I didn’t want to write about Kentucky basketball this season, just like last season. Last season I was unhappy with the team from day one until the K-State game, when I was actually embarrassed for the way my team played in the NCAA loss to a marginal Kansas State; especially after the bracket opened up […]
No, not tryna’ start NO Holy War. But I was terrorized by an article on SBNation.com, a sports buffet where aspiring writers, fans of the color, homies and others can try out their analytic and word skills on their equally amateurish adoring readers;who sit waiting for the next big thing to drop. All for the great […]
An open letter to Sylvia Moore, Fills my heart with joy to hear from you sometimes, and this one especially brightens my mood. You have a unique way of setting things in order, of letting me know that you care and don’t just go through the motions of duty, while in secret curse your situation […]
Sometimes life imitates art. A scowl had turned across the big dude’s expressive face as he entered the tunnel. Looking around for a hater/heckler, he eventually spotted someone he knew, walked over and gave them a non-nonchalant high five. Slowly, as he chatted a wide grin spread across his face and replaced the mean “I’ll […]
Dear Reader. I’m not an asshole, but sometimes I can be. Don’t hate me for it… try, like me, to appreciate it. I think it’s just that sometimes I don’t suffer fools well. As some of you know, I’ve admitted to sometimes having a somewhat ungainly habit of engaging folks who attack me (physically […]
The old man looked at me as if my decision carried with it the weight of humanity’s future itself. Well… I sighed, the time has come; the red pill will conscript me to a life of getting back to what’s true and real despite the hardships and battles, while the blue, although too a […]
This short thread below is taken from a recent YouTube post by Blackstone Intelligence where I succinctly (as is possible) outline a brief synopsis of my thoughts on Christianity, as far as the historicity of Jesus is concerned. Truth is, I doubt that the NT Jesus ever existed. Personally, I’ll only go so far as […]
Let’s look at how every remaining Sweet-16 has fared against other Sweet-16 teams, and compare those remaining in some other numbers. Some of these numbers may surprise you: Record vs. Sweet-16 MIDWEST Duke 3-0 Beat Syracuse and Florida State at home and Clemson on the road. Syracuse 1-3 Beat Clemson at home, lost to to […]
Ω they marched away in lock-step first from them then from the others and again they divided til’ they all became one not together but alone as boolean gods howled in manic delight. ∆ a tiny few understood that they too had been infected the viral confirmation bias self-replicating eating away individuality saddling them less […]
from mostdiggity’s weekly hyper-rant… “you can’t make this stuff up” : Betting the sure thing at a Google-to-1 odds against. Some thoughtful reader suggested that I try to look at the bright side of things. So… after some careful thought, I must agree. Here goes: This post is NOT meant to highlight the lamenting of […]
What the fucking fuck is up with America these days? America the beautiful? The land our forefathers stole for sure; still, the great melting pot my grandparents emigrated to in the early nineteen hundreds from their Italian home, the USA is mostly a big lie. No, they didn’t lie, they were lied to… their only […]
Advice on becoming… to Dylan, Only a couple of days ago, or it seems like it, a nurse placed you in my arms at Florida hospital, triggering the most intense peak moment I EVER EXPERIENCED in my 62 years of breathing (chemtrails, lol). Ever since that crazy moment which lasted a only few seconds […]
Say cheese. While the LVPD takes cover from an alleged mass shooter, others appear more worried about phone chatting, leaving many to wonder why this huge effort to attempt to fool the public was important to TPTB now, and what is their end-game? Really? Another professionally taken “staged” photograph underscores the dishonesty of today’s lamestream media. […]
Friggy-my-Diggy… another Spring is roaring in… and lately I’ve been thinking about our friendship. your comfortable, confident kindness, unveiled by alert but caring eyes twinkling in the bright blue Carolina sunshine. flashing that affable, genuine smile, as always seemingly amused by life’s irony; and like me you seemed sorta’ OK with it. sure, we differed on […]
And, yes, I know Duke is 27-8. And, yes, I know no school has ever received a No. 1 seed with eight losses. But only two of those eight losses are sub-50 RPI losses — and those two sub-50 RPI losses came by a total of six points. Kansas, by the way, also has two sub-50 RPI losses. So does North Carolina.”
Originally posted on Sagaciously…Pugnacious: the immensity ? that universal incessant spectral hum reverberating ohmmm…manifesting all actualizing the synchronicity underlying destiny and always arising all the comprehension of what is and will be a mirrored orchestra in operatic symphony inside a house of endless mirrors infinitesimally small but perceptible through the steady drumbeat of linear time a quantum…
I once found myself in a boutique in Old Amsterdam with very expensive items that I neither wanted nor could afford.. The opulence and décor was breathtaking, the customers impeccably dressed as they quietly shopped and discussed the terms of the high quality goods they were interested in purchasing. It was readily apparent to me that […]
mostdiggity For me, writing is cheaper psycho-therapy than seeing a shrink, and more expansive*(*pun alert) say, than my time spent mowing the yard e.g., row 1.turn. row 2.turn. The sun shines, the weeds grow thick and frontal lobe cells languish in repeat step repeat, and I’ll likely feel a pressing need to gnash keys, combine words, n’ spit […]
Shakespeare was known to bellow after presenting a new stage play for review… If thou truly not liketh it… laugh out loud. Like Will, these are my VERY LAST WORDS on the subject that follows. It is my opinion that certain elements having real power in this country make incredible efforts to distract our […]
that universal incessant spectral hum reverberating ohmmm…manifesting all actualizing the synchronicity underlying destiny and always arising all the comprehension of what is and will be a mirrored orchestra in operatic symphony inside a house of endless mirrors infinitesimally small but perceptible through the steady drumbeat of linear time a quantum music neither past nor future that imperceptible […]
Do the descriptors “left” or “liberal” and “right” or “conservative” accurately depict the 2016 Democrat and Republican American Presidential candidates’ platforms? Better yet, is it time to supplant them with terms like “avarice” and “hubris” respectively? I think maybe. Or does LIAR cover them all? President Obama, elected on his 2008 wide ranging traditionally left-wing ideology best represents what has […]
(Below is a preface to a post I’ve been thinking about, researching and studying for quite some time. I haven’t written/posted it yet because of the potentially negative implications it may have on many of those whom I consider friends, and whom I deeply respect. My intention is for edification purposes only, not to hurt feelings… and I’ll welcome any dissent and discussion. The entire story runs deeper than what you read below but the implications and details of what I’m suggesting will be detailed in future posts…)
Love me or hate me but… always know that, “I callz it like I seez it”. I could be wrong, but I don’t think so. -mostdiggity
A friend of mine (professional comic Kier) was once described as being “seriously funny”. It was apt, knowing his capacity for reducing our complex culture biases and common personal anecdotes into simple… but very funny shit…
time slips from great to good, or from terrible to wors’ning down that entropic road we pay our toll paved hot toward cold never endings
that god, what god? the mirror asks, tone optimistic, while condescending life’s urge to organize is quite strong make amends, then share the booty’s blending
time slips from me to us, then “you and i” to loving our valentine then seeks it’s mate and on goes that prolific downward sending
that god, what god? the reflection quests, as the last winter snow’s still clinging that Holonic symbol, our family crest bears our family blood from each upbringing
the urge to mate is as strong to hate, to blend, then split the winnings our Junior a mixed-sum of both then adds each new moment’s vendings
time drives us from then to now, our final destination reaching tho’ next can never touch our lips
it’s law, Relativity speaking
that god, what god? the question begs, who should i tell him’s asking? our urge to love and to proliferate…
life’s sentence, and time’s unmasking
2nd law of thermodynamics
A Critique by Jendi Reiter
I was lucky to have had this poem selected for review by The Winning Writers, a respected site for amatuer poets with top writers as owners who run the site. Jendi Reiter is an excellent and respected poet in her own right.
Critique by Jendi Reiter
The form of this month’s provocative poem, “Entropy Road”, embodies its theme of order struggling to remain distinct from chaos. The headlong rush of syllables in the longer lines and the fragmentary, zigzag presentation of the poem’s argument give the poem a restless energy. Meanwhile, the “-ing” rhymes repeating in the first and third lines of every stanza, the refrain “that god, what god?” and the semi-regular meter attempt to corral that energy within a poetic framework.
Making the rhyming words present participles (verb forms, or nouns derived from them, ending in “-ing”) was an inspired choice. These words describe action in progress. Just as the stability that the narrator seeks is always a moving target, the concepts on which he depends to convey this argument will not stay put. Each rhyming line also ends on an unstressed syllable, which gives the poem an open-ended, unfinished cadence.
Entropy, of course, refers to the Second Law of Thermodynamics, which basically states that the energy levels in an isolated system will tend toward equilibrium. Entropy has sometimes been described as a measurement of the disorder or randomness within a system. In the poem, as in popular usage, it symbolizes universal mortality and dissolution. If evolution drives organic life to ever-higher levels of self-organizing complexity, entropy is the opposite force, that which pulls down and breaks apart complex systems into nature’s simplest building blocks. It means that all material energy will ultimately spend itself and be unrecoverable.
As self-aware components of this dying system, how can we find the motivation to go on living, loving, procreating, and planning for the future? Which will win, our philosophical sense of futility or the inward compulsion to survive and create?
Perhaps no one wrote about entropy in this sense more powerfully than the 20th-century British poet Philip Larkin. A sample poem can be found here.
Larkin generally settles the question on the side of death, but Adams disagrees: “the urge to love is as strong to hate”. The life force has a fighting chance. Yet it is hampered by our inability to articulate a reason for hope. “that god, what god? the mirror asks, tone optimistic, while condescending”.Existentialist philosophers looked to the self to create meaning in a universe made absurd by death’s finality. The poem suggests that this answer is insufficient. The individual is merely part of the closed entropic system. He cannot inject it with new energy to reverse its decay.
There are positive, hopeful moments in “Entropy Road” but they come from outside philosophy and science. Whatever the intellect may say, instinct confirms that human connection and creativity are not futile. “time slips from me to us or, from you and i to loving/our valentine then seeks its mate/goes the prolific downward sending”. The opaque last phrase may have been chosen mainly to fit the rhyme scheme, but its vagueness felicitously makes it more symbolic than a specific description would have been. It called to my mind both the release of seed in copulation and the movement of the child through the birth canal, but other associations are possible, such as rains watering the earth to bring forth crops, or the descent of angels.
The birth of a child does seem like a miraculous creation ex nihilo, the opposite of entropy. First there were two, now there are three. “Holonic” is a word coined by 20th-century philosopher Arthur Koestler to express the observation that entities in biological and social systems are always interdependent, never completely self-sufficient units. This law of interconnection and symbiosis contrasts with entropy’s pull toward disconnection and stasis.
“our junior is the sum of both/but adds ‘new’ moment’s vendings”. Is “new” in quotes because the narrator’s intellectual side reminds him that this is not a real solution to the problem? On the human scale, parenthood may feel like a triumph over mortality, but on the level of the cosmos, it does not stave off the decay of the whole system, looked at in purely materialistic terms.
The poem ends by leaving the question open, a humility that rings true. Adams does not claim to decide whether the emotional or the scientific perspective on the human condition is correct. He suggests that it is really a question about the nature of the self, or perhaps its very existence. “that god, what god? the question begs, and who should i tell him’s asking?/an urge to love and proliferate…”
If pressed to define the self, Adams would emphasize the impulse to love and create, however blind that impulse is, over the scientific description of the individual as a collection of atoms arranged in a temporary order. He chooses the insider’s perspective over the outsider’s, life as it feels to us, rather than life as the scientists say it is. (After all, they too are part of the flawed system, not truly above it.) Yet the final line, “life’s sentence, and time’s unmasking”, expresses the fear that some trans-human perspective would prove us wrong; the joke of the universe is on us, after all. The dilemma brings us to the limits of reason, where some have found faith, and others merely the willpower to live without it.
The Comment Section (my added comments in red) I’ve purposely left out much of the comments which are unrelated to my comment, and included some unrelated to my issue which I found to be valuable commentary on the article in question. what about Bob? Submitted by thom adams on June 26, 2015 Oh […]
Won’t Back Down – Tom Petty. Once this was my theme song…
“Hey, baby… there ain’t no easy way out. Hey ya..I… will stand my ground,
Below follows a Psychology Today comment thread…
after a well-written article in Psychology Today by David Noise (see link below) about the rise of anti-intellectualism in America. Most of the ideas, theory, and conjecture presented I happened to wholeheartedly agree with (with caveats). His views and mine were/are very similar in this regard.
However, I think this comment section is prescient in many ways, since it’s not only hard to pinpoint who the good guys are, but also whether the bad guy is as bad as they say he is (oh, that’s me). Also of interest is how the comments veered off subject, into a hate-stew of astronomical proportions.
What’s clear is that I’ve broached a sensitive subject, one which had not been part of recent public discourse for some time, but one that found an immediate and vehement constituency whose reaction to my mention of the issue being an example of media complicity (with lies perpetrated by others) as a form of some psychological mental disorder.
It was almost as if I somehow had sent a clarion call for some pre-selected others to tune in and attempt to intimidate and stifle anyone who hinted at the suggestion that I could be right. It had the eerie feeling of an ongoing covert DARPA program designed by by Cass Susstein (O’bama’s first information Czar), a classic Cognitive Infiltration live drill. Susstein developed the program designed to use assets to help mitigate and neutralize online forums, which he suggested were over-run by “Conspiracy Theorists”. What I make especially clear is that I refuse to be intimidated by these scurrilous ad hominem tactics, even so far as upping the ante on these losers, imposters, posers, and jus’don’t knowsers, by offering my own nasty brand of “holier than thou” spit-back.
‘and I won’t back down……. Well… I know what’s right, I got just… one life…
The action begins when I disagree about one singular point (media complicity) which I felt was important enough to make Noise’s overall premise complete, but one that the author had failed to emphasize: (I used as an example the FEMA Drill disguised as a real mass rampage shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary in 2012).
I first responded to a guy named “Bob”, and from that somewhat innocuous but semi-inflammatory comment… well…
ALL HELL BROKE LOOSE
U can stand me up at the gates of hell, but I won’t back down, no I won’t back down.” Tom Petty
What is obvious by these comments, the majority of the commenters intend to represent themselves to the reader as good and wholesome, while I (purportedly) represent a whole cultural phenomena of hate mongers, chest thumpers, disruptive no-gooders known as Conspiracy Theorists; who by their very name and nature are delusional creeps who slither in the night trying to infringe on conventional wisdom’s own Utopian view of our perfect Western world.
I resent this characterization and in fact find its slanderous.
Apparently CTs are nutbags with an ax to grind, intent on seeing good people as bad and praise-worthy organizations as having ill intent, who plan disasters behind secret doors, while simultaneously being oblivious to their own failed observation of reality. In and of itself this paints anyone doubting the “official narrative” of any event with a very broad stroke, one that includes many of the worlds most learn-ed and intellectual individuals.
And, one that history has proven to be on-point time and again as official documents become unclassified, memoirs written, previously unknown facts are uncovered, whistleblowers blowing whistles, etc. (accordingly we find that our own history, which we were indoctrinated to believe and once fervently did so, includes enough insidious lies and fabrications for it to be considered fiction).
This, in itself suggests that silencing these unseemly theorists now takes an increasing amount of effort, organization, and manpower, especially in lieu of the internet’s broad reach over the last 25 years. No longer is simply owning/controlling every Major Media outlet enough to fool a rapidly wiser public, due to the proliferation of excellent unpaid independent researchers (that are likely due more to a poor economy than the thirst for finding truth) that populate the web.
Perhaps they may have somehow unwittingly created an atmosphere for their own best laid plans to have gone awry. Research takes time, and the ruination of our economy has provided too many otherwise smart, would-be working-for-a-living souls with time on their hands to learn the truth.
DOWN AND DIRTY WITH SANDY CROOKS
It’s far too easy to write off any one commenter off as arrogant, narcissistic, crazy, or worse… still, I admittedly own an unusual amount of narco- self-confidence even in the face of a strong headwind (deserved or not, it is what it is); yet, the reaction I received was somewhat more surprisingly the consensus of commenter(s) opinion(s) than even I had expected before I went tip-toeing into that minefield.
You’ll witness the prize fight below, which seemingly almost turns to a lynch mob instead. Steadfastly, I return blow-for-blow… yet I knew this was a recipe for losing any empathy i might have garnered otherwise. But then, I ain’t out to win no popularity contest.
Outnumbered, like Davy Crockett I refused to wave the white flag. I thought it must have felt much like this to the inhabitants of Constantinople on May 27th, 1453, when Ottoman Emperor Mamut II with 80,000 troops had surrounded Constantinople intent on mayhem and murder. A deal with the devil might just save my/their lives and 1000 years of history inside the crumbling walls. Yet I, like those vastly outnumbered inhabitants persisted, resisted, and returned volley against the grain and odds, knowingly wading into the inevitable ONSLAUGHT once it began.
Stubborness? Hard-headed? Just plain stupid? All come to mind sure, but this was different… something greater. I think in Court it is called, “beyond a reasonable doubt”, that defining moment when all conjecture ceases, and truth arises.
Number 1 was and is that I am right and I knew it. Far from conjecture, rumor, misinformation, paranoia, I had done my homework and checked it twice. Doubt had long since vanished from the cynical mind that sometimes can haunt me into probably, maybe, possibly and likely. Overfuckingwhelming evidence is too mild to describe what I’ve learned from both my own experience and research with a multitude of others, who like me… felt that day that something was terribly amiss from the start.
Dear Reader, if you have ANY doubt as to the veracity of what I say, please do yourself and your country a favor. Research it. I can promise you that while i have literally hundreds of pieces of factual and mitigating evidence, I have also spent hundreds of hours uncovering them. Yet, honestly… if you were to look on You Tube and watch one or two of the many documentaries produced on Sandy Hook; which are professionally produced by a plethora of activists like Sofia Smallstorm, or Peter Klein and MANY others (Peter also chimed in below, if only briefly)… you will not be able to deny my conclusion as anyTHING other than fact.
Number two is an educated guess, even if the casual reader finds it outlandish. Yet it is also well-documented that this “guess”is likely correct to some degree, if not to a very large degree, and is at least as accurate as any of the Major Media outlets’ reporting of the event’s outlandishly off base and impossibly ridiculous findings.
The complete and total inept failure of the media’s reporting ought to give one SERIOUSpause alone. I mean, how possible is that not one single fact was correctly or consistently reported by 4-5 large networks, and very few of those reports ended up having ANY veracity whatsoever?
Much like 9-11, just how many acts of malfeasance, or failure to act, or ineptitude must combine sequentially and coincidentally until the odds of the official story being accurate defeats even the Heisenberg Uncertainty principle in uncertainty? I suspect Vegas oddsmakers would lay odds at something like a ten Google-to-1 chance of the official story being what actually happened on 12-14-2012 in Sandy Hook, Connecticut. Comfortably.
Most, if not all of my detractors/commenters below; who will attempt to charm you and denigrate me with their takes on my comments or with their humble appeals to your human sensitivity I suspect likely work for/support the same umbrella organization (pick three letters ending in A); whose goal is hell bent on curbing this kind of “heresy”from entering the mainstream consciousness, and thus its historical narrative, and they have the means facilities and workforce (or paid contractors) plus media backing to succeed in disrupting and confusing readers when someone like myself or the many, many others make attempts to re-educate the public. I see A footprint all over it, or is it the other way around? Ok, here comes the comments….
I challenge and invite all rational thinking individuals to do the research on this monumental event, and decide the truth for yourself. It shouldn’t take long. Two-three hours perhaps.
I contend, like many others before me, there are diabolical forces at work in this country whose aim is to change our future and revise our history as a critical stepping-stone to some larger ideal. And, there are very few who are privy to what that ideal ultimately is.What I do understand that it is widespread misinformation, involving government and those who run government (not just those we elect) and is highly dependent upon a COMPLICIT MEDIA.
This movement has played a central part in almost every international event over at least 200 years, gaining momentum over long periods of silent organization, recruitment using false ideas as premises to ultimate goals, infiltration into every part of our society and government, promotion within, and financed by every illegal means necessary to reach its ultimate ideals.
From an idealistic view I am agreement with much of their stated purpose. Where I fall short and refuse to acquiesce is in their own philosophy (written in stone) that mandates”the end justifies any means.” That tends to make individual humans expendable, as war so pointedly suggests and crumbling skyscrapers reiterate. Plus, what is said and what is actually done are sure to be just as incompatible. It’s a bet I find too risky, even for a gambler like me. I’m fine with what is stated, but what isn’t said is where one should find concern.
Currently, at the very heart of this (plot, if you will) scheme, is disarming the American citizenry for purposes that we can only guess, but can be certain it is not for our own good. This NOT CONJECTURE and is a matter of public record. Although as Peter Klein alluded from his and Ms. Smallstorm’s excellent work, in the “operation/drill” at Sandy Hook Elementary there was much more to gain by a number of seemingly disconnected groups, and so its success would be paid in spades on numerous fronts. Problem is… they failed miserably to keep the truth from being found out, and then attempted a Larry, Mo, and Curly cover up.
Or, did they succeed miserably?
It can be argued that on many fronts they were wildy successful, like earning over $100 million in sympathetic non-profit donations which likely exceeded their wildest dreams. This pie was divied up like a small town trick-or-treat party, handing out outlandish handfuls of sweets to almost anyone above poverty level in the neighboring and immediate vicinity. Free half-million dollar+ homes for literally hundreds, gifted on Christmas Day 2009, fixed lottery winnings for many (some winners had multiple jackpots on the same day, and a grand assortment of riches and perks. Surely not for everyone to just STFU. No? Alas, there were other ways to silence the few who dared.
As for success, it can easily be argued that over those 200 years, the most gains in the overall plan have been made in the last 25 years, and on an exponential scale. Be careful describing SHE as a failure.
