OK, well, just in case those silly Mayans were right (predicting the end of the world, but not their own demise) I'm going to get my Christmas Greetings out to you all right now. That way, no matter what happens, I'm covered as for getting this social norm out of the way. Really, I'm not a Christmas card person. I don't send that many, if any of them. If I did, it would most likely include some bit of a form letter, and it would sound much like what you're reading right now. So, as much as I love the post office for their inspiring forays into Hollywood, I'm going for the elctronic delivery method. I hear all the cool kids are doing this.
It's hard to wrap my mind around the concept that another year has come and gone. In some ways, It seems longer, and in others, the time is all too fleeting. I feel a bit like Charles Dickens when I say it was the longest year and the shortest year, but there you have it. As it always does, the first half of my year went by pretty fast. Before I knew it, the nice weather was upon me, and I got that old familiar itch: it was time to ride. As in 2011, I likewise had my place in the 2012 MS 150: Escape to the Lake assured, and raised money for the two-day event in early June. More than anything, this means getting out and riding a lot. in 2011, this meant a lot of riding on my own, and while there was still plenty of that this year, I also got in touch with some other riders and went out on several occcasions with them. It's nice to extend my community of cycling friends to include those warriors for this event, and it's even more nice to realize that not only am I able to keep up with many of them....but in a lot of cases, it's them trying to keep up with me. I guess that the difference between casual riders and racers. Riders ride, racers go on rides and want to go faster.
My grandmother Mildred finished her mission in this life this summer. At 94 years old, it was a good life, a mission accomplished. At long last, she was reunited with my grandfather Joe. It was both joyous and sad- the family gathered because of a loss, but yet, the renewal of family bonds was what both Joe and Mildred would have wanted: just to know we were all ok.
Summer was spent doing the usual: camping, enjoying the outdoors, small vacations here and there. A discovery trip to a little town called Ohiopyle in SW PA was a blast, and I got to share this and a few other exploratory experiences with the best partner I could ask for. See, it was shortly after the MS 150 that I met someone, and since then, my life has been an abundance of beauty and joy that I previously dared not hope to find. With her, I have discovered the following:
Beauty in all things, including myself
Grace and compsure
patience and understanding
wisdom
strength
knowledge and kindness
and someone who makes me as much a part of her thoughts as I make her a part of mine.
In the last six months, I have done more living than I think I've done in the last couple years, and with every moment, it becomes more exhillerating, more clear to me, and more enjoyable. Even those not-so-great moments end up looking pretty good. Camping trips, meeting her family, sharing my family with her, traversing the culinary delights of different foods, beers, wines, liquors...these have filled my last six months.
But, it's that time of year when we look back and remember, both with fondness and regret, the lessons that life has taught us. As I look back, I find that this year, I would change nothing. Even the bad things that happened, I would keep. They have made this year full, exciting, and there were hidden joys in each moment that I would have otherwise missed.
Life is good.
So, my wish for all of you is that 2013 be for you a time of peace, where you find your mind, heart, and spirit filled with grace and joy. May you find your faith as only you can, and may your journey be fruitful. May you know love of family. May you know the love of a good man/woman (as befits your needs). May you wake each day to new opportunities to grow, and may you seek out opportunities to help others do the same.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Monday, December 17, 2012
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Of Libraries and Christmas Trees, and "Ben Stein"...
Hello, e-land, and Merry Christmas! That's right, I said it. No mere "Happy Holidays" from me, I said the dreaded words, "Merry Chrsitmas." You what? I like them. I'll say them again. MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!
Life can be interesting and surprising to me, at times. Recently, I was in a conference for work, where the keynote speaker was talking about the next generation of library infrasrtucture. Naturally, in a topic so dry (unless you're a computer programmer) there was plenty of time to let your thoughts wander. As I looked around and watched the eyes of my compatriots glaze over, I was struck by what the speaker was talking about: cooperative efforts to get us all on the proverbial "same page."
I began to wonder where we are headed. I don't just mean if we're going to heaven or hell or anything like that - no, where is humanity going, as a species? We learn so much differently than we used to. In some ways, we are far more advanced than we used to be, and in others, I wonder if we've come very far at all - or if we have, at what cost has it come?
This is not a new argument. We've been asking it in one form or another since time began. The early scientists - or alchemists, if you prefer - were criticized for witchcraft, or later, devil-worship, and men who saw something different in the world, like Galileo and Copernicus, DaVinci and others, were commonly mocked, maltreated, and otherwise shunned and punished for simply not believing what everyone else believed. They were different. Only years - centuries - later, were they recognized for the gifts of thought they gave the world.
It's this attitude of discovery that has spurred us onward. It was responsible for colonialism (well, ok, the lust for gold MAY have had something to do with that as well) and it's still responsible today for the ever-growing desire to push forward into new and uncharted territory. So, the "what's next?" for man has been the driving desire for a long time. We're used to it. it's comfy. It ought to be - we've had long enough to get used to it.
But what has this done for Man as a whole? We still murder, cheat, lie, steal, gossip, and a myriad of other nasty things. In fact, we've only gotten better at those things with the passage of time. We learn faster, we communicate faster, we encounter our world as never before, and always, there's a push for more, more, more, more. Even in libraries, the latest push is to join in the "cloud" universe - an oganic, open-concept philosophy that revolves around making everything open to everyone all the time...no limits.
It's that "no limits" thing that got me thinking. Have we surpassed our best age, and become something less than what we once were? Our ingenuity and our uniqueness once stemmed from our inability to communicate ideas and reactions instantaneously. Well, that's gone. I can write this in one part of the world, and as long as I upload it to the internet, anyone worldwide can read it within moments. When I want to find a recipe, I "google it" and find the information I want, and then I can create the same recipe that someone else already created. Oh sure, it's delicious....but what have I invented? More importantly, what have I invested? Only as much time as it takes to find a recipe. Nothing more. Where is my contribution? Is it really to my advantage?
We are caught, once again, in that place, asking the question that has bothered us for so long, illustrated so well by Michael Chrichton so well in "Jurassic Park," You scientists are always so busy trying to figure out what you can do, you never bother to ask whether or not you should.' So I wonder - Should we try and achieve this unique "cloud" formation, which is, by it's definition, unable to be specifically governed, measured, assessed, and practiced with the efficiency we have come to expect form our world? I don't know. It's scary.
BUT, we're seeing this in other places of our world, particularly in the United States. I recently came across a letter written by Mr Ben Stein. Well, it turns out this is rather a hoax - Mr. Stein never really wrote such a letter, though it does appear that he said many of the things the letter contained. Someone did a good job of taking Mr. Stein's thoughts and stringing them together to make a point. The point? That by including more people in our decision-making and policy-making, what we've managed to do is to take a hold of the "least common denominator" and begin to adopt a society that is, in some way, less than what it used to be. This particular "article" voiced specifically the abandoning of the concept of the Christian God in lieu of simply making sure that people are not offended., and looking at other practical examples of where the abandonment of old and accepted ways of function have yeilded less than perfect results. One that was mentioned was Dr. Spock's (the real one, not the Star Trek Character) insistence that spanking is bad for children...then pointing out (factuality questionable) that Spock's son then killed himself. (UPDATE: No, Spock's son is still alive...in fact, both the man's children are, living long and prospering. Yeah, I went there.)
But the article may not be wrong in its goal of raising the question, 'have we gone too far astray from humanity, to the point where we are now limiting us more than we are helping us?'" Our learning rates and test scores are lower then ever in our educational facilities. We are willing to accept less quality from students just so that we can pass more of them. Some people get offended when we say Merry Christmas instead of Happy Holidays. We cannot teach the bible in public school, even though it plays a significant part in European and American History. Someone is offended. A friend of mine, whose opinions I cherish, but happens to believe differently than I, is upset that his tax dollars might go to support a National Christmas Tree - because he is atheist and doesn't believe in Christmas. Now, I would not suggest that my friend doesn't have a small point - he does. But this comes back to the "lowest common denominator" principle I spoke about earlier. If we continue this path in the name of progress, will we end up doing no more than the barest minimum, and therefore create nothing that is worth celebrating anymore? Have we seen the best that Man can do, and are now just living out a substandard decline into non-pertinent existence?
Have we grown to the point where we are so much "on the same page" that there is no one left who can read the writing and be that dissenting voice? More importantly, if we do find that voice....will we listen to it?
Life can be interesting and surprising to me, at times. Recently, I was in a conference for work, where the keynote speaker was talking about the next generation of library infrasrtucture. Naturally, in a topic so dry (unless you're a computer programmer) there was plenty of time to let your thoughts wander. As I looked around and watched the eyes of my compatriots glaze over, I was struck by what the speaker was talking about: cooperative efforts to get us all on the proverbial "same page."
I began to wonder where we are headed. I don't just mean if we're going to heaven or hell or anything like that - no, where is humanity going, as a species? We learn so much differently than we used to. In some ways, we are far more advanced than we used to be, and in others, I wonder if we've come very far at all - or if we have, at what cost has it come?
This is not a new argument. We've been asking it in one form or another since time began. The early scientists - or alchemists, if you prefer - were criticized for witchcraft, or later, devil-worship, and men who saw something different in the world, like Galileo and Copernicus, DaVinci and others, were commonly mocked, maltreated, and otherwise shunned and punished for simply not believing what everyone else believed. They were different. Only years - centuries - later, were they recognized for the gifts of thought they gave the world.
It's this attitude of discovery that has spurred us onward. It was responsible for colonialism (well, ok, the lust for gold MAY have had something to do with that as well) and it's still responsible today for the ever-growing desire to push forward into new and uncharted territory. So, the "what's next?" for man has been the driving desire for a long time. We're used to it. it's comfy. It ought to be - we've had long enough to get used to it.
But what has this done for Man as a whole? We still murder, cheat, lie, steal, gossip, and a myriad of other nasty things. In fact, we've only gotten better at those things with the passage of time. We learn faster, we communicate faster, we encounter our world as never before, and always, there's a push for more, more, more, more. Even in libraries, the latest push is to join in the "cloud" universe - an oganic, open-concept philosophy that revolves around making everything open to everyone all the time...no limits.
It's that "no limits" thing that got me thinking. Have we surpassed our best age, and become something less than what we once were? Our ingenuity and our uniqueness once stemmed from our inability to communicate ideas and reactions instantaneously. Well, that's gone. I can write this in one part of the world, and as long as I upload it to the internet, anyone worldwide can read it within moments. When I want to find a recipe, I "google it" and find the information I want, and then I can create the same recipe that someone else already created. Oh sure, it's delicious....but what have I invented? More importantly, what have I invested? Only as much time as it takes to find a recipe. Nothing more. Where is my contribution? Is it really to my advantage?
We are caught, once again, in that place, asking the question that has bothered us for so long, illustrated so well by Michael Chrichton so well in "Jurassic Park," You scientists are always so busy trying to figure out what you can do, you never bother to ask whether or not you should.' So I wonder - Should we try and achieve this unique "cloud" formation, which is, by it's definition, unable to be specifically governed, measured, assessed, and practiced with the efficiency we have come to expect form our world? I don't know. It's scary.
BUT, we're seeing this in other places of our world, particularly in the United States. I recently came across a letter written by Mr Ben Stein. Well, it turns out this is rather a hoax - Mr. Stein never really wrote such a letter, though it does appear that he said many of the things the letter contained. Someone did a good job of taking Mr. Stein's thoughts and stringing them together to make a point. The point? That by including more people in our decision-making and policy-making, what we've managed to do is to take a hold of the "least common denominator" and begin to adopt a society that is, in some way, less than what it used to be. This particular "article" voiced specifically the abandoning of the concept of the Christian God in lieu of simply making sure that people are not offended., and looking at other practical examples of where the abandonment of old and accepted ways of function have yeilded less than perfect results. One that was mentioned was Dr. Spock's (the real one, not the Star Trek Character) insistence that spanking is bad for children...then pointing out (factuality questionable) that Spock's son then killed himself. (UPDATE: No, Spock's son is still alive...in fact, both the man's children are, living long and prospering. Yeah, I went there.)
But the article may not be wrong in its goal of raising the question, 'have we gone too far astray from humanity, to the point where we are now limiting us more than we are helping us?'" Our learning rates and test scores are lower then ever in our educational facilities. We are willing to accept less quality from students just so that we can pass more of them. Some people get offended when we say Merry Christmas instead of Happy Holidays. We cannot teach the bible in public school, even though it plays a significant part in European and American History. Someone is offended. A friend of mine, whose opinions I cherish, but happens to believe differently than I, is upset that his tax dollars might go to support a National Christmas Tree - because he is atheist and doesn't believe in Christmas. Now, I would not suggest that my friend doesn't have a small point - he does. But this comes back to the "lowest common denominator" principle I spoke about earlier. If we continue this path in the name of progress, will we end up doing no more than the barest minimum, and therefore create nothing that is worth celebrating anymore? Have we seen the best that Man can do, and are now just living out a substandard decline into non-pertinent existence?
Have we grown to the point where we are so much "on the same page" that there is no one left who can read the writing and be that dissenting voice? More importantly, if we do find that voice....will we listen to it?
Friday, November 2, 2012
And now for something completely different...
I recently began to think of movies that I liked, and saw a recurring theme in said movies: Puzzles, adventure, a tiny bit of action (it really doesn't take a lot) intrigue, all rolled into a fictitious story are what I love the most. Then I realized that if you really look back at the best that the movie industry has ever made, the ones that really stand the test of time are the ones that have a lot of these elements in them. Why? It's simple, I think. I think we all want to BE those characters who do this. Sure, it's a form of escapism, but who wouldn't WANT to be Indiana Jones, or Westley from the Princess Bride, or Robin Hood, Captain Blood, etc. - the list is really quite extensive.
It is with this in mind that I have come up with the greatest (impractical) idea ever: I wish to beign a school. A university really, The U.S. Academy of Swashbuckling. It's been far too long since we've had good old swashbuckling adventures, and frankly, I think it might make the world a better place if there was more of it! I think it could be a 4-year degree, and yes, you would come out with a Bachelor's of Science in Swashbuckling. I debated about making this an art, but I think there's really a significant amount of science in it. SO, I began designing courses:
Semester 1:
101 - Swashbuckling in Literature 1(Survey)
102 - Fencing (Physical Education Requirement)
103 - Swashbuckling and Economics
104 - Swashbuckling Rhetoric
105 - The Rogue (Philosophy)
Semester 2:
106 - Swashbuckling in Literature 2(Survey)
107 - Acrobatics (Phys Ed)
108 - Swashbuckling Politics
109 - Gunpowder (Chemistry)
110 - The Pirate (Philosophy)
Semester 3:
Track 1 - For the lawful
201 - Swashbuckling in film
202a - Leadership through Lawful Order
203a - The King's Rule
204 - The physics of cannon
205 - The Lawman
Track 2 - for the unlawful
201 - Swashbuckling in film
202b- Leadership through Fear
203b- The Pirate's Law
204 - The physics of cannon
205 - The Lawman
Semester 4:
Track 1:
206 - Admiralty in Practice
207 - Navigation and Cartography
208a - The Ethics of Man
209a - Sailing
210a - Advanced Fencing
Track 2:
211 - A.V.A.S.T.(Field Experience) Always Vary Amont of Slaves and Thieves
212 - Amputation of Limbs
208b - The Ethics of Rum
209b - Heading That-A-Way
210b - Anything Is A Weapon: The Art of Improvisation.
OK, that rounds out the first two years of the curriculum. Perhaps more to follow, perhaps not. Of course, this will undoubtedly never happen, but it's been a fun time coming up with this stuff.
Thanks for Reading,
The Fat Kid
It is with this in mind that I have come up with the greatest (impractical) idea ever: I wish to beign a school. A university really, The U.S. Academy of Swashbuckling. It's been far too long since we've had good old swashbuckling adventures, and frankly, I think it might make the world a better place if there was more of it! I think it could be a 4-year degree, and yes, you would come out with a Bachelor's of Science in Swashbuckling. I debated about making this an art, but I think there's really a significant amount of science in it. SO, I began designing courses:
Semester 1:
101 - Swashbuckling in Literature 1(Survey)
102 - Fencing (Physical Education Requirement)
103 - Swashbuckling and Economics
104 - Swashbuckling Rhetoric
105 - The Rogue (Philosophy)
Semester 2:
106 - Swashbuckling in Literature 2(Survey)
107 - Acrobatics (Phys Ed)
108 - Swashbuckling Politics
109 - Gunpowder (Chemistry)
110 - The Pirate (Philosophy)
Semester 3:
Track 1 - For the lawful
201 - Swashbuckling in film
202a - Leadership through Lawful Order
203a - The King's Rule
204 - The physics of cannon
205 - The Lawman
Track 2 - for the unlawful
201 - Swashbuckling in film
202b- Leadership through Fear
203b- The Pirate's Law
204 - The physics of cannon
205 - The Lawman
Semester 4:
Track 1:
206 - Admiralty in Practice
207 - Navigation and Cartography
208a - The Ethics of Man
209a - Sailing
210a - Advanced Fencing
Track 2:
211 - A.V.A.S.T.(Field Experience) Always Vary Amont of Slaves and Thieves
212 - Amputation of Limbs
208b - The Ethics of Rum
209b - Heading That-A-Way
210b - Anything Is A Weapon: The Art of Improvisation.
