Before I begin, 10 points if you know where the title of this post comes from.
As of November 2010, the time-stamped end of my soccer years, I had consistently been on some soccer team for 17 of my then-22 year old life. During those 17 years, I have played under the guidance of AT LEAST 25 coaches that I can think of off-hand. Never once did the thought cross my mind that one day I'd be one.
This autumn finds me the head coach of the varsity soccer team at Boston University Academy (BUA). Before you start "ooh-ing" and "aah-ing" at how prestigious that sounds, let me paint you a picture. BUA is a small, private high school affiliated with Boston University. It is overflowing with New England's future geniuses- kids who are usually just a little off. 150-ish students make up the entire school, all of whom are taking harder courses than I do as a grad student. Of these 150 pupils, anyone who has the slightest interest in soccer can be on the varsity soccer team. Boys. Girls. Freshmen. Kids who can barely pass a ball. Kids who have never touched a ball. Ever. There are no tryouts. There are no cuts.
Since August 26, 2011, an impossible task has been placed upon my shoulders. I have been hired to somehow mold this ragtag motley crew into a functional squad of lean, mean, ass-kicking machines.
One problem: I'm not a miracle worker.
Something worth mentioning, and sadly the probable least of my problems, is that most of these kids lack proper soccer gear. Some have cleats, but no shin guards. Some wear shin guards but don't have long socks (hello, AYSO U-7). Shurik (most of my kids have ethnic names), a freshman, shows up to practice every single day in his trusty Tevas. If you're familiar with Tevas, or click on the link provided, you'll see that not only do they provide zero support or traction, they aren't even complete shoes. I beg him every day to buy some cleats, or at least a pair of sneakers. But everyday he comes in those damn sandals, kicking the ball with his toe, which happens to be protected by that trademark Teva rubber. Maybe that's why he prefers them.
In addition, I have a theory that has throughout my lifetime generally proven true: The more the book smarts, the less the street smarts. A few days ago, a new kid named Ilya came to practice and asked if he could be on the team. According to BUA policy, everybody gets to play. It doesn't matter that we are halfway through the season. Anyway, he shows up 15 minutes into practice and all the kids are paired up, passing. I tell Ilya, and I quote, to "go hop in with the end group and pass 3-way with them." He looks me in the eye with a telling look of determination, like he really wants impress me and be an integral member of this team. At that point, I lose him. Little Ilya proceeds to put his feet together, crouches down, and starts literally bunny hopping in the direction of the group I told him to join. He was dead serious- I had to explain to him that it was a figure of speech. Every time I'm around my team, it's like being in an Amelia Bedelia book.
So far I've only illustrated the dynamic of our intra-squad interaction... but what about when we play other teams?
We've only had 2 games so far, the first of which was a scrimmage. This 6 minute video link will do a better job describing the experience than my words can. (If you can't read the context clues from this post so far, I am cast as Steve Guttenberg). I'm 100% serious when I say that the ONLY differences between the game in the video and my actual game are: 1. We only lost 0-6, and 2. we didn't have a goat on the sideline. One of my players caught a ball with her hands to avoid heading it. Another doesn't understand the concept of off-sides. At all. But that ended up actually benefitting us... the other team was called off-side on a breakaway because apparently I was the only person who saw poor Ishan standing 30 yards behind the rest of his backline. I later found out the team we played isn't in our league, or even our division. That was a huge relief. At the end of the day, I was actually pleased we only lost by 6 goals- it could have easily been 0-22. But we still got spanked.
Our first league game, the first that counted on my record as a head coach, was a little different. We won 5-3! OK, so the school we played was The Learning Center School for the Deaf. Let's not split hairs here, it's still a win. I'm proud of my little dingdongs for getting a W, even if it was at the mercy of a handicapped team.
Perhaps I'm a little too harsh on my kids. Soccer, and sports in general, are a new concept for most of them. Half of my players miss practices every week because of Robotics Club meetings and viola lessons, for pete's sake. I just want the beautiful game that's taught me so much about life to leave even if just the slightest impression on my ragamuffins. And with an undefeated record so far this season (hey, 1-0 is still considered undefeated), how can I really complain? I'm probably learning more from these kids than they are from me. With a little gumption, some elbow grease, and a prayer, maybe by the end of the season I can get Shurik, Ilya, Ishan, and the rest of my ethnically-named squirts to play some decent soccer.