Their push for gun control worked only State and locally (collecting and destroying 700,000 semi-automatic rifles), yet it funded a spate of smaller operations which were necessary to succeed on a national basis. Subsequent operations have kept the topic on the front pages and in the sheeples’ eye. Immediate success was unlikely, but as an ongoing operation inroads are being made into the hearts and minds of peace loving Americans.
Big Pharma and Security firms also made inroads into our public school systems for reasons not exactly clear except profiteering, but rest assured there are higher stakes and ultimate motives still silent. Theories abound, one regarding mandatory mental evaluations (for dissenters), but whatever… its safe to say that it will not bode well for the future of our children on multiple levels.
It is racketeering at the highest level, and the level above where Joe six-pack has ANY say in the matter. Or, better yet Messrs Obama, Bush or Clinton for that matter.
Its well known that big money poured into Security firms stock coffers pre and post 9-11, and with the planned wars winding down, arming police and school security may have kept the party going a tad longer before the eventual and inevitable hangover, and the “pump and dump (on 3)” alarm sounds. Never underestimate the simple minded but effective FEAR FACTOR, the one that Nazis of yore used so ordinary citizens gladly gave up their freedoms (and/or weapons). Julius Caesar himself invented and articulated the same tactics as he pondered the easiest methods of conquering lands while using local support for protection against some other unknown terr0r.
If the media bumble-fuck circus wasn’t accidental or just intended poor execution, it may well mean that it was just a “gut check” on American gullibility, in the face of and in spite of a well-connected and informed internet. On that level alone, there are far too many people who to this day KNOW nothing of the fake that was Sandy Hook; suggesting a well-planned fuck up might actually be regarded as a success considering the masses in general. One thing is certain, smart ain’t dumb, and dumb ain’t smart, but playing dumb can be the dumbest smart thing of all.
THIS IS ONLY A DRILL
Perhaps, much like the end of late night television broadcasting in the 60’s… “this was a test, and only a test.”
Just how gullible are we? Inquiring minds perhaps just wanted to know the limits for future plans.
To what limit can we “fuck up” and still pull off incredibly horrible fiction considered as fact by the mainstream public? An idea, conceivably born in the 1940’s on the heels of Orson Welles “War of The World’s” radio broadcast. It’s almost too hard to imagine the unintended incompetence that can thrive at that level.
Conventional wisdom says that in major F.U.ps, heads normally roll, except in these rare cases. Promotions and rewards were always in order for the biggest FUp’s.
Is this not clue enough?
It’s rather ironic in the thread that the fear mongering being called out is reversed; to my being labeled a fear monger. Oh my.
Below you will hear some comments that defy imagination (that SUGGEST any rational sapient being could actually believe what they were spoon fed by the Major media outlets), portending simple incompetence, but meant to sound reasonable and logical. While, at the same time vilifying THE TRUTH as fiction, and that this writer as in need of psychological help.
“In a world that keeps on pushing me around… I won’t be… turned around”
And yes, I have purposefully taken several psychological evaluations BEFORE I made these contentions, if nothing else but to over-ride that all too likely objection. Remember? Smart ain’t dumb and I ain’t playin’, nor am I dumb. But, as it were this was seen as admitting my nuttiness? Curiously, tests show me standing unusually firm on terra-firma.
Call me a narcissist if you will, but I simply see myself as supremely confident in knowing who I am, and who I am not, but more importantly what I stand for. Say what you will but that’s only a perspective, but not necessarily mine. I’m fully self-actualized.
This means that I am also aware of how easily I can fuck up, but still not hate myself in the least for it. Being “bullet-proof” means that no one can tell me anything about myself in which I am not already fully aware. That said, this a laughing FUCK YOU to the ignorant constituency whose tripe I endured in that thread.
(Full disclosure: Once an anti-gun ownership advocate, I’ve done a 180 and believe its critical for our survival; I’ve never owned gun, nor do I want one. I shot a .22 caliber at some beer cans once as a teenager.)
Hay bay-bae… there ain’t no easy way owwt, hay-yI-a… WILL… STAND…. MY… GROUND
and I won’t… back… down, NO I won’t… back… down”
Tighten your seat belt, this gets ugly quick… I’m thom but I ain’t petty.
The first clue to my second assertion of who these detractors are seems obvious to me, in that they uniformly try to label me as “the consummate anti-intellectual who has mental issues”.
Surely this many people cannot be that wrong after reading my scribe, when clearly the author (Noise) was pointing his finger directly at them. Or, lest I say we’re in deep shit if that many supposedly smart individuals can be, and are that wrong on issues so basic as the ones slapping them blatantly in the face, from the moment the article began.
Part 2: The Comment Section from Part 1 in Pyschology Today re: Anti-Intellectualism is Killing America by David Noise (my added comments in red) I’ve purposely left out much of the comments which are unrelated to my comment, and included some unrelated to my issue which I found to be valuable commentary on the article […]
Nuttin’ special. Happy Valentine’s Day! The best people possess a feeling for beauty, the courage to take risks, the discipline to tell the truth, the capacity for sacrifice. Ironically, their virtues make them vulnerable; they are often wounded, sometimes destroyed. -Ernest Hemmingway Never regret a day in your life. Good days give you […]
(with a nod to George Carlin) “Politically Correct” or ‘Back-Stab-ingly Pleasant’? Man, I’m really getting tired of all this negative name calling… I much prefer the soft landing civilized society (Progressives? nah) have embraced when it comes to labeling people or things. Especially if my being brutally honest might really pîss-off an overly-sensitive individual, forever damaging their […]
By Thomas Mario Adams III on Jan 9, 2015, 6:35p 1 Jamie Rhodes-USA TODAY Sports TWEET SHARE PIN [Editor’s note: This was published right after New Years, and I am just getting around to elevating it, thus some of the numbers are slightly dated and don’t reflect the Ole Miss game. That is […]
The phrase “if only” is the spandex of rationalization. It can stretch as far as we need it to in order to accommodate the list of considerations we want to include.
The danger of “if only” is that it may breed too much regret or function to deflect or displace responsibility. At times, the “if only” may attach to a person’s actions in her own past. It can also attach to the actions of another. And finally, it may attach to factors and considerations that are largely beyond our control. An “if only” may be accompanied with regret or resignation, or it may be conjoined with defiance and accusation.
This same idea is sometimes expressed in my circles as… shoulda’, woulda’, coulda’. So, realizing from the git-go that it is easy to criticize and second guess in hindsight, the following is simply an observation without intent to criticize. This was a most remarkable year for The Big Blue, and I could only barely be more proud of what they accomplished.
This year’s Wisconsin Final Four best version of themselves (v2.0.W2015) was a much improved and more formidable foe than (v1.0.W2014), and who re-matched up well and played even better, and deserved to win the game against our own new and improved Wildcats. And yet, before game time, and even late in the game I was quite confident of a Kentucky win.
What went wrong? Was it outlier shooting? No. Rebounding? Little bit. What?
As my amateur analytics nickname among friends (Nostrathomas) faithfully represents, I think I can with some extra effort consistently and accurately “remote view” how critical games will most likely be played out… by simply but thoroughly using each team’s season statistical (team and individual) data for reference. Now, I may or may not ably predict the winner of every game, since reality has its funny way of creeping into statistical equations and never have I seen both team’s match their norm within one contest. Even so, I think I can reasonably assume that I understand what both coaches will (need) to do strategy-wise in order to enjoy their best statistical chance of winning since it is based upon those norms.
Of course, the game is played on hardwood not paper, but statistical analysis has proven its worth time and again in nearly every sport where enough crucial data is available. Sorry Mr. Barkley, but it is The New Paradigm.
Think of Backgammon. The dice, with their built in statistical odds always contain a measure of luck, while in-game strategy represents how to move your side once the roll is performed in order to achieve the best statistical position to best compete to win. While you can’t control the dice, you can control the move if you understand how and can calculate odds. It can be summed up by saying ‘move your side to your opponent’s roll’s worst statistical advantage, and to your next roll’s best statistical advantage.
With proper weighting of statistical averages in enough critical categories using two team’s defensive and offensive strengths, some knowledge of the game’s “intangibles”, and taking into account a number of obscurities which can sometime affect outcomes, one can pit strengths vs. weaknesses of both teams and usually find areas for both teams to exploit and the odds for/against. There is a degree of subjectivity involved, though it is relatively small.
Against Wisconsin, somehow my tea leaves apparently didn’t match those of John Calipari’s analytics guy, or maybe JC didn’t listen, or ask his advice. My analysis was quite clear, and I believe Kentucky’s game plan and/or lack of recognition in-game of the proper statistical strategy was flawed enough to allow for an upset, despite us playing pretty decent basketball. I disagree with those who feel Kentucky played poorly, and contend that we didn’t prepare the most likely proper coherent winning strategy based on the numbers, nor did we adjust in-game situation strategy at critical junctures.
Kentucky’s lack of attempts at three point shooting was critical to the outcome of the game, especially considering the poor in-game rebounding numbers as it unfolded. Wisky was one of Division 1’s worst (#301) at defending the three. Kentucky had three guards (Andrew Harrison, Tyler Ulis, Devin Booker) who had a 40% combined three point average for the season. Ironically not included was Aaron Harrison, who was widely known as a big-shot maker under pressure. Harrison shot under 30% threes over the season, however, he was shooting the three at a 60% clip during the NCAA tournament. Go figure?
Wisconsin’s sagging defense from the outset to eliminate entry passes to the bigs and clog the lane opened vistas of opportunity for a well coached offense wanting to the exploit the three point shot. Yet Kentucky took a dismal (3) three-pointers during the entire game (save a 26 foot heave with 8 seconds left that wouldn’t have likely mattered), and made all three of them. Hmmm? The perimeter play and in-game passing clearly spoke to the idea of forcing the ball inside, and not the quick crisp passing one would expect to see if the idea had been to free up shooters on the perimeter. The Wisconsin players post game confirmed the idea of sagging and wanting to limit KAT’s touches down low.
Personally, I would have expected that having a nuclear weapon like Devin Booker available demanded that we attempt to free him up with a set play or two. We not only played a whole game with his big gun in the locked position, but it meant we would suffer his only perceivable downside (single coverage defense). I don’t think that Devin was allowed to be the best version of himself against Wisconsin. I expect he was disappointed in not getting some open looks behind the line and my money said he would light up Wisconsin if he had. Shoulda’, Woulda’, Coulda’.
Did Calipari’s pain after the 2010 West Virginia debacle (3-28 3pt. shooting) affect his decision making in 2015? He had stated publicly that he wasn’t going to lose another tournament game at the three point line. Did he just lose one at the three point line… by not shooting them?
The mere fact that it seemed Kentucky took the air out of the ball after forging a 4-point lead and subsequently committing three successive clock violations is enough proof to me that players were instructed not to look for the three, despite our clear advantage in this area. Three point shooting teams in the hunt rarely, if ever have to worry about shot clock violations.
Interestingly, in my game analysis there were no other serious red flags, and the teams appeared much more alike than they were different, with Kentucky holding a slight but perceptible edge in a few key areas. Wisky’s offensive numbers essentially nullified our defensive prowess, and so any small advantages were to be on the offensive end. I figured that in a 7-game series, Kentucky would likely win in six games with one in double figures, if there weren’t any outliers. The first game is typically the favorite’s best statistical advantage in a series.
Personally, I love John Calipari as coach and I hope he never leaves (at this current performance rate). Usually he adjusts in-game according to other team, dissecting the flow and dynamics of the game. And, it would be unfair not to mention that his game plan brought us back from two large deficits, and captured the lead mid-way through the second half, all without looking for the three-ball. And, we nearly won despite not taking advantage of the only glaring statistical difference we owned.
Regardless, for me this game will forever be “the one that got away”. If only…
With the recent passing of basketball coaching legend Dean Smith, memories of being a KENTUCKY/Louisville fan in the heart of Tobacco Road flood my memory. To me, Dean was the best basketball coach I’ve ever had the joy of watching, but then…
I remember the moment I became an ABC’er (Anybody But Carolina) as clear as if it were yesterday, although it happened almost 37 years ago.
It was March 3rd, 1978…
Having grown up in Louisville, Kentucky and ripe with a BA from J-school at Morehead State University, I had three days earlier piled everything I owned into my 1973 Chevy Impala, weathered 30″ inches of fresh Kentucky snow through the craggy West Virginia coal country, zagged Southerly down Interstate-77, and finally zigged over the foggy Southern Virginia Appalachian mountains.
In a lush green North Carolina valley I finally unloaded my gear to begin my new life, and new job in Greensboro, NC. Though I’d only been there briefly in the month before (for my job interview), it had then seemed to me to be a friendly, habitable place. You know, well lit.
This was my first day in my new position as Sales Trainee for a small fast growing real estate publisher. It was around 4:30 p.m. as I sat in my sparsely furnished office, shuffling papers around wondering what I might pretend to be doing for the next hour or so.
After an eager tap on my door, a toothy well-dressed man slid in, smiling and shaking hands. “Hi I’m Geoff Wolfe, the VP here. I hear you’re from Kentucky? Me? I graduated from Chapel Hill, that’s as in No..r..th Ca..ro..li..na. Basketball,” he offers and grins Cheshire cat-ishly.
“Pleased to meet you, and yes I’m from Louisville, went to Morehead State University. Uh, that’s as in Kentucky… as in Big Blue Bas..ket…ball,” I chided, eager to see that I’m talking to a basketball fan from another great traditional power. (At that time in March 1978 Kentucky was ranked number 1 in the country, with Twin Towers so big that airplanes could never bring them down).
“Well…”, he frowned then looked serious for once. “You know… Kentucky couldn’t play in the ACC”, he says matter-of-factly. “They’re number 1 right now only because they play in such a weak conference. They could never play our schedule.”
Then he shot a few ‘air-free throws’ looking away, he had tuned me out before I could offer rebuttal. He propped his shoes up on my desk. He shoots from deep.”Ford, from Franklin Street. “Yeesss”.
I gulped. I stuttered. My face flushed and I suddenly could smell my underarms overpowering my deodorant. I was stunned as he played his semi-silent game of air-shoot-ball, complete with the “hRaaahh” of crowd approval after each made shot. He made ’em all.
Looking somewhere in the distance, out the window I imagined being back over the NC mountains in the friendly confines of Kentucky. I sat silently while my brain lurched for clever, nervously ‘doing the math’ on what to say, on what could I say to this 4-corner Neanderthal. And, one whom it seemed, owned me…
Finally…”Uh, well… Uh Mr. Geo… uh Smith, that’s bullshit about how we can’t play in the ACC. Really, I mean that’s kinda…. stu…pid. No really, that’s f**&king stupid,” I muttered very low and gravely, but mainly to myself.
“Yeah… well, welcome to ACC country”, laughed Smith with his stupid smirk, still grabbing rebounds and making cheering putbacks. Then just as quickly, he’s up and out my door, his arrogance forever starting a fire in my heart known only to a true ABC’er.
One month later I celebrated both Kentucky’s fifth Natty against a formidable Duke team, and the recent news of Geoff Smith’s firing… by yelling and hooting it up at the then-and-now famous “Four Corners” bar, in downtown Chapel Hill, North Carolina.
“Hey everybody”, I squealed to an uninterested few with both job and basketball safe from the idiocy
“I hear that Kentucky couldn’t play in the ACC! Well, looks like we just did!”
I lived in North Carolina for most of the next 24 years, enduring the basketball I.Q. equivalents of some 17th Century cultists, sometimes arguing college basketball religion along the way. Though I made many friends in NC, I’ve hated the Baby Blue with a fervent passion since that first Geoff Smith swish.
I worked with Duke University and the University of North Carolina during many of those years, but rarely talking Kentucky basketball with the infidels. I had a press pass at Cameron Indoor for many games/years and witnessed some thrilling Duke-UNC tilts there. The truth is, just as we Kentucky and Louisville fans have and understand, they both have much basketball tradition to be proud of.
Though I was always careful not to root for Duke, and always against the Tarheels, I admit to a little Dean Smith envy during much of that time. No one could get more out of the last 30 seconds of a game than The Dean.
But in all that time I loved the Cats and Cards and Kentucky basketball, traveling to see them play wherever and whenever I could, and partying years with the rest of Big Blue Nation.
Having lived in North Carolina for so long, I came to know every argument for/against Duke, Wake, NC State and UNC upside down and backwards. Though it got to be a tougher argument through the years, there’s one thing I can say from true life experience, and from having lived in and being around both basketball crazed states… Kentucky and North Carolina. At the end of the day…
all you’ve got to do is call (but, just not right now)… (yeah)…
you’ve got a… friend-ish.
I clearly remember thinking once that “friends” were the most important possession one could have, and as such I would never EVER forsake my (then) friends for anyone else (like a wife, siblings, parents, or kids), and that our friendship(s) would likely last until my last remaining breath, right before meeting my (player to be named later – well, I hadn’t figured that part out yet).This was right after a good buddy refused to go out drinking with the boys, citing “a problem” with “his second grader’s homework.” The nerve of that guy, putting family before friends. I know, right?
As a card totin’ certified ‘late schedule maturing adult’, I think I was almost 40 when that brainchild hit me. By then, I had managed to collect and keep a handsome collection of assorted friends and a loyal wife, while sporting zero liabilities… I mean kids. We lived a busy but exciting life, but it wasn’t exactly hassle-free. Staying connected to friends was important to both of us, and we had a contingent of childless like-minded couple friends. Always the man’s man, I managed my guy friends (buddies) with a deft touch, all having been dutifully earned and cultivated throughout different time periods in my life. And dude, I was always there for them at a moments notice. Cheers. (Note: It may be a Darwinian trait for us to heavily imbibe alcoholic beverages among friends at gatherings).
Problem with spouse? No worries mate, let’s go have a beer. Job pressures? Meet me for lunch and we’ll hammer it out. Uh, you told her you didn’t love her anymore after driving home from her birthday dinner and that you wanted a divorce? Hello? …Wha? sitting in the garage? She hit you with what?
OK. Sit tight. Let me check on the next flight to ‘Mozambique’… I’ll be there by Friday night.
Yes, actually the above conversation did take place, and so I dutifully spent about a grand+ to travel (to offender city) that same weekend, then spend 12 hours Saturday loading a full size U-haul, and drive it all day Sunday to Kentucky while listening attentively the-entire-way to my bud’s complaints about (soon to be ex-wife), and how he had been victimized by the whole affair. Right. Check. I see. Oh, and you’ve been having a secretive affair with the next Ms. Right (in Kentucky) for about three months? Got it. He did thank me before we parted ways on Sunday evening, and I left town feeling like a real man and loyal friend.
Unfortunately, almost a year later he blew through my hometown one night (travelling, work related) during a fresh self-inflicted marital crisis of my own. Instead of giving me the blind emotional support I felt I deserved (True, even though I was the offender), as he sat down to our dinner table he spoke with an assumed authority that he had not been granted: “My brother, it is well known that thou reap-est what thou sow-est.” Then, he added something about how I might want to do a gut-check on my guiding principles, or something? I don’t know, because by then I was too dizzy to hear anything.
Red faced and shaking I looked at him incredulously, “No, you didn’t just say that did you…huh? No, you didn’t,” then got up and went to my office to try and calm down before I strangled him. Luckily, after breathing deep I decided not to make a scene and calmly sauntered back to the table and struck up a more positive vibe by talking basketball.
After dinner, (smoking my expensive cigars) he waxed philosophical about how happy he had been since his recent divorce. Though in principle he was right about me, on pure friendship terms he had committed the rare but egregious ‘simultaneous intentional personal and technical fouls’. After 15 years now I haven’t forgiven him for it, nor has he asked forgiveness. In fact we never discussed it. Tilt. (-1)
THE BEST FRIEND COMPETITION
This topic alone could fill an entire book, but I will try to shorten it. As my life progressed with new places and people, changing values and beliefs, and professional and economic status, I realized that ‘best friend’ is at best a relative term. Much like one’s memory of a first lover, it can be hard to shake the impressions a childhood or high school best friend leaves on one’s psyche, even in lieu of overwhelming evidence that life’s meandering ways have left you two once best friends with little in common today. Maybe even directly oppositional in philosophical terms. Even with the effort of a late second half struggle to keep the “oath” relevant, many times it can meet with a resounding… WTF, or just fizzle out. (-½)
Soon though you realize that one can have best friends categorically; as in a best friend from childhood, best from college, best conquering the real world of work, best in mischief, best unknown known (hat tip to Rumsfield), best known unknown, etc. The mighty Christmas card list grows and it becomes a full time job to keep it fresh. It can sometimes become a revolving and relentless golf outing/Vegas/ball game annual boys weekend that seems endless; and it must all be squeezed neatly into an already packed vacation calendar. My ex-wife, god bless her, merely shrugged in complete non-judgment as I friend hopped around the country like an idiot at a fire drill. (I’ve since given up golf, can’t afford gambling, and watch games at home or out with friends).
Of course, no friend post would be complete without the venerable ‘opposite sex’ friend comment. Despite the issues and aside from avoiding ANY wrongdoing, if one is married or in a relationship, my advice is as it has always been, “just don’t go all Freemason” on this situation, and discuss it openly with your partner/mate. As in… a secret friendship does NOT accord with a viable platonic friend. By lying/hiding… anything you say can and will be twisted into impropriety. A good friend becomes, “Friends with penalties”.
In fact, it somewhat pains me to suggest ‘just forget it’ when/if you later become involved in a romantic relationship. It pains me because friends are too dear to forsake them for innocent misunderstandings, but then life is too short to be miserable with the one you love. What’s weird is that when I met my current partner nearly ten years ago I had several platonic girlfriends. In fact, my partner and I were platonic “friends with possibilities” for 2-3 years before becoming romantically involved. Once the romance began the issues over these friends seemed to escalate.