OK, that rounds out the first two years of the curriculum. Perhaps more to follow, perhaps not. Of course, this will undoubtedly never happen, but it's been a fun time coming up with this stuff.
Thanks for Reading,
The Fat Kid
Monday, October 22, 2012
Life as a desk
It's been a while since I wrote anything on here, but yesterday, something happened that was small and momentous for me. I assembled a desk. I know - the act itself is nothing the speak of, nothing to add to a resume, nothing important at all. Except, of course, that this desk has a history, both in my family and in my life, personally.
The term "desk" is even loosely applied. You see, it's an old drafting table that my grandfather used to have. Where he got it, I have no idea, and I doubt that he built it. It's a sturdy trestle-style table, two shallow drawers on it and of course, a large, tilting surface for creating all kinds of drawings, from architectural to...well, whatever you wanted, I suppose. My first encounter/ experience with this desk was when my father fbrought it home with us on a trip to Connecticut. We assembled it in the den, and I remembered thinking how professional it looked. It used to have a sliding "T-square" bar on it, but the cables for that piece have long since broken. The pad that made it easy to draw on has also since been discarded.
When my parents moved from NY, the desk got a new home, with my brother. He used it as a computer workstation, and the top was laid flat. He had it for several years before it finally came to me, as he no longer needed it, and I finally had some space of my own where it would fit. It made the move from a townhouse to a small house that I lived in for a while, where it was primarily used as a crafting space for card-making, scrapbooking, etc. Then, my life sorta fell apart. One of the few pieces that I wanted from that house were the drafting tables, this one and another, smaller one. They were disassembled and put into storage. Unused. Unloved.
Recently, the smaller one was able to be resurrected from the storage and assembled - but this one, the larger and certainly more impressive of the two, was still in pieces. Until last night, that is. A new place saw me able to put it together for the first time in roughly two years, and yet again, the desk can serve a new purpose, in a new space. This will be the 7th home that I know it's been assembled in, starting a new life once more.
And I thought, "How like this am I? Starting over, putting the pieces back together, moving on and going forward once more - like a simple drafting table, ready to find a new existence. The old, being remade into the new.
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
The term "desk" is even loosely applied. You see, it's an old drafting table that my grandfather used to have. Where he got it, I have no idea, and I doubt that he built it. It's a sturdy trestle-style table, two shallow drawers on it and of course, a large, tilting surface for creating all kinds of drawings, from architectural to...well, whatever you wanted, I suppose. My first encounter/ experience with this desk was when my father fbrought it home with us on a trip to Connecticut. We assembled it in the den, and I remembered thinking how professional it looked. It used to have a sliding "T-square" bar on it, but the cables for that piece have long since broken. The pad that made it easy to draw on has also since been discarded.
When my parents moved from NY, the desk got a new home, with my brother. He used it as a computer workstation, and the top was laid flat. He had it for several years before it finally came to me, as he no longer needed it, and I finally had some space of my own where it would fit. It made the move from a townhouse to a small house that I lived in for a while, where it was primarily used as a crafting space for card-making, scrapbooking, etc. Then, my life sorta fell apart. One of the few pieces that I wanted from that house were the drafting tables, this one and another, smaller one. They were disassembled and put into storage. Unused. Unloved.
Recently, the smaller one was able to be resurrected from the storage and assembled - but this one, the larger and certainly more impressive of the two, was still in pieces. Until last night, that is. A new place saw me able to put it together for the first time in roughly two years, and yet again, the desk can serve a new purpose, in a new space. This will be the 7th home that I know it's been assembled in, starting a new life once more.
And I thought, "How like this am I? Starting over, putting the pieces back together, moving on and going forward once more - like a simple drafting table, ready to find a new existence. The old, being remade into the new.
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Democrats, Republicans, and Goodell, Ooooh Myyyyy
This post in actually inspired by a friend of mine who said today that "If people cared as much about politics as they do about some blown call in a football game, maybe the country wouldn't be in the place it is now."
Now, I really don't care about anyone else's view on politics OR the NFL, but I thought that this turn of phrase was rather interesting, and it made me stop and consider how the NFL might actually be imitating our current political structure.
Assuming that Roger Goodell is a Democrat:
Here's a guy that, after assuming power, has unilaterally declared war on a bunch of millionaires in order to change their behavior because it's "better" for "everyone." Unfortunately, the outcome of this "better for everyone" idea is that now, the rich folks that the common man is paying to go see aren't playing because they're getting suspended, and the extra measures that teams now have to take to look after these millionaires are higher, so the ticket prices go up, up, up. At the same time, the current Ref's lockout has them hiring replacement workers who don't know what they're doing and are delivering a sub-par performance, and the general quality of the game has gone down this season. Specific targeting of players via head-hunting by teams is disallowed, because it has now been taken over by the CEO of the NFL himself, thus concentrating power in one individual who wields that power as the wind moves him. Interesting.
Now, I know, this sounds outlandish, doesn't it? I'm sure all the Liberals are saying how unfair it is for me to make such crazy statements without facts to support them. Unfounded claims, all....except that, well, it's kinda what's happening.
BUT - let's be fair, now, and assume that Goodell is a Republican:
A member of the good old boys' club, he's only done things which consiolidate all the wealth in the hands of the owners and a few select players, while the fans at large are footing the bill. Care of the workers is not important, as his measures for "control and player safety" only pad the league's own coffers, so the rich keep getting richer, and no one else sees any benefit. Hiring replacement workers (Refs) is only proof of the money-grubbing tendencies of this administration and complete abhorence of the working class. Enforcement of rules is only a publicity stunt in order to concentrate more power to wield arbitrarily. Standing by the replacement workers is akin to putting their head in the sand, and insisting that the method works, even though it's quite clear that it does not work and never will. It doesn't matter if you are guilty or not of a crime, if you are perceived as doing anything that does not conform to the dictates of the Man In Charge, you're punished in a typical sovereign style. Also, interesting.
Conclusion: The only consistency is that it's you, the fan, who is ultimately paying for everything, no matter what. Only, because these are privately help teams and a private "owners-only" league, there's very little we can do about it, other than stop giving them money. They can't make us give them money, thankfully, but if somehow, every season-ticket holder stopped buying their tickets and prices dropped low enough, surely, those tickets would be purchased by other fans who will just take their place. Either way, it's a crappy product that's being put out there to us at a cost that is, for the majority of folks, just too high. The players are still going to be rich. The owners are still going to be rich. All on our dollar. And as long as our team does well, we'll continue to pay and blindly follow them along, cheering wildly in the face of utter uselessness.
Maybe the NFL does mirror politics, after all. So, to my friend who thinks we should pay more attention to our politics than to our football, I say, What's the difference? We're still yelling like idiots over a bunch of mllionaires who really don't care a thing for those watching along at home.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Now, I really don't care about anyone else's view on politics OR the NFL, but I thought that this turn of phrase was rather interesting, and it made me stop and consider how the NFL might actually be imitating our current political structure.
Assuming that Roger Goodell is a Democrat:
Here's a guy that, after assuming power, has unilaterally declared war on a bunch of millionaires in order to change their behavior because it's "better" for "everyone." Unfortunately, the outcome of this "better for everyone" idea is that now, the rich folks that the common man is paying to go see aren't playing because they're getting suspended, and the extra measures that teams now have to take to look after these millionaires are higher, so the ticket prices go up, up, up. At the same time, the current Ref's lockout has them hiring replacement workers who don't know what they're doing and are delivering a sub-par performance, and the general quality of the game has gone down this season. Specific targeting of players via head-hunting by teams is disallowed, because it has now been taken over by the CEO of the NFL himself, thus concentrating power in one individual who wields that power as the wind moves him. Interesting.
Now, I know, this sounds outlandish, doesn't it? I'm sure all the Liberals are saying how unfair it is for me to make such crazy statements without facts to support them. Unfounded claims, all....except that, well, it's kinda what's happening.
BUT - let's be fair, now, and assume that Goodell is a Republican:
A member of the good old boys' club, he's only done things which consiolidate all the wealth in the hands of the owners and a few select players, while the fans at large are footing the bill. Care of the workers is not important, as his measures for "control and player safety" only pad the league's own coffers, so the rich keep getting richer, and no one else sees any benefit. Hiring replacement workers (Refs) is only proof of the money-grubbing tendencies of this administration and complete abhorence of the working class. Enforcement of rules is only a publicity stunt in order to concentrate more power to wield arbitrarily. Standing by the replacement workers is akin to putting their head in the sand, and insisting that the method works, even though it's quite clear that it does not work and never will. It doesn't matter if you are guilty or not of a crime, if you are perceived as doing anything that does not conform to the dictates of the Man In Charge, you're punished in a typical sovereign style. Also, interesting.
Conclusion: The only consistency is that it's you, the fan, who is ultimately paying for everything, no matter what. Only, because these are privately help teams and a private "owners-only" league, there's very little we can do about it, other than stop giving them money. They can't make us give them money, thankfully, but if somehow, every season-ticket holder stopped buying their tickets and prices dropped low enough, surely, those tickets would be purchased by other fans who will just take their place. Either way, it's a crappy product that's being put out there to us at a cost that is, for the majority of folks, just too high. The players are still going to be rich. The owners are still going to be rich. All on our dollar. And as long as our team does well, we'll continue to pay and blindly follow them along, cheering wildly in the face of utter uselessness.
Maybe the NFL does mirror politics, after all. So, to my friend who thinks we should pay more attention to our politics than to our football, I say, What's the difference? We're still yelling like idiots over a bunch of mllionaires who really don't care a thing for those watching along at home.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Monday, September 24, 2012
Act III, Scene vi
III,vi, In which our hero meets someone he did not expect.
Her first words to me were something I will never forget. I was to meet her to go for a bike ride, at the invitation of a mutual friend. There was a summer fair/marketplace at the Pump House, one of only a few relics of the bygone Steel Days at Pittsburgh's Waterfront District. The onld pump house has been restored/preserved, and was now being used for this public market.
But there she was, helping our mutual friend - who was offering some sort of tarot reading/palmistry/spiritual cleansing/ whatever other new-age stuff she does - clean up her table. She walked around the table, and promptly walks right into - and we're talking full-on, right into it -a wheel that was used to turn some gear/valve/whatever in the pumphouse.
"Hi, I'm Shanna, and I just crotch-banged a wheel."
I forget what I said in response. It may have been something like "Well, you have to watch out for those wheels - they just jump out at you." or something more like "Yes, yes you did." or possibly, "Well, honesty is a good trait." Frankly, I don't know. I just rmember that I was partially stunned at the bluntness of the statement, and awed at her honesty with a stranger. Because, after all, yes, she crotch-banged a wheel.
What followed was a few hours spent with the two - our mutual friend and my new-found friend - running around the Waterfront, into bookstores and other small shops. It was relaxing. I let my guard down, and was totally free. I imagined myself witty and fun, humorous and maybe even a little charming. I don't know if I really am all those things - well, ok, I have my moments of being slightly humorous - and for some reason or other, it looked like it was working.
This is how I met the most incredible woman I have ever come to know. And I'm gonna shout it from the rooftops, if I have to, until everyone knows all about it. Why? Because, as awesome as she is, and no matter how many times I tell her how awesome she is.....she doesn't believe it.
So, for better or worse, Shanna dear....
I love you.
like a bird playing in wind,
like an artist finally finding his inspiration,
I love you.
I love you.
like a musician loves a chord that finally resolves
like an actor loves when the lines come easy,
I love you.
I love you.
like the rain loves pouring itself out,
like the sun loves and warms the earth,
I love you.
You are the joy of my life, my dear one, the answer to my prayers. You are the hope of my tomorrow and the dreams of my good-nights. Every day you take my breath away. Your ease and your grace astound me. I am awed by your powerful simplicity, your courage, and your quiet inner strength. You are my everything.
And I know that I have now embarrassed you enough, my love, but I cannot help it. I will lasso the moon if I have to, and give George Bailey a run for his money. I may be corny, cheesy, and in all other ways a silly idiot to believe in love......but I'm glad I do, for I would change nothing. This is me, crotch-banging the wheel.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Her first words to me were something I will never forget. I was to meet her to go for a bike ride, at the invitation of a mutual friend. There was a summer fair/marketplace at the Pump House, one of only a few relics of the bygone Steel Days at Pittsburgh's Waterfront District. The onld pump house has been restored/preserved, and was now being used for this public market.
But there she was, helping our mutual friend - who was offering some sort of tarot reading/palmistry/spiritual cleansing/ whatever other new-age stuff she does - clean up her table. She walked around the table, and promptly walks right into - and we're talking full-on, right into it -a wheel that was used to turn some gear/valve/whatever in the pumphouse.
"Hi, I'm Shanna, and I just crotch-banged a wheel."
I forget what I said in response. It may have been something like "Well, you have to watch out for those wheels - they just jump out at you." or something more like "Yes, yes you did." or possibly, "Well, honesty is a good trait." Frankly, I don't know. I just rmember that I was partially stunned at the bluntness of the statement, and awed at her honesty with a stranger. Because, after all, yes, she crotch-banged a wheel.
What followed was a few hours spent with the two - our mutual friend and my new-found friend - running around the Waterfront, into bookstores and other small shops. It was relaxing. I let my guard down, and was totally free. I imagined myself witty and fun, humorous and maybe even a little charming. I don't know if I really am all those things - well, ok, I have my moments of being slightly humorous - and for some reason or other, it looked like it was working.
This is how I met the most incredible woman I have ever come to know. And I'm gonna shout it from the rooftops, if I have to, until everyone knows all about it. Why? Because, as awesome as she is, and no matter how many times I tell her how awesome she is.....she doesn't believe it.
So, for better or worse, Shanna dear....
I love you.
like a bird playing in wind,
like an artist finally finding his inspiration,
I love you.
I love you.
like a musician loves a chord that finally resolves
like an actor loves when the lines come easy,
I love you.
I love you.
like the rain loves pouring itself out,
like the sun loves and warms the earth,
I love you.
You are the joy of my life, my dear one, the answer to my prayers. You are the hope of my tomorrow and the dreams of my good-nights. Every day you take my breath away. Your ease and your grace astound me. I am awed by your powerful simplicity, your courage, and your quiet inner strength. You are my everything.
And I know that I have now embarrassed you enough, my love, but I cannot help it. I will lasso the moon if I have to, and give George Bailey a run for his money. I may be corny, cheesy, and in all other ways a silly idiot to believe in love......but I'm glad I do, for I would change nothing. This is me, crotch-banging the wheel.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Thursday, September 6, 2012
I Scream, You Scream, Wait....Why Are We Screaming, Again??
OK, whilst the political bumblings and stumbling of candidates who mean this/ don't mean that, earn this, don't earn that, trying to dazzle us with their humility and likeness to the common man are ongoing, the Fat Kid has noticed something disturbing in the undercurrent. It's something that nobody's talking about, and frankly, I find it more than a little frightening.
America is angry.
This was not the plan. We were never supposed to have hard times. This is America - the land of opportunity! We are supposed to be the leaders of freedom and democracy in the world! We're supposed to be the top dog! We're supposed to have everything, and there isn't supposed to be anything left wanting! Everything is supposed to be fair!
Well, I've got some news for you, USA: You have been lied to. Because, you see, life really ISN'T fair. It's not fair that someone makes more than me, and that I make more than someone else. It's not fair that some people are smarter than others. It's not fair that some people are gifted more athletically than others. It's not fair at all. This nation, this grand experiment in freedom and justice, isn't built on the principle that life is fair. In fact, it's built on the principle that life is difficult.
The Promise of America is only that we have the opportunity to TRY. The harder we work and the more devoted we are to trying, the better our chance of success. This nation was founded an the principle that everyone has the right to try ONLY. There is no "right to succeed." Our past is full of people who tried. Who committed everything they had to a cause, and risked it all, knowing the penalty for failure was nothing short of death.
And we're angry. We're angry over a lot of things. This nation is divided between those who don't want to change anything, and those who want to change a lot of things. It's divided between those who are afraid to risk everything and those who have nothing to risk but their hopes and dreams. It's divided between the ideals of a future that hasn't been written and the practicality of a past that has been. It's divided on so many levels: economic, social, religious, educational, racist, and sexist levels - and divided so vehemently - that I am not sure it can be put back together again. We are not United States - we are Divided People.
Each side of the political arena, in this election season, is trying to convince all of us that they are the correct side, that their ideals are best for the nation, that we should choose them, because the other side is wrong. We debate about it amongst ourselves, trying to "win" arguments and convince one another of just how correct our opinions are. The rhetoric is always the same: "We want, we deserve..."