After all, Rome wasn't built in a day.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
1861, 1941, 2001
Following excerpts are taken from George Packer's "Inertia, Not Progress Defines the Decade After 9/11." The New Yorker. 12 Sept. 2011.
"Adam Goodheart’s new book, '1861: The Civil War Awakening,' shows that the start of the conflict was accompanied, in what was left of the Union, by a revolutionary surge of energy among young people, who saw the dramatic events of that year in terms of the ideals of 1776: 'the overdue effort to sort out the double legacy of America’s founders: the uneasy marriage of the Declaration’s inspired ideals with the Constitution’s ingenious expedients.'
Pearl Harbor was similarly clarifying. It put an instant end to the isolationism that had kept American foreign policy in a chokehold for two decades. In the White House on the night of December 7th, Franklin Roosevelt’s Navy Secretary, Frank Knox, whispered to Secretary of Labor Frances Perkins, 'I think the boss must have a great load off his mind. . . . At least we know what to do now.' The Second World War brought a truce in the American class war that had raged throughout the thirties, and it unified a bitterly divided country.
"This isn’t to deny that there were fierce arguments, at the time and ever since, about the causes and goals of both the Civil War and the Second World War. But 1861 and 1941 each created a common national narrative (which happened to be the victors’ narrative): both wars were about the country’s survival and the expansion of the freedoms on which it was founded. Nothing like this consensus has formed around September 11th.
"Of the three attacks that have provoked the United States into a major war—in 1861, 1941, and 2001—only one came as a complete surprise. Fort Sumter had been under siege for months when, just before daybreak on April 12, 1861, Confederate batteries around Charleston Harbor, after giving an hour’s notice, opened fire on the Federal position. The Japanese attack at Pearl Harbor, on December 7, 1941, was a violent shock, but only in the nature and extent of the destruction: by then, most Americans had come to believe that the country would be dragged into the global war with Fascism one way or another, though their eyes were fixed on Europe, not the Pacific.
"The attacks of 9/11 were the biggest surprise in American history, and for the past ten years we haven’t stopped being surprised. The war on terror has had no discernible trajectory, and, unlike other military conflicts, it’s almost impossible to define victory.
"Adam Goodheart’s new book, '1861: The Civil War Awakening,' shows that the start of the conflict was accompanied, in what was left of the Union, by a revolutionary surge of energy among young people, who saw the dramatic events of that year in terms of the ideals of 1776: 'the overdue effort to sort out the double legacy of America’s founders: the uneasy marriage of the Declaration’s inspired ideals with the Constitution’s ingenious expedients.'
Pearl Harbor was similarly clarifying. It put an instant end to the isolationism that had kept American foreign policy in a chokehold for two decades. In the White House on the night of December 7th, Franklin Roosevelt’s Navy Secretary, Frank Knox, whispered to Secretary of Labor Frances Perkins, 'I think the boss must have a great load off his mind. . . . At least we know what to do now.' The Second World War brought a truce in the American class war that had raged throughout the thirties, and it unified a bitterly divided country.
"After the attacks, Americans asked, 'Why do they hate us?' This turned out to be the wrong line of inquiry. The most pressing questions were about us, not them: our leaders, our institutions, our ability to act as a cohesive nation and make rational decisions, our power to take action abroad in a way that would not be a self-defeating waste. Starting with the intelligence failures that did not foresee the attacks, every major American institution flunked the test of the September 11th decade. The media got the W.M.D.s wrong. The military failed to plan for chaos in postwar Iraq. Congress neglected its oversight duties. The political system produced no statesmen. C.E.O.s and financiers couldn’t see past short-term profits. The Bush Administration had one major success: it succeeded in staving off another terrorist attack in America. It botched almost everything else."
Note: This post should in no way be interpreted as a denouncement of our military troops fighting in the Middle East and elsewhere. I support the U.S. military and am thankful everyday for the soldiers who fight for our country. It is the decisions made at the top with which I do not always agree.