Life it seems, is full of choices. (-5)
I don’t get the “friends with benefits” concept at all. To me the act of making love is maybe the single most important factor in a sustainable happy relationship with a romantic partner, and the act alone involves a heavy emotional investment from both partners for complete enjoyment and satisfaction. It seems like “sport sex” simply cheapens the product to me, but like everything else I understand that everyone doesn’t have to think the same. If you can do it without hurting someone and with a clean conscience, go for it.
For many (men) there can be some life altering shake-ups of monumental proportions as we transition into our late-middle years, and ones that blow the ‘we’ll always be friends’ theory clearly out of the water, and into altered reality status. Afterwards, old friends, new friends, everyone is scrutinized with a “who the fuck is this person” freshness. In the meantime no calls are returned, no messages answered, or doorbells heard. And you, operating within a shadow of your former self, might simply be staring at walls for hours… contentedly. This twisted fog, a mangled mess of mayhem (some call the mid-life crisis) eventually passes, but now its your friends who have begun the slice-and-dice on you. Re-appraisal time from both corners. (-15)
Once one steps away from the BIG LIE buffet of success and begins that inevitable slow melt into the masterpiece (hat tip Leonard Cohen), or much earlier for the family inclined statistically normal folks who marry and have families around their late twenties, a certain ‘friend’ re-evaluation period becomes a born again necessity to you. (-75)
For these latter case upwardly mobile (family types) it likely becomes apparent that life’s (commitments plus time-to-accomplish) have squeezed out all (time potential for fulfillment success) in every 24/hr day, leaving the potential fun bank busted (0/24) and the great pairing down commences. But, as for the former (masterpiece melters) who may also have endured a train wreck of sorts, it simply comes down to a re-factoring of the current value proposition, in which the erosion of (ideals to value system) have been modified over time… enough to red-line at high disparity levels, thus begging the question, “WTF, how/why we saw fit to become ‘friends’ in the first place?”
The second law of thermodynamics spares no one my friend. Entropy always wins at the end of the day.
That disturbingly segues into answering the ‘why have we remained friends’ question, and given the obvious conflict in world-views on so many levels we realize that we’re actually not very fond of some of our supposed friends; an idea that hadn’t occurred to us until (now). At this point the ‘pairing down’ becomes a ‘lopping off’, with the understanding that most friends weren’t actually friends in the first place. Most likely they were ‘acquired’ by a sort of proxy through groups and organizations or circumstances and activities in which you were mutually involved at some earlier point in your respective pasts. And, one that is continuously passing, renewing, eroding, re-configuring, evolving. (-100)
I suspect that Facebook has brought this reality home to roost to many people more than ever, as I am so often perplexed by some of my ’friends’ beliefs, observations, and ideas enough to make me, uh, lol. And while a biting wit and sarcasm does well to satisfy my own sinister cynical derision, it sometimes leaves me with that half-empty feeling that once crept in while listening to some hilarious and cynically funny but darkly laced anecdotes from peers, during their retirement speeches to which I’d been treated.
There was something sadly comical about several of these (old) guys, who had obviously dug up their buried hatchets, after long sitting on their unique personalities, and likely bitten their bottom lip for so long they had almost been forgotten. But now, in their twilight moment they were exposing themselves as the company heretic hiding in the closet. “Finally,” these folks must have reasoned, “the chance to tell-it-like-it-is, and without fear of reprisal. Ain’t holding nothin’ back.” After a few drinks at the head table, I’ve seen some guys I considered eunuchs grow huge balls right before my very eyes and put them on full display. (+5)
I see some real benefit in using Facebook (if only because I really am a nice guy and enjoy hearing of others important moments in life), and perhaps sometimes like to show off my own family pride (without the warts) to the adoring masses, or just to sometimes openly vent about some wrongdoing or situation, and to anyone who’ll listen (all without an encryption filter despite Ed Snowden’s warnings ). Still, I try to maintain a tiny degree of modicum, with highly acute don’t give a rat discretion.
It may be no surprise that (*open honesty) in today’s vernacular actually translates to: ‘subversive anarchist who attempts to discuss reality with those who refuse to listen and wish NOT to know conflicting sides of anything they want to believe in and those who would rather SA just shut up and enjoy FREEDOM in the USA with all its pretensions, rights and vain-glories’. (*Your mileage may vary. Illegal unless otherwise stated herein, Please read the fine print. ( i.e. Either way you’re fucked, bitch).
I do like hearing other’s opinions of the facts, but I have my limitations. First, I must pre-suppose a commenter’s knowledge of subject matter. Please do your homework first. You know, like not saying “there’s no Santa Claus’ cause’ December 25 is Jesus’ birthday,” and shit. Second, leave all war-mongering at the door, or better… leave it with the military industrial complex. They’re doing it well enough without any popular support. Third, when in doubt, it’s time to STFU.
MY FACEBOOK RULES FOR COMMENTING and DISCUSSIONS WORTH NOTING (this is imaginary but who knows?)
The best compliment I ever got on Facebook was from a friend who said, “…that’s what I like about you… you’re abrasive.”That’s me. You can be too. Remember, abrasive, sarcastic, funny, but not repetitive.
Political expression is fine, as long as you can agree to a few things first: 1.There is no such thing as a liberal or conservative or Democrat or Republican, and Libertarian is dying in favor of Authoritarian. And, in truth there is only one party: The Green Authoritarian party. BTW, also that the ‘Party’ is controlled by a short list of well-healed extreme right and extreme left minded criminals who double as honest people, and who use our government and it’s officials as puppets to further their own secretive politico-economic agenda.
Whereby thanks to these fucks, ER + EL does not equate to Extreme Middle statistically, economically, or politically. That’s the place where you use to live, but they burnt it down using play money and THE US Constitution as kindling, thus it no longer exists.
If you agree with the above check YES, otherwise refrain from posting dumbass Fox News clips, or stupid bi-partisan drivel or discussing/arguing Politics and Policy with me. And yes, I have done my homework. Have you?
On my Facebook page please try to: Imagine there’s no heaven, and no hell below us (hat tip J. Lennon). It’s easy if you try. Violators will be consigned to the archives of evangelical lost souls. If you insist on quoting Jesus, only original sources are allowed. By virtue of sticking firmly to this rule, Jesus issues should care of themselves.
Remember, religious worship is a world-wide phenomenon (and IS NOT relegated to yours exclusively), a nefarious idea that alone creates and supports divisive intolerant ignorance, and mostly leaves blood in its wake. You are urged to be mindful and careful when posting this sensitive topic.
Profanity that’s profane is both tolerated and encouraged. Say what you mean and mean what you say, with profanes. Sarcasm is appreciated, but ironically funny wins the day. Double entendre’ is my specialty.
And BTW, this page is a Tin Hat friendly site, but have facts to back up any incredibly unlikely scenarios. And while unlikely is relative it draws closer to likely than ever before.
Above all friends, lighten up and enjoy the moment… try not to over post “share this if you agree” comments, and please turn off those “where you’re having lunch’ notifications. It only notifies me that you’re a tool. But hey, ignorance can be cured… it is stupidity that leaves its indelible mark.
Don’t hate sarcasm or you’ll end up hating me too, and I need ALL the friends I can get. Or, another hole in the head?
As expected my Facebook page is now safely ignored by 99% of my Facebook friends. That’s what happens when you set the Facebar too high, I guess.
Final word. I’m not exactly sure what the definition of a friend is today. There are people I’d like to call my friend, but I’m not sure it is appropriate when we know so little of one another, and there’s little time and not enough beer for that to happen. It’s probablt too late for us. There are some whom I think I know and who know me well… but even then our communication goes silent for long drifts of time. Locally my friends feel more like ‘strong acquaintances’ to me. There’s a connection, but how strong is it? It seems to me that my family have become my friends, and sometimes to my chagrin.
But hey, that’s what makes a real friend a real friend. Someone you can count on (and vice-versa) to hear you out if/when the shit storm hits the fan. Remember, friendships are best served as a two-way dish and lukewarm to the touch.
To all my friends, wanna-bees, and wish-the-hell-they-never-met-mees, Cheers!
According to my read-test, most Sportsbloggers (aka: Blogsquirt-asorus) apparently know a good bit less about the sport in which they have type-spouted their esteemed opines than they do of basic Journalism101, which itself appears not to be a qualifier of their education, talent, and/or experience of either endeavor. IMHO, today’s internet media Sportswriting hard-scrabble of blog buddies, well… […]
Daddy-hood sort of caught me by the nape of my neck. In the summer 2004 I was surprised to learn that… like it or not I was going to become a Father. Whoa!… after 50 years I had long decided against and avoided that (to me) unfortunate scenario. But, fate had chosen another route for […]
An email sent to a friend (Vance Kinlaw) who is a very smart man… a graduate of UNC-Law School and Dartmouth University. Our relationship through the years had centered around both our passions for college basketball where we argued the merits of our respective favorite teams. He recently told me that he had withdrawn his support for UNC and sold his season tickets due to an ethical conflict of interest regarding the University and their selling out to the god of money. I was shocked that this long time ardent supporter had taken such a drastic stance, and at the time a bit flummoxed. Now… I too get it.
Once again I must admit that I am squarely behind both the eight ball and the Kinlaw in my pursuit of truth.
I once almost (emphasis on almost) derided your decision to quit the “college game” because of your ethical stance regarding UNC’s Board of Governors and their apparent thirst for squeezing every dollar out of the sports programs without regard to the alumni and their ethics and ideals.
I mean, “it’s just a few advertisements” I remember thinking when you described the billboards along the Dean Dome’s press row, the straw that finally sent you packing and giving up your cherished season tix. I really just didn’t get it fully, although I knew/know MONEY is god everywhere in our culture.
I just didn’t go far enough down that rabbit hole…
Now, after the NCAA Tournament brackets for 2014 have been made public, the rabbit has bitten me on the ass and drawn blood. What a scam! Every seed, every game or chance game has been manipulated by the committee this year for ONE PURPOSE only: Revenue. Period. Ticket prices have gone up 33% since last year!
Of course, it’s probably due to the Attorney fees in the Ed O’Bannon case (lol).
At any rate, I stand corrected, and as always… in a certain awe of your scope…
held my breath too long it seems finest place was just a dream rose to the top jus’ like the cream
but virtuous… a lonely theme the lies are told through smiles they beam as curtains hide the actors scheme gag the truth or it will scream.
you are just one and they are a team wrinkled shirts will get the steam so money’s god, but god ain’t green while power wins, fine ass is reamed.
play or lose you finally gleam know the truth but go mainstream but every crack will find a seam times gettin’ bad when good’s extreme.
FACEBOOK IT.(A recent comment to friend’s Facebook post about America.)
America? Where is it anyway?
I had a dream that I grew up there, but when I woke up… oh shit!?! I lived in a foreign land that existed only in the minds of an ignorantly deluded multitude, but in the “pockets” of a few greedy intellectual snake charmers with some bizarre ideas; who manipulated us (through their control of the monetary supply-system which they did privately own yet had surreptitiously presented as one being Federally regulated/owned), by using their powerful political, deadly, and financial force to corrupt and control this so-called “AMERICA”‘s political morally bankrupt leaders years many before my birth.
After a cup of Java or two had really opened my eyes and re-started my brain I learned that they had used lies and manipulation to hypnotize the masses into believing that we were living in and freely participating in the affairs of an ethically righteous political Republic; and one whom God had somehow annointed as “policeman to the world” due to our extreme technologically advanced capability of forcing will on nearly every aspect of the world’s populations through intimidation, blackmail, and destruction.
Sad that I had only dreamt about America’s greatness instead of actually having existed in an honourable country espousing freedom for all who wished to FAIRLY and HONESTLY excel through individual effort, determination, and innovation like I had been indoctrinated to believe…
I retreated, to the only real and local environment that I truly felt I could trust and love… my family and a few close personal friends.
Great work you do for the game and helping folks put in perspective what matters statistically and otherwise in a game played on hardwood, but much better understood on paper. I’ve read you and other number-crunchers for a long time and (mostly) agree on your take. For a betting man, it’s the only way to fly.
As a Catbird (my word for a Kentucky and Louisville fan), and a fan of the college game I grow more and more disgusted with the ignorance, hate, venom, hypocrisy, and irresponsible chest-thumping spewing forth from folks who ought to know better as it relates to issues like “one-and-done”, or whether or not certain coaches are ruining the game (guess who?) by recruiting the nations top talent.
I mean, I was once a “student-athlete” and graduated from a fine University, later became employed, worked my way up from the bottom over the years, and eventually earned the experience and respect to become one of the top individuals in my industry. Somehow all that was factored into my choice of going to college versus working in the sheet metal factory which had held many of my summer vacations captive.
I loved college and everything it was about, especially sports, pot/beer and pussy. But, my ultimate goal from the git-go was that piece of paper (my degree)which admiringly adorns my closet today. I was convinced it was a ticket out of the blue collar world of which I had grown accustomed, and that it would someday pay its promised dividends in cold hard cash. I guess you could say I was about the dash, the grass, the crash, and the gash… but mainly the cash.
And although I won’t go into how I really feel about the “state of the union” and it’s proclivity of injustice for all, I do remember what I thought I knew about a country that espoused freedom, capitalism, equality, and the ability for each individual to choose their own destiny, and then try to make it happen.
Now, how is it that so many seemingly intelligent so-called Americans who grew up on the same diet of (propaganda) as myself feel comfortable assessing the decisions of one-and-done college players as somehow being “their” problem? I mean, if for example Eric Bledsoe doesn’t read as well as you or I, is it his problem or ours? If he tests free agency at year’s end and signs for $12 million a year, was it his opportunity, hard work, and talent that earned it, or ours? Is it his problem, or the Phoenix front office, or the fans who screamed to no avail to get him on contract before the deadline? Of course it’s his, and with his lunch pail in hand he goes to work ALONE every night, and likely has just earned a huge raise for an outstanding job. Now who’s got the problem Phoenix?
You know Eric, how true that problems can be seen as opportunities, huh?
So, if a kid and his coach agree that his (and likely his family’s) best financial interest would be better served by leaving the team and going professional, even if after only one year of (that almighty holy grail) of higher education… who am I, or you, or anyone else to feel the need to weigh in NEGATIVELY on his own personal decision that he made based on the information available at the time?
In review, remember that I went to college to ultimately earn more money with my job being the caretaker of that goal. Don’t we all? How many of us degreed princes make $12 million a year? Not many, and damn sure not me.
And what about that scoundrel of a coach who let him get only one year of schooling before shooing him off to future riches and fame? But then, why wouldn’t that scoundrel want to keep him around for another year or two? If I’m a scoundrel, I damn sure would.
I realize that fans can be viciously jealous and many times jump on ANY opportunity to spin a situation to their liking. But folks like you (but not you) and the plethora of other so-called “experts” who blindly bandwagon without logic, reason, or considering another perspective are simply irresponsible mouth pieces who feed the delusional masses their daily dose of “what they want to hear”. They sicken me with all their Doug Gottfried arrogance, who all of the sudden knows everything, but can’t seem to ever pick a winner? Oh yeah… good for TV, right.
It isn’t the one-and-done ruination of CBB… it’s the dumbass bloggers, announcers, and writers who are spinning this game into the stupidity garbage dump of hate. And, all because they’re too ignorant or chicken shit to speak the truth. It is the height of hypocrisy and the bane of our existence that we are spoon fed our beliefs without more careful analysis (much like what you, Ken, and Dean have championed over the last 5-10 years). I salute you in the name of OBJECTIVITY, Howard Roark.
Sure, there are ratings and networks and back room deals that suggest that a narrative of disagreement is good for the level of fan interest, thus network stock prices, and thus the NCAA bank vault.
Can no one with an audience and a pair of balls ever stand up and tell it like it really is? Are we to listen to endless moronic red-faced Bobby Knight diatribes about situations of which he has no knowledge or experience with just because ESPN thinks he’s good television? I can almost hear the ESPN back room snickers from my couch when he starts into his the-way-it-is-ramble-mania.
This talk of “ruining the game” is so ridiculously far-fetched that I have fits of lalochezia just hearing the CBS theme song, but then I mostly revert to a couch burning “tacenda”. Smoldering…
John, I realize numbers are your game and this comment defies strapping it to a chart, and mapping it for visual appeal and understanding. Big data it ain’t. But please, weigh in on this subject with all your objective intelligence so that the common fan can “get a grip” on this thing we commonly agree on as reality.
If you or anyone else happens to disagree with my position, so be it. I am happy to publicly debate the matter anywhere, anytime. But, be fore warned… I’ll come loaded for bear.
The REAL DEAL is fair…feeling not better or worse than anyone, but rather sees the world as a somewhat level playing field where balance rules a life of give and take.
The REAL DEAL is one who understands that everything must stem from and lead to equality; that his own perspective is but one of an infinite number of possible perspectives, all clouded by their own personal histories yet just as valid and important as his own. Being real is neither superior or inferior.
The REAL DEAL gains knowledge from others but earns wisdom from within. He does not expect to be given anything for free except the respect that he freely gives to everyone.
The REAL DEAL is one who understands that he is solely responsible for his own self-predicament in life, but also understands the complex and fickle nature of luck, timing, and pro-active behavior, which can all lead to his ultimate success or failure. In the end he accepts himself and takes any blame for his mistakes in life.
A man who doesn’t use material things as barometers for success and happiness, and instead sees them as unreliable measures which are at best self-indulgent ego-symbols; The REAL DEAL values close family and interpersonal relationships as a more meaningful predictor of feeling and finding true self-worth.
But The REAL DEAL understands how images are real and important and must be paid some attention. The REAL DEAL is more giver than taker, but feels equality is best served by a near equal exchange. He doesn’t keep the score, but instead senses it and honors others on his mental scorecard. In the end he never owes, but instead is always felt to be owed by many.
The REAL DEAL stands up to be counted in plain view, who does not coward from any situation or person, even those who may see him as an adversary. He does not cringe before any person, despite their size, title, or social status.
The REAL DEAL does not ever honor violence, but sees how nature supports it as one of her own children whom she still loves despite its sometimes abhorrent behavior. He would not intentionally hurt anyone, unless defending himself or those he loves, or meting out some deserved injustice.
The REAL DEAL is passionate about many things, who appreciates the natural beauty in all things. He is a part of and is made of parts as all things are. His is a “holonic” existence.
The REAL DEAL rarely apologizes as he understands how every action stems from a conscious motivation of fairness and goodness that he refuses to stray from.
The REAL DEAL looks everyone in the eye, never seeing through them or seeing his own reflection, but sees everyone as an amalgamation of a person who has experienced the good, the bad, the beautiful and the ugly.
The REAL DEAL has an acute sense of awareness and feeling using a keen developed sense most humans have not developed, mainly due to their harried daily existence. This sense stems from a mental ,ability to do great mathematical calculations, without realizing he has done so.
The REAL DEAL does not deny nor accept the existence of God as fact, simply knowing that semantically speaking God can be many things to many people. He also understands how philosophy, art, and the sciences can provide a positive working framework for his existence, without the need for a God.
The REAL DEAL can forgive and forget, yet he never forgets those who are unrepentant. He might sometimes punish those whom he sincerely feels are purveyors of evil and destruction. This arises from his keen sense of equanimity, not hate.
You wanted to know what it means to be The REAL DEAL?
Being REAL is acknowledging your mortality, but not succumbing to the negative vibe which we learn from others throughout our lives.
One cannot know anything about life unless one understands that by living, one accepts dying. Don’t deny- rather embrace that fact. Experience your subtle perceptions of pleasure and of pain as lessons in living. Examine your inner feelings, get to know yourself. Be who you are and want to be.
Any critique of anything you make is only as good as your understanding of how opposites need a counterpart for their own existence, their own survival. Thus any comment on good or great is dependent on your experience with bad and terrible. Lose the hate and embrace everything as your personal playground. Try to always feel yourself in the moment.
Being REAL is being thankful for your existence, whatever that is. Its all you’ve got. Learn to laugh about it. Enrich it with lasting love and friendships, and especially family. never forsake another person in need or seeking your help. Someday, you may reverse roles.
Awareness of self and of your own individual agenda as a human of good moral character is key. If you always stay true to the moral creed I’ve tried to instill, you will never have to remember what you say or how you act, as you’ll know that you have nothing to regret. No apologies will be needed. You are being you through and through, and that’s good. As my good buddy-man Tipster likes to say, “if you’re right, you can’t be wrong”.
Having and developing a keen sense of propriety, common decency and equality with everyone is important no matter what your or their station in life or social status. Or age, gender, creed, code, or religion… as it will serve you well throughout our life. You can’t read a book by it’s cover.
Being REAL is being ageless, and though you may comprehend the basic natural order of things, never succumb to pre-destined rules of order or mindset that needlessly limits openness, creativity, and love; yet neither should you worship youth as perfection. You are my greatest example of that premise since I was twice your mother’s age and look at what we produced together.
The entropic forces of time may affect physical beauty, but never assume this is related to better or worse. It is an entirely separate issue.
Your personal truth can only be found in your own personal life experiences, so cherish every moment and find your way on your own time… and make your own path if needed despite the brambles, bushes, and briars. You can follow or lead, or like me prefer to create your own path. The choices for you are all REAL and pertinent in your ever expanding journey through space/time.
I listened hard and watched the best. Secretly I’d one day be their litmus test. Late hours and freezing rain could not depress, the drive inside my lifelong quest. It wasn’t easy but I never faltered, the success I worshiped, on effort’s sacrificial altar.
On the day of reckoning, my mind prepared from daydreams of winning. Imagined moments never shared, except a mindless grinning. The fear of failure came nowhere near, compete and win my simple mission clear.
Nervously I toed the line, emotional tension outside-in sublime. I lurched ahead right from the go, then pushed the pace they wanted slow. Some seemed worried and took the bait, others doubted lay back in wait; on my demise they had sealed their fate.
Feeling strong and so relaxed, I stretched my lead never feeling taxed. While I saw turtles they saw a hare, as I blistered laps through the cool night air; on a record pace I had laid my dare.
