking fast and saying only the vital information. A free and easy way to communicate while abroad. I'd like to take this time to thank AT&T for years of free payphone service.
2. You had to actually make plans ahead of time and stick to those plans. It's ridiculous how being late has become acceptable these days, all because you can send a quick text to someone who's waiting for you saying you'll be there in x amount of minutes, you're running late (which always ends up being way longer, but that's the substance of another rant). Before cell phones, if someone didn't show up on time, it was called being "stood up" and the consequences were far greater, so people took being on time a bit more seriously.
3. You actually had to use your brain to figure things out. Now, if you don't already know, I'm a huge dissident of smart phones. My cell phone only has the capacity to send/receive calls and texts. And that's all I want it to do. I like to keep my technologies separate. I'll go on my computer at home if I want to use the Internet. I'll break out the old fashioned board game if I want to play Scrabble (yes, I just took a jab at Words With Friends). It's amazing how dependent people have become upon the nifty gadgets on their smartphones. For example, there are few of us left who can navigate new surroundings, or even know how to read an old-fashioned map (that's right folks, on actual paper with a key and legend and everything). And then when technology fails, which it always will at some time or another, most are left dumbfounded and pissed off. Smartphones are even affecting memory capacity. All the information we used to store in our brains so we could have it whenever and wherever we are is now stored in smartphones (thanks to cloud computing) which are, you guessed it, whenever and wherever we are.
4. You actually had to get to know people's families. Remember when the only way you could get ahold of your friends was by calling their house? It was rare if that person actually picked up, so you'd end up having to chit-chat for a while with their parents or siblings. This provided good practice in developing respectful manners and for parents it also meant that you knew the kind of crowds with whom your kid was fraternizing. It was a pretty rare thing that a kid had their own phone line. Now that even 2nd graders have cell phones, how many kids do you think actually have to call their friends and get through that familial first wall of communication before actually talking to them? Cell phones are only contributing to their social wuss-dom. These kids don't have to experience the gut-wrenching anxiety that goes into calling someone they have a crush on, and having to talk to their whole family first (as if just calling them wasn't bad enough!). Or on the flipside, having a boy (or girl for you fellas) call your house and subsequently your whole family knowing your dating life or being taunted by your big brothers as they jump to conclusions! Furthermore, they don't even call anymore. They hide behind their screens and just text. Wimps.
5. And my personal favorite rant: you actually had to give your full attention to the person with whom you were hanging out. Perhaps my biggest pet peeve on this entire planet is when I am with a group of people and half of them are looking down at their cell phones at any given time, texting away. Or even worse if you are having quality time with someone 1 on 1 and they stop listening to what you're saying, or stop what they're saying MID SENTENCE to text, or in extreme cases answer a call. I'm sorry, is my company not worthy of your full attention? Am I boring you to tears? Would you rather be having a root canal than a conversation with me? Oh, then by all means talk to someone else! To me, this is the ultimate rudest form of an interruption, and the scary thing is that it's quickly becoming more and more socially acceptable. The funny thing is I think I'm the only one under the age of 40 (that demographic who lived over half their lives without cell phones and did just fine) who finds this deplorable.
Cell phones are certainly not without their benefits, and I'm not trying to lead a worldwide cell phone burning by any means. All I'm saying is this: let's not lose sight of the importance of our inherent human instinctual capacities and basic social manners in this world of frighteningly swift technological advancement.
To wrap this up, I'm going to issue a challenge to my readers (all 3 of you... hi mom!):
Leave your cell phone at home for just one segment of your day, anywhere from 3 hours to the entire time the sun is up. Treat it like a housephone (you know, those archaic wiry things that used to be connected to the wall). At the end of the day I would LOVE to hear how your experience went, all your thoughts/emotions, whether you felt liberated or naked, had anxiety attacks because you felt like you were missing out on everything, etc.
Just do me a favor and don't text or call me or e-mail me with your findings when you're in the company of others.
Can you live without a cell phone?
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Here comes the sun, do-do-do-dooo
Today is March 6. The first few days of March always rank highly on my Happiest Days of the Year list. My mood is elevated even more than usual, my walk is more jaunty, and there is an excited gleam of anticipation in my eye. True, there are no major holidays during the first couple weeks of March. Nor does my birthday fall in said days. So what's so great about this time span?
Well amigos, the beginning of March marks one of the most (if not THE most) under-appreciated days of the calendar year: the start of daylight saving time (DST). I'll spare you the day's interesting history, with its ties to standard time zones, the early U.S. railroad industry, the World Wars, farming, and debated legislation, but if you're a history geek like me, click here.