And I just want to take one big wind-up bitch-slap at us all and say, 'Really, America? What makes you think you "deserve" anything?" We didn't commit all our cash and resources to fight for a nation free from tyranny. We didn't survive in a strange land far from what we knew. We didn't fight our brothers to become a nation free from slavery. None of us alive did any of those things. There are some - a dwindling number now - who fought against the Japanese and the Third Reich, who went to Korea and Vietnam. And of course, Kuwait, Iraq, and Afghanistan have created the latest generation of people who actually HAVE put their very lives on the line for the principles of freedom. And these days, most of them volunteer to do it. They entrust their lives to our politicians - to our votes - to not only protect freedom here at home, but to spread the priciples of fredom throughout the world, and all we have to do about it is whine and complain because our cushy little insignificant lives aren't just how we dreamed? Because things aren't fair and perfect?
We don't understand just how good we've got it, and all we can do is complain about what we don't have. And most of those complaining are not willing to risk it all, to go up against death itself to defend the "human rights" issues they claim are so important. We are a bunch of children, whose parents have left us alone to fend for ourselves, and we have neither the courage nor the ability to do so. We simply want others to provide it for us, to coddle us and tell us it's going to be OK.
It's not going to be OK
There are no guarantees. There is no "right to succeed." There is only the right to TRY. When the masses of people who are ranting and raving over perceived "injustices" are ready to lose everything, when they are desperate to the point of exhaustion and then they still keep fighting....then they can talk about what they deserve.
We're not supposed to be a nation where everything is provided for you, and we were never supposed to be that nation. We're supposed to be a nation that's not afraid to work as hard as we can.
Our politicians have forgotten this - because we have forgotten this.
We need people who are not afraid to invest themselves and all they can into this country. The candidates who get my vote will be the ones I feel will invest to the hilt, indeed, shed their very blood if necessary. I urge anyone reading this to do the same. Don't vote party lines. Vote for the person who will give their all for this country, not for a political party.
I don't care if you agree with my opinions or not. I don't care if you are liberal or conservative. I'm going to send a copy of this to the White House, to the Romney Camp, and to anyone else I can think of who might need to hear it. If you feel so inclined, I invite you to do the same.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
America is angry.
This was not the plan. We were never supposed to have hard times. This is America - the land of opportunity! We are supposed to be the leaders of freedom and democracy in the world! We're supposed to be the top dog! We're supposed to have everything, and there isn't supposed to be anything left wanting! Everything is supposed to be fair!
Well, I've got some news for you, USA: You have been lied to. Because, you see, life really ISN'T fair. It's not fair that someone makes more than me, and that I make more than someone else. It's not fair that some people are smarter than others. It's not fair that some people are gifted more athletically than others. It's not fair at all. This nation, this grand experiment in freedom and justice, isn't built on the principle that life is fair. In fact, it's built on the principle that life is difficult.
The Promise of America is only that we have the opportunity to TRY. The harder we work and the more devoted we are to trying, the better our chance of success. This nation was founded an the principle that everyone has the right to try ONLY. There is no "right to succeed." Our past is full of people who tried. Who committed everything they had to a cause, and risked it all, knowing the penalty for failure was nothing short of death.
And we're angry. We're angry over a lot of things. This nation is divided between those who don't want to change anything, and those who want to change a lot of things. It's divided between those who are afraid to risk everything and those who have nothing to risk but their hopes and dreams. It's divided between the ideals of a future that hasn't been written and the practicality of a past that has been. It's divided on so many levels: economic, social, religious, educational, racist, and sexist levels - and divided so vehemently - that I am not sure it can be put back together again. We are not United States - we are Divided People.
Each side of the political arena, in this election season, is trying to convince all of us that they are the correct side, that their ideals are best for the nation, that we should choose them, because the other side is wrong. We debate about it amongst ourselves, trying to "win" arguments and convince one another of just how correct our opinions are. The rhetoric is always the same: "We want, we deserve..."
And I just want to take one big wind-up bitch-slap at us all and say, 'Really, America? What makes you think you "deserve" anything?" We didn't commit all our cash and resources to fight for a nation free from tyranny. We didn't survive in a strange land far from what we knew. We didn't fight our brothers to become a nation free from slavery. None of us alive did any of those things. There are some - a dwindling number now - who fought against the Japanese and the Third Reich, who went to Korea and Vietnam. And of course, Kuwait, Iraq, and Afghanistan have created the latest generation of people who actually HAVE put their very lives on the line for the principles of freedom. And these days, most of them volunteer to do it. They entrust their lives to our politicians - to our votes - to not only protect freedom here at home, but to spread the priciples of fredom throughout the world, and all we have to do about it is whine and complain because our cushy little insignificant lives aren't just how we dreamed? Because things aren't fair and perfect?
We don't understand just how good we've got it, and all we can do is complain about what we don't have. And most of those complaining are not willing to risk it all, to go up against death itself to defend the "human rights" issues they claim are so important. We are a bunch of children, whose parents have left us alone to fend for ourselves, and we have neither the courage nor the ability to do so. We simply want others to provide it for us, to coddle us and tell us it's going to be OK.
It's not going to be OK
There are no guarantees. There is no "right to succeed." There is only the right to TRY. When the masses of people who are ranting and raving over perceived "injustices" are ready to lose everything, when they are desperate to the point of exhaustion and then they still keep fighting....then they can talk about what they deserve.
We're not supposed to be a nation where everything is provided for you, and we were never supposed to be that nation. We're supposed to be a nation that's not afraid to work as hard as we can.
Our politicians have forgotten this - because we have forgotten this.
We need people who are not afraid to invest themselves and all they can into this country. The candidates who get my vote will be the ones I feel will invest to the hilt, indeed, shed their very blood if necessary. I urge anyone reading this to do the same. Don't vote party lines. Vote for the person who will give their all for this country, not for a political party.
I don't care if you agree with my opinions or not. I don't care if you are liberal or conservative. I'm going to send a copy of this to the White House, to the Romney Camp, and to anyone else I can think of who might need to hear it. If you feel so inclined, I invite you to do the same.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
So, Robert DeNiro and Dr. Seuss walk into a small town bar...
...and each orders a beer. Not really a fancy story, not really much to go on, but this was my weekend.
See, it starts with a camping excursion to the small town of Ohiopyle, PA. Great place, where the stores sell t-shirts that read, "Row, row, row your boat, gently down the bonecrushing, whitewater, death-defying class five stream, merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream" and "scars are tattoos with better stories."
We arrived at camp, and registered, and were told, "Will out front can explain how you can get your deposit back." We went outside to meet Will. Will is about 5'7", middle aged, with a long grey beard, small eyes, and a bald head. No an impressive man to look at him - just looks relatively normal. And he starts with, "The trees are very important to me..." and I forget anything else because the only thought in my head went something like, "I am the Lorax, I speak for the trees..."yes, I tell you, the Lorax is real, and he really doesn't like Obama. I tried to stay out of that conversation, but he felt it was necessary to explain his dislike of the President. Probably not the best business tactic, but I really liked his Lorax-ish ways. Trees are very important to me, too. I may be a Lorax in training.
But the weekend progressed without incident. Life was good. A little rainy, perhaps, but otherwise, pretty fun. It's kind of nice to wake up to rain on a tent, even though it's a bit loud...until you realize you have to go to the bathroom, and then you kinda really hate the rain. There was the annual Mountian Music Festival being held, in whihc several amll-town vendors lined the street, selling their wares, and BBQ joints all fired up the smokers and cooked all sorts of delicious goodies. A surprise, since we were unaware the festival was going on, but a welcome surprise.
A tour of the grounds of Frank Lloyd Wright's house, "Fallingwater" later, and camping was done. It was a fairly quick trip, this time - always unfortunate, but since the coin-operated showers looking like I might come out of them with ringworm, gangrene, or some other incurable disease, the fact that it was a short sttay helped the attitude a lot. For the most part, the facility was nice, but there were a few touches that were wanting, for lack of a better term.
But Monday.....Oh Monday. You know, a lot of people talk about Mondays in songs and things, and usually, I'm pretty down on Mondays. This Monday, though, pulled out all the stops and went all out for me. This is "Meet the parents week"..Yep, it's that step where I get to meet her parents, and she gets to meet mine.Well, yesterday she met mine. The quote, when all was said and done, "Well, now I understand why you are the way you are." It seems this is a good thing, as it was immediately followed up with, "because your folks are awesome!" Yeah, I kinda think they're pretty awesome too, and yesterday, they proved it to me again.
So the rest of this week: finish shalving, practice monologue, get to rehearsal, meet parents, attend Irishfest, performance.......just another week in the life. You know what? My life is pretty blessed.
See, it starts with a camping excursion to the small town of Ohiopyle, PA. Great place, where the stores sell t-shirts that read, "Row, row, row your boat, gently down the bonecrushing, whitewater, death-defying class five stream, merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream" and "scars are tattoos with better stories."
We arrived at camp, and registered, and were told, "Will out front can explain how you can get your deposit back." We went outside to meet Will. Will is about 5'7", middle aged, with a long grey beard, small eyes, and a bald head. No an impressive man to look at him - just looks relatively normal. And he starts with, "The trees are very important to me..." and I forget anything else because the only thought in my head went something like, "I am the Lorax, I speak for the trees..."yes, I tell you, the Lorax is real, and he really doesn't like Obama. I tried to stay out of that conversation, but he felt it was necessary to explain his dislike of the President. Probably not the best business tactic, but I really liked his Lorax-ish ways. Trees are very important to me, too. I may be a Lorax in training.
But the weekend progressed without incident. Life was good. A little rainy, perhaps, but otherwise, pretty fun. It's kind of nice to wake up to rain on a tent, even though it's a bit loud...until you realize you have to go to the bathroom, and then you kinda really hate the rain. There was the annual Mountian Music Festival being held, in whihc several amll-town vendors lined the street, selling their wares, and BBQ joints all fired up the smokers and cooked all sorts of delicious goodies. A surprise, since we were unaware the festival was going on, but a welcome surprise.
A tour of the grounds of Frank Lloyd Wright's house, "Fallingwater" later, and camping was done. It was a fairly quick trip, this time - always unfortunate, but since the coin-operated showers looking like I might come out of them with ringworm, gangrene, or some other incurable disease, the fact that it was a short sttay helped the attitude a lot. For the most part, the facility was nice, but there were a few touches that were wanting, for lack of a better term.
But Monday.....Oh Monday. You know, a lot of people talk about Mondays in songs and things, and usually, I'm pretty down on Mondays. This Monday, though, pulled out all the stops and went all out for me. This is "Meet the parents week"..Yep, it's that step where I get to meet her parents, and she gets to meet mine.Well, yesterday she met mine. The quote, when all was said and done, "Well, now I understand why you are the way you are." It seems this is a good thing, as it was immediately followed up with, "because your folks are awesome!" Yeah, I kinda think they're pretty awesome too, and yesterday, they proved it to me again.
So the rest of this week: finish shalving, practice monologue, get to rehearsal, meet parents, attend Irishfest, performance.......just another week in the life. You know what? My life is pretty blessed.
Friday, August 17, 2012
Today, I have a bike ride planned.
Funny thing about riding my bike. Sometimes, someone wants to actually ride with me! It's kinda nice. I think back to the last time I had a ride scheduled. It was two months ago, June the 17th. It was a liesure ride. A friend asked me to come out for a ride and meet a friend of hers. We'd ride bikes. That was the deal.
We enver rode. Instead, we went to Eat-n-Park, and I met this friend. I asked her out, and she thought it was a good idea - she said yes. The last two months of my life have been a blur. Time spent with her has been utterly amazing, and with each dy I am surprised at her patience, her understanding, and most of all, her ability to lift my spirits.
I almost didn't go that day. I almost stayed home where I would have missed out on meeting with a wonderful woman who has changed my life. I would have been just fine, of course, but would not have the joy I have come to know. I am grateful for my friend, who thought to introduce us. I am grateful for my sweetheart, who brings sunshine into my life and makes giving such a pleasure.
TAKE THE CHANCE. We get up each day and go about our routine. Take the chance to get out there and do things, meet people, make a change in your daily order. Yes, there's a risk you might be hurt. Yes, things might not go well. Yes, it could always backfire. Those are the things Fear will tell you. And Fear's correct. But what Fear doesn't tell you is that taking risks is a part of life, and that if you don't, you will forever be afraid. Sometimes, you have to look Fear in the eye, and no matter what the consequences, no matter what might happen, you have to stare it down. You have to look at it and say, "Do your worst - for I will do mine."
Tonight, I'm going bike riding with my sweetheart. Finally. This has been the best first date ever.
We enver rode. Instead, we went to Eat-n-Park, and I met this friend. I asked her out, and she thought it was a good idea - she said yes. The last two months of my life have been a blur. Time spent with her has been utterly amazing, and with each dy I am surprised at her patience, her understanding, and most of all, her ability to lift my spirits.
I almost didn't go that day. I almost stayed home where I would have missed out on meeting with a wonderful woman who has changed my life. I would have been just fine, of course, but would not have the joy I have come to know. I am grateful for my friend, who thought to introduce us. I am grateful for my sweetheart, who brings sunshine into my life and makes giving such a pleasure.
TAKE THE CHANCE. We get up each day and go about our routine. Take the chance to get out there and do things, meet people, make a change in your daily order. Yes, there's a risk you might be hurt. Yes, things might not go well. Yes, it could always backfire. Those are the things Fear will tell you. And Fear's correct. But what Fear doesn't tell you is that taking risks is a part of life, and that if you don't, you will forever be afraid. Sometimes, you have to look Fear in the eye, and no matter what the consequences, no matter what might happen, you have to stare it down. You have to look at it and say, "Do your worst - for I will do mine."
Tonight, I'm going bike riding with my sweetheart. Finally. This has been the best first date ever.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
The gripe List: Top ten things I can't stand about the Olympics.
Oh Joy, oh joy! Now that the Olympic extravaganza is over, it's time to list the things I hate most about the Olympics, the way we as Americans get to see them. Now, when it comes to the spirit of the games, etc, I'm all for it. Yes, every athlete, everywhere, should go out and compete the best they can. Of course I want this. I think, at the very heart of the matter, most people do. And yeah, it's nice to see Americans winning medals. Yay. Joy....whatever.
But there are a bunch of stupid things we do, too, and frankly, I've had enough of them. This year, I actually watched about 2 hours of olypic coverage, and that happened to be because there was a television on while I was having lunch, and I didn't have the remote. BUT, these are pretty much the reasons why I never watched the games this year:
10) It's about the athletes, not Michael Phelps' mother. I really don't care about her. Come to think about it, I really don't care about him either, but at least he's the one in the pool splashing about. She's in the stands media-whoring. Seriously? Why are we wasting a camera on this? That camera could have been at the Judo matches where we won our first gold-medal ever. But yeah, I get it: she's obviously so much more important than watching athletics.
9) Everything is on a tape delay. They have all the footage. We only get to see the highlights of the things NBC declares are important. Seriously? Shut the hell up and let us watch the sport - the whole match would be nice. You have it all on tape. Just show it. Thanks.
8) In the spirit of international gamesmenship, getting-to-know-you-isms, and all that hunky dory good feelings stuff the games are supposed to represent, why do we only show sports in which Americans are projected to do well? Shouldn't we be - oh, I don't know - cheering for the spirit of competition, etc? Oh - I guess we're only supposed to cheer for American competition. My bad.
7) What is the deal with gymnastics? Seriously, I just don't get it. Sure, it's athletic and pretty darned amazing what they can do, but I think there are a LOT more stories out there than just gymnastics. The American love affair with this sport is silly, and only exists because that's what NBC puts on the air. Why must we endure the entire repertoire of this and not be allowed to watch an entire soccer match, or baseball, or - and I shudder to think of this one - bmx racing?
6) SERIOUSLY??? BMX RACING? No. Just, no. Not Olympic-worthy. Ever. They have their x-games. Give them that, and be happy. Can we stop adding sports, please? In fact, can we take a bunch of them away? We don't need them, they're not world-sports.
5) OK, I get that team uniforms are important. And, yeah, divers and swimmers and the like are going to wear speedos. Yeah, they're a tad revealing. OK, it happens, but usually, the small uniforms serve a purpose.. I just have to wonder at beach volleyball, though - particularly for the women's teams. Obviously, the solution to getting sand in the shorts - and other places - is to mke the uniforms skimpier???? Hey - sure they looked good. They ought to, they're playing the sport 7 days a week, 12 hours a day. Anyone doing that will look good. But you can't tell me a decent jersey and some form-fitting spandex would be more restricting. I think there comes a time when we gotta say a big "NO" to the "let's get sexier uniforms" look. This isn't a beauty pangeant, folks. Oh, and you don't get to argue about getting swweaty. London ain't all that warm, kids.
4) Bob Costas, SHUT THE HELL UP.
3) Interviews, OK. Life stories and "human interest" angles???? No. Let's just watch some sports, huh? You wanna comment on "This little girl came from a rough neighborhood?" great, say it while we're watching the sport, and be done with it. If they win a medal, we'll likely care for a while, if not,.......(crickets). Stop the exposee on how so-and-so devotes x many hours a day to their training, at great expense to their family, etc, etc....really, not all that important. Show the darned sport.