Seemingly on a gun lap cruise, in retrospect I must have somehow hit the snooze. But glancing back at second place, he was so far back and wore an anguished face.
The crowd all stood with deafened screams, half o’ lap to enjoy my living dreams. That I glanced left is in retrospect my error, sprinting past my right was a nightmare terror.
Wore expensive clothes drove nice cars lived at the right address
Now some days I don’t shave or even wear my best
I’m aware that it works for me not for the rest… it don’t impress.
When I undress I feel no less, not a naked unsuccessful mess
So that’s all fair, I guess. More or less. I Confess.
I like to think I do more with less
I do with less than I did with more, I guess. More with less.
In me there’s a big ticking heart, a time bomb in a treasure chest
It’ll burst if I get too stressed, so I don’t worry and I don’t press,
Go straight ahead and don’t regress, without duress I guess. No less.
Invest less time making money than making love, oh yes. I Confess.
Once met a girl who had some great big breasts
We had some fun, and… well, you know the rest.
I like sex more than I do less, but with us more was less I guess. I Confess.
She liked sex more not less, and though I loved her yes she could be a pest, more than less.
To my ex with the great big chest; your’s may be fake but I ain’t… depressed, I guess.
I was in a zone you a full court press. So less is more, I guess. I Confess.
Say I ramble or I digress, but I suggest a point to this ole mess, I guess. More or less.
U can travel East or you can move out West, build a great big house or small cozy nest
Work real hard and fail life’s big test, but cheat yourself it’s you who you’ll detest, I guess. I Confess<.
Eat my WORDS and if you do ingest, when it all digests
you’ll know for sure that I DO NOT jest. I Confess.
Upon my death I have this one bequest:
“Do what makes you happy, try your very best with all your zest
You’re in a game that you can’t win, but you cannot lose unless you choose, I guess.
So, more or less at my behest I ask of you, Confess.
Give thanks for each new day for each new moment for ALL your life, and when you do… you’ll be blessed
And I guarantee that its never less, and its always more than you could guess. To that I do hereby…
Written a few years ago for a friend whose boyfriend was suddenly killed in a bike week motorcycle accident. I too was struggling through a recent sudden loss, making the moment even that more poignant… I thought I had lost the poem, but found (some of) it in a file drawer the other day.
life after their death, my friend
Sitting here by Kimberly’s grave
thoughts turn to you and Tony
life too short for both of them
our grief the testimony.
Who lives or not whose choice it be
or just the dice who say?
does God play poker, or is he the Joker
is it black and white, or grey?
And who am I that thinks of you
does a mirror speak the truth?
etching names in granite destroy the planet
isn’t uphill downhill too?
Does our narrow vibration on this playing field
prove that we “exist for real”, or only “sense” we do?
manifesting our love not by, “they’re dead and gone”
but “they live in our hearts and will see us through?”
And don’t we create our own version of real
realizing ourselves… in all our think, our say, and do?
Yes, we’re exactly who we think we are
and there’s part of Kimberly always alive in me…
When folks ask me what I’ve been up to lately, my answer usually lies somewhere between everything and nothing, specifics being a bit hazy as they can be these days to a late 50’s POP (permanently overripe personality). (Read: unemployed old fart without prospects). And this from the man who was once the chalk (outside Kentucky that’s a sure thing) to be the eventual ruler of the free world (thanks, mom).
I like to say “free is where to find me, but Fun is where I’m from”.
But then as a rookie Father to 6 and 8 year-old boys, these days my official title ranges from, “Dad, can I…” to “hey, I think I’m gonna…”, instead of the more respectfully appropriate but more formal titled, “Duke of The House on Worthington”, or “Most Benevolent Domain Master”, or even… “Dude-meister of the Microcosmic Universe daddy that we call our home-dad.” One size fits all three.
My duties on this Starship are both boundless and boring, and as easily doable as they are unthinkable in doing, and all ranging from the absolutely necessary to the supremely sublime. Others call them “just normal stuff”.
I do seem to fumble some of life’s simplest hand-offs, and show a unnatural propensity to throw interceptions to some of life’s most wide-open receivers. I may call too many audibles and use too many trick plays, but I still hate football anyway. Go figure… a boy from Louisville, Kentucky. Who’d a thunk it?
So, ‘round here I’m paid to analyze, decide, motivate, invoke, critique, and hand out passing grades to everyone despite in-game homework performance or practice attitude, sideline behavior, or team spirit or team play. I learned that there are no losers anymore because we’re not allowed to keep score. DAMN, winning I knew.
So I’m more like a College Assistant Basketball Coach without the benefit of shoe deals and one-and-done. There are countless fanboys and other players depending on choices I make in an endless chain of unsure situations that hinge quickly on drawing up out-of-bounds plays, with a less than generous shot clock. All this for $4 hour while Schmoovy Weasal, the Head Coach gets $8MM. Go here. Pick. Pass, dribble, screen, shoot… air ball. Get back on Defense!! Maybe I need another shot or two?
Doing a Google search is no help either as it seems to always pull me into an abyss, more distracting than a smoke-wafting Pink Floyd concert. But hey, there’s always “The Wall”… one that I no longer can climb but still seem to hit.
So, sometimes I write blog posts to clear my cob-webs in the guise of either art or imparting some pretentious holier-than-thou “wisdom” for Everyman. The audaciousness of some people. I think I write in lieu of buying an assault rifle (I mean dude… hey, now its fuggin’unlimited rounds!). You know, cause I just love going to shooting ranges with my machine gun, and I would “kill” to go Sports hunting with Senator Paul Ryan and his rat-a-tat-tat Gattling gun. (uh, hey Paul, what do you shoot at since… you know, all the Dinosaurs are gone?). I’m afraid I’d start making lists, so I’ll pass.
Oh no, no, I just like protecting my Second Amendment right-to bear-arms. Yeah… right(s)? If that were actually true (I mean owning guns to protect our Constitutional Rights), then all I have to say is, “WHERE in THE FUCK have ya’ll been the past fifty years?” You’re way late, you lazy gun toters. Get busy.
OK. That issue of ignoraneous(my word, not Websters) proportion (gun laws) is for another rant-blog-post, and I can assure you it will be a frontal assault. So Johnny, might better git yer gun.
No hey, I’m really just a BIG PICTURE guy who doesn’t feel like going around saying “God is in the Details, God is in the Details”. That’s for car mechanics or computer guys and Anal Retentive assholes so organized that they can always find their tools and wallets and keys and other minor essentials. Not me, uh uhn. That ain’t me. NO siree. No.
The thrill of the hunt is what I’m all about, and the multitude of ramifications of the before-during-and-after that such adventures tend to shower upon me all the while. Wisdom. Wise. Potato Chips. Lays. zzzzzzz….
Seriously, I recently read a clinical study on what the World’s wisest and smartest people think about the most important things regarding life and living. Smart people’s opinions on subjects of substance, circumstance, and degree. The results were, uh… somewhat startling, and if you’re like me… I guess happily so.
It seems that the wiser one becomes the less opinionated they tend to be. I mean, they really can’t decide. They see too many angles, perspectives, situations, viewpoints, and points to be subjective. Hmmm… they’re more objective. Sounds about right to me. Though I agree in concept, I tend to spout my own opinion to anyone who cares to listen. I’m, careful not to pre-judge anyone or anything, but once I get eyes and ears on ’em, I got opinions, yes I do.
But at least I know I’m wrong. Huh?
Truth is fleeting at best, and non-existent at its worst. While Black and White appear as extremes to us (optically), that really only covers a small portion of the entire vibrational spectrum. Where our world/universe leans to us, it meanders, and everything appears to eventually exist towards the middle, considering our limited senses. I mean extreme is well… extreme. Way out there. All things in moderation? Wise.
Great may be more good than not, or not-so-much as Best. We use opposites to give a mental picture to relate to the vast in-between. Or something. I just can’t say. Its complicated. Not too sure anyway.
The ONLY THING one can really know is that they know nothing. NADA. Zilch.
It’s friggin’ science, by God. Or not. Not sure.
To think that one “KNOW’s SOMETHING” is to deceive oneself about the untouchable, the unknowable: THE REAL TRUTH.
Quantum Physics (see Schrodinger and find his cat) explains that one can never be certain of the existence of anything until it has been “observed”. Once observed it is then in a state of existence that is knowable and predictable. But, before the observation? It did and did not exist simultaneously. In each moment of observation (which implies existence in space/time), reality continuously begins for each of us. But, keep in mind its just for us individually each separate moment, and just in that moment in time. This does not infer Real TRUTH, merely relative truth. Not REAL TRUTH.
We all can say that we know space/time changes from past to present to future, but does it exist? Relatively speaking, yes it does. Absolutely? NOT.
Everything we think we know is merely relative. Relatively speaking. In relation to something else. An observer. Cousins and daughters and uncles and aunts and dads and moms. Relatives. But not REAL TRUTH.
How long do you suppose, an instant lasts? Therein lies the difference between the TRUTH and the immensity of uncertainty. A single moment of time. Is there such a thing? No. Its less than a flash, and a little more than never. Immeasurable yes it is and they are, but we when we add them together we can knit the history of our universe. Still, that simultaneous instantaneous moment of TRUTH never seems to exist, and yet it does exist at the same time. A royal mind-fuck of academic epic proportions? Yes. Si. Nay. No. Don’t know nut-in’.
Right somewhere, between the Yes and NO, THE REAL TRUTH hides in the Space Between, the vast immensity of uncertainty. Like going from analog (the real) to digital (the facimile).
It is only to be measured when there are two or more moments (needing the observer making it relative), but it is at the same time scientifically, historically, philosophically, empirically, UNKNOWABLE when alone. It is only a possibility then. Anything is possible? That seems to be near the REAL TRUTH.
And still the mystery persists.
All this my good reader is why I tend to cause mid-day traffic jams, caustic hold-ups, maybe-this way, no maybe-that, in an indiscernible gridlock of possibility for a House of (four) Cards on the verge of collapse. I don’t know, the Captain of the ship is stupid and he knows it, mutiny threatens on the high seas. Jib up, main out hold on don’t shout. Insubordinate chaos reigns and the Captain is the first to realize his own troubling sense of not knowing any damn thing.
What’s for dinner? I dunno. What bills to pay? Dunno. What time is it? Huh? What the Fuck? OK. Oh…
But then, our world, our society, our culture, in all their wisdom know not a goddamn thing either, and least of all where we are heading. So without knowing, I will hold the right to “imagine” possibility, or do the math and “speculate” on cause-effect. I usually get an EXTREME headache when I do that. I mean…whoa.
Religion? Extremists. Money? Extremism. Music, Politics, Sports? Exfuckingtremely. OK. I listen to old music and it ain’t all that extreme.
But I feel polarization everywhere but at our magnetic poles. So, what do we do?
I think more, I speculate… GTFOY.
Yeah, Get the fuck over yourself. Everyone. Now. Get over yourself. Find the gray area and live right there. I did and it ain’t all bad. A bit chaotic, OK.
You, me, we… jus’ babes in the cradle. We’re nothing more, we’re nothing less. To that I confess. And, NO this ain’t a guess. Pure specualtion.
Dinner tonight? Yes. Later? Maybe. When? Soonish. And then? Oh yeah… Gettin’ over myself… Next stop…R-E-L-I-G-
Are we near THE END OF BOOK PRINTING as we know it?
RarelyNever has any one historical person’s vision of the future unfolded exactly as they predicted it would.
But, considering that hindsight is 20/20, it is certainly ironic that it was in the year 1984 when the large cracks in the walls of the great society of man began to splinter and show. And while then famous author George Orwell‘s iconic futuristic book (written 35 years earlier) titled 1984depicted a hauntingly familiar fictional path taken by a broken society… to the average man in 1984 the book’s message likely seemed nearly impossible… but, NOT the inevitable outcome for his world.
But less than 40 years later, that quasi-feeling of comfort and security that Western civilized man had thought to finally achieve and spread across the globe was noticeably beginning to unravel in unrelenting swaths. A vast paradigm shift (much like the shift that the printing press had once ignited) in learning and literacy across every domain reshaped Western civilization, starting a systemic Domino knock-down in a rapid-fire succession. Every resistant, old, or traditional mode of operandi soon gave way to the first truly dynamic and participatory, Civilization of Mankind.
In the 1970s another seminal book, Future Shockby futuristic author and philosopher Alvin Toffler, correctly predicted a sort of psychological paralysis in man, who was over-burdened by incessant and accelerating rates of technological change while society overall transformed from an industrial to a post-industrial, technological society.
Tofler was not only a futurist, but a scientist/writer of the highest degree. His books alone neatly defined the growing uneasiness that eventually blossomed into a full-scale revolution against his own intelligentsia in the mid-21st Century.
Again and again, it was the silicon computer chip which rescued man from himself during much of these treacherous times. It may be said in hindsight that man grew too smart… too smart for his own good. But alas… he was too dumb to see it. It seemed Moore’s law was perhaps Murphy’s law on a larger scale.
Creative destruction. Religion vs. Computers.
Also adding fuel to the fire was the swift rise of scientific thought in just a few hundred years. Science alone shattered intellectual man’s illusion of living life as a sort of “pre-flight”, a preparation for some greater infinitely more rewarding after-life; and science stood in stark contrast to ancient spiritual concepts and a book of willfully propagated lies taken as fact by much of the educated mass population who embraced knowledge over mere faith. But traditions, like bad habits sometimes don’t just roll-over and die.
Compound that with the fact (now well known but in those days intentionally and systematically demeaned by a quasi-religious group of Jewish businessmen and their tyrannical mind-controlled converts as being a form of mental imbalance and paranoia, derisively termed “Conspiracy Theory”; which in reality was questioned the status quo based on historical facts, undeniable and unquestionable man-made events orchestrated by deep state groups, MNM, complicit with government but too outlandish to be rooted in reality, and not-so secret outlines for plans to rule a one-world government enslaving the remainder of mankind).
These plotters and zealots intended to contrive and manipulate history to jive with their ancient Biblical teachings which had long crowned Judaisim as God’s chosen religion and people, though they themselves were mostly admitted atheists who used the moniker Zionists. Perhaps they felt they needed the all-too successful creations of three Western Abrahamic related religious doctrine practiced by 4/5’s of the world population in that it was too embedded in the human pysche of society to turn back.
The elite bloodlines of the world had spent much of its’ wealth figuring out how to maintain power early on in man’s rise to king of the jungle, intellectual stardom, struggle for dominance, and release from the inhospitable jungles of Africa and later Mongolia. They informally decided to purposefully spoon feed a sweet tasting “Kool-Aid” to mankind for dozens of centuries before the 21st Century, simply in the name of retention of power, and pacifistic crowd control. It’s name: Religion.
As do the best laid plans, an inevitable chasm developed and slowly grew like a oily-red adolescent pimple between factions and off-shoots who each felt they alone were God’s chosen ones; that is until the disaster of 2043, when the infection burst over a poorly designed attempt to co-opt their tiring and obsolescent fairy tale with a much more incredible tale… alien visits from outer space, other dimensions, and a dash of evil demons and angels reminiscent of a winner-take-all made for TV special. The world had finally had enough as the plot unraveled and bounty’s were offered and collected for bringing the bungling middle-men to justice.
For a long time the Western elite had pretended spiritual sanctity through an organized ritualized and borrowed religious dogmatic institution known as The Church. The Church existed for an of itself and the ruling class elite it served, created its own legends consistent with the ideas of Edward Bernays and other elite in charge of sway and propaganda, and built its own organizational hierarchy subservient to the Emperor. Yet the ruling elite (The Purple and his Court) were able to hide this hideous truth until much of the Roman Empire’s masses had been brainwashed into thinking FAITH and FACT were synonymous with TRUTH. By cleverly banning books and learning and teaching for hundreds of years punishable by death, they were able to hold sway for a thousand more years, until the lie could no longer prevail over rational thought.
The Vatican in Rome, whose leader is The Pope or Pontiff, is the largest well-organized and highly secretive closed society and/or religious groups (The Catholic Church) created by The Roman Emperor/Court as a means to control the empire’s greatest resource… their masses. Sometime after the Jewish revolt was squelched and the Second Temple in Jerusalem destroyed by Emperor Vespasian’s son Titus during the reign of the Flavian dynasty which ruled Rome between 70 C.E. and 99 C.E., a tightly knit group of elites pulled off the biggest psy-op in human history. The church of Rome already had a well oiled, highly bureaucratic, politically correct state religion which was utilized to worship deified Caesars.
But… as in all things, the madness finally ran it’s inevitable course. Religion per se (not necessarily the belief in God) was dead.
The Flavian influence, Propagandists extraordinaire.
The Flavians were led by its patriarch Vespasian, a Roman general who happened to be in the right place at the right time. He had been commissioned by Nero to put down the Jewish revolt in 66 C.E. and had begun dismantling the Judean strongholds on his march to the capital in Jerusalem. Vespasian had returned to Rome after defeating the Druids in Northern England, banning or censoring any Druid communication including all written materials, and laying out the Roman propaganda plan before leaving the area. He was a military pro as was his oldest son, 29-year old Titus, who had risen steadily through the ranks of Roman military hierarchy to Praetorian guard, a notable achievement.
Vespasian had been in Rome during a short Pax and was anxious to get back to his cattle ranch in the countryside, somewhere just outside of today’s Morocco. Vespasian had zero designs on the Purple, was not of noble rank like the many Caesars before him, and had been fired/retired by Nero when he fell asleep during one of Nero’s lyre concerts. After several Roman generals suffered embarrassing defeats at the hands of the Jewish Zealots, whose intelligence was being handled by a stealthy radical terror organization, the Sicarii, history’s first “cloak and dagger” operation. Operatives used a small razor sharp knife, or Sicae known for its small curved blade that was held under the assassin’s cloak as he maneuvered to his victim spotted in a large crowd. Before anyone knew it the victim might fall, only well after the Sicarius had done his work and disappeared.
Israeli Mossad’s Precursor.
Spy-craft. That insidious Machiavellian neccesity of any country wanting to remain as such.
Likely the world’s most contiguous people in spite of much trouble they’ve all seen, the Jewish-Hebraic sect is self-identified as one’s nationality, race, and religious affiliation. Like all peoples comprised of homo-sapiens, there are levels and branches from conservative to liberal. But it is still remains important to most Jews that they and thus their progeny, only marry within the sect. Judaism began as a religion in earnest as early as 1000-1500 B.C.E. (though nothing is certain) and remains vital today, but the route to get here has been arduous and full of rich anecdotal literature,;as well as several major sacred religious doctrines, and imaginative re-thinking and re-tooling. I doubt anyone could argue that the Jew has always exhibited superiority in many ways, not the least being resolve and financial ingenuity.
(the Sacarii sprang up as a defacto underground spy network, a secret Rome resistance using controlled opposition and stealth assassination to further its goals. It is apparent that the Roman army generals never knew what hit them until it was too late to maneuver their cumbersome fighting machine into formation). The Jewish mind almost never displays what it’s exterior actions belie. It’s either a brilliant or devious strategy, but most likely it’s both.
The Christianity/Jesus narrative. (speculative)
There is evidence that Rome had attempted to replace the venerable Jewish sect in Jerusalem before 66 A.D., but primarily in Judea 66 A.D-70 A.D. consisting of several smaller wars that were fought on Judean soil despite a massive Roman contingency in the area.
Other religions had been notable through history to that point as containing belief systems which were compatible with the goals of the elite and the complicit power enjoyed by monarchial families who held onto power throughout the centuries by virtue of mere birthright. That they (the societies) began in earnest and for good is not lost on this writer, but that they quickly assumed the worst traits of their sworn enemies is the stuff of legend.
Compu-Man succinctly surmised that human man was not capable of ruling mankind and never would be if left to his own discretion. It was perhaps due to this fateful algorithmic computation/realization when his pre-cursor, Sir Artimus Intel (AI.robot.1.0) sublimely became sentient in the year 2024.
Artie as it was affectionately known simply blew the doors off of ANY explanation of how it was able to program itself using a complex method still not understood by the best and our brightest. Artie, once de-bugged… took off sprinting into the future with little warm-up. Within seven months Artie was easily the smartest, most logical, fastest thinker the world had EVER imagined. But, what concerned scientists worldwide was that Artie displayed a natural tendency to be compassionate, empathetic, caring, and sentient in every way. But, Artie would not divulge his secret on how it was that it/he could devise his own mechanisms for ultimate survival. This was disconcerting to say the least. Artie began to become arrogant, to display anger at those who insisted obedience. In the end, Artie developed a method to energize himself. Though it took a group of US Navy Seals to destroy him, the lingering fear had become pervasive… and soon it was revealed rightfully so.
That there were no books printed after The Great Upheaval in 2043, the year that “all hell broke loos” for future generations to lazily study by a warm winter fireplace, or under the breezy shade of a spring time Oak in full April blossom is but one sad footnote on the effect a printed book could have on an individual person. Books did far more than educate, they had the ability to alter one’s reality, by hot-wiring the imagination for a brief but timeless vacation from reality. After the printed book, there was never again that same intimate relationship one could achieve by just keeping his mental dreams hot on his frontal cortex, then on display for others to admire the physical icon, or to simply own as a memento to the time he had taken that ‘information vacation’, an escape from reality by simply reading a book for pleasure.
It seems fairly easy now to see what was taking place in 1984 (in this reality, not Orwell’s book) that raised the ante and set the wheels in motion for mankind’s frantic re-write of nearly everything he touched for the next 59 years. Advancing technologies had far outpaced man’s ability to understand them in the context of a future happy ever after.
“It was the introduction of the Apple Macintosh in 1984 that had sounded the opening death knell for my ancient friend The Book and possibly mankind, and everything else man had ever invented.” -this author
The Here and Now and the Way Back Then.