To most of us, the start of DST marks the beginning of the warm months. It announces that spring is on its way. That flowers will soon bloom. That if we hang on for just a little longer, we will be rewarded with a long break from school (if you're no longer in school, sorry. But neenor neenor). It brings daydreams of the possible layouts of your backyard garden- O, what wonderful vegetables and flowers you'll plant this year! It marks the coming end to your impossibly pale skin. And you better put "clean the ol' bbq" on this week's to-do list, as you can almost smell the burgers, sirloins, hot dogs and kabobs grilling to perfection as you enjoy that ice-cold Pacifico on your patio.
But perhaps those who benefit most from DST are kids (or those of us still kids at heart). In retrospect, when the day finally came in which it didn't get dark outside pretty much right after you got home from school, it was cause for celebration. There was a certain poetic beauty to the abruptness of gaining an extra hour of daylight, and the long process of the days thereafter stretching out ever-so subtly, until that 9 p.m. sundown suddenly surprised you. Every year you knew it would happen, yet every year it seemed to come out of nowhere. Then you'd look back on those short winter days and the feeling of being blessed would wash over you, as if God breathed those extra hours of light and warmth into summer just for you.
Seemingly limitless evenings of kick the can, sardines, roller hockey, soccer. Basketball, baseball, football, any other "-ball" you can possibly name. Skateboards, rollerblades, scooters, bikes. Clubhouses made of every piece of stray plywood you could find. Climbing trees with the Popsicle stick switchblades you ever-so-craftily engineered and sharpened. Barefeet. Tank tops. Sneaking down to the candy store with the coins you found in the couch cushions, and having to hide your new stash in the garage so mom wouldn't find out. Otterpops. Hide and seek. The possibilities were endless.
(Yes, I did grow up in a completely middle-class, 1960s-like, Sandlot-ish, classic neighborhood. That whole aforementioned paragraph is written strictly from experience).
Perhaps after spending my first winter in a place where the temperature reaches well below the 60-degree (at their coldest) California winter days I'm used to, I have a feeling I'm going to appreciate the start of DST this year even more than I have the past 21.
Just one more week.
Well amigos, the beginning of March marks one of the most (if not THE most) under-appreciated days of the calendar year: the start of daylight saving time (DST). I'll spare you the day's interesting history, with its ties to standard time zones, the early U.S. railroad industry, the World Wars, farming, and debated legislation, but if you're a history geek like me, click here.
To most of us, the start of DST marks the beginning of the warm months. It announces that spring is on its way. That flowers will soon bloom. That if we hang on for just a little longer, we will be rewarded with a long break from school (if you're no longer in school, sorry. But neenor neenor). It brings daydreams of the possible layouts of your backyard garden- O, what wonderful vegetables and flowers you'll plant this year! It marks the coming end to your impossibly pale skin. And you better put "clean the ol' bbq" on this week's to-do list, as you can almost smell the burgers, sirloins, hot dogs and kabobs grilling to perfection as you enjoy that ice-cold Pacifico on your patio.
But perhaps those who benefit most from DST are kids (or those of us still kids at heart). In retrospect, when the day finally came in which it didn't get dark outside pretty much right after you got home from school, it was cause for celebration. There was a certain poetic beauty to the abruptness of gaining an extra hour of daylight, and the long process of the days thereafter stretching out ever-so subtly, until that 9 p.m. sundown suddenly surprised you. Every year you knew it would happen, yet every year it seemed to come out of nowhere. Then you'd look back on those short winter days and the feeling of being blessed would wash over you, as if God breathed those extra hours of light and warmth into summer just for you.
Seemingly limitless evenings of kick the can, sardines, roller hockey, soccer. Basketball, baseball, football, any other "-ball" you can possibly name. Skateboards, rollerblades, scooters, bikes. Clubhouses made of every piece of stray plywood you could find. Climbing trees with the Popsicle stick switchblades you ever-so-craftily engineered and sharpened. Barefeet. Tank tops. Sneaking down to the candy store with the coins you found in the couch cushions, and having to hide your new stash in the garage so mom wouldn't find out. Otterpops. Hide and seek. The possibilities were endless.
(Yes, I did grow up in a completely middle-class, 1960s-like, Sandlot-ish, classic neighborhood. That whole aforementioned paragraph is written strictly from experience).
Perhaps after spending my first winter in a place where the temperature reaches well below the 60-degree (at their coldest) California winter days I'm used to, I have a feeling I'm going to appreciate the start of DST this year even more than I have the past 21.
Just one more week.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Sexual healing
Two years ago, I took a class at Berkeley titled "The Evolution of Human Sexuality." As a media studies major, it had nothing to do with my field of academia. I just needed 2 units and the class came highly recommended. It was bar-none the best class I have ever taken in terms of interest, informativeness, and applicability to real life. It was taught by a brilliant professor by the name of Dr. Malcolm Potts. Hard to imagine that this exuberant, elderly, mad-scientist (complete with the hair) British professor has the final say in all things sexual. But he does.