To read more about our fractured post-9/11 America, check out the entire article: http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2011/09/12/110912fa_fact_packer#ixzz1Xx68Rr6Y
Note: This post should in no way be interpreted as a denouncement of our military troops fighting in the Middle East and elsewhere. I support the U.S. military and am thankful everyday for the soldiers who fight for our country. It is the decisions made at the top with which I do not always agree.
To read more about our fractured post-9/11 America, check out the entire article: http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2011/09/12/110912fa_fact_packer#ixzz1Xx68Rr6Y
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Pipe down!
Time for another crotchety grumbling.
September 9, 2011: The first Friday night of the academic school year at Boston University. The first night of freedom for hundreds, nay thousands of horny eighteen year-olds thirsting for alcohol. The first night for these youngsters away from their parents, without the dreaded prospect of class the next day. The loudest night of the year.
If you have in any capacity been following my blog for the past (almost) year, you've probably picked up on the fact that one of the few things I cannot and do not tolerate is the increasingly inconsiderate nature of people. On average, the level of consideration for others decreases exponentially for each new generation. This means that my generation, Generation Y, is somewhat more considerate than the newest generation, Generation Z (aka the "Internet Generation"). Subsequently, the Greatest Generation (see former post, The frightening future), the last living generation of the present day, has by far the most consideration for others. Though I have no quantifiable data to back this theorem, you know it's an undeniable fact- especially if you are a member of one of the older generations.
Last night, after I scrubbed the day off, brushed my teeth, and crawled into my long-johns, I nestled under my sheets excited for the restful sleep that awaited. Yes, it was 10:30pm on a Friday. Yes, I am a healthy, exuberant 23 year-old. Go ahead and judge me for my state of affairs last night. Even though I was under the weather, I probably would have been doing the same thing regardless, as my party years have petered out. I'll take a nice bottle of cabernet over a 40oz. of Mickey's in a heartbeat.
Right as my head hit the pillow, the underage collegiate atmosphere came to life almost en queue. Multiple ambulances screamed down the street, armed with stomach pumps to rescue morons who thought it would be a great idea to play Power Hour with their three best frenemies Jack, Jim, and Jose (Daniels, Beam, and Cuervo). Shit-faced barely-legals stumbled down the sidewalks in their vagina-bearing short skirts and 6-inch heels, shrieking unintelligible Facebook acronyms ("O-M-GGGG!!!). And of course, some DJ-Pauly D-wannabe neighbor, whom I was unable to locate geographically, turned his subwoofers to their highest setting and played the most God-awful, loud, fist-pumping techno "music" for 3 straight hours. I could never understand the point of music that loud (how can you possibly communicate with others?), or techno in general, but I digress. Does this fool not realize there are scores of other residents around him, some of whom have life goals that don't include looking like a leather sack, finding someone different to "smoosh" every night, and taking body shots off Snooki?
While you may argue that it is my fault that I chose to live near students, it is something a destitute grad student in the city of Boston cannot elude. ~55 colleges exist within a 5 mile radius, leaving quiet, affordable living options scarce. And I don't think I'm being completely unreasonable here- fine, be as loud as you want until 11pm, then simply turn your volume (vocal, sound system, and otherwise) DOWN. Or leave and go to an actual bar or club. I have no problem with that.
Tonight is Saturday, and I do not expect the noise pollution to be any better than last night. However, I have to wake up at 8am tomorrow to travel to UMASS-Amherst to broadcast a game, and will not hesitate to own the role of that bitchy, party-pooping neighbor who calls the cops and shuts your party down. So please have some consideration, and keep your music and voices to a reasonable decibel and bass level. Thank you.
September 9, 2011: The first Friday night of the academic school year at Boston University. The first night of freedom for hundreds, nay thousands of horny eighteen year-olds thirsting for alcohol. The first night for these youngsters away from their parents, without the dreaded prospect of class the next day. The loudest night of the year.
If you have in any capacity been following my blog for the past (almost) year, you've probably picked up on the fact that one of the few things I cannot and do not tolerate is the increasingly inconsiderate nature of people. On average, the level of consideration for others decreases exponentially for each new generation. This means that my generation, Generation Y, is somewhat more considerate than the newest generation, Generation Z (aka the "Internet Generation"). Subsequently, the Greatest Generation (see former post, The frightening future), the last living generation of the present day, has by far the most consideration for others. Though I have no quantifiable data to back this theorem, you know it's an undeniable fact- especially if you are a member of one of the older generations.