2) Yes, the point is to "win" - it's a competition, after all. But can we not make it about medal-counting? That's all I ever heard - "The U.S and China are in a tough race for the most medals.." blah, blah, blah. Again, shouldn't we be rooting for the celebration of unity under the dome of "sport"???? no, not here in America. Here, it has to be about getting more medals than the next guy. Bah.
1) Along those lines, how many athletes did we send? 530, according to one list. so, 104 medals among those 530 athletes. The only country to send more? Great Britain, the host nation. So, assuming that each athlete competes individually (Yes, I'm aware there are team sports, so this percentage is off) the U.S. sits in at just shy of 20% success, where success = getting a medal. China, by comparison, sent only 280 athletes, and came away with 88 medals. Making the some erroneous assumptions (gotta be consistent, here) they were just over 23% successful. Who had the better olympics? If we flood the playing fields, are we really the better team, the better athletes, or the better country??? All it really means is that we throw more money into training people so we can pretend to look good, and that's mostly to ourselves.
I like the idea of the olympics. I think we should ahve them. I think they are valuable to our society. And I think that America has it all wrong. Yes, the spirit of competition is to win, and winning is good. But I am left to ponder if we are winning with dignity and integrity when we flood the playing fields with so many athletes. It seems appropriate topic when "winning with integrity" is such a hot-button issue these days. I wonder how much we might be fined, collectively.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
But there are a bunch of stupid things we do, too, and frankly, I've had enough of them. This year, I actually watched about 2 hours of olypic coverage, and that happened to be because there was a television on while I was having lunch, and I didn't have the remote. BUT, these are pretty much the reasons why I never watched the games this year:
10) It's about the athletes, not Michael Phelps' mother. I really don't care about her. Come to think about it, I really don't care about him either, but at least he's the one in the pool splashing about. She's in the stands media-whoring. Seriously? Why are we wasting a camera on this? That camera could have been at the Judo matches where we won our first gold-medal ever. But yeah, I get it: she's obviously so much more important than watching athletics.
9) Everything is on a tape delay. They have all the footage. We only get to see the highlights of the things NBC declares are important. Seriously? Shut the hell up and let us watch the sport - the whole match would be nice. You have it all on tape. Just show it. Thanks.
8) In the spirit of international gamesmenship, getting-to-know-you-isms, and all that hunky dory good feelings stuff the games are supposed to represent, why do we only show sports in which Americans are projected to do well? Shouldn't we be - oh, I don't know - cheering for the spirit of competition, etc? Oh - I guess we're only supposed to cheer for American competition. My bad.
7) What is the deal with gymnastics? Seriously, I just don't get it. Sure, it's athletic and pretty darned amazing what they can do, but I think there are a LOT more stories out there than just gymnastics. The American love affair with this sport is silly, and only exists because that's what NBC puts on the air. Why must we endure the entire repertoire of this and not be allowed to watch an entire soccer match, or baseball, or - and I shudder to think of this one - bmx racing?
6) SERIOUSLY??? BMX RACING? No. Just, no. Not Olympic-worthy. Ever. They have their x-games. Give them that, and be happy. Can we stop adding sports, please? In fact, can we take a bunch of them away? We don't need them, they're not world-sports.
5) OK, I get that team uniforms are important. And, yeah, divers and swimmers and the like are going to wear speedos. Yeah, they're a tad revealing. OK, it happens, but usually, the small uniforms serve a purpose.. I just have to wonder at beach volleyball, though - particularly for the women's teams. Obviously, the solution to getting sand in the shorts - and other places - is to mke the uniforms skimpier???? Hey - sure they looked good. They ought to, they're playing the sport 7 days a week, 12 hours a day. Anyone doing that will look good. But you can't tell me a decent jersey and some form-fitting spandex would be more restricting. I think there comes a time when we gotta say a big "NO" to the "let's get sexier uniforms" look. This isn't a beauty pangeant, folks. Oh, and you don't get to argue about getting swweaty. London ain't all that warm, kids.
4) Bob Costas, SHUT THE HELL UP.
3) Interviews, OK. Life stories and "human interest" angles???? No. Let's just watch some sports, huh? You wanna comment on "This little girl came from a rough neighborhood?" great, say it while we're watching the sport, and be done with it. If they win a medal, we'll likely care for a while, if not,.......(crickets). Stop the exposee on how so-and-so devotes x many hours a day to their training, at great expense to their family, etc, etc....really, not all that important. Show the darned sport.
2) Yes, the point is to "win" - it's a competition, after all. But can we not make it about medal-counting? That's all I ever heard - "The U.S and China are in a tough race for the most medals.." blah, blah, blah. Again, shouldn't we be rooting for the celebration of unity under the dome of "sport"???? no, not here in America. Here, it has to be about getting more medals than the next guy. Bah.
1) Along those lines, how many athletes did we send? 530, according to one list. so, 104 medals among those 530 athletes. The only country to send more? Great Britain, the host nation. So, assuming that each athlete competes individually (Yes, I'm aware there are team sports, so this percentage is off) the U.S. sits in at just shy of 20% success, where success = getting a medal. China, by comparison, sent only 280 athletes, and came away with 88 medals. Making the some erroneous assumptions (gotta be consistent, here) they were just over 23% successful. Who had the better olympics? If we flood the playing fields, are we really the better team, the better athletes, or the better country??? All it really means is that we throw more money into training people so we can pretend to look good, and that's mostly to ourselves.
I like the idea of the olympics. I think we should ahve them. I think they are valuable to our society. And I think that America has it all wrong. Yes, the spirit of competition is to win, and winning is good. But I am left to ponder if we are winning with dignity and integrity when we flood the playing fields with so many athletes. It seems appropriate topic when "winning with integrity" is such a hot-button issue these days. I wonder how much we might be fined, collectively.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Monday, June 11, 2012
Tan Lines, and Sweat Stains and Mountains, OH MY...
Well, It has come and gone. This past weekend marked the MS150: Escape to the Lake in Western Pennsylvania. This year was slightly different in that there was a return loop trip - so one could feasibly ride from Zelienople to Meadville and back over the course of two days, OR ride from Meadville on to Conneaut, OH and the shores of Lake Erie. Having ridden to Lake Erie last year, and NOT relishing the thought of a three hour busride back to Zelienople, I elected the return trip - the Loop. Day one was 75.3 miles, Day 2 was 79.8 miles. The following is my account, for better or worse, of the points I can remember.
I managed to get into the first starting group on Day one, and it wasn't long before we managed to establish a rhythm, moving along relatively smoothly. The first 16 or so miles to the first rest stop - an area I've ridden a couple times in training - really didn't cause me any problems, other than a loose crank bolt - even after I'd tightened it. Stop at the base of the first real climb of the day, tighten the bolt again, and I was off. I found that the hill - previously climbed - was relatively ok. Drop the gear, get into a manageable cadence - it seemed to work pretty well. Indeed, I was passing a few people. of course, a couple passed me as well, but the fact that I was passing people made me feel pretty good. Not bad for 9 miles in, when it useually takes me about 5 miles to loosen up and get comfy.
Rest stop at 16 miles, have crank bolt tightened. Eat, drink, refuel. life was good. Second major climb at 17 miles - this would be a theme where if we stopped, there MUST be a hill coming up. - scooted up it with relatively no problems, other than reaffirming my general hatred of hills. Latched on with some teammates, and was hitting some good stride. The next stop was at the top of a small rise further down the road - about mile 34 - and I realized I was strong. Plenty left in the tank, legs felt comfy, was having good rhythm, good power - I was in that zone. I powered up the rise in the big ring, the sun shining behind me. On the ground ahead of me, I saw my shadow - and I was surprized. As my legs pounded up the rise, I saw them moving in shadow form. They looked good. They looked....well, they looked like the pro riders' legs look!!!! I know, this may make no sense to some of you, but for the Fat Kid, it was a nice moment of satisfaction.
Lunch was at mile 47 - and by 11AM, I was just about ready to get back on the road. We'd started about 7:30 AM, and I was still feeling pretty good. Mile 56.6 was where I'd been stalled a few weeks ago, so I forced myself to eat and drink more than I wanted to. The next climb, one that just about did me in last year, was next up. I cramped. It wasn't too bad, and after a couple of minutes, I started up the hill again, and proceeded to the top, where, although I was hurting, I once again found that I was passing a few riders...many of whom passed me whilst I was working out my cramp. Find the cadence, push the pedal around. Don't let up. At the top, I was strong again, and then we came to it: my favorite stretch of road.
Now, growing up near the mucklands of Central NY, the Fat Kid KNOWS how to ride the flats. The hills, not so much, but the flats?? Oh, I excel at them. When riding a 53 x13-23.....well, let's just say it doesn't take a lot to start pulling some speed. Those legs I was so proud of a little while ago? They are my engine (corny, I know) and the engine wanted to have some fun. The power was there, the rhythm was there. Shift up. Hands to drops. Slide forward in the saddle. Start the engine. I think I took that section of road around about 22 mph - with virtually no effort...just steady momentum, all the way into the Grove City area. When it works - when the body is working correctly and the conditions are right - speed, form, machine, engine, lungs and head become as one, and that is where the cyclist finds his/her joy. That stretch of road was pure joy.
The going got tougher after that. The hills became a little steeper, and a little longer. While I suffered a little up them, the cadence and the power were there. A few times, riders latched on behind me, holding the slipstream and letting me cut through the wind in front of them. Occasionally, I would catch a rider and do the same. There is a strange allegience that takes place on a ride like this, where strangers become friends and partners for a little while. We need each other out there. We help one another, say encouraging things, form pace lines, draft off each other, converse to relieve boredom - anything at all. We are all in this together. And we were all heading to the same place, where many a cold beverage was waiting...some even non-alcoholic!
But up the hills we went. Over the tops and down the other sides. Mile 70 came and there was a veritable wall of a hill. I was forced to walk some of it. It was just too much to push through at that mileage. I felt bad for those who did the century route (100 miles, for those not in the know) who had to do the hill twice. My leg cramp had returned, and there was no way I was going to get through the short, but very steep (estimated 10% or steeper) hill. From there, the ride to Allegheny College was downhill, the finish line was attained.
What happened once at the finish? It's like Vegas - you don't say. I can tell you I met up with an old buddy, took a dip in the pool, had an adult beverage, and met some very fun people. Hijinx, Hooliganism, Shenanigans, pranks, and Tomfoolery were in abundance. Well, we were on a college campus, what did you expect?
Day TWO:
Once again, I was in the starting group, and once again, it didn't take very long to be dropped from them. I was there to ride MY ride, not make a race out it. It wasn't long before we hit the hills coming out of Meadville. This was the part I was mainly concerned with, as I didn't know how I would recover in time to ride. Turns out, I wasn't that bad. Early on, the hills, while significant, were managed decently. The rhythm was there, the gears were right. I now know why I've hated hills for so long, and what I was doing wrong at the bottom. The issue is corrected...but I still hate hills. Up and over them we went. But they kept coming. I think we rode more uphill on the way home thanthe previous day, even though the slopes were a little more gentle for most of it. Uphill is still uphill.
But the power was there, the gears were right, the timing better, and even though the saddle sores were forming (yep, I'd used chamois cream) It was still good. Through the high flat parts of the plateau we went, and once again, I was able to find the power I liked, and was able to engage the engine again. I met Dean, who was having some difficulty with his left knee. Dean is about 60 yrs old. I told him to tuck in behind me and ride my slipstream for a while to take it easy on his knee. It got Dean through a couple pit stops where the medical pros could assist him. I don't know if I'll ever see Dean again, but I know that for those miles, I was his best friend. And he was very cool to talk to.
Mile 54.4, rest stop. Saddle sores were seriously hurting every time I got on and off the bike. Food. Water. Gatorade. I'd finally tapped into my reserve fluids (two waterbottles full of gatorade) Thermometer on the bike was reading 92. No clouds. Any other day, I would have thought it beautiful. I just wanted it to be over. 25 miles left to go. Start again. cover some of the same roads we were on yesterday. The tar on the pavement is bubbling, and I can hear it cracking under my wheels as each bubble pops. Eventually, I'm forced to walk up a small ascent that is just too steep to ride. I know I'm spent. A couple minutes at the top of the hill, and I hop on, painfully, and continue. A long, slow climb up to the top of a hill, descend into the state park again for the last rest stop.
16 miles left to go. I want a taxi. I'm not even sure where I can draw strength from anymore. Head out again, after more chamois cream, bananas, gatorade, and water. And Gummy treats. Those things rock, and I've eaten a ton of them at this point on the ride. They take us on new roads that we didn't travel yesterday. Up a climb witha "false flat" and then up the rest of it. Up again. And again. Turn the corner, more uphill. Round a bend. Then, I see it. It's the hill where I died two weeks ago. They put it on the ride. Everyone's first reaction on seeing it: "WTF!!!!!" Oddly - even though I rode it only a couple weeks before, I didn't realize it was THAT hill until I was halfway up it. That is when I knew I had this. Again, the cadence was right. the strength was there. The power was in my legs. My muscles were screaming - but they were screaming something new: "WE"RE NOT READY TO GIVE UP." OK, legs. Just keep climbing.
Into Portsville and one last small climb. I'm starting to pass people. They're blowing up. We're about to drop into the valley, and they're blowing up. They are cooked. I have strength. I even have a little speed. It's under 7 miles to the finish. Engage the engine one last time. I catch up to a couple of riders and as we hit some of the small rises, I realize that I'm ready to go. I Just have to NOT stop pedalling, and I've got it. I overtake the guy who has been outclimbing me all day. He used up too much and he's gassed. I won't see him again until I'm already on my second bottle of water at the finish. He's weraing an Indiana kit he thinks he got from Steevo....it makes me think I've just beeten Steevo. Adrenaline fills me. Suddenly, I know I could do the century today, if I wanted. I don't want to. I am a man-machine - like the Terminator. 3 miles. 2 miles. One last stop light. A guy I rode with three weeks ago on a training ride is there ahead of me. I catch him and we head off together, along with a third. We make the turn and ride the last mile together, down the chute where we started.
It's a party.
I wasn't the first to finish, but I was far from the last. People ask me why I love this sport. The friends, the allies, the pain, the pleasure, the realizations, the heart and will it takes to push through hot temps and nasty climbs, roads blistering under your tires, saddle sores and sunburn...every time I'm out there on the road, I find a little more of who I am. And I like that guy.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
I managed to get into the first starting group on Day one, and it wasn't long before we managed to establish a rhythm, moving along relatively smoothly. The first 16 or so miles to the first rest stop - an area I've ridden a couple times in training - really didn't cause me any problems, other than a loose crank bolt - even after I'd tightened it. Stop at the base of the first real climb of the day, tighten the bolt again, and I was off. I found that the hill - previously climbed - was relatively ok. Drop the gear, get into a manageable cadence - it seemed to work pretty well. Indeed, I was passing a few people. of course, a couple passed me as well, but the fact that I was passing people made me feel pretty good. Not bad for 9 miles in, when it useually takes me about 5 miles to loosen up and get comfy.
Rest stop at 16 miles, have crank bolt tightened. Eat, drink, refuel. life was good. Second major climb at 17 miles - this would be a theme where if we stopped, there MUST be a hill coming up. - scooted up it with relatively no problems, other than reaffirming my general hatred of hills. Latched on with some teammates, and was hitting some good stride. The next stop was at the top of a small rise further down the road - about mile 34 - and I realized I was strong. Plenty left in the tank, legs felt comfy, was having good rhythm, good power - I was in that zone. I powered up the rise in the big ring, the sun shining behind me. On the ground ahead of me, I saw my shadow - and I was surprized. As my legs pounded up the rise, I saw them moving in shadow form. They looked good. They looked....well, they looked like the pro riders' legs look!!!! I know, this may make no sense to some of you, but for the Fat Kid, it was a nice moment of satisfaction.
Lunch was at mile 47 - and by 11AM, I was just about ready to get back on the road. We'd started about 7:30 AM, and I was still feeling pretty good. Mile 56.6 was where I'd been stalled a few weeks ago, so I forced myself to eat and drink more than I wanted to. The next climb, one that just about did me in last year, was next up. I cramped. It wasn't too bad, and after a couple of minutes, I started up the hill again, and proceeded to the top, where, although I was hurting, I once again found that I was passing a few riders...many of whom passed me whilst I was working out my cramp. Find the cadence, push the pedal around. Don't let up. At the top, I was strong again, and then we came to it: my favorite stretch of road.
Now, growing up near the mucklands of Central NY, the Fat Kid KNOWS how to ride the flats. The hills, not so much, but the flats?? Oh, I excel at them. When riding a 53 x13-23.....well, let's just say it doesn't take a lot to start pulling some speed. Those legs I was so proud of a little while ago? They are my engine (corny, I know) and the engine wanted to have some fun. The power was there, the rhythm was there. Shift up. Hands to drops. Slide forward in the saddle. Start the engine. I think I took that section of road around about 22 mph - with virtually no effort...just steady momentum, all the way into the Grove City area. When it works - when the body is working correctly and the conditions are right - speed, form, machine, engine, lungs and head become as one, and that is where the cyclist finds his/her joy. That stretch of road was pure joy.