At first I was a little put off by the class, as it quickly (and almost completely) eroded all my lifelong girlish notions of finding true love and living happily ever after. Did you know that of the over-5,000 species in the animal kingdom, only 3-5% are monogamous? And did you know that our closest biological relative, the bonobo chimpanzee (pan paniscus), is highly polygamous, and engages in behavior that is considered sexually deviant even in our society? If you are one to believe in both scientific authority and monogamy, this is not very good news.
Moreover, we learned that though both men and women are programmed for polygamy, men have more to gain from infidelity and therefore are more prone to it (I know, shocker). Males are subconsciously wired with the need to spread their genes as far-reaching as possible to ensure familial longevity. Very sorry if I just ruined any of your idealistic beliefs. And ladies, we can't put all the blame on the fellas. Turns out we too have a subconscious sexual-wiring. It is our main biological purpose to find the best possible traits for our children to inherit. Yep, this means anytime we see anything come along that is better than what we have, our cheat radar goes off louder than the firehouse alarm in the SFFD in 1906.
While this news may sound downright dreary, there is an upside. Occasionally, our emotional bonds overcome our biological need to cheat. We also have another advantage. As humans, our highly developed brains contain these strange little things called consciences. Mix those with a pinch of self-control, stir until saturated, and you've got yourself monogamy. Through the ages, our hyper-sanitized self-believed superiority in the animal kingdom, along with the advent of global religion (7th Commandment, people- know your Moses) has made us a species that (however unnatural) strives for monogamy. Only question is, can you hack it? Can your significant other hack it? Ladies, I'm sorry, but we're already at an inherent disadvantage, as since birth the media (i.e. romantic comedies and fairytales) have been pumping our brains with ludicrous information that directly defies science.
While there is some hope, we can't forget everything that nature (and experience) has taught us. As Dr. Potts ever-so-eloquently said, "Women give sex for love. Men give love for sex." Brilliant. Even Gandhi-esque.
So, you weekend warriors, as you take up your swords of alcohol and your shields of sexually dimorphic duds in search for whatever it is you search for as you head to the bars every weekend, keep this information in mind.
*Bonus! A few other fun facts learned in Dr. Potts' class:
-The female spotted hyena defies the norm as she wears the pants in the relationship. This includes having a locking-clitoris that doesn't let her mate's penis go until she's good and ready!
-Breast feeding after childbirth serves as a natural contraceptive.
-In many cultures, it is common to give birth in a sitting position. There are studies that show this is both safer and can be more comfortable.
At first I was a little put off by the class, as it quickly (and almost completely) eroded all my lifelong girlish notions of finding true love and living happily ever after. Did you know that of the over-5,000 species in the animal kingdom, only 3-5% are monogamous? And did you know that our closest biological relative, the bonobo chimpanzee (pan paniscus), is highly polygamous, and engages in behavior that is considered sexually deviant even in our society? If you are one to believe in both scientific authority and monogamy, this is not very good news.
Moreover, we learned that though both men and women are programmed for polygamy, men have more to gain from infidelity and therefore are more prone to it (I know, shocker). Males are subconsciously wired with the need to spread their genes as far-reaching as possible to ensure familial longevity. Very sorry if I just ruined any of your idealistic beliefs. And ladies, we can't put all the blame on the fellas. Turns out we too have a subconscious sexual-wiring. It is our main biological purpose to find the best possible traits for our children to inherit. Yep, this means anytime we see anything come along that is better than what we have, our cheat radar goes off louder than the firehouse alarm in the SFFD in 1906.
While this news may sound downright dreary, there is an upside. Occasionally, our emotional bonds overcome our biological need to cheat. We also have another advantage. As humans, our highly developed brains contain these strange little things called consciences. Mix those with a pinch of self-control, stir until saturated, and you've got yourself monogamy. Through the ages, our hyper-sanitized self-believed superiority in the animal kingdom, along with the advent of global religion (7th Commandment, people- know your Moses) has made us a species that (however unnatural) strives for monogamy. Only question is, can you hack it? Can your significant other hack it? Ladies, I'm sorry, but we're already at an inherent disadvantage, as since birth the media (i.e. romantic comedies and fairytales) have been pumping our brains with ludicrous information that directly defies science.
While there is some hope, we can't forget everything that nature (and experience) has taught us. As Dr. Potts ever-so-eloquently said, "Women give sex for love. Men give love for sex." Brilliant. Even Gandhi-esque.
So, you weekend warriors, as you take up your swords of alcohol and your shields of sexually dimorphic duds in search for whatever it is you search for as you head to the bars every weekend, keep this information in mind.
*Bonus! A few other fun facts learned in Dr. Potts' class:
-The female spotted hyena defies the norm as she wears the pants in the relationship. This includes having a locking-clitoris that doesn't let her mate's penis go until she's good and ready!
-Breast feeding after childbirth serves as a natural contraceptive.
-In many cultures, it is common to give birth in a sitting position. There are studies that show this is both safer and can be more comfortable.
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