Last night, after I scrubbed the day off, brushed my teeth, and crawled into my long-johns, I nestled under my sheets excited for the restful sleep that awaited. Yes, it was 10:30pm on a Friday. Yes, I am a healthy, exuberant 23 year-old. Go ahead and judge me for my state of affairs last night. Even though I was under the weather, I probably would have been doing the same thing regardless, as my party years have petered out. I'll take a nice bottle of cabernet over a 40oz. of Mickey's in a heartbeat.
Right as my head hit the pillow, the underage collegiate atmosphere came to life almost en queue. Multiple ambulances screamed down the street, armed with stomach pumps to rescue morons who thought it would be a great idea to play Power Hour with their three best frenemies Jack, Jim, and Jose (Daniels, Beam, and Cuervo). Shit-faced barely-legals stumbled down the sidewalks in their vagina-bearing short skirts and 6-inch heels, shrieking unintelligible Facebook acronyms ("O-M-GGGG!!!). And of course, some DJ-Pauly D-wannabe neighbor, whom I was unable to locate geographically, turned his subwoofers to their highest setting and played the most God-awful, loud, fist-pumping techno "music" for 3 straight hours. I could never understand the point of music that loud (how can you possibly communicate with others?), or techno in general, but I digress. Does this fool not realize there are scores of other residents around him, some of whom have life goals that don't include looking like a leather sack, finding someone different to "smoosh" every night, and taking body shots off Snooki?
While you may argue that it is my fault that I chose to live near students, it is something a destitute grad student in the city of Boston cannot elude. ~55 colleges exist within a 5 mile radius, leaving quiet, affordable living options scarce. And I don't think I'm being completely unreasonable here- fine, be as loud as you want until 11pm, then simply turn your volume (vocal, sound system, and otherwise) DOWN. Or leave and go to an actual bar or club. I have no problem with that.
Tonight is Saturday, and I do not expect the noise pollution to be any better than last night. However, I have to wake up at 8am tomorrow to travel to UMASS-Amherst to broadcast a game, and will not hesitate to own the role of that bitchy, party-pooping neighbor who calls the cops and shuts your party down. So please have some consideration, and keep your music and voices to a reasonable decibel and bass level. Thank you.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Did she just say that?
Due to my complete lack of brainpower as a result of being in the process of moving, my poor little cerebrum can barely put together a sentence, let alone a coherent, thoughtful piece of writing that would have otherwise been the content of this blog post. And because this is my last night in my old apartment, everything I own with the capacity to entertain and keep myself busy is quietly nestled away in its respective box. Thus: my urge to write a blog entry.
Combine these two current conditions of mine (feather-brainedness and the need for something to do) and, voila! You get the extreme pleasure of perusing a list of some of my all-time favorite idioms and sayings. Most of these come from none other than Jim (the man, the myth, the legend) Kevorkian, and his nuptial counterpart, give it up for my mom: Nancer Pancer Kevorkian. Though they dominate the majority of the featured entries on this list, a few prized others have come from individuals who will appropriately receive credit.
*DISCLAIMER: This list is not for those holier-than-thou nor the unappreciative prude. If you fall into these aforementioned categories, abort this post immediately or prepare to be offended.
- "...as useless as tits on a nun."
- "What do you want, egg in your beer?!" (said to someone who should be pleased, but isn't)
- "Vanish like a fart in the wind."
- "Colder than a witch's titty in a brass bra."
- "Even a blind squirrel will find a nut once in a while." -Andrew Shroads
- "It's raining like a cow pissing on a flat rock."
- "...sweating like a whore in church."
- "That was a phi beta kappa maneuver." (when you do something stupid)
- "You can't soar with the eagles in the morning if you're out hooting with the owls all night." -Erica Shaya
- "Nice shot, Oswald."
- "Shit or get off the pot!"
- "'Ah, I see' said the blind man." -Mike Chacon
- "Do you want a medal or a chest to pin it on?" (for someone who thinks they deserve more credit than they do)
- "... faster than Grant took Richmond."
- "____iest ______ in America." -Tasha Richardson
- "Busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest."
- "I gotta piss like a racehorse."
- "... dumber than pond scum."