The going got tougher after that. The hills became a little steeper, and a little longer. While I suffered a little up them, the cadence and the power were there. A few times, riders latched on behind me, holding the slipstream and letting me cut through the wind in front of them. Occasionally, I would catch a rider and do the same. There is a strange allegience that takes place on a ride like this, where strangers become friends and partners for a little while. We need each other out there. We help one another, say encouraging things, form pace lines, draft off each other, converse to relieve boredom - anything at all. We are all in this together. And we were all heading to the same place, where many a cold beverage was waiting...some even non-alcoholic!
But up the hills we went. Over the tops and down the other sides. Mile 70 came and there was a veritable wall of a hill. I was forced to walk some of it. It was just too much to push through at that mileage. I felt bad for those who did the century route (100 miles, for those not in the know) who had to do the hill twice. My leg cramp had returned, and there was no way I was going to get through the short, but very steep (estimated 10% or steeper) hill. From there, the ride to Allegheny College was downhill, the finish line was attained.
What happened once at the finish? It's like Vegas - you don't say. I can tell you I met up with an old buddy, took a dip in the pool, had an adult beverage, and met some very fun people. Hijinx, Hooliganism, Shenanigans, pranks, and Tomfoolery were in abundance. Well, we were on a college campus, what did you expect?
Day TWO:
Once again, I was in the starting group, and once again, it didn't take very long to be dropped from them. I was there to ride MY ride, not make a race out it. It wasn't long before we hit the hills coming out of Meadville. This was the part I was mainly concerned with, as I didn't know how I would recover in time to ride. Turns out, I wasn't that bad. Early on, the hills, while significant, were managed decently. The rhythm was there, the gears were right. I now know why I've hated hills for so long, and what I was doing wrong at the bottom. The issue is corrected...but I still hate hills. Up and over them we went. But they kept coming. I think we rode more uphill on the way home thanthe previous day, even though the slopes were a little more gentle for most of it. Uphill is still uphill.
But the power was there, the gears were right, the timing better, and even though the saddle sores were forming (yep, I'd used chamois cream) It was still good. Through the high flat parts of the plateau we went, and once again, I was able to find the power I liked, and was able to engage the engine again. I met Dean, who was having some difficulty with his left knee. Dean is about 60 yrs old. I told him to tuck in behind me and ride my slipstream for a while to take it easy on his knee. It got Dean through a couple pit stops where the medical pros could assist him. I don't know if I'll ever see Dean again, but I know that for those miles, I was his best friend. And he was very cool to talk to.
Mile 54.4, rest stop. Saddle sores were seriously hurting every time I got on and off the bike. Food. Water. Gatorade. I'd finally tapped into my reserve fluids (two waterbottles full of gatorade) Thermometer on the bike was reading 92. No clouds. Any other day, I would have thought it beautiful. I just wanted it to be over. 25 miles left to go. Start again. cover some of the same roads we were on yesterday. The tar on the pavement is bubbling, and I can hear it cracking under my wheels as each bubble pops. Eventually, I'm forced to walk up a small ascent that is just too steep to ride. I know I'm spent. A couple minutes at the top of the hill, and I hop on, painfully, and continue. A long, slow climb up to the top of a hill, descend into the state park again for the last rest stop.
16 miles left to go. I want a taxi. I'm not even sure where I can draw strength from anymore. Head out again, after more chamois cream, bananas, gatorade, and water. And Gummy treats. Those things rock, and I've eaten a ton of them at this point on the ride. They take us on new roads that we didn't travel yesterday. Up a climb witha "false flat" and then up the rest of it. Up again. And again. Turn the corner, more uphill. Round a bend. Then, I see it. It's the hill where I died two weeks ago. They put it on the ride. Everyone's first reaction on seeing it: "WTF!!!!!" Oddly - even though I rode it only a couple weeks before, I didn't realize it was THAT hill until I was halfway up it. That is when I knew I had this. Again, the cadence was right. the strength was there. The power was in my legs. My muscles were screaming - but they were screaming something new: "WE"RE NOT READY TO GIVE UP." OK, legs. Just keep climbing.
Into Portsville and one last small climb. I'm starting to pass people. They're blowing up. We're about to drop into the valley, and they're blowing up. They are cooked. I have strength. I even have a little speed. It's under 7 miles to the finish. Engage the engine one last time. I catch up to a couple of riders and as we hit some of the small rises, I realize that I'm ready to go. I Just have to NOT stop pedalling, and I've got it. I overtake the guy who has been outclimbing me all day. He used up too much and he's gassed. I won't see him again until I'm already on my second bottle of water at the finish. He's weraing an Indiana kit he thinks he got from Steevo....it makes me think I've just beeten Steevo. Adrenaline fills me. Suddenly, I know I could do the century today, if I wanted. I don't want to. I am a man-machine - like the Terminator. 3 miles. 2 miles. One last stop light. A guy I rode with three weeks ago on a training ride is there ahead of me. I catch him and we head off together, along with a third. We make the turn and ride the last mile together, down the chute where we started.
It's a party.
I wasn't the first to finish, but I was far from the last. People ask me why I love this sport. The friends, the allies, the pain, the pleasure, the realizations, the heart and will it takes to push through hot temps and nasty climbs, roads blistering under your tires, saddle sores and sunburn...every time I'm out there on the road, I find a little more of who I am. And I like that guy.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Moving....always a trial.
Well, Readers, it's here again. Yep, in just under 72 hours, I will be biking my way across the hills, valleys, and backroads of Western PA doing the MS150: Escape to the Lake, 2012. What is this? Simply put, it's a bunch of crazy nutters like myself riding 150 miles in two days to raise money and awareness of MS. Their slogan is to "join the movement." and so, having done this ride last year, I'm doing it again. I'm nervous. It's a tougher ride than last year. My training hasn't been what I'd hoped it would be, though I've done some really good stuff this year, and should be able to do this with little to no problem. I'm looking forward to it. Why do I do it? 1) I love to ride my bike. 2) No, I really do LOVE to ride my bike. 3) events like this are worth it to me - it is an act of giving that has a purpose. It is important in building community and maintaining that community. It promotes community health. There are other events like this for all sorts of things. I would encourage you to find one that matches your interests/desires, etc and then volunteer to do it. At some point or other, we have to start taking care of ourselves again....the government cannot do it for us. Events like this are ways in which we can become active in our lives and communities.
Speaking of moving...I'm in the middle of one, and like all moves, there is both pleasure and pain. The house I'm going to is in need of some updates, though, and so there are some general repairs and upgrades that need to be made. This is always expected - the "perfect house" doesn't exist until you make it perfect, after all. One of the bonuses of this new place is that I get my own workshop, which is a concrete bunker under a porch about the size of a single car garage. It's nice. It's dry. It will work. BUT, half the walls are underground, so, in the interest of keeping it dry, I bought a can of dry-loc and painted the walls. Now, they were white, and the dry-loc was grey. So - in a concrete bunker that is a woodshop - there was a two-tone paintjob. Why? Because it doesn't exatcly matter, that's why!!!! It could be purple and I won't care. It could be bare block and I'll be ok. Because it's a workshop. It's not about the shop looking pretty, it's about it being functional and making pretty things come out of it! But wait: As this is my roomie's house, enter Mother.
"It looks unfinished."
"It's a workshop in a concrete bunker. It's going to be covered in sawdust."
"But it's wrong."
"There are better things to spend money and time on at the moment, plus, it doesn't matter."
"But it's two-toned."
"So what? It's not an entertainment space. It's a space for me to make a mess."
"But that would bother me."
"But you're not going to be using it. It doesn't bother me."
The conversation ended there...or so I thought (cue the overdramatic music)
It seems Mother went home and did nothing but moan and gripe and complain to her husband about how it...get this....HURTS RESALE VALUE.
1) ummmm...Concrete bunker/workshops under porches DO NOT SELL HOUSES. Kitchens sell houses. Yards sell houses. School districts and communities sell houses. Concrete bunker/workshops are bonuses that are kind of like gravy, but they do NOT sell houses.
2) really, there's nothing better to do with your time then complain about a paint color? I'm SOOOOOOOOOOO glad that THIS takes precedence over anything else. I mean - I was getting worried there for a while! First-world problems.
3) WHY ARE WE THINKING ABOUT RESALE VALUE???? The house was just bought! OK, think about resale value when redesigning/updating the kitchen (see point #1about kitchens selling houses) but really??
Enter Father - who is now mightly purturbed that Mother will not shut up about this, nor will she let it go. He just doesn't want to hear it anymore. I don't blame him. I would cure it with a "Oh well, what's done is done, put your big-girl pants on and deal with it." This is not his solution. His solution is to tell roomie that the workshop needs to be repainted. And roomie does it.
Now, if a man's home is his castle, the workshop in the home should be considered the chapel. You do not mess with it without written permission, unless he asks you to. It is sacred. It is set up so that he can work in it the way he needs to. My shop was already in place. Tools were already hanging on toolboards. Storage had been created and was being used. My workshop...my chapel...was defiled. Roomie lost a day of productivity. I lost several hours, and will lose more when I put it all back. I am not pleased. In fact, I'm well beyond angered at this moment...and this happened a couple days ago.
Luckily, I received some of the oddest news ever yesterday, so I simply must share with you all. MY father, the Map King of the East Coast....has purchased a GPS device for use when traveling. Now, this is a man who taught his children how to read maps using topographical maps. Not only did we know what turn to take, we knew that it was around that bend and over that rise. It was rather difficult when I went to school, because I was asking where the hills were, and the teachers had no answers for me. But my father never goes anywhere without a road atlas in the car. Every route is thoroughly vetted, explored, and known before he gets in the car. Weather patterns of the area are watched like a hawk eyes a foul wind - wary and concerned about the "just in case" factor. Always alert and aware. I have watched him look at maps at highway stops so he knew where we were - EVEN THOUGH WE HAD NOT TURNED OFF THE ROAD! In short, the man lives by his maps. He's a civil engineer - this makes a lot of sense. Buying a GPS system??????
Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot.!!!!!!!!!!!!!
On top of his superior internal guidence system of map-reading that comes pre-loaded with the engineer, the man HATES - and I'm talking about with the heat of 1,000 suns here - absolutely HATES to travel. His wanderlust got lost. He plans trips around town counter-clockwise so he never has to turn left! On top of that, he's not really a "gadget guy." If it's a tool with an actual purpose, ok, he'll buy it and use it. BUT, it's rarely without weighing it out on his head whether there's an actual need or not. My father travels known routes to visit his children or other relatives, and he does that only rarely. There are only two possible reasons I can come up with:
1) THIS is his midlife crisis purchase. Which, if it is....OK, there are a lot worse things he could do!
2) This is some newly-formed sadistic ploy to keep everyone around him guessing while he just laughs and snickers quietly to himself.
OR SECRET OPTION 3) He's buying his granddaughter a car when she turns 16 next year, and it will come equiped with a GPS system. I really hope my niece is reading this!
My father using a GPS?? The terrorists have finally won.
All Right. That's all from me. I will have a few people post some updates for me while I'm gone this weekend, and of course, I shall blog all about the epic awesomeness of the ride afterwards - for it will be epically awesome. Take care, everyone, and of course:
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Speaking of moving...I'm in the middle of one, and like all moves, there is both pleasure and pain. The house I'm going to is in need of some updates, though, and so there are some general repairs and upgrades that need to be made. This is always expected - the "perfect house" doesn't exist until you make it perfect, after all. One of the bonuses of this new place is that I get my own workshop, which is a concrete bunker under a porch about the size of a single car garage. It's nice. It's dry. It will work. BUT, half the walls are underground, so, in the interest of keeping it dry, I bought a can of dry-loc and painted the walls. Now, they were white, and the dry-loc was grey. So - in a concrete bunker that is a woodshop - there was a two-tone paintjob. Why? Because it doesn't exatcly matter, that's why!!!! It could be purple and I won't care. It could be bare block and I'll be ok. Because it's a workshop. It's not about the shop looking pretty, it's about it being functional and making pretty things come out of it! But wait: As this is my roomie's house, enter Mother.
"It looks unfinished."
"It's a workshop in a concrete bunker. It's going to be covered in sawdust."
"But it's wrong."
"There are better things to spend money and time on at the moment, plus, it doesn't matter."
"But it's two-toned."
"So what? It's not an entertainment space. It's a space for me to make a mess."
"But that would bother me."
"But you're not going to be using it. It doesn't bother me."
The conversation ended there...or so I thought (cue the overdramatic music)
It seems Mother went home and did nothing but moan and gripe and complain to her husband about how it...get this....HURTS RESALE VALUE.
1) ummmm...Concrete bunker/workshops under porches DO NOT SELL HOUSES. Kitchens sell houses. Yards sell houses. School districts and communities sell houses. Concrete bunker/workshops are bonuses that are kind of like gravy, but they do NOT sell houses.
2) really, there's nothing better to do with your time then complain about a paint color? I'm SOOOOOOOOOOO glad that THIS takes precedence over anything else. I mean - I was getting worried there for a while! First-world problems.
3) WHY ARE WE THINKING ABOUT RESALE VALUE???? The house was just bought! OK, think about resale value when redesigning/updating the kitchen (see point #1about kitchens selling houses) but really??
Enter Father - who is now mightly purturbed that Mother will not shut up about this, nor will she let it go. He just doesn't want to hear it anymore. I don't blame him. I would cure it with a "Oh well, what's done is done, put your big-girl pants on and deal with it." This is not his solution. His solution is to tell roomie that the workshop needs to be repainted. And roomie does it.
Now, if a man's home is his castle, the workshop in the home should be considered the chapel. You do not mess with it without written permission, unless he asks you to. It is sacred. It is set up so that he can work in it the way he needs to. My shop was already in place. Tools were already hanging on toolboards. Storage had been created and was being used. My workshop...my chapel...was defiled. Roomie lost a day of productivity. I lost several hours, and will lose more when I put it all back. I am not pleased. In fact, I'm well beyond angered at this moment...and this happened a couple days ago.
Luckily, I received some of the oddest news ever yesterday, so I simply must share with you all. MY father, the Map King of the East Coast....has purchased a GPS device for use when traveling. Now, this is a man who taught his children how to read maps using topographical maps. Not only did we know what turn to take, we knew that it was around that bend and over that rise. It was rather difficult when I went to school, because I was asking where the hills were, and the teachers had no answers for me. But my father never goes anywhere without a road atlas in the car. Every route is thoroughly vetted, explored, and known before he gets in the car. Weather patterns of the area are watched like a hawk eyes a foul wind - wary and concerned about the "just in case" factor. Always alert and aware. I have watched him look at maps at highway stops so he knew where we were - EVEN THOUGH WE HAD NOT TURNED OFF THE ROAD! In short, the man lives by his maps. He's a civil engineer - this makes a lot of sense. Buying a GPS system??????
Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot.!!!!!!!!!!!!!
On top of his superior internal guidence system of map-reading that comes pre-loaded with the engineer, the man HATES - and I'm talking about with the heat of 1,000 suns here - absolutely HATES to travel. His wanderlust got lost. He plans trips around town counter-clockwise so he never has to turn left! On top of that, he's not really a "gadget guy." If it's a tool with an actual purpose, ok, he'll buy it and use it. BUT, it's rarely without weighing it out on his head whether there's an actual need or not. My father travels known routes to visit his children or other relatives, and he does that only rarely. There are only two possible reasons I can come up with:
1) THIS is his midlife crisis purchase. Which, if it is....OK, there are a lot worse things he could do!
2) This is some newly-formed sadistic ploy to keep everyone around him guessing while he just laughs and snickers quietly to himself.
OR SECRET OPTION 3) He's buying his granddaughter a car when she turns 16 next year, and it will come equiped with a GPS system. I really hope my niece is reading this!
My father using a GPS?? The terrorists have finally won.
All Right. That's all from me. I will have a few people post some updates for me while I'm gone this weekend, and of course, I shall blog all about the epic awesomeness of the ride afterwards - for it will be epically awesome. Take care, everyone, and of course:
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Sunday, May 20, 2012
Wisdom, biking, and....some other stuff.
Ah, so it's May, and that means that yep, I'm busy taking time to hop on the bike for a helluva ride on June 9th and 10th - the MS 150. Yep, 150 miles in two days. Sound impossible? Well, I did it last year, so no, it's not impossible. It does, however, require a bit of work, pain, and self-inflicted torture of riding my bike over a whole lotta terrain that I would otherwise prefer to avoid. BUT, it's going well. Not as well as I'd like, but then, when is it ever perfect??? Never, as far as I can recall. But this weekend was a decent bit of riding - pretty much all of it good. A few lessons were learned from it, however:
1) ALWAYS prefuel. Yeah, I was stupid and didn't prefuel on one ride, and wondered why I was tired after about 30 miles. It didn't occur to me that I'd only eaten an apple and a handful of m&m's that day.
2) Chamois butter (or equivelent) always a necessity.
3) Biofreeze: also a necessity, and just some really nice stuff.