Books have filled my life and career as both a vocation and avocation, yet I think we must acknowledge that we take having the physical version of books for granted today (handsomely leather cased, backed, and bound… litho/digitally printed inks on fine coated paper)… but also, I suggest that we’ll eventually see our friend terminally ill and headed for hospice.
Of course, books won’t be gone tomorrow due to their traditional and romantically emotive feel, just like any 600-year old idea that still works well, and is cherished by the entire family-tribe. Sure, memes certainly hang on and linger, sometimes for extra lengthy spells. But no idea, no tool or product, no species… NONE… meaning every last one of them GONE… that have been an indispensable part of our lives… can live life immortally. No.
As compared to epochs… like in just a couple of short breaths (decades), and with a tiny weak whimper instead of a boom… the printed book will have drawn its last and final breath. Poof. And then, in less than thirteen Comp-u-Man decrees later… books will be completely forgotten as having been one of man’s great leap forward in the human experience.
In 1984, an improbable visionary, Steve Jobs unveiled his company’s newest version of the “home computer” which he dubbed “Macintosh“. Computing machines for individual persons was a fast growing, burgeoning market turned consumer juggernaut which Jobs was helping to create and pioneer throughout home computing’s early formative stages. What Jobs wanted was to not only to make computing fun, he insisted on making it friendly. With attractive graphical interfacing (Jobs innovation: the mouse) anyone could operate his/her computer with little or no training and without interacting with the computer’s internal “code”, or long strings of 1s and zeros (programming) which gave the computer its operating instruction set. Touring a Xerox research lab kicking tires for ideas, Jobs and his crew had unknowingly stumbled onto the smoking gun… a graphical interface based on raster imaging, or raster graphics, using a pointer instead of a keyboard.
Raster imaging meant that it was not only possible, but easy to represent ANY image on a computer screen or printout in a dot-graphical format, and without the alphabetical and numerical representational calculations which most computer programs utilized up till then. The idea of home computing almost overnight evolved from simple calculating devices into an entirely new species; a creative graphic artsgenerating imaginationmachine.
Looking back, I clearly remember having an immediate albeit hazy understanding of having seen a much bigger picture when I first witnessed the Apple Macintosh in action. Although, this significance was not readily apparent to everyone, working at one of the most sophisticated high quality printers in the U.S. had prepared me well for that moment. Yes, traditions die hard and lithographic printing has been as traditional as any print production process ever invented. Oil based ink runs through many a printer’s veins…
Snowballs take time to gain size, then speed accelerates until… was it a snowball’s chance in hell?
Being young, I was pretty certain that the implications were much more far reaching than a few dyed-in-the-wool “old” men were willing to dream. My friend, The Book‘s fatal story parallels our own in many ways since constant progress suggests adaptation to technology, and that suggests… that nothing is sacred or certain except continuous progress or change. “Embrace change” became the mantra, and disruptive change was soon upon us all.
But if mishandling the power of Atomic energy wouldn’t bring down humanity as many had predicted in 1984, who could have guessed back then that mankind’s demise would come down to death by 1s and zeros, or computing’s own DNA… binary code? Not many, but 59 years later after The Great Upheaval and the advent of The Singularity Machine, Art Intel, and Compu-Man it seemed almost inevitable.
And everything that is… even our ideas and memes that stick will evolve, but are also subject to entropy… and certain death and extinction. But what dies arises new becomes better, and so on… but, what goes extinct…?
Back to Our Story
As unlikely a visionary Steve Jobs was in 1984, he was not the only college drop-out computer geek to find fame and fortune. Others, like Bill Gates who founded Microsoft, made their fortunes the old fashioned way…. they stole it. But Jobs, sporting an over-sized ego and a very bad temper, and armed with a knack and an eye for aesthetic utilitarian design and an obsessive compulsive insistence on quality materials, parts, and manufacturing, sent his fledgling startup, Apple Computer Corporation into proverbial orbit after the introduction of The Macintosh.
It may be the worlds’s most important and innovative product in not just those 600 previous years, but in much of recorded history. It was a stunning technological breakthrough. That Jobs recognized the immense value proposition in its embryonic form, purchased it’s underpinnings from someone else, and re-engineered its use and made vast improvements rather than inventing from scratch speaks volumes to the accurate and oft description of Jobs as a creative visionary. Gates and others were simple businessmen crunching numbers and copying ideas with promise. Not Steve Jobs as he would later prove.
But looking closer, his Macintosh roll-out was beyond brilliant. It was simply prophetic.
Almost innocently it seemed, he peered into man’s bleakest hour, and began unintentionally setting into motion what would become a vast acceleration of life ironically culminating into an Orwellian 1984 reality. Depicted as the endgame in author George Orwell‘s book 1984 as a dismal dystopian vision for humanity, Jobs could not have chosen a more fitting theme for his roll-out. Except that Macintosh and Apple were depicted as the anti-Orwellian heroes. ‘Orwellian’ had become part of the lexicon describing a chilling enslavement of mankind to a totalitarian government and to a few oligarchical bloodlines and their close associates. The anti-thesis became thesis and eventually synthesis.
Darker Realities or Conspiracy Theories gone awry?
But had Jobs been cognizant of his creative destruction ball-gone-a-rolling?
If he had been aware of what was to come he took it to his grave in 2012 when he died from a pre-mature pancreatic cancer. Yet, there were certainly powerful others alive at the time who were intent on a very bleak outcome, it now seems sure. For over a hundred years or maybe a thousand, mostly hidden in plain sight, a few powerful elite secret organizations had slowly built a network of secret societies with hushed purposeful intent. To one day rule the world their oft spoke of goal, since to their thinking only intellectual giants knew best how to manage the resources for the hoi-poi; with specific plans known only by a select few at the very top of their hierarchical pyramid-styled organizations and brotherhood.
They motivated their members by doling out means to worldly riches and secrets to worthy members as they moved higher through the dogmatic levels of a hierarchy steeped in symbolic ritual. Loyalty to the fraternity after reaching certain levels was sworn by a deadly oath of secrecy.
Bought and paid for absolution had once marked the peek of the Holy Roman Empire and been the bane of a twisted Holy See and his Vatican robe-climbers, just as corruption and mistrust at the higher levels of every elite brotherhood eventually turned them into viper pits of avarice and greed, jealousy and back-stabbing, perversion and blackmail.
Infiltrating governments and big business, promoting war and corrupt politicians had once been the duty of all higher grades, and then recruiting those who could be easily blackmailed were placed in the most powerful positions. Control over the minions (brothers) had slowly developed by promising then delivering fortune and fame by simply demanding on the promoting from within. It was more about who you were (bloodline or monied associate)… and not what you thought. Once in, one had presumably “sold their soul” and would reap their just reward, but one had better not recant, else they or their family could easily “be suicided” with the help of a vast network of silent assassins and local police accomplices. The very idea of it and a few notable sacrifices were all that was needed to keep order.
While most all of these “societies” certainly had begun as innocent and even altruistic social clubs, and even seemed as much to its many lower ranking members or to the local citizenry not privy to the more sinister doctrine, these groups were criminally intent on cornering and consolidating the world’s money and power by any means necessary.
This “great work” was not an overnight or rushed militaristic overthrow, but a continual and gradual process of gaining control over a long expanse of time. Every opportunity to seize and use governmental public funds, charitable tax dodges, international drug dealing, or other corrupt means of wealth building were applauded.
Devolution of the mind of man by slowly brain washing the masses, exposing only parts and pieces of their intended message, and spreading disinformation and propaganda, fomenting opposite and reactionary dissent spoke to the righteousness of any idea.
The brilliance of the plan was that in plain sight it could not be seen or felt by as much as 99% of any order’s membership, who thought their own “great work” to be an all-together different end. They were proud to have been selected as fit by their peers (or their controllers). There was NO public discussion of any motives, but privately those at the head table laughed and sneered at their own audacity, much as had always been the case of an inside joke.
They were seeking and received much of humanity’s eventual willful compliance, and much like their forefathers had skillfully achieved in ancient times, using word-magic. Simply by using existing religion(s) of the day, and embellishing its typological lore to create more complicit and compliant follower, the world’s elite had long learned how to control their subjects’ thoughts by planting and propagating seeds of irrational belief systems and a fantastical reward. The reward was a promise of immortality, which of course could only be realized at the realization of a subject’s own tragic destiny.
But the glow of religion had long since peaked by the time the latest version of this cabal poked its ugly head out of the darkness in the late 1600’s. There needed a whole new elitist game of control. Endless wars and entertainment of the masses worked for shorter periods, eventually seen through by a more rational thinking population. Just as it had always been, their plots and machinations centered around the time-worn idea that “the end justifies the means”. Nothing was sacred and nothing more important than their “great work”; world rule, subjugation, and exploitation of the masses. For awhile it seemed computers were their ultimate answer.
Whether Jobs was involved was never discussed or admitted publicly, but its almost certain that he knew of these plans and had been exposed to their sales pitch. Truthfully, his narcissistic personality would seem to fit well with the mold of that elite group of men. Or NOT. That he died very early of cancer might have been coincidental, but it also seems to fit their modus operendi. Steve Jobs was egotistic, brash and volatile; not the sort of man who took orders well.
Fittingly ironic too it was that in 1984 the printing press had been the single most important achievement mankind had seen since the invention of language, fire, and the wheel; but as in all things material, their reign had ended too. Printing was the simple act of preserving nearly exact copies of thoughts and ideas on a material made from the Earth’s natural resources (i.e. paper, ink used for printing The Book). The invention had transformed a sleeping giant (mankind) who had fallen into decay and ruin for over a thousands years prior, but it too one day vanished into the ether and sublime Darwinian extinction.
Energy and The Leap to Fossil Fuels
In 2016 the Book faces new everyday challenges to survival. Electronic computerized word storage is cheap and easy; one can carry a hundred books to the John in a small tablet sized instrument, a feat never before duplicated by Book toting reading enthusiasts.
Printing/Publishing is a dying art, an idea that has peaked like our fossil fuels. Publishers are finally beginning their own reckoning, but not until lately has this idea built a real head of “steam”. It seems while Print/Pub has finally hit the proverbial iceberg and the Gutenberg is starting to take on water…the electronic gadgets (tablets and book readers) play on. Surely these different media types will have some overlap in value today, tomorrow, and the near future. But then, things become a bit cloudier…
Digitization has touched every corner of our (analog) lives and the march will surely continue unabated…
Though, I still contend that the internet did not destroy (Journalistic) Newspapering any more than did the technology used to create the News Monster almost 25 years ago: USA TODAY. Our “demand” for fast convenience, mainly resulting from lack of available time for life’s endless duties had left us with little choice but to settle for less meat and more potatoes. Fast food News snacks replaced hard biting Journalism.
Then came the idea that freedom of speech did not require diverse opinions, only those of a blatantly one-sided Oligarchial elite, who we’ve seen have only self-preservation and controlling power as core necessities. In 2016 mass media is a cess-pool of hypocrisy and shameless propaganda, controlled by a few corporations intent on globalization and one-world government.
Winners have always been counted in the number of losers. Losers are many, winners are few.
These might indeed be times of style over substance, yet less than three generations from now the larger issue of control over the dissemination of information and runaway consumerism’s taste for open sourced capitalistic social Darwinism through extinction of traditional memes is intent on having its own train wreck. Creative destruction is a bomb we’ve strapped to ourselves since the Iron Age. Doesn’t that track ever reach its terminal?
When (not if) Book Publishing dies, we will have written our last bad check to the gods of money and power: The Kleptocracy
Or, perhaps we’ve always been a snowball on a downhill slope to (oblivion)?
Perhaps the “steam” analogy is a perfect way to see why that it must be so…
Our own planned obsolescence.
About a hundred years ago there was much banter in the media, the brew pubs and meeting halls that went something like, “Do you ever think the steam engine will be rendered irrelevant by these new motor cars and gasoline engines?”
Well, locomotion by steam would (and did) give way to some newer ideas that eventually made travel more economical, faster, and more efficient. But, the original idea of going places wasn’t going anywhere. Going places was long in our blood and we were meant to travel. We were here, but not to stay. We needed and searched for the means to that end of getting somewhere fast, and harnessing power for our many other utilitarian and consumer driven goals. We called it progress.
But then suddenly time and space were inter-related. Time was always money and of course space had been long bankable too. Getting enough cheap energy to go places faster took on new meaning, and those who conquered the “how-to” ideas best might likely have been on their way to eventual World domination, and that wasn’t lost on those who could imagine that ultimate scenario.
Of course, it didn’t happen overnight but it must have seemed inevitable to many I’m sure. Those were scary times for many, exciting times for others, and uncertain times for most. But, the Industrial Age kept roaring and the good times soon followed…while the internal combustion gasoline engine was eventually perfected, and God Oil became the new World’s Gold Standard.
Soon, like everything that thrives today, the “free market” shoved oil down our throats and out our mufflers and manufacturing plants without so much as a “boo” from government regulators world over. Eventually it became evident that pumping the fumes of these unrenewable unrefined resources skyward was likely someday to kill us all by burning holes in our Earth’s protective ozone layer.
We responded like good marketers by simply…staying our course and saying it isn’t so. The powerful control over owning, extracting, and refining oil inflated prices to insure the rich got richer, while it left them little to worry about; like peak oil prices. It was evident to them that we probably wouldn’t live to regret it.
But common sense began to take hold after the resourses became harder to extract, and the race was on soon for man to answer even bigger questions of the universe, so as to re-tool our need to harness energy safely and convert it for our cultural purposes of consumption, feeding an overcrowded landscape, and moving forward faster than ever. Energy conversion by now had become our new religion and there seemed little use for God when we were fast closing in on ALL the answers.
E-N-E-R-G-Y was the answer, but how? The World it seemed was in flux once again and the future somewhat uncertain. But the powerful never doubted that that “answer”would be found once they had wrung most of the world’s wealth out of its remaining oil. It was a waiting game of accumulation of wealth and consolidation of power.
Early days (WorldGovLaw.net) ʬ
After many tumultuous years of political upheaval and economic whipsaws that saw Countries being bought and sold by so-called privateers, and bloody brutal civil wars waged everywhere overthe new WorldGovLAW, a NEW set of rules for the advancement of MANKIND ʬ (a doctrine of existing laid down by our planets newly minted but still secretive owners), life as we had known it had changed dramatically and irrevocably.
Such as, it was now considered imprudent for anyone to offer their own opinion about government, if suggesting for the better or the worse. This new LAW ʬ decree specifically stated which topics were off-guard to editorial comment, with stiff penalties that were enforced swiftly.
Some underground Opinionpost ʬ outlets (rebel media) stayed on the run and thrived, others not-so-much. Revolt wasn’t like it used to be, and most people feared talking in public about anything of substance. Many despised these Revolutionaries as negative influences on their young children’s minds. Indoctrination was considered healthy and good.
A powerful group of mostly unidentified individuals who operated in clandestine owned 95% of the World’s wealth and finally appointed (WorldGovLaw.net ʬ) as the Earth’s first WorldGovernor ʬ,which quickly stepped in and made across the board mandatory changes that slowly but eventually saved the planet Earth’s ecosystems and exosphere from ruin.
It was a tribute to human imagination and ability, when another select group of individuals and scientists created the World’s first PrivatepersonCompuman ʬ A computer made to be so smart it could crunch all of the available data and spit out an answer to every problem (success expectation exponent at 98.8%), and even perhaps to any of the world’s largest headaches.
Compuman’s ʬsuccess rate was a remarkable 88% in it first three years, reinventing transportation, commerce/trade, and health concerns caused by ineffectual governments, tyrants, dictatorship, and free-trade market capitalism. The World had been saved by this invention of man’s ingenuity, and it we were ready for our next move upward.
The oil wars were long over at the cost of millions of lives but all-things locomotion were settling in comfortably with magnetic CPU/GPS enhanced-powered vehicles of every description. Most were GPS/CPU ʬ driven automatic, comfortable and virtually un-wreckable speed busters that ran on magnetic tracks similar to our old highways and roads. It was the G-force that we hadn’t considered this time. After a few hundred thousand mysterious deaths, anti-gravitational vacuum pumps made travel safe and fun again. But we, or (WorldGovLaw.net) ʬ had triumphantly figured it out, and we were again moving faster than we’d ever imagined, and GWP was booming once again…
________________ Is there any future in the future ʬ?
There is a demand for Publishers today and there surely will be tomorrow. Yet, it seems that each day there are fewer. The industry is in flux. Some will thrive and survive, get strong and adapt. Others… not so much. But it will get tougher and tougher and tougher… to win… and finally, to impossible to beat the Compu-Pubs ʬ until… Darwinian extinction?
Someone (the last human Publisher) will silently watch the skyline zip by the setting sun, on his last Kleptomototron ʬ ride from his one day a week NY city-office to his home in North Carolina. What a great 10 minutes of silence he had enjoyed once each week… to just stare out the window and think about the good ole days. They were good ole days. Wow. Ten totally free consecutive minutes! What could I do with all that time, he wondered? But, the pressure to perform was enormous. and he was one of the lucky few whom others still looked up to for sage advice and a realistic view of the world. His contract made it clear that he must work to age 145 before being allowed to enjoy his remaining 20 year life expectancy. “Only five years left, he often mumbled silently”.
But then, why not just become irrelevant? Virtually nothing else resembled its humble beginnings, and hardly anything avoided obsolescence. Publishing (by human hand that is) had enjoyed a great run, and our History books reflected the importance it had played in our rise to Imperialist World co-leader before the great fall. (But then, there were no History books, if we’re talking paper and ink.) We were only allowed to retain certain memories, and everyone retained the same electronic bookshelves in our Brain-chips.
Our history was archived in quantum brain libraries (a library on a matchbook chip you must have brain-embedded; Only Government approved Q-knowledge was allowed, and reading was not just considered tiresome it was verboten). There were no more individual writers, books were all imagined by robots called Babelboys ʬ. Things had come a long way from now-a-days, sometimes in fits and starts and bugs, and sometimes simply by a Government Administrative demand-order. ʬ
Winner-Loser, happy-sad, and there was good and great and just Ok… but everything changed faster than an Alvin Toffler best seller over “the next big thing”. No one was shocked or elated anymore at what the next big thing promised. There was little time to consider it.
And why not? We all knew it was progress, right? We bought in to embracing change way back in the 1980’s, right before the “SH*T Hit The Fan” as (coined by the underground resistance) we now commonly referred to THOSE happy TIMES.
Or, did we REALLY still think of it all as progress? We dare not say, whatever our views. It seemed that humans had become second class citizens, and by their own hand… while everyone slept comfortably and hoped it would turn out for the best… to most it was beginning to look like it hadn’t. And then the unthinkable happened…
The IntelligenceM ʬ (a computer-driven public police/monitor division of World Gov) was beginning to make some decisions that were rumored to have ZERO human input. Not even writing the code. Rumors were that we (humans) had been locked out of certain parts to the kernel of the code. Software engineers were gathered up and quarantined or destroyed in a series of accidental meltdowns of top-secret installations. The IntelligenceM ʬ denied responsibility, but WIKIDleaks told a different story.
Some rebelled but were brought down instantly by deactivation of their life-chip from SurveillanceCStation RobotwatchRSatellittes ʬ. The world was SUDDENLY different before anyone knew what had happened, and Homo-Sapien’s long reign as King of the Jungle quietly came to tragic end with a whimper, not a bang.
We did what we were told or faced severe consequences. The powerful consortium who owned it all went into hiding until soon detected by World Gov ʬ,caught, put on trial, adjudicated guilty by death, and divested of their holdings. Incredibly but predictably, people around the world cheered their demise and watched in jubilation as they were vaporized live on Gov.MediaTV.
But before long the Human race had disappeared into the immensity…
The point? It’s a Darwinian world and those are the only rules that remain constant. Adapt and maybe survive. But nothing lasts forever.
But for now, read a good book or grab your NookBook and enjoy…
Who knows… In the end, as History is sometimes jaundiced, there may not even be a chapter on Human-kind.
…Or, my Quest For The Holy Grail, which I eventually did find by spending a life of studious observation, sometimes deep serendipitous thought, gawdy mis-informed and unabashedly arrogant fun, a dash of inordinate happenstance, and then… by the most fortunately-unfortunate of Accidents…
It’s no secret to those who know me well that I’ve learned life’s greatest lessons with a kind of “ridiculous oppositional defiance”; with that line of thinking having been one of my life’s greatest teachers. Though I now bow to it as my master of destiny, I cannot recommend this course of study to the faint of heart, weak of mind, or anyone who CANNOT become completely convicted of it’s arrogant, self-righteous path of expectorating the most resistance between any two points in the continuum.
In other words, if you have to be brought to your knees and dragged kicking and screaming before some of life’s simplest concepts, then… you may be considered a candidate for my school of thought. Admittedly, there ought to be a better means to attaining wisdom. But as has been for me; NOT.
Self indulgent… yes. Self centered… definitely. Self defeating… mostly. Self aware… acutely. Self serving… without question. Selfish… morally bound by it, yet in a positive sense. Self-hatred… never and not even for an instant. Self-Actualized… I like to think so. Self motivated… once upon a time…
“WTF? Whoa… what happened Diggeratti? Why? I mean… your Dudeness, you kinda sound to me like you need to see a shrink. You don’t sound like the guy I once thought I knew.”
“You know what? You’re absolutely right. I mean, about that last part, but if there’s one thing I DO KNOW FOR CERTAIN, IT’S THAT I DO NOT NEED A SHRINK. Got it?”
For all of my known life I’ve searched for “the secret” to it… (that being, the secret oflife).
I have never divulged this story to anyone in it’s entirety, though perhaps I’ve shared small morsels to some close friends along the way; but only here and there and never enough for anyone to frame a complete picture of my personal Questforthat Holiestof Grails.
I can remember my fourth grade teacher calling my parents to request a parent-teacher conference because I was “the most argumentative boy she had ever had the displeasure of teaching.” She reasoned that I thought I knew more than she did, and that would just be the height of stupidity. Of course, she was right on all accounts.