- "You smell like a urinal in a Portuguese cat-house." -Jimmy Kevorkian
- "... slower than molasses in January."
- "... doesn't know his ass from a buttercup."
- "Happier than a two-peckered goat on a sheep ranch."
- "Too many chiefs, not enough indians." (to describe a situation wherein too many people are trying to take charge)
- "...doesn't have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of." (to denote someone who is broke)
There ya have it, folks, a condensed list of my favorites from my private collection. I had to leave out the extremely politically incorrect ones, so if you would like to hear them, let me know I would be happy to share in a more private forum.
Well, in hopes that tomorrow I can move into my new place faster than Grant took Richmond, it's time for me to vanish like a fart in the wind and hit the hay. Happy trails!
Combine these two current conditions of mine (feather-brainedness and the need for something to do) and, voila! You get the extreme pleasure of perusing a list of some of my all-time favorite idioms and sayings. Most of these come from none other than Jim (the man, the myth, the legend) Kevorkian, and his nuptial counterpart, give it up for my mom: Nancer Pancer Kevorkian. Though they dominate the majority of the featured entries on this list, a few prized others have come from individuals who will appropriately receive credit.
*DISCLAIMER: This list is not for those holier-than-thou nor the unappreciative prude. If you fall into these aforementioned categories, abort this post immediately or prepare to be offended.
- "...as useless as tits on a nun."
- "What do you want, egg in your beer?!" (said to someone who should be pleased, but isn't)
- "Vanish like a fart in the wind."
- "Colder than a witch's titty in a brass bra."
- "Even a blind squirrel will find a nut once in a while." -Andrew Shroads
- "It's raining like a cow pissing on a flat rock."
- "...sweating like a whore in church."
- "That was a phi beta kappa maneuver." (when you do something stupid)
- "You can't soar with the eagles in the morning if you're out hooting with the owls all night." -Erica Shaya
- "Nice shot, Oswald."
- "Shit or get off the pot!"
- "'Ah, I see' said the blind man." -Mike Chacon
- "Do you want a medal or a chest to pin it on?" (for someone who thinks they deserve more credit than they do)
- "... faster than Grant took Richmond."
- "____iest ______ in America." -Tasha Richardson
- "Busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest."
- "I gotta piss like a racehorse."
- "... dumber than pond scum."
- "You smell like a urinal in a Portuguese cat-house." -Jimmy Kevorkian
- "... slower than molasses in January."
- "... doesn't know his ass from a buttercup."
- "Happier than a two-peckered goat on a sheep ranch."
- "Too many chiefs, not enough indians." (to describe a situation wherein too many people are trying to take charge)
- "...doesn't have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of." (to denote someone who is broke)
There ya have it, folks, a condensed list of my favorites from my private collection. I had to leave out the extremely politically incorrect ones, so if you would like to hear them, let me know I would be happy to share in a more private forum.
Well, in hopes that tomorrow I can move into my new place faster than Grant took Richmond, it's time for me to vanish like a fart in the wind and hit the hay. Happy trails!
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Greatest love songs by decade
In complete contradiction to my normal blog style, this post will consist of a listed compilation of what I think are the best love songs of each decade from the 1940s through 2010. I strongly invite disagreement, but under one condition: you must tell me what YOU think the better choice is.
1940s: "Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered" by Ella Fitzgerald
1950s: "You Belong to Me" by Dean Martin
1960s: "When a Man Loves a Woman" by Percy Sledge
1970s: "How Deep is Your Love" by The Bee Gees
1980s: "Open Arms" by Journey
1990s: "I Don't Want to Miss a Thing" by Aerosmith
2000s: "You Are the Best Thing" by Ray LaMontagne
1940s: "Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered" by Ella Fitzgerald
1950s: "You Belong to Me" by Dean Martin
1960s: "When a Man Loves a Woman" by Percy Sledge
1970s: "How Deep is Your Love" by The Bee Gees
1980s: "Open Arms" by Journey
1990s: "I Don't Want to Miss a Thing" by Aerosmith
2000s: "You Are the Best Thing" by Ray LaMontagne
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away
Theoretical physicist and cosmologist Stephen Hawking once said, "The large-scale homogeneity of the universe makes it very difficult to believe that the structure of the universe is determined by anything so peripheral as some complicated molecular structure on a minor planet orbiting a very average star in the outer suburbs of a fairly typical galaxy." Aka, we on Earth.