4) After riding with some friends, I realized I'm in better shape than I thought compared to some of them.
5) cycling tans are funny-looking, but are testament to the work put in.
6) Contrary to what my father believes, my saddle is not a torture device.
Speaking of Dad (see what I did there?) - Mine said the best thing today:
"If you live an extra 10% longer for drinking coffee, and 5% for drinking a nip of whiskey, and another 3-4% for having a glass of red wine, between that and all the other things that I do, I figure I'm never gonna die. I've got it solved!"
Dad, you crack me up, Dude. I look forward to helping you explore this theory!!!!!
Some other random coolness: looking forward to moving soon. A new house with workshop space for my house-mate and I, plus some entertaining space, as well s a nice-sized "Pittsburgh-level" yard. Covered porch, the works. It's a nice place. Hopefully, we'll be able to start moving on Monday!
Looking forward to a summer of camping, biking, and a lot of other things!!!
1) ALWAYS prefuel. Yeah, I was stupid and didn't prefuel on one ride, and wondered why I was tired after about 30 miles. It didn't occur to me that I'd only eaten an apple and a handful of m&m's that day.
2) Chamois butter (or equivelent) always a necessity.
3) Biofreeze: also a necessity, and just some really nice stuff.
4) After riding with some friends, I realized I'm in better shape than I thought compared to some of them.
5) cycling tans are funny-looking, but are testament to the work put in.
6) Contrary to what my father believes, my saddle is not a torture device.
Speaking of Dad (see what I did there?) - Mine said the best thing today:
"If you live an extra 10% longer for drinking coffee, and 5% for drinking a nip of whiskey, and another 3-4% for having a glass of red wine, between that and all the other things that I do, I figure I'm never gonna die. I've got it solved!"
Dad, you crack me up, Dude. I look forward to helping you explore this theory!!!!!
Some other random coolness: looking forward to moving soon. A new house with workshop space for my house-mate and I, plus some entertaining space, as well s a nice-sized "Pittsburgh-level" yard. Covered porch, the works. It's a nice place. Hopefully, we'll be able to start moving on Monday!
Looking forward to a summer of camping, biking, and a lot of other things!!!
Friday, May 11, 2012
What makes a good film?
Since who knows when, America has had a thing for the movies. The Fat Kid is no exception. Now, I'm not going to say what you should and shouldn't waste your time and money on - I'm not professional critic and I'm not getting paid to do that. No, this is about all the things that I think movies should be - those qualities they should possess in order to make them adequate for viewing. Just because a film doesn't match up to my criteria doesn't mean you can't enjoy it. So, here it is: The Fat Kid's Guide to Film Adequacy.
1) Story. It's about story-telling, and so there must be at least an interesting story to tell. If you don't have an interesting story, why would anyone want to go see it? For that matter, why would they pay to go see it? At $10 per primetime film, that's just crazy. And by having a story, I mean a real one, not one that's a backdrop for a whole bunch of explosions, and by the end, we're supposed to believe that life finally got good for the main character because of 300 explosions ans near-death experiences. For example, let's take the Indiana Jones franchise. The trio of films was great. Indy's life was always just a little tough. It wasn't perfect, etc. The last film??? Ugh. NO REAL STORYLINE, and then the ending was stolen from the first "X-Files" film. Sad.
2) Special effects and make-up at a minimum. Unless the goal is to completely turn an actor into something alien unto human beings (think orcs, wookiees, trolls, other aliens, etc) we really just wanna see the actor do their thing. Yes, some makeup is essential, and should not be discouraged completely - but the point is: DON'T blow the budget on making a picturesque movie that lacks substance. Makep can't act. Neither can explosions. In fact, all most explosions seem to do is create shrapnel that hurts the main character somehow - thus requiring more makeup and/or fake blood.
3) Proper use of technology. Studios are very fond of showing off their new toys. Just look at Pixar. Hey, the do some cool things with those toys, and even though some of the characters are cute and funny...I'm still listening to Tom Hanks, John Goodman, Tim Allen, and Billy Crystal. Oh, and John Ratzenberger, whom I still have to stop and think of his name rather than call him Cliff Claven. Disney used to make a LOT of films for kids and families using real actors. In fact, it was almost all their stuff. Can we get back to this, please?
4) OK, this one is the biggie, and really, the rest of them all feed into it. RUN TIME. No film (other than kids movies and the occasional documentary) should EVER be shorter than two hours. There's a VERY little bit of leeway on this one. I mean, if a film runs 117 minutes instead of 120, ok. It happens. The 120-minute mark is really an "-ish" statement. Sometimes, there will be a complete story told in 110 minutes. BUT, when those sorts of things happen, usually, the story is sound, the tech is under control, and the special effects are reigned in as well - they simply ran out of story to tell, and rather than belabor the point, simply chose to move the story on to its conclusion. MOST of the time, these films that just fall short of the 120-minute rule are "OK" films. They are not heralded as "good" or "great." At the multi-millions of dollars used to make movies....would another 7-12 minutes of film REALLY be all that much to ask to flesh out a story in full? Isn't most of that on the cutting room floor, anyway??
I know what you're saying: "But there's not all that much to tell of __________(insert name of short film here)!" Precisely the point. Not all stories should be made into films. It requires good judgment, and that judgment should focus on what makes good movies, as compared to what Hollywood thinks teenagers want to see the most. Wait one minute: WHY ARE WE LETTING TEENAGERS DICTATE ANYTHING? I know, I know....because "it sells." Yes, 14 yr old boys want to see just how much leg and midriff they can see from the latest hottie of the month. Trust me, they see enough as it is, they don't need it in HD-3D-with Dolby 5.1 surround sound. They're boys. They'll figure it out. But you know something else? If you start telling good stories again, to completion, leaving little to nothing out, and that's what we allow our kids to be exposed to, we just might end up teaching the next generation how to actually appreciate the art of cinema rather than the art of demolition.
OH, and please....can we STOP making re-makes? HUH? Are we really running that low in the barrel that we have to remake Footloose? Can't you just tell a different generation-gap social commentary story that strongly parallels the film but maybe without dancing and such, and call it something different? PLEASE? That's for another post, though.
Thanks for Reading,
The Fat Kid
1) Story. It's about story-telling, and so there must be at least an interesting story to tell. If you don't have an interesting story, why would anyone want to go see it? For that matter, why would they pay to go see it? At $10 per primetime film, that's just crazy. And by having a story, I mean a real one, not one that's a backdrop for a whole bunch of explosions, and by the end, we're supposed to believe that life finally got good for the main character because of 300 explosions ans near-death experiences. For example, let's take the Indiana Jones franchise. The trio of films was great. Indy's life was always just a little tough. It wasn't perfect, etc. The last film??? Ugh. NO REAL STORYLINE, and then the ending was stolen from the first "X-Files" film. Sad.
2) Special effects and make-up at a minimum. Unless the goal is to completely turn an actor into something alien unto human beings (think orcs, wookiees, trolls, other aliens, etc) we really just wanna see the actor do their thing. Yes, some makeup is essential, and should not be discouraged completely - but the point is: DON'T blow the budget on making a picturesque movie that lacks substance. Makep can't act. Neither can explosions. In fact, all most explosions seem to do is create shrapnel that hurts the main character somehow - thus requiring more makeup and/or fake blood.
3) Proper use of technology. Studios are very fond of showing off their new toys. Just look at Pixar. Hey, the do some cool things with those toys, and even though some of the characters are cute and funny...I'm still listening to Tom Hanks, John Goodman, Tim Allen, and Billy Crystal. Oh, and John Ratzenberger, whom I still have to stop and think of his name rather than call him Cliff Claven. Disney used to make a LOT of films for kids and families using real actors. In fact, it was almost all their stuff. Can we get back to this, please?
4) OK, this one is the biggie, and really, the rest of them all feed into it. RUN TIME. No film (other than kids movies and the occasional documentary) should EVER be shorter than two hours. There's a VERY little bit of leeway on this one. I mean, if a film runs 117 minutes instead of 120, ok. It happens. The 120-minute mark is really an "-ish" statement. Sometimes, there will be a complete story told in 110 minutes. BUT, when those sorts of things happen, usually, the story is sound, the tech is under control, and the special effects are reigned in as well - they simply ran out of story to tell, and rather than belabor the point, simply chose to move the story on to its conclusion. MOST of the time, these films that just fall short of the 120-minute rule are "OK" films. They are not heralded as "good" or "great." At the multi-millions of dollars used to make movies....would another 7-12 minutes of film REALLY be all that much to ask to flesh out a story in full? Isn't most of that on the cutting room floor, anyway??
I know what you're saying: "But there's not all that much to tell of __________(insert name of short film here)!" Precisely the point. Not all stories should be made into films. It requires good judgment, and that judgment should focus on what makes good movies, as compared to what Hollywood thinks teenagers want to see the most. Wait one minute: WHY ARE WE LETTING TEENAGERS DICTATE ANYTHING? I know, I know....because "it sells." Yes, 14 yr old boys want to see just how much leg and midriff they can see from the latest hottie of the month. Trust me, they see enough as it is, they don't need it in HD-3D-with Dolby 5.1 surround sound. They're boys. They'll figure it out. But you know something else? If you start telling good stories again, to completion, leaving little to nothing out, and that's what we allow our kids to be exposed to, we just might end up teaching the next generation how to actually appreciate the art of cinema rather than the art of demolition.
OH, and please....can we STOP making re-makes? HUH? Are we really running that low in the barrel that we have to remake Footloose? Can't you just tell a different generation-gap social commentary story that strongly parallels the film but maybe without dancing and such, and call it something different? PLEASE? That's for another post, though.
Thanks for Reading,
The Fat Kid
Monday, April 30, 2012
3rd Annual Poetry Challenge, #29 and #30
Ahh, you were thinking I'd actually dropped a day and wouldn't get back to it! I know you were! Well, I didn't. Even the Fat Kid has a social calendar some days, and this weekend ended up being a pair of social engagements that invaded my writing time. C'est la vie! On the other hand, it also means that I don't lock myself away in the scriptorium and become a recluse, so I suppose this is a good thing.
First, I'd like to share with you all a poem I was sent from a person I consider a very gifted artist. In this particular piece, I personally find a strange (in the good way) rhythm, and when I was told WHAT inspired the piece, well, it all made sense. No, I'm NOT going to tell you - it's not all that difficult to figure out on your own, and if you're paying attention, I'm sure you'll get some of the same feeling the artist intended. Enjoy!
SPRING PATCHWORK
4-runnering one grey spring day:
Wintery hillsides bursting undergrowth,
Yellowing shades to evergreen,
Interrupting blinking towers,
Fall's browned teasel staking roadsides,
Wild dogwoods sprinting among shad bush and bridal veil,
Rolling hills striped with coal,
Rocking streams streaked with purple filigree.
Stone walls fencing soft pines,
Sentinel sycamores stalwart amid sweeping russian olives,
Rusting fields newly tilled,
Grey shack shadowing lonely creek,
Sleeping wild mustard fields;
A dogleg trip to Virginia or Connecticut?
To anywhere, live,
The Master's Quilt, perfectly pieced!
And now for something of mine!!
The Craftsman
My hands tell a story;
beaten, battered, scarred but strong,
rough from the work I do.
I am ashamed of them, at times,
how could such things hope to hold beauty?
they do not belong to touch finery,
my world, a mueum in which I may only see with my eyes.
But my eyes do not see,
what my fingers behold.
the eye is keen and critical,
it knows the errors, the imperfections,
where to look to see what the hands have hidden.
My hands tell the story of creating.
Oh geeze, on this, the last day of the Challenge, you get a two-fer!! Wait, I suppose technically, it's a three-fer! Huh, who knew? This last one is for all those who ever felt alone in any environment, or just like you don't fit in.
Apart
The world spins around me,
I cannot keep pace.
Ever traveling from place to place,
incongrous with the rhythm.
Conversations abound,
I am a part of them, and not,
I want to add to them, but dare not say anything.
I am the clown, mute and amusing.
But I do not belong here.
I am called to somewhere else,
my mind races with other thoughts.
I cannot explain it to you,
but only know that I am becoming something more,
something greater than I was.
In this, I am alone.
Solitary.
One.
from everything else,
Apart.
And there you have it. That's it - the end of the 3rd Annual Poetry Challenge. Reflections on this year's Challenge will be brief, but I cannot part without a few words:
First, Thank You - especially to the select few whom I KNOW have been regular - if not daily- readers. Thanks for your comments, your compliments, your critiques, and your criticisms (yes, the last two are different when speaking in literary terms.) I hope that you have been inspired in some small way to write your own - or to continue to write your own words.
Secondly, it strikes me that there are a few themes running through this year - however unintentionally they are. If you've gotten nothing else, please, take the following: Don't give up, even if you suck at something. Even if it's so tough, you think it will get the better of you, don't ever give up. The rewards of persistence are worth it.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
First, I'd like to share with you all a poem I was sent from a person I consider a very gifted artist. In this particular piece, I personally find a strange (in the good way) rhythm, and when I was told WHAT inspired the piece, well, it all made sense. No, I'm NOT going to tell you - it's not all that difficult to figure out on your own, and if you're paying attention, I'm sure you'll get some of the same feeling the artist intended. Enjoy!
SPRING PATCHWORK
4-runnering one grey spring day:
Wintery hillsides bursting undergrowth,
Yellowing shades to evergreen,
Interrupting blinking towers,
Fall's browned teasel staking roadsides,
Wild dogwoods sprinting among shad bush and bridal veil,
Rolling hills striped with coal,
Rocking streams streaked with purple filigree.
Stone walls fencing soft pines,
Sentinel sycamores stalwart amid sweeping russian olives,
Rusting fields newly tilled,
Grey shack shadowing lonely creek,
Sleeping wild mustard fields;
A dogleg trip to Virginia or Connecticut?
To anywhere, live,
The Master's Quilt, perfectly pieced!
And now for something of mine!!
The Craftsman
My hands tell a story;
beaten, battered, scarred but strong,
rough from the work I do.
I am ashamed of them, at times,
how could such things hope to hold beauty?
they do not belong to touch finery,
my world, a mueum in which I may only see with my eyes.
But my eyes do not see,
what my fingers behold.
the eye is keen and critical,
it knows the errors, the imperfections,
where to look to see what the hands have hidden.
My hands tell the story of creating.
Oh geeze, on this, the last day of the Challenge, you get a two-fer!! Wait, I suppose technically, it's a three-fer! Huh, who knew? This last one is for all those who ever felt alone in any environment, or just like you don't fit in.
Apart
The world spins around me,
I cannot keep pace.
Ever traveling from place to place,
incongrous with the rhythm.
Conversations abound,
I am a part of them, and not,
I want to add to them, but dare not say anything.
I am the clown, mute and amusing.
But I do not belong here.
I am called to somewhere else,
my mind races with other thoughts.
I cannot explain it to you,
but only know that I am becoming something more,
something greater than I was.
In this, I am alone.
Solitary.
One.
from everything else,
Apart.
And there you have it. That's it - the end of the 3rd Annual Poetry Challenge. Reflections on this year's Challenge will be brief, but I cannot part without a few words:
First, Thank You - especially to the select few whom I KNOW have been regular - if not daily- readers. Thanks for your comments, your compliments, your critiques, and your criticisms (yes, the last two are different when speaking in literary terms.) I hope that you have been inspired in some small way to write your own - or to continue to write your own words.
Secondly, it strikes me that there are a few themes running through this year - however unintentionally they are. If you've gotten nothing else, please, take the following: Don't give up, even if you suck at something. Even if it's so tough, you think it will get the better of you, don't ever give up. The rewards of persistence are worth it.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Sunday, April 29, 2012
3rd Annual Poetry Challenge, # 28
oh boy - a flurry of activity for the alst couple of days, so I guess I better hurry and finish a couple of poems!
And now, time is but too short a thing,
a resource spent,
wasted, over so many days and nights
when the choice was to do nothing.
And though it's the squandered we see,
we count the other,
and fill our days with accomplishment.
Tomorrow, I will look to finish the challenge with a day of cath-up and the last day of the Challenge. Thanks to all who have sent their thoughts and musings, the occasional poem, and their support!!!
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
And now, time is but too short a thing,
a resource spent,
wasted, over so many days and nights
when the choice was to do nothing.
And though it's the squandered we see,
we count the other,
and fill our days with accomplishment.
Tomorrow, I will look to finish the challenge with a day of cath-up and the last day of the Challenge. Thanks to all who have sent their thoughts and musings, the occasional poem, and their support!!!
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Friday, April 27, 2012
3rd Annual Poetry Challenge, #27
So it seems the theme of this week in my life is "Faith." Oh not necessarily a relgious faith of any sort, though there's been some of that, too - more like a general faith - in mankind, for example, or in one's own self. The funny part about this idea of faith, though, is that it's not been me who's been embroiled in it - but those around me. I cannot help but to think of the times when I have struggled with some of the many aspects of faith. If I could give advice to my friends, I would simply remind them that having faith is not easy. It is often thankless, and yes, even painful, and occasionally, you will get burned by it. BUT, having faith also keeps your mind and heart open to the many good things of this life. For this, it is always worth having faith. It is a gift. So use it. Keep your faith, my friends. The reward is worth it, even though you may be battered about first.