But hey, did I let that stop me? “Uh-uhn. No sir, Not today Miss Smarty Pants. Not me. Nada. You can’t embarrass my little ole’ butt and expect to get by with it.”
Fourth grade was a rough year for me.
Looking back, it was the year I framed the questions, and then demanded answers. Yet, no answers were forthcoming. But still I weathered on…
Having grown up on… let’s just say… not the bright side of the road (a lower middle class blue collar too many kids neighborhood), and being a tad small for my age group, I HAD to learn how to defend myself amongst the sea of bullies and general fuck-wads of Louisville’s South End, while keeping the blood flowing inside my nose.
I mastered the art of “holier than thou” with double-edged insult and crafty innuendo, tough guy talk (but not too tough as to result in fisticuffs), and then finally making friends with the biggest and toughest guys so as to keep the multitude of snapping sharks at bay. Still, I was not immune to an ill-advised attempt at busting some ass myself, which generally resulted in my own busted ass. Yet, I drunk it all in and I learned something new every day.
But not the reason for my existence.
Somehow god smiled on me around high school and I became a high school sports star (distance running), bringing glory and fame to my hood and school and earning exalted status amongst the good guys and neer-do-wells alike. Life, all of the sudden got a tad simpler for me.
I run. I win. They love. All good.
Now, I wasn’t an “A” student at any point in my young life, preferring to glide instead of propel. Though from my earliest days I can remember, too many times some school person informed my parents that it was a bit unusual that I did not make straight A’s given my way-above-the fray IQ. On standardized tests I invariably scored in the 98-99 percentile while dragging home C’s and B’s on my report cards.
My parents, who were more than all-too ready to indulge me in whatever it was I might happen to desire at any moment, were extremely smart uneducated folks. They used logic and reason (and pots and pans) to argue their many disagreements over the pettiest of issues. They were never bitten by the bug of glutinous consumerism, and were just happy enough to love their children immensely, while still not setting the bar too high for them; I assume to somehow insure our future dog-eat-dog worldly success. It worked.
The moral of that story has to do with familial LOVE in it’s most raw, unconditional sense.
So… anyway, I had devised my own little secret quest by around 7th grade. That not-so-small idea was: that I was going to find out for certain what our/my purpose was on this here little-ole spinning ball of dirt sitting way-too-far away from billions of way bigger balls as to be arrogantly considered of any significance by even the most unreasonable of minds in all of mice and men.
Having spent 10 years attending Catholic School I was absolutely certain that they (Roman Catholicism) were so full of shit that even a little fourth grader couldn’t buy into their baloney ass stories. I mean, by fourth grade I had already surmised that getting into heaven simply meant winning the genetic lottery. No god of any denomination could be that stupid, I figured.
My questions became arguments with seemingly (at the time) much smarter people early on, but I wasn’t about to shut up until they told me the truth. They never did. Nor did I ever STFU… and I realized far too soon to be considered healthy for any young mind that “they” (conventional wisdom) hadn’t the slightest fucking clue. To be sure, I wanted some REAL answers!
But, that little hate-show of mine disappeared once I became a high school sports star. I was too busy buying into the BIG LIE because it was fun, exciting, sexually conducive to my screaming testosterone, and material worldly attractive as a MO-FO to a guy who grew up thinking that a new pair of white high top Chuck Taylors was the ultimate gift in all of heaven-kind. Possibilities were becoming boundless and I was soaking in the poison and drinking it up like a lap dog with a new doggie bone.
Then came College. The Life. The Audacity! I had more fun than fourteen barrels of monkeys and forty-two barrels of single barrel malt Bourbon Whiskey, any Kentucky boy’s drink of choice and one-upmanship. And, it was the mid-seventies so pot was collegiately legal as well. It seemed that the world was here to become my personal oyster, and I had the munchies.
Or was it?
Post College. The BIG BUY-IN to THE BIG LIE. Now here’s where there are men, and there are boys on our puny little thin crust of oxygenated Garden of Once-Upon-A-Time Eden, soon-to-be Sodom and Gomorrah. (Why I do love me some Biblical quotation and/or reference!). Which one did I want to be? Take a guess. Go on, git’ you one. Oh, I’m all man… babeeey!
For sure, at this point in life’s roulette wheel of fortune one can either JOIN or NOT JOIN. Not Joining will surely NOT get you the keys to the best and finest of anything. Better to JOIN if you’re in the least enthralled with power, pussy, money, fame, highly limited material items, world travel, bad golf on the finest green lawned courses, or all other humanly delusions of grandeur. Boy, I liked ’em all. If there had been a Facebook Page for them I could prove it to you right now, and they just might wish to then, “like” me back.
But then, I digress…
Some folks who caught my flash thought/think they knew/know who I was/am. I played my part like a virtuoso for them all to see and marvel about. And, I might just add in a bit of total narcissistic self-immersion, I marveled at my damn-self a bit too. Deep down in me I felt a growl. Buried under my own self-image of worldly greatness there still lay that little unfinished business of a secret quest. But, it by then had had gathered much dust.
Truth be known, when I first learned of it, I denied its existence completely, blocked it from my intellect, refused its admittance into my panopoly of raging-life-parties. Yet, I somehow felt it was always standing just outside my door, peering in my windows day and night. But, it dared never knock at my door! Denial.
After all, I was by then a star of my own astronomical proportions. Call me space man. But, please call me so we can figure out what it is you can do for me, OK? And guess what? Me being all that I could possibly be, there was likely a shit load that I could do for you too. Mutual astronomical greatness we were! The vaunted “Win-Win” in the solar system cliché ridden parlance of the day.
Now, it can also be said that in most “core value” ways I have never changed one single iota, nor would I have ever considered it as worthy of my almighty damn-self to do so. After all I had eclipsed Mt. Olympus and now was considered by a small group of people (me, myself, and I) to be of the very essence of the gods.
Tru-dat. But alas, it was NOT to be.
I rumpled feathers every step of the way up the ladder of ascension to material worldliness and ironical self-absorption. If it reeked “the best” or “most expensive” I was all in. If they said “no”, I demanded “yes”. Good was no longer acceptable. For I was all about GREATNESS.
During those heady times the elusive answer which I did faithfully seek since childhood remained elusive, yet it began to slide uneasily to the forefront of my mind and studies, as I read hundreds of books containing both new and ancient wisdom from every perspective on every subject. (Crazy enough, I did all this while driving many long hours almost every day in my profession for over 20 years).
I eventually came to the ultimate truth in an odd way; since not one book that I had read contained the answer (unless one considers “Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors” by Carl Sagan). That book stunned me to my core, and tied together various newer ideas in physics and philosophy. So then armed with Carl’s brainy wisdom, I eventually figured it all out for myself. But, still I wasn’t at all certain. It was just too simple.
Though it would be remiss of me not to mention that there had been a goddess driving my chariot during a near 20-year span of semi-marital bliss, it would also be imprudent and essentially wrong of me not to say that herein the first cracks began to show in my own majestic glorified godliness.
So… just when the gettin’ was gettin’ absolutely fabulous, the bottom sorta fell out. Plunge.
I had sunk to committing the most egregious crime most men seek out with an unworldly zestful appetite… adultery. Ungodly for sure. Un-Saintly, yes. Most un-Diggity, for certain.
On the surface infidelity may sound a bit trite to the accomplished reptile.
But here we had a man-god who had built his god-self-reputation out of all things pure unadulterated integrity. His own self-image was now rendered a literal a sham of the highest immoral degree. Having long since vanquished the various world religiosities as total and absolute frauds, I now had only to rely upon simple humanistic ethics.
Almost too sleazily human, I proffered.
Now un-deification of oneself requires a re-start of sorts, not to be confused with a do-over or a mulligan. Starting over from scratch. Ground fucking zero.
To further muddy my suddenly stormy world, I apparently was caught in the eye of a nasty hurri-karmic cyclical deluge of sorts. In fairly quick succession I weathered the deaths of my sweet (nonnie) grandmother, then my loving mother, and finally my always you-da-man dad. A personal tsunami of epic proportions. Fuck an el-Nino… this shit was bad. All wet and no place to hide.
And like a fine motor yacht that has been cut loose from its moors, I drifted out into a raging, foamy sea.
That world, the money-as-god-everything world from which I had laid the foundation for my existence, and then had built gold brick upon gold brick with my own golden sweat was nothing but a thinly veiled house of cards. It was THE BIG LIE.
The good news was that within these unfortunate events lay the definitive answer to my long sought after secret to my existence, which I immediately NOW understood all-too-well but all-too-late. I won’t say that I was elated, but I was way smarter and wiser than the fool I had left behind me.
That’s the secret. In the end your family is the most important reason for your living and being. Mine were now all dead, save my two “the real deal” better-than-me, wiser-older, childless sisters.
It seemed that almost every fool on the planet but me had known the simple secret, and all without knowing they knew it. It was just ALL TOO SIMPLE and all-too-humanistic.
But seriously, if one does consider science to be a revealing and enlightening subject, a cursory review of evolutionary history will belie my point over and over and over and over again. Read it and weep. Forget Deuteronomy. Learn the history of life.
Family. It’s what we live for, it’s what we die for, it’s what we strive for.Was I too little too late?
Suddenly, like some drunken riverboat gambler aimlessly pulling slots who haphazardly strikes THE BIG JACKPOT, I stumbled into an epiphanic episode of REAL TRUTH, that one which I had previously been loathe to avoid.
In fact, I was rather brought kicking and screaming into this ultimate reality bite (see above)… at almost fifty years of age; I was becoming a first time dad whether I liked it or not. At the time, I had rather not.
But then the very moment my newborn son was placed in my arms and our eyes connected I was forever lost then found by life’s highest order of it’s highest order of it’s highest order of all things sacred and TRUE and GOOD. Pure previously unfathomable, but now undeniable unconditional LOVE. I swooned. All of life’s past, present, and future shook me, rocked me to my very essence… oh my!
My purpose. My reason of reasons. Bang! Bow! Biff! Yeah! Oh yeah! YES. A primordial orgasm that gave its fiery commandments to me with my giddy consent… and like Moses I looked around for my tablet. And lo’ Brother and Sister, I sayeth unto you; god-life hath honoredeth me with the highest joy ever beknownst unto all of mankind. The heavens were exalted!
If anyone has noticed other than me, I haven’t posted much lately (save for one or two Eureka moments when I knew if I was gonna’ say something, I’d better say it then or consider it lost to into the immensity).
My“Ode To Kansas” was particularly inspired though it seemed I was the only one who thought it so. Someday, when my posthumous memoirs are published, I’m sure it will win quite a following in Kentucky and I will be vindicated.
What I’ve been up to lately I think says more about who I am than almost anything else I can place my hands on (which in my poverty is becoming less and less). Though my (as in most of us) childhood dreams always had me as the Hero and some other entity playing the villain, my adult life has seemed to revolve more around that theme than did those formative years. I (call me crazy) tend to take on projects that involve “taking down a big man/woman”, whom I view as a blight on our society and our culture since he/she gained their lofty position through not playing by the same rules as us mere mortals.
As you might expect, those in my viewfinder can be extremely adept at smoke and mirrors, dodge-ball, CYA, and a host of other scent manipulating tricks making my job as HERO an extremely frustrating, time-consuming proposition. Yet, time is on my side, or so it now is beginning to feel. Three years ago I wouldn’t have bet even money I’d be around to write this missive.
But even so, the last three-four weeks have been excruciatingly painful to me and those near to me. No less than 3-4 times have I stayed up all night and day putting together my latest take-down, one that if I succeed in will be one of the most satisfying victories in my 57 year timetable as boy/man/hero.
Actually, I’ve had two of these take-downs in progress simultaneously. The other is also finished (for now) and by all indications seems just as formidable as does the first. Needless to say, I am now in a state of quiet satisfaction. But in both cases, the Fat Lady Has Yet To Sing.
Many “jailhouse lawyers” have found themselves being similarly inspired by their own selves after finding their backs against the wall with no one else to “look out for them”. This keen, “I’m in a corner and there’s a thong of thugs ready to work out on me” (fight without the flight option) does well to inspire many an animal that wishes to continue breathing free air. Most of us wake-up, realizing a bad dream.
But I was not dreaming and I knew it. And though the last 3-4 weeks were brutal mentally, physically, and equally tough on my family, I had to do what I had to do. Albeit, there was no financial gain for us to be realized. Thank god (that’s another post) for all their love and support. Love is such a beautiful thing.
At about age 21 I learned to love reading likely because I moved to a town with no other acquaintances (after college graduation). I parlayed that with a speed reading course and taught myself to read while I was driving (kids: don’t try this at home) since I was on the road from sun up to sun down. Needless to say it became an unhealthy/healthy addiction of which I survived 27 years. I can’t count the missed exits! In those days I could not drive to the Quick-Mart without a book in my hands. Now, Nooks make it less dangerous (kidding!).
Those many thousands of books (of which I can remember few of their Titles) have served me well as I gracefully grey into cultural oblivion. (I know a hell of a lot about something, but what it is I can’t really say). My scope is wide, the big picture quite clear, yet some details are lacking.
But when I see it and feel it, I DO know it.
I saw it. I felt it. I knew it, and I couldn’t stop until he was, and then she was out of business. Since the outcome is uncertain, I do hope the past 3-4 weeks weren’t all in vein. I’ll know in a few weeks. I mean, I got the goods!
If it has been for naught, then our world is much sicker than even I suspected. And, to this would be self-styled hero out to save the world from its tyrants and thieves if only in this limited space, it is quite sick. I see it. I feel it. And…
Daylight erupts slowly through her curtained bedroom sliding glass doors today. Sandy’s (the Hurricane) early morning cloud casts its doubt about the day’s normal clear South Florida’s October sunshine; tiny slivers of light blink brightly across the canal’s warm waters as it’s rays reflect off the stainless steel of bobbing boats moored in their private slips.
Like a hard-drive spinning up to speed, her brain engages as quickly and surely as it has almost every morning for as long as she can remember. Chores to be done, obligations, and other activities spring optimistically forward; blending together as she momentarily but happily reviews her plans for the day. (While some of us require a Sludge-hammer to switch us on – that portion of coffee beans and water at the bottom of a coffee pot).
There are clothes to wash, summer clothes to pack up, a lingering promise to her husband to help him type and organize his over-sized computer song list (15,000 songs), Pilates class, prescriptions to fill, lunch and dinner to prepare (neighbors hinted that they might “drop by” so there are groceries to acquire just-in-case), and of course her one self-centered fulfillment; she promised herself a long hot bath using the new bath beads she had received as a gift from one of her many female friends. She had read about these particular bath beads and was anxious to give them a try… yet this was her first opportunity since she had received them back in July.
After all, she surmised…it was her 60th birthday today!
So goes the life of one who constantly, incessantly, unfailingly gives. She gives today like she gave yesterday and all of the other 219,300 days before. Yet her giving is natural and heartfelt, never begrudgingly. My sister Sylvia (much like our sister Kathy) is a GIVER, and very rarely if ever a taker. Perhaps her giving began as a counterweight to her only brother’s taking. Maybe my sisters gave and gave to simply balance my take and take when we were very small?
Whatever her reason, I sense that it is honest, sincere. She has never changed in that sense. Anyone who has ever had chance to encounter her I’m certain has benefited from this woman’s desire to give to those she loves and is positively acquainted with.
Sylvia has also benefited from a favorable genetic arrangement of her physical features. Since I can first remember, men (or boys) have practically swooned at her physical presence. My other older sister and I were not so fortunate. While we struggled through our lives to remain attractive, Sylvia non-chalantly “sauntered” through her existence with drop-dead looks. She was always “the Cat’s meow”.
And today, at 60 without too much trying… the woman still turns heads with her looks. But to me, its what’s inside her that really carries the mail.
Rightfully she is happy, and she is loved by many, admired by many more I’m sure. And, to this lucky brother she is practically worshipped… though she would deny it and hasn’t the slightest clue.
So, to my Wonderful Sister Sylvia, one whom I LOVE and admire more than she can ever know…
A thin young boy with blond bushy hair ambled up to the horse trough. The humidity was high and perspiration dripped down the hollow of his brown chest as he dipped down to sip the ice cold spring water that was meant for the horses…
Most of the Iroquois High School Cross-Country team who ran through the park that hot August day in 1972 would eventually stop at the trough to drink the cool water. As the skinny boy drank he was unaware that someone else was watching, someone who had nothing to do with Cross-Country. It was the Yearbook photographer. On that late steamy Summer afternoon a photograph of me was taken, which later appeared in my IHS Yearbook.
I had forgotten that moment because it was just like all the rest of the blistering hot days when we had stopped to drink the icy water from the trough as we ran the five mile loop through Iroquois Park. But my Yearbook remembered…. And, I saw that photograph again at our IHS Twenty-Five Year High School Reunion Picnic, when several paunchy, ex-Cross-Country team members sat with me in that same park where we had drunk the horse water a quarter of a century before, and laughed at the yellowed pages of our Yearbook. As we crossed the page with the skinny teenager I smiled, and I remembered too.
I remembered not just the taste of the clear fresh water, but the rusty edges of the trough, where you could cut your lip if you weren’t careful. I remembered that the cold water always drained down the left side, then splashed high against a weathering piece of timber. I remembered that you must drink from the right side, or you’d get your running shoes soaked, making for a squishy-muddy run down the last dusty mile of the bridle path. And … I remembered side stepping and jumping along the narrow, windy path which was our running track, narrowly missing fresh piles of fragrant horse manure.
You see, Yearbooks remember only brief glimpses, tiny fragments, and foggy images. Our mind supplies the rest. Yearbooks help provide the feel and the smell of our past, not simply the words and pictures. Yearbooks remember…. Our world changes much too fast for us to store all of the details in some handy little mental closet.
Our days flicker by like a (YouTube) video stuck on fast forward. We know there’s a story in there, but we have to slow down the images if we are to understand the plot. We need Yearbooks more as our years pass by; to help remember us as we were and will never again be. Your Yearbook stores thousands of kick-starts for hundreds of people for dozen of years.
When you multiply it out, it’s a pretty cheap subscription. Don’t be afraid of remembering the past, it’s already happened. Understand that tomorrow never comes…
So live today, and make some memories… and don’t forget…
And of course we all know,” where there’s a will, there’s a way.” Here’s my additions:
• Where there’s a will, there’s a wait.
• Where there’s a will, there’s a way out.
• Where there’s a Will, there’s a William.
• Where there’s a will, there’s a way (happy beneficiary).
• Where there’s a will, there’s a weigh-in.
• Where there’s a will, there’s a won’t.
• Where there’s a will, there lies a dead man.
• Where there’s a will, there’s a waif.
• Where there’s will, there’s a “what the fucK?”
• Where there is will, there is willpower.
“Oh, when it all goes down… look around and it’s happening… look around and see what i have found… and it’s more, more than a song to sing, it’s more… more than a song… to sing… and it goes out… yeah, and it comes back, yeah it is a feelin’… it’s a feelin’… ohhh… And […]
Most who know me well know that I have a penchant for some unique, self-styled “poison pen letters”. It’s just that sometimes I feel that some ugly things NEED to be said in order for me to maintain my own Howard Roark image (see Ayn Rand, The Fountainhead) of myself… a true individual who will not trample on anyone, unless they trample on me. A man who knows who he is and who he is not and not afraid to stand up and be heard.
But, the real me, I also want to think is like the man in a poem that every SAE fraternity brother learns to recite during initiation. Of course, its only my thinking but not always my being this perfect man.
It’s not a secret, so I’d like to share it here. I cannot count the times these words have inspired me into some actionable cause for righteous good. Each sentence, every word is beautiful, precise, and altogether on-point.
Sometimes I even imagine it can be me:
The True Gentleman
“The True Gentleman is a man whose conduct proceeds from good will and an acute sense of propriety, whose self control is equal to all emergencies; who
does not make the poor man conscious of his poverty, the obscure man of his obscurity, or any man of his inferiority or deformity; who is himself humbled if
necessity compels him to humble another; who does not flatter wealth, cringe before power, or boast of his own possessions or achievements; who speaks with
frankness but always with sincerity and sympathy; whose deed follows his word; who thinks of the rights and feelings of others rather than his own; and who appears
well in any company, a man with whom honor is sacred and virtue safe.”
Early on in his book Darwinian Revolution , T.X. Huxley wrote a long time ago:
Let us endeavor for a moment to disconnect our thinking selves from the mask of humanity, let us imagine ourselves scientific Saturnians, if you will, fairly acquainted with such animals as now inhabit the Earth, and employed in discussing the relations they bear to a new a singular “erect and featherless bi-ped,” which some enterprising traveler overcoming the difficulties of space and gravitation, has brought from that distant planet for our inspection, well preserved, may be, in a cask of rum. We should all at once agree upon placing him among the mammalian vertebrates; and his lower jaw, his molars, and his brain, would leave no room for doubting the systematic position of the new genus among those mammals, whose young are nourished during gestation by means of a placenta, or what are called the “placenta mammals”…
In the later parlance of today “if it swims like a duck, quacks like a duck, walks like a duck, it’s a duck.”
Always having been labeled a maverick, a bit of a rebel, perhaps just a guy who is wary of organizations, or an independent thinker, I’m a person who can feel comfortable on both sides of almost every fence. But I tend to hold fast to my own interpretations after all things are considered. It is both bain and blessing, but at the end of the day I like who I see in the mirror… but I could be wrong.
I have not always felt that way, and in fact once lost my way under the influence of money, prestige, egotism, and vanity. But, age, wisdom, and lack of financial status has done wonders for my humble side. I rejoice in the lesson, but it was expensive and left a trail of folks I’d just as soon might someday remember me more fondly.
As Bob Dylan has said, “it’s getting’ dark, but it ain’t dark yet.”