To put this quote into perspective, I found a spectacular video on Youtube that is one continuous zoom-out from NYC to the edges of the known universe (key word: known). Please watch entire video for full effect. The universe is a lot more expansive than we as a general species can wrap our minds around, and our egotistic inclination to believe that we are the center of the universe doesn't help. Sure, we may be just "complicated molecular structure[s] on a minor planet orbiting a very average star," but what if we happen to be the only life form in the awe-strikingly enormous universe? Would our narcissistic self-importance be justified?
With billions of other galaxies like our very own Milky Way, the argument that there are other forms of life on other Goldilocks planets (termed "Goldilocks" because they are not too hot, not too cold to support life) doesn't seem too farfetched. In fact, scientists just discovered one of these planets a mere 20 light years away from us (pretty darn close, relatively speaking). The odds truly are one in several billion that we are the only planet in the universe inhabited by some form of life.
Thanks to the media, from film to television to comic books, our fascination with the possibility of the existence of extra-terrestrial life has greatly distorted what these life forms could actually be, and we are therefore too quick to dismiss it. Aliens in the media have been so egregiously exaggerated, lacking any semblance of legitimacy, that whenever we get to wondering if there are extra-terrestrial beings, these ridiculous manifestations are the first images that pop into our heads. No wonder we think it's a ridiculous notion. Here are a few examples:
ALF: Hails from Melmac (located six parsecs past the Hydra-Centaurus Supercluster), crash-lands in white, middle class family's garage and immediately knows how to speak english. Favorite foods: everything. But especially house cats.
ET: Gets ditched by his UFO while trying to collect plants. Has magic powers to heal and make bicycles fly. Favorite foods: beer and Reese's Pieces.
The aliens in Mars Attacks!: Two arms, two legs, and huge brains. Have really cool laser guns that can fry anything in a single zap. The only thing that will kill them (via brain explosion) are the shrill, twangy stylings of old country singer Slim Whitman. Favorite foods: Nitrogen gum, which they chew in order to stay alive when their space helmets are removed.
I think you get the point. How can we believe in the prospect of extra-terrestrial life when all we have to base our imaginings from are representations such as these?
The other side of the argument is that we are indeed the sole heirs of life in the entire universe. Much of the time, this belief's founding can be traced to the beginnings of Judaism (and subsequently, Christianity). God made us and only us in His image to worship and depend on Him at all times, for everything. Could you imagine arriving in Heaven (or Hell) and seeing a whole host of different life forms from other planets there? That would be a trip- I don't remember reading anything like that in the Bible. However, leaving religion out of it, many esteemed scientists propose that there is good reason to believe that we are alone. A few years ago I became especially curious and read a book called Case for a Creator by Lee Strobel. He writes, "My road to atheism was paved by science... but, ironically, so was my later journey to God." If you're interested in this subject, I highly recommend it. Strobel's work is riddled with interesting interviews of brilliant professors all over the world and their thoughts on the creation of the universe.
During one of the interviews, some scientist told Strobel to think about life on Earth like this: Imagine millions of variables (i.e. nitrogen level) divided into one-inch increments spanning from one edge of the universe to the other (that's a lot of inches). Each one of those millions of variables had to be set perfectly on their respective one-inch precision scale in order for Earth to become inhabitable and eventually support human life. Those odds are so big our brains do not have the capacity to imagine what that means exactly, so chances seem almost non-existent that it happened more than once (unless we are the product of some intelligent design).
I'm sure some of you were hoping I'd delve into UFO sightings, Area 51, government conspiracies etc. during this post, so I'm sorry to have disappointed you. If there are other life forms out there, I wholeheartedly do not believe they have come to our planet. Have you ever noticed how most UFO sightings and alien abduction claims emerge from rural America, where both boredom and rye whiskey flourish? Just sayin'...
I hope this post comes to mind the next time you find yourself staring into the night sky or watching an episode of Mork and Mindy.
Live long and prosper.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Let's all go to the lobby...