I know not the merits of love,
for merits are to a man whan he holds dear.
And though I am not everyman,
I am to everyman akin,
to have tasted the delights of Love,
and eaten at the banquet of its bounty.
Yet I will not shy from it,
though I may die a thousand deaths in a single day,
so sweet its nectar,
so delicate and fulfilling,
that never shall I want for less than Love's fair vintage.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat kis
I know not the merits of love,
for merits are to a man whan he holds dear.
And though I am not everyman,
I am to everyman akin,
to have tasted the delights of Love,
and eaten at the banquet of its bounty.
Yet I will not shy from it,
though I may die a thousand deaths in a single day,
so sweet its nectar,
so delicate and fulfilling,
that never shall I want for less than Love's fair vintage.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat kis
Thursday, April 26, 2012
3rd Annual Poetry Challenge, #26
WooHoo!!! You know, since this blogsite went and updated stuff and gave me an actual counter, it's nice to see that some people - quiet as they are - are at least looking at my words. How many of them are my mother, I'm not quite sure, but I'm grateful for those who are reading. I hope that you've been enjoying this as much as I have, and I do so hope that, even though you haven't joined me in creating poetry on here, that you join me next year - or for that matter, make your own poetry/lyrics/short fiction/whatever month - and invite me to read!!! The whole point is to enjoy writing and exploring words.
So - what do you say to exploring some of those words now?
Climbing
Cadence. Footfall over footfall,
turning the crank over.
Stand.
Swing the bike.
Kick, drop the gear, just one.
In the saddle again,
Don't stop, keep turning the crank.
Drop the gear again,
focus on the rhythm,
lungs and legs burn together,
winding up the hill.
Drop again, burning the gear,
stand on the pedals,
like you saw that guy do in Europe.
This is your Europe,
your Alp D'Huez, your Tourmalet,
The only climb that matters -
the one you're on.
It will never get easier.
There is another one around the bend.
What? I figured it was about time I got a cycling poem in there! I've been good about trying to vary it up a bit, but today, I felt the need to climb a hill. And for those of my cycling friends who may be reading....yeah I just said I felt the need to climb a hill. Strange days.....
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
So - what do you say to exploring some of those words now?
Climbing
Cadence. Footfall over footfall,
turning the crank over.
Stand.
Swing the bike.
Kick, drop the gear, just one.
In the saddle again,
Don't stop, keep turning the crank.
Drop the gear again,
focus on the rhythm,
lungs and legs burn together,
winding up the hill.
Drop again, burning the gear,
stand on the pedals,
like you saw that guy do in Europe.
This is your Europe,
your Alp D'Huez, your Tourmalet,
The only climb that matters -
the one you're on.
It will never get easier.
There is another one around the bend.
What? I figured it was about time I got a cycling poem in there! I've been good about trying to vary it up a bit, but today, I felt the need to climb a hill. And for those of my cycling friends who may be reading....yeah I just said I felt the need to climb a hill. Strange days.....
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
3rd Annual Poetry Challenge, #25
Well, with 6 more poems left - including today's, I think this month has been quite successful, if I do say so myself. But, I shall employ some advice from an old professor friend of mine: "Do not die on the side of the mountain." What should be pretty plain is that she meant for me to stay the course and buckle down, do the work, and don't let IT - whatever "it" may be - get the best of you. Sound advice when times get a little tough...or for when you're prepping for a really long bike ride that you know will have lots of hills.....
But what does that have to do with today's poem? I have no idea. I haven't written it yet. That theme may pop up, it may not. I have no idea - that's kind of the whole "poetry adventure" thing we're on here. So all you hep-cats out there put your mittens around your kttens and awaaaaaaaaay we go!!!
Before the Door
Heavy, old, battered and beaten,
the old door stands before me,
Hinges rusty on their pins,
bleeding down the wood.
It is a door the like I have never seen -
the lumber, unknown to me,
no marks to tell me of its maker.
No clue what lies behind it,
I only know that I must go through.
My hand trembles on the latch.
It feels solid, well-made,
the work of an artist,
a creator, a craftsman.
I try the latch and it opens,
the rusted hinges
swing open noiselessly,
there is nothing but darkness on the other side.
And I must go through.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
But what does that have to do with today's poem? I have no idea. I haven't written it yet. That theme may pop up, it may not. I have no idea - that's kind of the whole "poetry adventure" thing we're on here. So all you hep-cats out there put your mittens around your kttens and awaaaaaaaaay we go!!!
Before the Door
Heavy, old, battered and beaten,
the old door stands before me,
Hinges rusty on their pins,
bleeding down the wood.
It is a door the like I have never seen -
the lumber, unknown to me,
no marks to tell me of its maker.
No clue what lies behind it,
I only know that I must go through.
My hand trembles on the latch.
It feels solid, well-made,
the work of an artist,
a creator, a craftsman.
I try the latch and it opens,
the rusted hinges
swing open noiselessly,
there is nothing but darkness on the other side.
And I must go through.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
3rd Annual Poetry Challenge, #24
Well, just under a week to go, and I gotta admit - it's starting to get a little tough. It's tough to keep fiinding new places from which to take my inspiration - but today, something has been running through my head all day, and it's really kind of nice, so I'll write about that.
Sitting and talking,
quietly sharing of one another,
who I am, long to be,
things I want to accomplish.
Hearing and understanding the dreams of another,
and how they dovetail with mine.
Such a simple thing,
dinner conversation,
a little smile to let her know
I'm listening.
Never too much, don't want to look deperate,
but just enough to see if we can keep her interested -
just enough to know whether or not
I should keep trying.
But tomorrow is another chance,
to say the right thing, to perform the
right deed. Another chance at magic.
Thankd for reading,
The Fat Kid
Sitting and talking,
quietly sharing of one another,
who I am, long to be,
things I want to accomplish.
Hearing and understanding the dreams of another,
and how they dovetail with mine.
Such a simple thing,
dinner conversation,
a little smile to let her know
I'm listening.
Never too much, don't want to look deperate,
but just enough to see if we can keep her interested -
just enough to know whether or not
I should keep trying.
But tomorrow is another chance,
to say the right thing, to perform the
right deed. Another chance at magic.
Thankd for reading,
The Fat Kid
Monday, April 23, 2012
3rd Annual Poetry Challenge, #22 and #23
What a weekend - lots of family, friends, all sorts of things afoot, and it was a ll a wonderful time. It's a thing I don't hear too often in this world, but you knwo something? I LOVE MY FAMILY. That's right - I'm sure a lot of people really really do love their family, and they just don't say it a lot, but I'm gonna shout it from the rooftops right now: I LOVE MY FAMILY. All of ya: I don't care where you are in this world, what you're doing - if you're a part of my family, I love ya! Tons. Bunches. And I don't say it enough. And if this is too sappy for anyone to read - well, phooey on you, and I hope that someday, you find a family to whom you can say the same thing.
But hey, let's have some poetry, huh? I mean, that IS why you're here, right???
Driving
The miles stretch fore and aft,
endless highways of which I will only travel a part,
twists and turns that cannot be planned,
but seem normal and unavoidable if you
only look at the larger picture.
One cannot move the mountain,
but to get to the other side,
you simply find a way.
How doesn't matter - you must.
Like the sea, undulating landscapes
are the waves upon which I travel,
this land-sea my home,
it is here when I can be alone with my thoughts,
where life begins to make sense.
One cannot control the oceans,
but to traverse them,
you simply must endure.
How doesn't matter - you must.
OK, I actually had this one half-written yesterday, on time, but had to finish it this morning. Now, since I missed a day, here's your 2-fer:
Routine
Alarm. Snooze.
Wake-up.
No.
You have to,
I'm tired.
You were up to late.
Had stuff to do.
You can't keep going like this.
Watch me.
You'll get sick.
No time for that.
Why do you rush?
Too much on my plate.
You don't take time to enjoy it.
It's not for me.
You're hopeless.
I know.
I'll shut down.
No, you won't.
....
Same time tomorrow?
Fine.
Ugh - some mornings, it's just how I feel.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
But hey, let's have some poetry, huh? I mean, that IS why you're here, right???
Driving
The miles stretch fore and aft,
endless highways of which I will only travel a part,
twists and turns that cannot be planned,
but seem normal and unavoidable if you
only look at the larger picture.
One cannot move the mountain,
but to get to the other side,
you simply find a way.
How doesn't matter - you must.
Like the sea, undulating landscapes
are the waves upon which I travel,
this land-sea my home,
it is here when I can be alone with my thoughts,
where life begins to make sense.
One cannot control the oceans,
but to traverse them,
you simply must endure.
How doesn't matter - you must.
OK, I actually had this one half-written yesterday, on time, but had to finish it this morning. Now, since I missed a day, here's your 2-fer:
Routine
Alarm. Snooze.
Wake-up.
No.
You have to,
I'm tired.
You were up to late.
Had stuff to do.
You can't keep going like this.
Watch me.
You'll get sick.
No time for that.
Why do you rush?
Too much on my plate.
You don't take time to enjoy it.
It's not for me.
You're hopeless.
I know.
I'll shut down.
No, you won't.
....
Same time tomorrow?
Fine.
Ugh - some mornings, it's just how I feel.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Saturday, April 21, 2012
3rd Annual Poetry Challenge, #21
Well, the day is mostly over, and after quite a full one, I'm sitting down to write. It's an interesting thing, driving my grandmother to my brother's place - in 90 minutes, you can hear a lot of stories about people and places you never knew, and realize just how much living a woman of 92 has done. It's really very impressive. Anyway, today's poem is brought you courtesy of Grandma.
After the War
The menfolk came back,
there wasn't enough housing for them.
We stopped building so many homes
until after the war.
We tried to find a place of our own,
because you couldn't live in that temporary housing
forever.
Bob found a place and we settled in
After the war.
But there were no washing machines.
All the metal was being used to make bullets.
(I know it's true from the factory-shortened
bayonette from grandpa's M-1)
I was in line for one,
but the blind man beat me out for it
after the war.
He went to work for the police,
it's just a different kind of soldier,
but one that was needed
after the war.
(I listen intently to all she says, because
there's no one else I know
who can tell me these stories.)
No one is left alive
after the war.
Thank you to all our men and women who have served our country, in wartime or in peace. Your sacrifice should be a lesson to all of us who have never really known the hardships of generations past.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
After the War
The menfolk came back,
there wasn't enough housing for them.
We stopped building so many homes
until after the war.
We tried to find a place of our own,
because you couldn't live in that temporary housing
forever.
Bob found a place and we settled in
After the war.
But there were no washing machines.
All the metal was being used to make bullets.
(I know it's true from the factory-shortened
bayonette from grandpa's M-1)
I was in line for one,
but the blind man beat me out for it
after the war.
He went to work for the police,
it's just a different kind of soldier,
but one that was needed
after the war.
(I listen intently to all she says, because
there's no one else I know
who can tell me these stories.)
No one is left alive
after the war.
Thank you to all our men and women who have served our country, in wartime or in peace. Your sacrifice should be a lesson to all of us who have never really known the hardships of generations past.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Friday, April 20, 2012
3rd Annual Poetry Challleng, #20
OK boys and girls, NOW I've been challenged. Are you ready??? Guess what today is? It's 4/20!!!! Yep, you doobie-headed, dread-locked, Bob Marley-worshipping crowd - time to sit back, light a bowl, a roach, a blunt, a bong, get the Cheetos and Funyuns - because today, I was challenged to write a poem about Miss Maryjane, Weed, Wacky-tobacky, Ganja, Grass - yep, Marijuana!!!!!
OK, this should be interesting: I will fully admit that I was in the room twice while it was being smoked. That's my experience with the stuff, other than seeing a few people after a bad hit off a bong, that's where I'm drawing from. Oh wait - I once found some that dropped out of someone's pocket in a stairwell. I turned it in to the cops. Yep, I'm that guy. I've just never felt drawn to really try it at all. So relax, Mom and Dad, the only drugs I do are caffeine and nicotine - and only the caffeine is regularly.
The New Math
So purple's, like, this color, right?
Of red and blue combined,
But I think it's more like silver,
that's how it smells in my mind.
And Obi-Wan agrees,
he's more powerful than most,
'Cuz when Vader cuts him down
He comes back as a ghost.
And he's shimmery and stuff,
Like the candles on the table,
'cept on holidays when we switch 'em out for pink and purple.
Wait, that doesn't rhyme.
I know, but it's deep, right?
I don't get it.
Me either! Where were we?
Obi-Wan.
Oh yeah. Huh.
So if purple's more like silver,
then it's opposite is gold,
And yellow's opposite of purple,
It must be so!
You still make no sense.
Ya gotta look trhough it, man, it's like the sun.
Don't look at it?
Yeah...Hey! and that's yellow, too!
I can't handle this, I'm going to the store.
Can you get some nachos?
OK, maybe I had a little too much fun picking on stereotypes here, but I couldn't resist! However, rather dwell on the point, I'll simply say this:
Thanks for reading, and SNOOCHIE BOOCHIES!!!!!!
The Fat Kid
OK, this should be interesting: I will fully admit that I was in the room twice while it was being smoked. That's my experience with the stuff, other than seeing a few people after a bad hit off a bong, that's where I'm drawing from. Oh wait - I once found some that dropped out of someone's pocket in a stairwell. I turned it in to the cops. Yep, I'm that guy. I've just never felt drawn to really try it at all. So relax, Mom and Dad, the only drugs I do are caffeine and nicotine - and only the caffeine is regularly.
The New Math
So purple's, like, this color, right?
Of red and blue combined,
But I think it's more like silver,
that's how it smells in my mind.
And Obi-Wan agrees,
he's more powerful than most,
'Cuz when Vader cuts him down
He comes back as a ghost.
And he's shimmery and stuff,
Like the candles on the table,
'cept on holidays when we switch 'em out for pink and purple.
Wait, that doesn't rhyme.
I know, but it's deep, right?
I don't get it.
Me either! Where were we?
Obi-Wan.
Oh yeah. Huh.
So if purple's more like silver,
then it's opposite is gold,
And yellow's opposite of purple,
It must be so!
You still make no sense.
Ya gotta look trhough it, man, it's like the sun.
Don't look at it?
Yeah...Hey! and that's yellow, too!
I can't handle this, I'm going to the store.
Can you get some nachos?
OK, maybe I had a little too much fun picking on stereotypes here, but I couldn't resist! However, rather dwell on the point, I'll simply say this:
Thanks for reading, and SNOOCHIE BOOCHIES!!!!!!
The Fat Kid
Thursday, April 19, 2012
3rd Annual Poetry Challenge, #19
Ahh, today, I have been given another challenge, from the same person as before. Yep, It seems no one else is being brave about challenging me...or nobody's reading. And since I KNOW some of you out there ARE reading, all I gotta say - and I apologize in advance for hurting your ears with this - "Wassup with dat shizizzle?" Ok, thsoe are words I don't think I should ever say again. So, in order to keep me from saying them again and hurting you in this fashion, send me stuff - ideas...whatever. It is, after all, a challenge.....
So the challenge I was given is another "react to this" challenge, with the added, "ok, so you can mirror some of my stuff well, but show me what you really think" element added in. To my friend I will say simply, "You asked for it."