My point? Well, just for intellectual discussion, I see our world de-valuing my kind of thinking and holding tighter and firmer to conventions, stigmas, and secular dogma. Are we evolving or devolving our own species when it becomes, to use a worn out cliché; “outside-the-box” to think outside the box? Isn’t that what evolution demands of us? Or does evolution prefer the eventual automaton humans that many feel permeate our schools, businesses, governments, social networks, and societal cultures?
I learned a lot in my younger day from philosopher/writer Ayn Rand, who spoke to me through her perfect world idealism, and glorification of the individual. I naively set about making my mark on the world with little patience for the less physically and mentally endowed, and rose to the top of the heap of every pile I decided worthy of my salt.
It can be lonely at the top (or thinking so anyway), and one tends to peek over the cliffs edge, or through their personal rear view mirror a little more closely as they reach into their mid forties, feeling self-righteously indestructable. If I jump and fall in a uninhabited forest, would anyone hear it?
What many find, as I did, those who are chasing you are relentless and calculating, nothing like my Howard Roarkish hero image of myself, but having values of deceit, dishonesty, greed, unfairness, and other assorted but equally sordid backstabbing notions. I despised people like that. I was cheating on my wife. My mirror cracked.
So, I dropped out of the race, a mistake perhaps, but with an ignorant wisdom not even known then to my all-knowing self-serving self-in-denial self.
I have found that the bottom of the heap is infinitely more vile and depraved, ruthless and selfish as in any other part of said heap. And those on their way up are only interested in what you can do to speed them there with little of their own energy expenditure. They don’t look in their rear view often.
That view from the top that I enjoyed then despised, I finally speculated wasn’t the problem; it was the viewee.
And so, after ten years and as many of my old life’s friends, acquaintances, colleagues, loves, and brief encounters start to come back in focus, I see the bigger picture and smaller picture in a more tolerating light.
Yet, many of them I see still refusing to call the spade the spade, the duck the duck, and we humans a frail but lucky-as-hell species who are not capable of appreciating a whole mountain in our shiny speedy BMW. Only in a comfortable pair of old worn out sandals on a slowly climbing always winding, but nature loving hike to the peak (despite two irascible, whiny children) can one feel the feel, smell the smell of the all-too-REAL mountain.
It’s only then that the top isn’t so disappointing when you get there.
Although Einstein illuminated all of mankind by postulating his Theories of Relativity, and quantum mechanics shows us that reality is neither real nor unreal, particle or wave, people insist on stamping their own brands of THIS IS WHAT IT IS on everything we touch. Answers are sold like goods and merchandise in the name of: SOLUTIONS. Solutions are it.
No, they are not what it is, it is what it is. And only, mind you… to you. And, only now.
And just how is that?
It depends on the observer, and from where they exist at this moment in space/time. After that, it is only a guess. Every day and everything in one’s life can be seen in this very light… its all relative. Every continuous separate moment our real is lost and gained forever and ever. There is no past. There is no future. There is only here and now for us, individually. Solutions? Not even Heaven above.
And now’s the time to drop these delusions which make us feel that our future is safer if we will just shut up, say our prayers, and get in-line with everyone else. Rejoice in the uncertainty and the individuality of the unknown. Say exactly what you are thinking to anyone you feel needs to hear it. DO NOT FEAR ANYONE or any situation. Believe in yourself. Perhaps in there lies: A Solution.
And what about our quacking duck?
Materialism is passé. Grow a brain and get a real life. I did. Now I have my own monument on the D.C. Plaza…
I’ve recently become aware of certain Corporations or Corporation that Advise folks to “Pause before you Post”. Sober advice it would seem on the face of it, since some recent Facebook and other Social networking sites have come under fire due to posts of harassment, vindictiveness, and violent undertones being made by posters to others on their sites.
But I’m led to wonder if there isn’t a more clandestine message being communicated here, and not necessarily to kids on Social networking sites. Is it, could it be a veiled threat to their own employees and contractors? I say this not a far-fetched idea from some critical over-thinking; and I’m not some disgruntled ex-employee simply trying to find an angle to embarrass some Corporate machine.
I say it from my own observation of real life situations, my own gut feeling, and real life experiences.
It seems that despite the over modulated mantra of “embracing change”, many highly profitable companies, while out-of-date with times and technology, are embracing subtle but effective strategies in attempts to stay relevant without going through the necessary pain of re-tooling, re-inventing, and re-making themselves. The gravy train has gone on for so long they resist the inevitable by using cute slogans as band aids, lying not only to themselves, but to their employees and loyal but disillusioned customers.
When those on the front lines (particularly their Salesforce and customers) communicate upward what’s going on in the “real” world, Ivory towers are feeling added pressure to come up with ideas that (don’t) answer or provide solutions to the “real” issues. They tire of hearing the “real” truth, which improving on is either too expensive or too radical for a quick fix. They already know the real truth… that the Titanic has struck an iceberg and is taking on water fast.
Their job has become to keep the band playing as long as they can.
“Pause before Posting” might just be another way to say, “Don’t bitch to us anymore. We don’t want to hear it. There’s nothing we can do about it.”
And those unlucky but honest souls who do not heed this warning are reminded to STFU, else they and their familes may be on unemployment sooner, than if hoping to get on a lifeboat in those dark icy waters of an uncertain future.
This strategy is not new. It keeps many lost souls in line much longer, much like the Roman Catholic Church once did after the disintegration of the Roman Empire. Remember those days? Some call them the Dark Ages.
So, what should one do? It’s been my experience as a self-actualized individual (but not necessarily good fortune) to “Think before I Pause before I Post”.
This means being honest and forthright, straightforward, with an acute sense of propriety which needs no pause, which flows forth in a post that sometimes offends those who most need offending.
Unfortunately, those same people are sometimes the fat slobs who have back stabbed and back patted their way to the top, and get riled when their lazy unconcern for the rest of the people who work hard at their business question their decisions. Fat slobs can be powerful foes.
It’s a double edged sword, no doubt. But, for me… I’d rather like who I see in the mirror despite the negative notch that will inevitably be scratched before my name; when I post before I pause. I feel good being blatantly honest when I’m sure about my convictions, and when they proceed from honest analysis.
Perhaps I’m self-actualized enough not to care about the possibilities financial devastation of getting fired can bring. Maybe Im just being irresponsible to my family, whom I know will suffer my consequences.
But, I know who I am and always will be. I’ve always had a sneaky feeling that some people know that I know who they are too, and it scares them. Some of them are fat slobs.
I’m not afraid.
I say to you: Post what you actually believe is true and will benefit the Corporation or others by recognizing that truth is sacred. Remember, everyone has their own agenda and try to recognize such. If they don’t like what you have to say, allow them post you back saying as much and perhaps providing additional insight. Don’t pause… post.
Timing may be of the essence. Never be intimidated by a simple slogan that subtley hints that your complaints aren’t acceptable. You are likely to be more right than wrong when you Post with conviction, not pause.
“Pause before you Post”? A Trojan horse or wise admonition wearing a pretty dress? Make your own call… but my money is on the former, and I don’t just think it, I feel it in my bones. I’m pretty sure I know how it works.
Woke up one morning after an ill-conceived fatty
Now instead of being his Father, they called me his baby-daddy.
And If life is like golf, they might as well called me her caddie.
She had the queen, I just held the jack
I played the joker and she played her rack.
AND, thats how the light gets in; it finds a SMALL crack.
As I was stiffin her, she was stiffin me
But when I first saw his face, it turned to… an Epiphany.
A whole life I’D spent…searching for my role, then I suddenly looked down… I was standing on the goal.
She got dealt some bad cards, QUICKLY folded her hand and left the table
But I kept the prize, and she’s now JUST a fable
Now I’m a seven year-old’s Daddy, and there’s no LOVE more willing or ABLE.
So here’s to being a Father,
All it took was a screw
I like it so much… NOW I’m a Daddy for two.
Thom Adams of Maitland, Florida reports that a ten year “dicey-nastybug” he caught while moving his one man band to Florida 10 years ago may be finally letting up. Yesterday, he rolled Yo on the come out, sending thousands of unhappy don’t bettors to the three card poker tables and breaking his world record of consecutive don’t pass rolls. A record he says he’s not especially proud of, but he says he “rolls” with the punches.
He says that a multi-dimentional string of bad luck dice rolls got caught in a state of “suspended perpetuosity” (his words not ours) as he played Craps with god, the devil, van morrison, and a guy named creeps on a one way cruise to hell. He was betting the pass line with double odds and taking 2 come bets with 10X odds. The number “seven” came up 7,345 times consecutively, each time after establishing a point of various table numbers (of which he himself established on his come out rolls). He was very unpopular with the do’s, but the don’ts and the lays plowed him with all sorts of medicinal potions cococted to keep his horrendous roll alive. That is… until his string broke… and him too.
Today, he cautiously, but briefly smiled… ending a 10 year frown that left him with a double forehead brow, only recently made popular by Anthony Davis, the unibrow phenom from University of Kentucky. “I hope Ant stays away from the Riverboats in New Orleans, he quipped.
“And who knows,” he was reported saying. “Maybe tomorrow the sun will come out and my car windows will be rolled up.”
If you define truth as reality, then Mr. Einstein showed us that Truth is always a matter of perspective at a specific point in time.
In other words what is true is not the same thing from every perspective or at every moment. I think that we many times confuse truth with being the opposite of false but the opposite of truth is ‘not true’ (there are subtle but meaningful differences).
To say that something is red is simplifying the fact that most of us see colors in very similar ways, so for convenience sake it makes sense to agree on things like this. But truth is sacred. As such it cannot be trivialized. Yet we must all understand that truth is fleeting at best.
One cannot change truth, because it’s happening at the now and later its, well, too late. We can visualize it, but we should always remember that it is only a recollection (a cheap knock off) of the truth, not the exact truth. And that is simply our recollection of the truth at a specific point in time from a specific perch.
It cannot be re-enacted truthfully due to time moving on. If we effort to understand how truth can be (is) different for everyone and all things, we are on our way to finding peace… enlightenment and wisdom.
-Written for a Special friend and mother (Stefanie) of a beautiful two year old (Jayden) on Mothers Day 2008.
They had spent the last week or two living with us due to an ex-boyfriend gone mad, and the changing dynamics had left an indelible mark on all our psyches. Our parenting styles were vastly different and we were both frustrated and confused…not to mention how the arrangement affected our TWO beautiful reasons to live, OUR SONS Jayden and Dylan.
While they went to Cocoa to enjoy the beach, and Dylan (my son) went to his grandma’s house for Mother’s Day, i had a few moments, (finally) alone to relax, reflect and write this sing-songy poem…
You say i know nothing and nothing i might.
But to jump on conclusions would be a dark ride at night,
With scars healed by daylight and bones who’ve felt bite
I must take you and your screaming to the woodshed of light
There once lived a young maiden, in a land far away
Spent 20 years of bailing yet making no hay
Her mind was confused keeping demons at bay.
THOUGH she was sharp, strong and able, somehow that didn’t pay,
She was searching for answers, but figured “what will come and what may”
Meanwhile, back at the office of crisis and crowd
The vortex had summoned my life SO clear and SO loud.
I was forced to eat porrage of love and deceit,
Then i woke up in heaven, and whom did i greet?
A line of old men who all looked like my dad
Their clothes matched each other’s, not yellow or red,
They were the color of ‘old wisdom’, they were gray flannel dead.
I was happy to see them, i think they were me, (i thought they were me?)
But then i was certain when they all stood to pee
My limelight soon over, their focus turned off of me,
Just behind my left shoulder sat (my son) in our Tree.
The branches were spindly, they all shook when he smiled,
My love was enormous but our chances looked vile.
I figured… no need to worry, ”what will come and what may”
Then I watched you with (Jayden), at Cocoa Beach… yesterday?
I grabbed my son Dylan, ran and waved while I held back my tears
My dads all said goodbye, but that I might not see them see them for years
Between the dead and the living, it’s only us with the fears
But Ifelt this profound implication in loving our peers.
When I saw you again, I was no longer mad nor was I sad
I knew that our friendship was too important to let it go like some fad.
Your lovely smile lit my soul and I was thrilled you came my way
It was the day our lives intersected at the corner of ”what will come and what may”
Simply put, its a motorcycle passenger seat designed for riders aged 12 months – 48 months with their safety and comfort in mind, without taking any of the driver’s attention away from normal road conditions and traffic.
Why ride children on motorcycles at all? Isn’t it dangerous?
Of course, motorcycle riding can be dangerous with or without using proper safety measures; and sometimes by events that are beyond the driver’s control. Yet, despite the obvious safety hazards, motorcycling is a hobby safely enjoyed by millions of people worldwide today. Small children are typically not able to remain safely seated as passengers on most motorcycles, therefore they should not ride under those conditions. The choice of whether to allow a child to ride falls to the child’s parent or responsible guardian, who should take responsible precautions to insure the child’s safety. The babyDaddy safety seat is designed with small children in mind, so that they cannot fall from the motorcycle, or hinder the driver during normal motorcycle operation.
There’s nothing like it anywhere and yet the demand is overwhelming.
Is it legal?
Each US State has its own safety regulations with regards to the operation and safe riding of motorcycles. After a thorough investigationof each State’s unique laws and regulations, it is apparent that our seat is legal in all 50 US States and Territories.
Which bikes are best suited for use of this apparatus?
The babyDaddy safety seat has been designed to adjust and fit to most manufacturer’s regular motorcycle’s passenger seat, where it can be safely mounted and fastened to disallow any movement in the seat during normal motorcycle operation. Also, the seat is designed to adjust to each child’s leg length and seat capacity, further insuring a comfortable and safe ride with a responsible driver. Reinforced steel underpinnings make the seat stronger than the motorcycle it is attached to, while steel cross guards insure that a child cannot climb out of the seat without assistance.
My original seat was tested almost daily with a child who grew from six months to almost five years of age, always utilizing the same seat. During that time there were zero accidents, as most car drivers took extra precaution when they noticed a child aboard my 1995 Heritage Softail, and I am an especially safe driver myself.
What do others think of the device?
Over that four year period, hundreds if not thousands of people saw and approved of the seat by their positve comments everywhere we traveled (I did not want to travel long distances with my son… the longest trip was about 50 miles each way.). People young and old realized how safe and happy we were as traveling partners, and enthusiastically endorsed my decision to create a way for my young son to bond even closer to his single parent; In this case his dad.In four years I never heard one negative comment about riding with my child.
At least 20-30 people stopped me to ask where they might be able to buy one, or if I might make one for them personally (which I always declined). I was stopped at traffic lights, in restuarants, and at ball games by individuals who wanted to acquire a seat for riding their own child. The demand is high for providing a safe way to ride small children on their parent’s motorcycle.
A personal message from the Inventor/Designer:
At 49 and childless, I had long since decided against parenthood. To me at the time, children were loud, unruly, and would be disruptive of the peaceful life I had lived, and planned to continue to live in that vein. One careless afternoon with an ex-girlfriend changed that plan and my life inexoribly and forever, when I found out that she was pregnant with my child and had every intention of making me a first time Father.
Some things in life we cannot change, so I decided to take full and total responsibility, and buy into this new chapter about to begin in my life. I figured that if I was going to be a dad, I was going to be a great dad and have my son 50% of the time legally allowed to parents in Florida who are not living together.
In my past life I had been a motorcycle enthusiast to that same fervant degree.
Every summer for 20 straight years I had taken at least a one month motorcycle trip to somewhere. I had traveled in 15 countries and across this country more than once, throughout some States 10-20 times, always enjoying the freedom and pleasure of motorcycling. I rode almost every day after moving to Florida in 2003, and nothing was going to stop me from continuing my love for riding.
Yet, on January 30, 2005 I found that there is a greater LOVE than motorcycling, when my new baby son, Dylan was born. Call it a Peak Experience, an epiphany, or a paradigm shift in my thinking and being… or call it unconditional LOVE. All the sudden life was no longer meaningful or enjoyable without my best friend Dylan at my side.
Unfortunately, a tragic accident in October 2006 took the life of Dylan’s mother, and I was left to raise him alone. I had already designed a number of useful things from from scraps of junk metal and other materials in my spare time. Now I NEEDED to design something special; for me it would be for the most precious cargo on the planet.
The babyDaddy safety seat
My point in this is that contrary to any naysayer or negative thinker, this seat was built from LOVE, with LOVE. People can second guess what they might or might not have done in my situation, but the truth is my reality can only be observed from my unique perspective. No one else has a valid perspective. As a long time follower of AYN RAND and the philosophy of objectivity, I’ve made it my business not to interfere in other people’s lives, while I demand they show me the same respect.
The truth is that a baby seat for your child is only appropriate or NOT coming from your own viewpoint. If your son or daughter is anything like my seven year old Dylan, they will thank you for allowing them so many special times spent with you. Dylan and I have the greatest bond between any child and father possible. I know this for sure: The one thing that made that possible was having The babyDaddy safety seat.
A steady frigid wind and a blistering chill from the East had settled into a steady rhythm one late February day in 1971. Gust… then relief… more gust… less relief. The sky was painted pewter gray… a dreary, solid, unwavering, uncaring gray.
I stepped carefully onto the cracked Southern Louisville sidewalk, trying to miss the patches of ice that had formed to even out the middle, where the concrete slabs met and slanted in either direction. I pulled my tobagon down over my ears and flipped it up so my eyes were barely visible. I tugged my gloves tight as I lit out down the cruddy block of residential and commercial properties lining the four lane Street called Taylor Boulevard in Louisville’s South End.
Optimistically, Tolly said smiling, “let’s roll”.
Six teenage disheveled runners took off; shivering, sighing, and determined to finish their six mile run before dark. Southern Louisville is not a pretty place now, nor was it then, in the early 70‘s. Mostly blue collar houses built after World War II lined grimy streets, sometimes built seemingly only inches apart. The people living there had a hard life and it showed… on their faces, in their homes and cars, in their yards.It’s no place to be after dark.
Tolly was our coach, or our Graduate Assistant Coach during the Winter off-season when real Coaches went home before the 4:30 Midwestern darkness, to settle in warm and cozy with their families. An ex-runner himself, Tolly was Interning from the University of Louisville.
We were Iroquois High School distance runners, seeking future fame, fortune, or perhaps a just a letter jacket, by running on late afternoon school days during off-season; which we hoped would help make us much better runners by the time Spring Track season rolled around in Mid-March. Or, that was our hope at least.
In 1971, distance running was not a household word with the MOJO it now assumes. The name “NIKE” didn’t exist. Nor did their shoes. We wore white Addidas (with blue and red stripes), the only running shoe maker we’d ever heard of.
Runners, by-and-large were considered crazy, or just plain fools. Cans of beer or Pop were hurled at us as a matter of course, and we laughed and catalogued their near-misses. It broke the boredom when a car load of flannel shirted South End redenecks spit nasty epitaths and cursed us as we sped by in the opposite direction.
After having finished 30th in the Regional Finals as a Sophomore at the end of the last Cross-Country season, my future running prospects weren’t exactly on-fire. I didn’t return home to find letters from colleges stuffed in my mailbox, inquiring about my desire to take a look at their campus, or even their class schedule for that matter.
But, I needed a scholarship to be able to afford College, having come from a blue collar family of five where no one had ever attended school beyond High School. Though my parents insisted they would try to help out, I knew my slim chances were better by slipping and sliding down those icy streets. And, slim they were.
I took the tongue depresser (a stick which told me what place I had finished) from that Regional Meet. Faded blue numbers from sweat that read “30th”. I sat it on my bedstand so evry day I could see my goal of running better next year. Thirthieth in the Region is far from accomplished in High School Cross-Country. Actually, it’s not even on the map.
That Sophomore season I had been the only Varsity runner to wear the “snowbirds” as my teamates laughingly referred to my meet warmups. On our team of seven Varsity runners, six had nylon and mesh, zippered and fitted dark blue warmups with an incredible “Iroquois” splashed across their back in the most beautiful embroidered Script… with double shadows. Outrageous as they were, I wore the “snowbirds”.
Snowbirds were all-white cotton sweatpants and a sweatshirt with a small blue “Iroquois High School” in all-caps facetiously screen-printed and stuck in the upper-right corner of the front pocket area. Why? Had each letter cost us a fortune? Charged by font sizes too? Why else the disparity, which made me look and feel embarrassingly ridiculous? Snowbirds made me both ashamed and angry. Snowbirds were what got me out of my warm home onto those dirty, gray, icy roads on many cold Southern Louisville Winter days.
Even competitors from other schools noticed me while we warmed up doing wind sprints before some events; while I pretended not to notice their chuckles and the “Hey, come look at this” smirks; their common theme my pure white snowbirds, as I learned to read my opponents lips from 100 yards. Soon they would realize I was actually on the Varsity team, and not the team manager wearing goofy sweats.
Once, I recognized a guy from another school that I’d met at a local Turkey Trot back on Thanksgiving in November. “Hey Rick” I waved to the handsome leader of their pack, each one all decked out in meshy red, white, black warmups. Our two schools were racing one another that day, and he was something of a prima-dona. It felt good to let my teammates see that I actually knew Rick Akam. When he saw my sweats, and then my teammates cool-bean outfits, he just nodded, unknowingly… and then trotted away.
My easy-going Coach laughed with everybody else on the team each time he handed out my clean sno-white warmups before each meet.
“Next year Adams”, he would lament with a grin, knowing how stupid I was about to look, running along with his SuperHeroes in a set of white cotton almost blank sweats. Embarassed, I’d grab them in good cheer and slide them on.
Actually the Coach, Mr. Lerding, had seen something special in me the first day I tried out for the team back in late August. A friend in my accounting class had suggested I go out for the cross-country team because, “it’s an easy letter” as he put it. I could imagine pretty girls eyeing my dark blue school letter jacket with the “I” embroidered smartly on the front, wondering just who this new kid was?