One of the best games to play with someone you're trying to get to know well in the fastest way possible is a little game I like to call, "You Know What Really Grinds My Gears?" (borrowed from Peter Griffin's short-lived news segment on Family Guy). It is extremely instrumental for new roommates and early stages of dating. The point of the game is to take turns ranting (Me, rant? Shocking.) about your personal pet peeves. Better to find out this way, right?
I am currently in the middle of a long, seemingly ever-lasting game of Y.K.W.R.G.M.G. with Mr. Grant Daiss. Incidentally, we recently went to the movies to see Bad Teacher (Cameron Diaz... meh) on opening weekend and found ourselves in a packed theater, absolutely inundated with actions and people whom, you guessed it, GROUND MY GEARS.
Perhaps what most grinds my gears about the movies, or anywhere with stadium-style seating really, is that people can't wrap their heads around the fact that they are in an enclosed space, sharing that space with others. I'm not sure if this is a matter of awareness or consideration, but if I owned a movie theater, I would post little placards reiterating the Golden Rule on the back of every single chair. Here are a few personal-space issues I have with rude moviegoers:
1. The kicking/tapping/brushing/shaking/or-otherwise-touching of the back of my chair. I'm not sure if there is a cognitive disconnect or what, but believe it or not, on the other side of that inanimate piece of furniture is a person with nerve endings that can feel every vibration. Keep your hands, feet, and any other working appendage in your own seat and if you don't mind, sit still please. Even if you're not touching the person's chair in front of you, your moving around like an epileptic can cause those in your immediate vicinity to need Dramamine. Newsflash: those chairs are connected, folks.
2. The free sneezing/coughing/hacking into open air. Especially during the sick season. Please perform your sickness reflexes INTO something, be it a tissue or your sweatshirt. Just because you are in the dark doesn't mean people can't feel your mucus particles landing all over them. I don't know if you can even consider that a pet peeve- that's just a plain old public health issue. The CDC should get involved.
The next set has to do with personal space as well, but these fall in the visual/auditory category:
3. The use of cell phones. If you can't peel yourself away from your beloved phone screen for a measly 2 hours, leave the damn thing at home. Trust me- you're not that important. It positively stuns me that people have the audacity to actually answer phone calls and talk on their phones in a movie theater. I can think of few things more rude in terms of respecting others' enjoyment of something. HANG THE F**K UP. And you "sly" texters- don't think you're getting away with anything. The glowing backlight on your screen is a complete aura-ruiner. A sudden beam of bright light into anyone's peripheral view in a dark movie theater is both distracting and annoying. It's not going to kill you to wait until the movie is over for you to respond "nuthin LOLZ" to your friend's "wat r u doin" text.
4. Movie talkers. Period. Whether you're in my immediate party or just someone who is in ear-shot, we don't need a play-by-play of what's going on. Leave the commentating in your own personal living rooms. Perhaps the reason you don't ever know what's going on and feel the need to ask is because you already talked through (and missed) 1/3 of the dialogue. I'd rather go to the movies alone than with a movie talker.
5. People moving up/down/around the aisles throughout the whole movie. This one's a no-brainer: take care of your business before settling. I just heard a loud grunt of disapproval from all the small-bladdered folk out there and before you stop reading in your huff of protest, relax- I don't mean you. I am among your kind. It's perfectly acceptable to quietly and stealthily, like a ninja, get up for a bathroom break in the middle of a long film- especially if you're simultaneously ingesting a liquid treat. This pet peeve is more aimed at those people (usually kids/teenie boppers) who continuously run up and down the aisles, leave the theater, come back, repeat 12 times. What are you doing, running shuttles? I feel this is the proper point at which to admonish parents who bring kids to movies they are clearly not of the maturity level to handle, just because they didn't want to pay for a babysitter. Leave the kids at home if you're going to my theater to see King's Speech. Or I will stick my leg out and trip them as they run by.
6. Babies. I don't even need to get into that. Here's a good rule of thumb about babies: if they can't comprehend/won't remember the experience even happened by tomorrow, don't bring them. It always amazes me to see people pay $75 and bring babies to places like Disneyland. A) they're not going to remember it and B) they completely incapacitate your ability to have any fun. Forfeit $20 to the geeky, friendless, zit-faced adolescent down the block to babysit. It's worth it.
Next time you patronize a movie theater, keep these gear-grinders in mind, because chances are everyone in that theater shares at least one of them with me. Be kind. Be courteous.