This one was done significantly later than his high school years - he didn't say precisely when, nor did I ask. I'm guessing, from the tone, however, that it was after he fell in love with Medieval English Literature. Who knows? You decide. I do like certain elements of his poem - some nice allusions, illiterations, etc., and there are certain things I don't care for - but to like it or not I leave up to you. So here we go:
Even Fireflies Die
The Sun slowly slides into the west
Fires of heaven enrapture clay
Though brilliantly born, death is best
That glowing host, that enlightened day
Yet the mother reclaims her lost child
Like the Shepard and his flock of sheep
For she longs for him, fiery wild
Every way, he to live, she to sleep
Loath to let go, eager to take home
Another future is yet unmade
Blue of her water, blue of her dome
Though relieved today, is still afraid
At last the fading fiery mess
Descends below the still silent sea
And Night, the ever-jealous mistress
Stretches forth her hand to beckon me
As the lightning fades, and Night grows on
Crickets chirp, the air, despondency
Is the magic and the stillness gone
As twilight gives way in memory
To that still darkness whence life sprang from
As in the beginning, is now here
It is that evil which I fear’st come
For my soul, it whispers in my ear
Icy despair, entreating upon
The soft blackness of Night, washing o’er
My countenance and my courage gone
In the fields of life, She the sower
Of secrets, shoulder to those who moan
Upon the visit of her soft kiss
In Night, as in Light, my life I own
For as each day dawns, ‘tis Night I miss
Yet I fear her, long do I run, far
Away from her quiet, silky lips
Unlike day, I cannot seem to shun
The coldness of grave, from whence she ships
But even in the Night, there is hope
As I look up, gazing to the skies
It is impossible, yet I cope
For around me, I see Fireflies
They are the souls of my ancestors
Given wings to guide my lonely way
Hearing the songs of thy creators
Ringing in mine ears, what do they say
They say hark my son, know where you go
To the isles of the dead do you tread
Where those who have passed reap what they sow
Follow not Night – stay – eat of thy bread
For bread gives you life, life of the dawn
So stop in your tracks and go not forth
Follow not Night, no matter how drawn
Instead, follow our lights, which lead north
Toward Elysium, home of thy dreams
Magical land of forbidden lore
Where wishes become more than what seems
Possible, earthly pleasures, and more
For we are thy hope and salvation
They cry, as they lead mine eyes away
From that dark beauty, Night’s creation
But in blackness resides Death, I say
I do see the dark, dreaded reaper
Come to take me to a home I fear
Though my soul’s free, my body’s keeper
Lies beneath, coming nigh, coming here
The Fireflies sing, sing in mine ear
Of life and beauty, that I might touch
I stretch forth my hand, I wish it near
Yet as in my dreams, my dreams are such
As to enlighten and enliven
Thou salty imagination much
Beyond the vast, wrathful horizon
Of sweet dreams, that I longingly clutch
But to my Elysium, I go not
For though the Night draws in, still I see
My hopeless dream, it is but forgot
With my life now, in darkness, in me
As the glowing stars by clouds cover
And the dusty winds begin to fright
I live, by Fireflies, or other
Graces of her majesty, the Night
In the end she rules my life, does she
For though the power of birth is grand
Only in the Night, may I be free
So I gaze up, and stretch forth my hand
As Fireflies stop, land in my palm
Glowing so brightly, I cannot pray
I close my eyes, and utter a psalm
To my huntress Night, and av’tar, Day
I am unbound – from you – no – from me
I live for the Truth, who lives for I
So as I close my hand, I am free
For in Night, even Fireflies die.
and, for a non-mirrored response.....
The Importance of Fireflies
In the guise of Truth and Light,
I come, with torches burning bright,
to see the path, drive out the Night,
And set the fireflies to flight.
For I would have you blind by Day,
And sweep all Night's dreams away,
care only for the things I say,
forget the need of Dreaming's sway.
Free the mind, enslave the soul,
Just drink from Day's ample bowl,
No need of fireflies to make you whole,
When Knowledge is the Daylight's goal.
All things are plain under sunny sky,
Myst'ry gone little firefly,
To questioners all I can supply
the answer - to all but "why?".
Well, there we have it. Holy crap - I rhymed???? Yeah, yeah, it happens from time to time. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed today's offering!
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
So the challenge I was given is another "react to this" challenge, with the added, "ok, so you can mirror some of my stuff well, but show me what you really think" element added in. To my friend I will say simply, "You asked for it."
This one was done significantly later than his high school years - he didn't say precisely when, nor did I ask. I'm guessing, from the tone, however, that it was after he fell in love with Medieval English Literature. Who knows? You decide. I do like certain elements of his poem - some nice allusions, illiterations, etc., and there are certain things I don't care for - but to like it or not I leave up to you. So here we go:
Even Fireflies Die
The Sun slowly slides into the west
Fires of heaven enrapture clay
Though brilliantly born, death is best
That glowing host, that enlightened day
Yet the mother reclaims her lost child
Like the Shepard and his flock of sheep
For she longs for him, fiery wild
Every way, he to live, she to sleep
Loath to let go, eager to take home
Another future is yet unmade
Blue of her water, blue of her dome
Though relieved today, is still afraid
At last the fading fiery mess
Descends below the still silent sea
And Night, the ever-jealous mistress
Stretches forth her hand to beckon me
As the lightning fades, and Night grows on
Crickets chirp, the air, despondency
Is the magic and the stillness gone
As twilight gives way in memory
To that still darkness whence life sprang from
As in the beginning, is now here
It is that evil which I fear’st come
For my soul, it whispers in my ear
Icy despair, entreating upon
The soft blackness of Night, washing o’er
My countenance and my courage gone
In the fields of life, She the sower
Of secrets, shoulder to those who moan
Upon the visit of her soft kiss
In Night, as in Light, my life I own
For as each day dawns, ‘tis Night I miss
Yet I fear her, long do I run, far
Away from her quiet, silky lips
Unlike day, I cannot seem to shun
The coldness of grave, from whence she ships
But even in the Night, there is hope
As I look up, gazing to the skies
It is impossible, yet I cope
For around me, I see Fireflies
They are the souls of my ancestors
Given wings to guide my lonely way
Hearing the songs of thy creators
Ringing in mine ears, what do they say
They say hark my son, know where you go
To the isles of the dead do you tread
Where those who have passed reap what they sow
Follow not Night – stay – eat of thy bread
For bread gives you life, life of the dawn
So stop in your tracks and go not forth
Follow not Night, no matter how drawn
Instead, follow our lights, which lead north
Toward Elysium, home of thy dreams
Magical land of forbidden lore
Where wishes become more than what seems
Possible, earthly pleasures, and more
For we are thy hope and salvation
They cry, as they lead mine eyes away
From that dark beauty, Night’s creation
But in blackness resides Death, I say
I do see the dark, dreaded reaper
Come to take me to a home I fear
Though my soul’s free, my body’s keeper
Lies beneath, coming nigh, coming here
The Fireflies sing, sing in mine ear
Of life and beauty, that I might touch
I stretch forth my hand, I wish it near
Yet as in my dreams, my dreams are such
As to enlighten and enliven
Thou salty imagination much
Beyond the vast, wrathful horizon
Of sweet dreams, that I longingly clutch
But to my Elysium, I go not
For though the Night draws in, still I see
My hopeless dream, it is but forgot
With my life now, in darkness, in me
As the glowing stars by clouds cover
And the dusty winds begin to fright
I live, by Fireflies, or other
Graces of her majesty, the Night
In the end she rules my life, does she
For though the power of birth is grand
Only in the Night, may I be free
So I gaze up, and stretch forth my hand
As Fireflies stop, land in my palm
Glowing so brightly, I cannot pray
I close my eyes, and utter a psalm
To my huntress Night, and av’tar, Day
I am unbound – from you – no – from me
I live for the Truth, who lives for I
So as I close my hand, I am free
For in Night, even Fireflies die.
and, for a non-mirrored response.....
The Importance of Fireflies
In the guise of Truth and Light,
I come, with torches burning bright,
to see the path, drive out the Night,
And set the fireflies to flight.
For I would have you blind by Day,
And sweep all Night's dreams away,
care only for the things I say,
forget the need of Dreaming's sway.
Free the mind, enslave the soul,
Just drink from Day's ample bowl,
No need of fireflies to make you whole,
When Knowledge is the Daylight's goal.
All things are plain under sunny sky,
Myst'ry gone little firefly,
To questioners all I can supply
the answer - to all but "why?".
Well, there we have it. Holy crap - I rhymed???? Yeah, yeah, it happens from time to time. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed today's offering!
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
3rd Annual Poetry Challenge, #18
With all that been going on, it's hard to believe we're already more than halfway done, but here we are on day 18. Not too shabby thus far! Some very nice comments from a few of you so far, and some nice participation from a couple individuals, too. Thanks for your efforts, and keep them coming!!!!
A lot of people ask me, 'Why do this? It's not like you're getting published or anything like that." In part, these people who ask this question are correct. I'm not really getting published, and I certainly don't get paid for any of this. And poetry? Who reads that stuff anymore?
I write for many reasons. One - I like it, dammit. So there! Two - I believe that you never know who will read something and take inspiration from it. It's not that everything has deep seeded meaning to everyone, but occasionally, soemthing strikes a chord with someone, and for just that little moment, I made their lives a little better. Words - they be powerful mojo. It's hard to see hope sometimes in our world. If I can help someone remember to hope or dream for a day, I'd say it is worth it. Three - by the time this month is up, I will have created a body of poetry that is 90 poems strong, all compiled in one place. Not bad. Four - I write because I must. It's that easy.
But hey, let's get on to another poem, shall we? We're burning daylight here!
The Cafe
Cold evening bites just enough,
plodding softly along the sidewalk,
looking through the closed-up storefronts
of businesses closed for the day,
I see the little cafe.
And in the window like long-forgotten monuments
a couple sits, enjoying their talk,
I turn and walk away in a huff.
Short one, today, but I kind of like it. A few technical things going on for fun, and hopefully, a nice little bit of imagery, too.
Thanks forreading,
The Fat Kid
A lot of people ask me, 'Why do this? It's not like you're getting published or anything like that." In part, these people who ask this question are correct. I'm not really getting published, and I certainly don't get paid for any of this. And poetry? Who reads that stuff anymore?
I write for many reasons. One - I like it, dammit. So there! Two - I believe that you never know who will read something and take inspiration from it. It's not that everything has deep seeded meaning to everyone, but occasionally, soemthing strikes a chord with someone, and for just that little moment, I made their lives a little better. Words - they be powerful mojo. It's hard to see hope sometimes in our world. If I can help someone remember to hope or dream for a day, I'd say it is worth it. Three - by the time this month is up, I will have created a body of poetry that is 90 poems strong, all compiled in one place. Not bad. Four - I write because I must. It's that easy.
But hey, let's get on to another poem, shall we? We're burning daylight here!
The Cafe
Cold evening bites just enough,
plodding softly along the sidewalk,
looking through the closed-up storefronts
of businesses closed for the day,
I see the little cafe.
And in the window like long-forgotten monuments
a couple sits, enjoying their talk,
I turn and walk away in a huff.
Short one, today, but I kind of like it. A few technical things going on for fun, and hopefully, a nice little bit of imagery, too.
Thanks forreading,
The Fat Kid
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
3rd Annual Poetry Challenge, #17
Another day, and another poem! But before we get to that, I have to stop for a minute and say a HUGE thanks to the people who have thus far supported my fundraising efforts for the MS-150 coming up in June. I won't name names here, but you know who you are, and you have my gratitude. Thank you, thank you, thank you. It means so much. Thank you for believing in me, and in this cause. Also, if you haven't donated yet but would like to, either see me in person, donate from the link to my page (all you FB-ers out there) or contact me and I can supply you with ways to donate.
OK, now let's have a poem!
I remember looking up,
verdant fields prickling tender skin
on a blue-sky day in June.
Above me, clouds lumbered
across the sky, like the big elephants
they resembled.
I longed to reach out to them,
to soar among them, play in their puffy whiteness,
but I could not reach.
Now, I wish I could return to that time,
before I knew that clouds were nothing but rain
the world couldn't hold onto,
and the grasses prickled
as I watched the circus parade go by.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
OK, now let's have a poem!
I remember looking up,
verdant fields prickling tender skin
on a blue-sky day in June.
Above me, clouds lumbered
across the sky, like the big elephants
they resembled.
I longed to reach out to them,
to soar among them, play in their puffy whiteness,
but I could not reach.
Now, I wish I could return to that time,
before I knew that clouds were nothing but rain
the world couldn't hold onto,
and the grasses prickled
as I watched the circus parade go by.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Monday, April 16, 2012
3rd Annual Poetry Challenge, #16
No matter how much you try and prepare yourself for things, you can never quite get there, I think, and I find myself in that situation now. The Fat Kid is blessed, really to have been able to spend time and get to know both his grandmothers and one grandfather. Not everyone is that lucky in life. Now, one of my grandmothers is having a very tough time with her health, and it's very likely that I will soon have to attend a funeral. It sucks. We don't prepare for funerals, we prepare for birthdays. Those, we can prepare for. So forgive me if some of the next few days of poems are a bit darker and morose, if you will.
Benediction
Time, at last to say farewell,
to turn a heel with trimmed accuracy,
saluting a life lived in fullness.
The last thing left to do before
it is finished.
I don't think this needs to be any longer. I wish I could turn off the critic who dissects poems today.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Benediction
Time, at last to say farewell,
to turn a heel with trimmed accuracy,
saluting a life lived in fullness.
The last thing left to do before
it is finished.
I don't think this needs to be any longer. I wish I could turn off the critic who dissects poems today.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Sunday, April 15, 2012
3rd Annual Poetry Challenge, #15
ACK! I've got ten minutes to get a poem written!
Emptiness
The experts say you should never
write a poem
about grand subjects:
love
lonliness
despair
anger
hatred
anything extreme at all.
Then why write anything,
unless it is pushed and pulled, prodded
by some unseen force, driving it from
within you,
until you have no choice
but to write it.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Emptiness
The experts say you should never
write a poem
about grand subjects:
love
lonliness
despair
anger
hatred
anything extreme at all.
Then why write anything,
unless it is pushed and pulled, prodded
by some unseen force, driving it from
within you,
until you have no choice
but to write it.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Saturday, April 14, 2012
3rd Annual Poetry Challenge, #14
Hi Everybody! Wow - suddenly that sounded like I was at a telethon for some reason. Let's try this again.
If you're enjoying poetry and general laughter like this, and want to ensure that you can continue to enjoy the fine programming we at fatkidbiking want to deliver to you, then all it takes is a phone call and your pledge of support. You don't have to give a lot, but every dollar you give goes directly to help the Fat Kid waste a few minutes of your day with his lunacies.
Now who couldn't love something like that? See, it's like "Saving Skreetch's House" but better, because I'm not already famous. BUT YOU CAN GET ME THERE!!!!!! LOL
So glad my ego is in check today.
Anyway, let's have some poetry. after all, that's what this month is really all about. Well, and starting personal finance drives. It's like "The People Fund."
Sentinal Lions
Flowing manes, waving in the breeze
like the dry grasses of the steppe,
Revealing curled lip and unflinching eye,
a warning, perhaps, to those who might not be welcome.
A single paw raises,
setting atop a shield bearing no sigil.
Silently, they watch,
skin stretched tightly over ribs that can be counted,
haunches lean and lithe.
Ready to pounce at the first moment
when danger calls,
These two, my pets.
Motion captured in stone,
Forever greeting and warning both
Silent judges at the end of the drive.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
If you're enjoying poetry and general laughter like this, and want to ensure that you can continue to enjoy the fine programming we at fatkidbiking want to deliver to you, then all it takes is a phone call and your pledge of support. You don't have to give a lot, but every dollar you give goes directly to help the Fat Kid waste a few minutes of your day with his lunacies.
Now who couldn't love something like that? See, it's like "Saving Skreetch's House" but better, because I'm not already famous. BUT YOU CAN GET ME THERE!!!!!! LOL
So glad my ego is in check today.
Anyway, let's have some poetry. after all, that's what this month is really all about. Well, and starting personal finance drives. It's like "The People Fund."
Sentinal Lions
Flowing manes, waving in the breeze
like the dry grasses of the steppe,
Revealing curled lip and unflinching eye,
a warning, perhaps, to those who might not be welcome.
A single paw raises,
setting atop a shield bearing no sigil.
Silently, they watch,
skin stretched tightly over ribs that can be counted,
haunches lean and lithe.
Ready to pounce at the first moment
when danger calls,
These two, my pets.
Motion captured in stone,
Forever greeting and warning both
Silent judges at the end of the drive.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Friday, April 13, 2012
3rd Annual Poetry Challenge, #13
Friday the 13th!!! This probably calls for some silly horror-type poem. I dunno. When I think of stuff like that, I'm reminded of what I think was my fisrt ever forray into the land of poetry, back in the 5th grade. We had to write something of a story for halloween, and I wrote this poem - well, collection of rhyming couplets, anyway - that was, for a 5th grader, decently impressive. It's funny, but I remember how it was created. I put a sweatshirt over the lamp in my room to direct the light, and it set a mood....the words took over from there, and it just spilled out onto the page. I tried that again over the next few years, directing the light to inspire my creativity, taking my cues from it. Who knew that 25 years later, I would find myself still playing with words? Part of me wishes I had that piece now, and I'd share with you all, but alas, I think it went the way of the dodo a LONG time ago - probably for the best! But - this tiny little anectdote can serve for a little inspiration for today's poem, I think!!
The Writing Room
The room is dark already,
faux-wood panelling on every wall,
it bulges out in places
where the nails have come loose
from the horse-hair plaster.
Heavy pine shelves host
rows of National Geographic
only liked for their photos.
The light is shrouded, dim beams
shining down on a black-and-white
desk.
There sits a boy, taking a first step
to opening the world,
his pencil sharp as the light leads him.
He only knows he cannot stop until it's done.
The words,
the light,
the moment,
the now,
the world,
the work,
the idea - yes, the idea!
And in this space,
a darkened room in the farmhouse
at the end of the sidewalk of a
nowhere town,
a Writer begins.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
The Writing Room
The room is dark already,
faux-wood panelling on every wall,
it bulges out in places
where the nails have come loose
from the horse-hair plaster.
Heavy pine shelves host
rows of National Geographic
only liked for their photos.
The light is shrouded, dim beams
shining down on a black-and-white
desk.
There sits a boy, taking a first step
to opening the world,
his pencil sharp as the light leads him.
He only knows he cannot stop until it's done.
The words,
the light,
the moment,
the now,
the world,
the work,
the idea - yes, the idea!
And in this space,
a darkened room in the farmhouse
at the end of the sidewalk of a
nowhere town,
a Writer begins.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
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