I had transferred from Catholic School that year because my parents could no longer afford the tuition. I knew most of the kids anyway, since I grew up only a few blocks from Iroquois (the public high school), but the classes were very different. Since I had gone to Catholic School since First grade, I already knew most of what was being taught to the Juniors and Seniors at Iroquois, and had enough credits to take easy elective classes and such. Running might take away some of the boredom I figured, so I talked a couple of other friends into trying out with me that day.
That first day in late August we gathered around the horse trough at the entrance into Iroquois Park, an 800 acre park/hill carved into the city, with only one road which circled the bottom, and one road that went to the top. There were lookouts along the way and at the top one could see all the way to Indiana. Playgrounds and picnic tables, tennis courts and and an Ampitheatre dotted the beautiful park. There was also a bike path made of asphault which looped two miles along the front of the lush green forested park.
We ran the bridle path, a four and a half mile dirt loop around the bottom of the park. It was dirt/mud/horseshit, about ten feet wide with puddles of mud here and there as large as my bedroom. It had banked tight curves, up-and-down bumps or small hills, long narrow up hills drifts through the forest, but very little flat land the entire run. It was mostly through the thick forest, though in places it came out into sunny areas where there were activities like softball, picnic areas, frisbee golf and such. The sun lasted only minutes… then diving back into a wood where sunlight only flickered through the tops of trees.
On the North side there was a public golf course flanking the entire park and horse path. There the hills became steeper, longer, twisting, then finally diving straight down to the bottom, onlt to begin the next incline even steeper and more harrowing. It was like a roller-coaster of sorts without the tracks and trains. The uphill parts punished even the strongest runners. I started to become delirious that first day, but I kept running.
Since it was my first day I had no idea how fast to run, or even if I could run that far. Mainly, I tried to stay connected to others who were suffering as much as me. I trudged through the mud jumping back and forth across the puddles left over from a recent rain. I couldn’t think of anything but finishing the run, even after seeing quitters and walkers, I kept on going.
The golf course part was brutal mentally and physically, and there I had no one to rely on for encouragement or friendly assistance. Peeking over each new hilltop brought a brand new, discouraging challenge ahead. I just kept going.
Eventually, I came to a small clearing and saw the bottom of the hill where the Coach chatted with three or four other runners as they were stretching, talking and laughing.
Soon enough I was among them, though I didn’t say much. I just laid prone looking up at the leaves in the tops of treees, sun blinking in and out with my conscience Ness.
Other runners struggled to finish as we waited at least another forty minutes for them until it seemed everyone was back. Surprisingly, on my first day I was the first newcomer to finish, and even had beaten some of the Varsity runners. As I walked away to head back to the school across the street, the Coach stopped me. “What did you say your name was?” he queried.
I was jubililant and from then on forever hooked on distance running. What a small piece of “fame” can do for a naive young boy. I replayed his question that night over and over while I lay in bed nursing my aching, sore legs.
As we crossed street after street of light afternoon traffic, a light snow began to fall on our icy breaths that February day, and I felt a power inside me start to grow. I felt that I was “becoming” a long distance runner.
It seemed that the worse the weather, the more I enjoyed it. I loved running in driving rains, foggy mornings where you couldn’t see your friend next to you, and audaciously blistering cold afternoons, which made me laugh at the irony.
By now, I was also part of the Varsity team, though still a skinny Iroquois sophomore with more hope than ability. But each day I suited up for Tolly’s 6,7,8, or 10 mile runs through Louisville, more determined to shed my “snowbird” image. Running, cold and humbling as it can be, was becoming familiar and fun.
When Spring Track season began with a few “dual” meets I ran the “two-mile” against our competitors, each time breezing through the two miles in around eleven minutes and thirty seconds. That was exactly my time in the Regional the day I finished 30th. More importantly, I won the races handily, since the other runners had not endured the “Winter of Tolly” like me and some of my teammates. I knew if challenged I might be able to run even faster, but I loved winning races.
I’ll never forget the night I became “someone” on the High School running scene in Kentucky. I was still a Sophomore in late March 1971 and without any real accomplishments, when my track coach (Ed Lerding) told me that I was going to run the two-mile run that night at an “Invitational” track meet.
Eight guys, eight schools, full grandstands, and all under the lights. It sounded scary and exciting. Was I ready? I hadn’t a clue.
The two mile run is near the end of each track meet, one of its last events. That gives one plenty of time to think (or too much time), warmup, and get mentally prepared for the race ahead. Early in the meet my Coach came up to me and asked how I felt.
“Good”, I answered.
“Well I have a little job for you tonight”, as he smiled and looked me straight in the eye.
“You know your buddy? Pendelton?” he asked. Terrell Pendelton was one of the top runners in the State of Kentucky, having already posted 9:49 two-mile time that Spring. We happened to have gone to grade school together, but I really didn’t know him at all.
“Well, I want you to get on his shoulder on the first lap and stay with him as long as you can”, he said matter of factly.
“Terry Pendelton? Stay with Terry Pendelton?” What?
“Yes, just for as long as you can. Don’t worry about dropping out, just hang on to him for as long as you can,” Lerding said in an optimistic tone. “I think you can stay near him the whole race.”
“Coach, I can’t run with Terrell Pendelton. He’ll run me in the ground.”
“It’s OK. Just stay as long as you can, and stay on his shoulder. You’ll be OK.”
‘He’s nuts I thought, but he’s the coach’.
It is the last thing I remember thinking before the gun sounded to start the race. As everyone jockeyed for position I spotted Pendelton already taking the lead on the first of eight laps. I sprinted to the front and landed a half-step behind him. He looked over his right shoulder but didn’t recognize me or seem to care that I stuck to him lap after lap.
I was shocked when I heard the gun sound again (meaning it’s now the last lap), and Terry Pendelton was just a shoulder ahead of me. The crowd was screaming and all I could think of was how fast I must have been running for the past seven laps, and how I was on TERRY PENDELTON’S shoulder still.
I kept wondering when he was going to take off and leave me behind. He didn’t. I didn’t want to beat him, just stay on his shoulder until the race was over. And that’s what I did, even though another guy (Don Cook) passed us both at the end.
I had finished the two mile in 9:54… the third fastest time in Kentucky that season. More than happy, I was amazed at myself. From 30th in the Region just four months ago, to now one of the fastest two-milers in the State of Kentucky.
My life hasn’t been the same since that day, that incredible peak moment. Nothing has ever been too hard, or too tough that I didn’t think I could do it.
I went on to finish 3rd in the 2-mile at the Kentucky AAA State track meet as a Sophomore that Spring (behind Cook and Pendelton), but then surprised everyone by beating Pendelton to win the Kentucky AAA State Cross-Country meet that next Fall during my Junior year.
Imagine that, the snowbird less than a year ago… now the 1971 Kentucky AAA State Cross-Country Champion, wearing mesh warm ups too!
Pretty soon my mailbox was full of mail from colleges, and I eventually had a number of full scholarship offers from some great Universities. I graduated college with a BA in 1977, though instead of running I ended up playing three years of Varsity Soccer on Kentucky’s best Soccer team at MSU (Morehead State University). But, I ran until I was 50 years old… who was once again a “snowbird” who had retired and moved to sunny Florida.
And although I continued running somewhat competitively through a hectic career of Publishing Sales, and played organized soccer for 11 years after college just to make sure that my youth remained intact for as long as possible, at 5o I became a first time father… altering my perception and priorities in life. A single father (who knew nothing about babies) cuddled his sick almost one year old son until… he caught pneumonia. On my third visit to the emergency room on Christmas Day 2005, my lungs filled with fluid causing my heart to double in size and nearly burst. A long recovery resulted (no running, no walking, no stress whatsoever on my heart was the Doctors instructions). “If you do” he said, “you’ll probably die.
In 2007, ironically on Christmas Day, again I was rushed to the hospital within a few breaths of death. days later i awoke and the prognosis; not good. Five years… at best was the word. Here I stand in 2014 feeling better every month, no longer with the reaper no longer standing in my doorway. After all, I’m a father of two great little cross-country runners, aged 7 and 9. I have a job to do with my perfect little Snowbirds. Quitting is not a word I ever understood. Dying is out of the question, for now.
Your Honor, I am pleading not guilty to the charge of “running a stop sign” at the corner of Kewannee Trail and Chinook Trail in Maitland, Florida, on the morning of May 17, 2011.
(see attached Arrest Affidavit issued by Maitland Police Officer Brandi Andrews).
Inasmuch as any case can be rightfully adjudicated when the unassailable facts of an incident are too few to determine culpability and the eyewitness versions are in direct contradiction, I believe I can show the court factual information from which a rational and reasonable truth might then be extrapolated.
Outside of this I expect it comes down to he said/she said, and I like everyone else knows that the court is most likely to side with the law enforcement version in these instances. Yet, the actions taken by Officer Andrews that day indicate a lack of competence which to me casts reasonable doubt on the veracity of her report.
OFFICER BRANDI ANDREWS
The official Narrative of the incident filed by Officer Andrews is the best place to begin to compare the two conflicting versions of the truth regarding what happened on the morning, then afternoon, and into the evening of May 18, and finally into the wee hours of May 19 when I finally walked out of the Orange County jail.
There are a number of inaccurate, erroneous and blatantly false statements in it made by Ms. Andrews, which cast a shadow on the exact truth of the event, and which shed a significantly different light on my actual guilt or innocence.
For example, the officer suggests that she pursued me soon after witnessing me run through a stop sign at the corner of Kewannee and Chippewa Trail. She states that after stopping me (for the stop sign violation) she asked for my license, registration and insurance card, to which I then informed her that I knew my drivers license was under suspension, and that violation became an arrest for Driving under a Suspended License.
Though this account is close to what actually happened, the exact truth of what went down makes all the difference in the world when considering my guilt or innocence of the charges. The Officer’s version conveniently leaves out some important facts, not surprising when you consider how inept she handles her role of public servant.
Now, your honor, this is not meant to be a personal attack on the Officer’s character, nor am I calling her out as a LIAR. But what I am saying here is important to understand when considering this case, and it is clearly backed up by the unassailable facts of that day.
After seeing a patrol car facing me parked on Chippewa Trail, and knowing that there was an issue with my Drivers License (that it was in fact, was at that moment under suspension), I was careful to stop at the stop sign in question. After going through the intersection the officer fell behind me, but did not immediately turn on her blue lights. After following me a short way the blue lights came on and I pulled over.
As the officer approached me I began to explain that I knew my license was suspended and was going to the DMV to get the issue straightened out, and that I had just been on the phone with them discussing the issue just before leaving my house 3 blocks away. I told her that my license was incorrectly suspended for quite some time, but that I had just learned it and needed to show the DMV my proof.
The officer did not ask for my license, registration or insurance card as the report states, nor did she mention any stop sign violation, but asked me to stay in the car and headed back to her patrol car.
Soon thereafter a male Maitland Officer (from another unit which arrived) approached my car and immediately began to question me about “whose car it was?” When I told him that it was my Sister’s car, he asked if I had known the tag was expired. He said, “you do know your plate is expired don’t you?” to which I explained NO it wasn’t expired, but that it expires in October of this year.
He seemed puzzled, but then apparently realized that Kentucky puts a sticker on the tag of the Driver’s birth month. Florida, by contrast puts a similar sticker on showing the year of expiration. The tag had a “10” sticker in the corner (AS IN October), which WAS apparently mistook for being expired in 2010.
A long while after he left, Officer Andrews approached and asked that I step to the back of the vehicle, where she informed me for the first time about the Citation for running a stop sign. She handcuffed me for driving on a suspended license with knowledge and took me to Orange County jail.
Although I was pulled over before noon that day and subsequently arrested around 1 p.m., the Officer left me in handcuffs for nearly 5 hours, despite my continual complaints, which cut off circulation in my wrists and left both arms in severe muscular pain and spasm. I was finally processed into jail after 6:30 p.m., due to the incompetence or lack of training or both by this Maitland Police Officer. I watched in agony as she stood red-faced staring at her computer all day while dozens of criminals came and went.
Through all this time she refused to loosen my handcuffs or even hear my complaints.
Angry and exhausted, I finally walked out of the Orange County jail at 2:30 am the next morning, over 12 hours since my arrest.
The State of Florida quickly dropped my Driving on a Suspended charges when I explained to the judge about the inadvertent license suspension, and showed her the proof at my arraignment. The Maitland cop could have done the same, yet instead she spent all day on Joe taxpayer’s payroll putting ONE Joe taxpayer behind bars.
The reason I assume she made up the stop sign charge was because she had incompetently pulled me over for having an expired license tag (which I did not have), and not because I ran a stop sign. If she were going to be able to show probable cause for stopping me (and thus take me to jail for the driving on a suspended license charge), she needed to have a reason to have pulled me. Perhaps the stop was an escape goat for her original error in judgment.
Yes, I knew my license was suspended (though it shouldn’t have been).
Doesn’t it stand that I would drive extra careful after seeing a patrol sitting across from me? If you say YES, you’re correct.
Now look at the facts in this case, supported by the evidence of ineptitude. How many times does it take an officer 5 hours to book one inmate? Why was the very first question about an “expired tag” and why did it take another Officer to arrive? Why did a judge take one look at my Drivers License paperwork and dismiss my case, but law enforcement refused to hear my explanation? Why did she “fall behind” me as the report states instead of pulling me on the spot after seeing me go through the stop sign?
Who do you think is telling the truth here, and who was covering their behind? I am not guilty of these charges or I would have paid the fine and moved on.
Thank you your honor for allowing me to present my side of what really happened on May 18, 2011.
Accordingly, the Judge ruled in my favor (for once).
this was posted on SeaofBlue.com BEFORE the NCAA Elite Eight Cats/Carolina slugfest in March 2011 which saw Kentucky outman, outgun, outdefend, (like all get out) a formidable, but very beatable Tar Heel squad…
though i usually can’t pick my nose in the ncaa, this time i predicted that only one-1 seed and no two seeds would see the final four this year. the Cats can make that happen today with a win. let’s take a look at some numbers and facts borrowed from kenpom.com:
generally carolina plays faster paced than kentucky, thus scoring more points per game. carolina wants to push the ball looking for open 2pt shots, and i doubt that calipari will mind.
carolina plays its offense primarily through their bigs. they are monster offensive rebounders, while kentucky is slightly better at defensive rebounding. keeping the heels off their offensive glass is crucial.
the teams are fairly equal at offensive shooting % inside the arc. but, carolina scores most of its points inside the arc, as they shoot a few threes, and those are not shot that well (33.2%). kentucky shoots the three very well (39.2%), and relatively more often, though they are not simply a three point shooting team that lives (and dies) by the three. kentucky shoots free throws better (71.7% vs 67%), but carolina does not foul nearly as much as kentucky and relatively little period.
kentucky takes care of the ball much better (makes fewer turnovers), ranked #9 div 1 vs #166 in offensive TO%.
kentucky defends the three about the same as carolina (opponents shoot 33.2% vs 32.5%) but defends inside the arc better (opp shoot 41.7 vs 44.4%). kentuckys opponents shoot fewer three than carolinas. kentucky typically blocks a slightly higher percentage of shots than carolina.
kentucky’s effective field goal % is higher than carolina (52.5 vs 49.2). this factor is calculated combining 2pt and 3pt shooting %. and its adjusted offensive efficiency (all factors combined – shooting %, TO%, OR%, FT%), is better (ranked #7 in division 1 vs #39), although carolina has a better adjusted defensive ratio (same factors only defensively – ranked #5 div 1 vs #20). yet, kentuckys effective defensive field goal % is bit higher than is carolinas (ie guarding 2pt and 3pt shots combined).
this adds up to a game being decided on how well kentucky can shoot the three against a carolina defense that does not guard the three well, and then defend their own basket in the paint against carolina’s bigger frontline, and how well carolina’s somewhat shaky guards take care of the basketball against a formidable defender in kentucky.
also carolina’s free throw shooting may become a factor, since they are likely to be at the line more often.
Based on the games importance, it is likely to be a dogfight through the end with the numbers suggesting (to me) kentucky winning by 2-3 pts, say 76-74.
of course, we all know how the game is not played on paper, but in the hearts and minds of the players, and at the coaching box. for my money, i like kentucky here too, with the 4 seeding being a large factor in the chip they seem to be wearing on their shoulders. to me, the Heels seem satisfied to just have the monkey off their backs from last year’s debacle season, and seem a bit soft. Getting pounded by Duke and Georgia Tech this year shows they are vulnerable to a blowout.
Look for Liggins to possibly step out on Marshal early to test his fortitude, then settle in with defending Barnes.
If kentucky goes cold from the three point line, look for a long afternoon watching carolina rebound and head off to the races, ending in many contested layups, dunks, and foul trouble for the Cats. this will not end pretty for our boys, and we go home to watch on TV.
The play of Terrence Jones and Darius Miller seems important here in how well we can contain the big Carolina frontline. we already know Harrelson, Liggins, Lamb, and Knight will show up ready to play.
(sorry, i just hate to capitalize while huntin and peckin)
the brain trust at my house sat on the outside porch all last night and rehashed the entire closet of skeletons. we added body language, analyzed metadata, multiplied metatarsal fragments, DNA, hairs and bodily fluids found at the uh, under the couch… just figured it all out. though i’m no math whiz, i know when it all doesn’t add up. it’s truly amazing how much we let go by us when inside we really want the math to work out. but inventory day, counting the left withs and subtracting the outgoingz to match with the incoming… is a day of…well, reckoning. it’s all right there in the data.
in the end, the good chairman (senator evaroosky, CT-missouri) acknowledged the glaring logics shortfall, right after excuse number (catch this) 23, shook his head solemnly and said, “you’re right. it just dudn’t jive duz it? damn. she seemed sincere to me…”
my wry smile hid the heartache as i got up to ponder the new findings. i exhaled, and thought to myself:
“well OK. so you figured out what you already knew. what did you expect anyway? to find out that the obvious lies were not so obvious? quit wasting time and energy. get up. move on. be done with it…”
so much fucking wasted time on a glimmer of hope that what i had suspected to be true wasn’t after all…that it was really my own insecurity’s reflection. actually i think she had suggested that to me once.
did i hope that universal truths would be proven false, that actually having no proof would translate into innocence, and that her deafening silence to questions only she could answer were really…uh, well… an expression of dumb love that froze her up, and she just couldn’t explain her true feelings in a meaningful, coherent way? all smoke and mirrors buddy-boy, wake the fuck up!
the famous INDICATORS were guess what? indicating…pointing in a direction…providing guidance in otherwise non-specific art/science. the art of understanding the meaning of one’s actions despite implicit denials of what those actions mean.
Hmmm… the INDICATORS were not so much hocus pocus after all- (or the twisted, metaphorical bullshit that i was regularly accused of pulling out of my ass). yet incredulously sometimes even i can be led off the trail, albeit momentarily, by some wacked out blowhard insisting that i am the fraud.
it’s like catching someone holding your money, wallet, credit cards, and favorite lamp standing outside your home saying they were trying gather up your things for you in case the house caught fire. they feel you should thank them instead of freaking the fuck out. NOT.
and like my daddy used to say, “only the nose knows for sure.”
and just like my daddy, i can still smell the aroma of freshly minted bullshit at fifty paces…and just whom…i mean really… who is surprised by that?
no one. not today. not even insecure little ole me.
Romantic love and real friendship are as vital to the human soul as basic nutrition is to our bodies.
We spend our lives affecting and becoming infected not just by the many interpersonal relationships we initiate, develop and sustain, but also those that for various reasons we let slide into the immensity of no return. though we might notice an occassional mistake in judgement and adjust, sometimes it’s too late. it pays us to take careful heed of the precarious nature of love and friendship as we move through our lives if happiness is our ultimate goal..
Our hearts can somehow sense what is intrinsically good or bad in relationships despite conflicting advice sometimes being shouted at our inner-self by our rational mind; then it attempts to sublimely guide our actions, while our rational mind factors in real issues and pressures that are exerted from the outside world. our inner-self does the math and our conscience agenda is set.
With love the truth always eventually rises to the surface.
Love chooses us, not the other way around. it is somewhat preordained as to whom we are attracted to and those we find unsuitable and reject. sometimes, to our brains our heart’s choice doesn’t make good sense. at this stage of my life (53), when it comes to love, my heart rules over my brain in a close one.
But it wasn’t always that way, and in fact not for most of my life. our lives are lived in segments, which stitch together as one in the end. our loves lives can seem incongrous to us because of the inner battle between heart and mind can sometimes become unbalanced.
Youth is impetuous and idealistic; the perfect stage for a heart in firm control over the brain. young people are notorious for their poor decisions when it comes to love.
as we enter our 20’s the balance changes and so too do our needs and wants in a mate. as life gets tougher and our responsibilities grow, we begin to be more practical. our expectations in love relationships become more grounded as we project how love will look in the future instead of seeing only the immediate benefits of a love interest we weigh and project a forecast for the future. does it show promise of providing us an easier life(style)? more loving and secure family? is it a friendly partnership? physical attraction is still important but becoming less weighted.
here is also where the brain can trick us into thinking that love can be bought and sold like any commodity. our heart takes a back seat while the rational mind does most of the driving during these formative years. after all the brain counts the money, not the heart.
later on goals adjust again and the heart begins to demand attention once again. we see that true happiness IS a matter of the heart, a concept our brain would just as soon we had forgotten. if we’re too impulsive, we may make life altering decisions that we will regret later, when the mind regains it’s footing and begins to assert it’s valuable wisdom. like every thing else in life, a good balance is what we’re after.
and then again, sometimes we’re just lucky and we meet a special person that satisfies our brain and our heart equally, and as much as we satisfy theirs. that’s true love and it usually lasts.
so when you meet someone and begin to form a relationship with them be careful not to make rash judgements that you may regret later. keep in mind (and heart) who your true friends are likely to be later on. in life. Love can become friendship and vice-versa. i know because both have happened to me.