And now for a classic we can all enjoy to get you in that theater-mood.
I am currently in the middle of a long, seemingly ever-lasting game of Y.K.W.R.G.M.G. with Mr. Grant Daiss. Incidentally, we recently went to the movies to see Bad Teacher (Cameron Diaz... meh) on opening weekend and found ourselves in a packed theater, absolutely inundated with actions and people whom, you guessed it, GROUND MY GEARS.
Perhaps what most grinds my gears about the movies, or anywhere with stadium-style seating really, is that people can't wrap their heads around the fact that they are in an enclosed space, sharing that space with others. I'm not sure if this is a matter of awareness or consideration, but if I owned a movie theater, I would post little placards reiterating the Golden Rule on the back of every single chair. Here are a few personal-space issues I have with rude moviegoers:
1. The kicking/tapping/brushing/shaking/or-otherwise-touching of the back of my chair. I'm not sure if there is a cognitive disconnect or what, but believe it or not, on the other side of that inanimate piece of furniture is a person with nerve endings that can feel every vibration. Keep your hands, feet, and any other working appendage in your own seat and if you don't mind, sit still please. Even if you're not touching the person's chair in front of you, your moving around like an epileptic can cause those in your immediate vicinity to need Dramamine. Newsflash: those chairs are connected, folks.
2. The free sneezing/coughing/hacking into open air. Especially during the sick season. Please perform your sickness reflexes INTO something, be it a tissue or your sweatshirt. Just because you are in the dark doesn't mean people can't feel your mucus particles landing all over them. I don't know if you can even consider that a pet peeve- that's just a plain old public health issue. The CDC should get involved.
The next set has to do with personal space as well, but these fall in the visual/auditory category:
3. The use of cell phones. If you can't peel yourself away from your beloved phone screen for a measly 2 hours, leave the damn thing at home. Trust me- you're not that important. It positively stuns me that people have the audacity to actually answer phone calls and talk on their phones in a movie theater. I can think of few things more rude in terms of respecting others' enjoyment of something. HANG THE F**K UP. And you "sly" texters- don't think you're getting away with anything. The glowing backlight on your screen is a complete aura-ruiner. A sudden beam of bright light into anyone's peripheral view in a dark movie theater is both distracting and annoying. It's not going to kill you to wait until the movie is over for you to respond "nuthin LOLZ" to your friend's "wat r u doin" text.
4. Movie talkers. Period. Whether you're in my immediate party or just someone who is in ear-shot, we don't need a play-by-play of what's going on. Leave the commentating in your own personal living rooms. Perhaps the reason you don't ever know what's going on and feel the need to ask is because you already talked through (and missed) 1/3 of the dialogue. I'd rather go to the movies alone than with a movie talker.
5. People moving up/down/around the aisles throughout the whole movie. This one's a no-brainer: take care of your business before settling. I just heard a loud grunt of disapproval from all the small-bladdered folk out there and before you stop reading in your huff of protest, relax- I don't mean you. I am among your kind. It's perfectly acceptable to quietly and stealthily, like a ninja, get up for a bathroom break in the middle of a long film- especially if you're simultaneously ingesting a liquid treat. This pet peeve is more aimed at those people (usually kids/teenie boppers) who continuously run up and down the aisles, leave the theater, come back, repeat 12 times. What are you doing, running shuttles? I feel this is the proper point at which to admonish parents who bring kids to movies they are clearly not of the maturity level to handle, just because they didn't want to pay for a babysitter. Leave the kids at home if you're going to my theater to see King's Speech. Or I will stick my leg out and trip them as they run by.
6. Babies. I don't even need to get into that. Here's a good rule of thumb about babies: if they can't comprehend/won't remember the experience even happened by tomorrow, don't bring them. It always amazes me to see people pay $75 and bring babies to places like Disneyland. A) they're not going to remember it and B) they completely incapacitate your ability to have any fun. Forfeit $20 to the geeky, friendless, zit-faced adolescent down the block to babysit. It's worth it.
Next time you patronize a movie theater, keep these gear-grinders in mind, because chances are everyone in that theater shares at least one of them with me. Be kind. Be courteous.
And now for a classic we can all enjoy to get you in that theater-mood.
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