Summer officially started yesterday, and I'm sick of it already.
The blog title above doubles as today's forecast. And yesterday's forecast. And tomorrow's and probably every day after that, unless we finally break the triple digit mark we've been lingering just under. It's hot outside. While I was sleeping one day last month, someone apparently moved Nashville to the surface of the sun.
I'm a wimp when it comes to any temperature lower than 61 or higher than 79, but by any measure, summer heat is a bigger nuisance than winter cold. Walking through the cold in the morning is miserable, but once you get to the office and turn the heater on, you can pretty much go about your day as normal. Ten minutes later, the fact that you were cold earlier in the day is long forgotten.
Not so in summer. Once you sweat through your clothes on the morning walk, you're stuck with that sticky feeling all day, counting the hours until the next available shower. And it gets progressively worse with each trip outside the office all day, until you actively fear the impact getting on an elevator containing anyone else might have on your professional reputation. Also, it's easy to dress for winter, as one can always add extra layers. But employers, and the general public, tend to look at you disapprovingly if you do the inverse in summer. You just can't go to work in your underpants.
Trust me. I've tried.
But I was definitely not working in my underpants yesterday. I only have to appear in court once every two or three months, but yesterday, on the hottest day of the year, I had to be at the federal courthouse at 1:20 in the afternoon. As fate would have it, the federal courthouse is located half a mile on the exact opposite side of downtown from my office, which happens to be half a mile in the opposite direction from my parking lot. So faced with the options of walking half a mile to drive to court, or just walking half a mile to court, I doused myself with water(in part to clear a stain from a morning iced coffee, and in part to avoid spontaneous combustion) and starting walking toward the courthouse, sporting a full sweat-covered suit.
As I walked, snappily dressed, through the shadeless, heat-absorbing asphalt valley that is downtown Nashville, more than one homeless fellow approached me with the initial aim of requesting financial assistance, only to turn away when they got close enough to get a whiff of me and decide that whatever might be in my wallet wasn't worth having to stand close enough to me to ask for it. And truthfully, I can't say that I blame them.
I finally made it there and made a somewhat futile attempt to refresh myself. After 2hours of court (which tends to leave me tired, sweaty and thirsty by itself), I had to walk back. Since I was excused from the office for the day because of court anyway, my plan was to walk to the car and go home directly after court.
I couldn't make it. I changed plans midstream and actually chose to voluntarily go back to work for 2 hours just to get a break from the heat and finish that diet coke I had started earlier in the day that sat in the refrigerator. Drenched, I managed to make it back to the office and then come up with a clever excuse to wait on the next elevator to my office rather than step into the crowded one waiting as I entered the building.
I survived. But when it's so hot I'd rather be working than walking towards the car that will take me home, it's just too hot.
And it isn't getting better anytime soon.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Random Thoughts
Yesterday I was driving and saw a truck in front of me with a bumper sticker that read "HO HATER." What trail of decisions does one have to make to reach a point where one thinks this a good idea? And where do you buy one of those stickers, anyway?
If a woman ever climbs in that truck, shouldn't she immediately be shot?
Why are people sometimes disgusted, but never "gusted?" Also, people are often overwhelmed, but never just plain old "whelmed." I don't get it.
I just read where an Ohio church's 65-foot outdoor statue of Jesus was struck by lightning and burned to the ground. If only the church instead had had the foresight to build a statue of a giant bush, which would not have been consumed...
Seriously though, this statue apparently cost $200,000 to construct, and will now cost about $300,000 to replace. Isn't there some charitable use for that money that would glorify God more than the construction of a giant graven image?
If curiosity killed the cat, why do we still have them?
Do you think the place that sold the "HO HATER" bumper sticker also sold one that said "HO LOVER"? Is there an ongoing debate somewhere over the true value of "Ho's"?
Closing with a story:
Two days ago, I went to the post office to mail my dad what was obviously a Father's Day card. I had this conversation with the clerk:
Me: I need postage for this.
Her: Let's see... I can ensure a tomorrow delivery for $19, but it will probably arrive tomorrow anyway.
Me: There's no rush, I just need to get it there.
Her: The $19 delivery also comes with $100 of insurance.
Me: No thank you.
Her: Would you like insurance?
Me: No, I don't need insurance, I just need to mail this regular first-class mail.
Her: For $12, I can give you a tracking number to ensure delivery.
Me: This is just a card. I just need to mail it.
Her: No tracking? No insurance? No guaranteed delivery?
Me: Just need to mail it.
Her: That will be $1.56.
Can she really be having this conversation with every single customer? No wonder there's always a line at the post office.
The whole conversation left me disgusted, even though I was perfectly gusted when I arrived.
If a woman ever climbs in that truck, shouldn't she immediately be shot?
Why are people sometimes disgusted, but never "gusted?" Also, people are often overwhelmed, but never just plain old "whelmed." I don't get it.
I just read where an Ohio church's 65-foot outdoor statue of Jesus was struck by lightning and burned to the ground. If only the church instead had had the foresight to build a statue of a giant bush, which would not have been consumed...
Seriously though, this statue apparently cost $200,000 to construct, and will now cost about $300,000 to replace. Isn't there some charitable use for that money that would glorify God more than the construction of a giant graven image?
If curiosity killed the cat, why do we still have them?
Do you think the place that sold the "HO HATER" bumper sticker also sold one that said "HO LOVER"? Is there an ongoing debate somewhere over the true value of "Ho's"?
Closing with a story:
Two days ago, I went to the post office to mail my dad what was obviously a Father's Day card. I had this conversation with the clerk:
Me: I need postage for this.
Her: Let's see... I can ensure a tomorrow delivery for $19, but it will probably arrive tomorrow anyway.
Me: There's no rush, I just need to get it there.
Her: The $19 delivery also comes with $100 of insurance.
Me: No thank you.
Her: Would you like insurance?
Me: No, I don't need insurance, I just need to mail this regular first-class mail.
Her: For $12, I can give you a tracking number to ensure delivery.
Me: This is just a card. I just need to mail it.
Her: No tracking? No insurance? No guaranteed delivery?
Me: Just need to mail it.
Her: That will be $1.56.
Can she really be having this conversation with every single customer? No wonder there's always a line at the post office.
The whole conversation left me disgusted, even though I was perfectly gusted when I arrived.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Life and the "Contra" Secret Code
A friend of mine just sent me a link to a story about a cool trick temporarily available on the "Newsweek" internet site. If you type in a portion of the secret code for the old Nintendo game "Contra" (up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right B, A, select, start), then the front page switches to in-depth coverage of a fictional zombie attack.
I haven't tried it yet, but it sure sounds fun. The forwarded article also mentioned that the Contra secret code trick has been fairly regularly used in similar tricks since the creation of the internet. In fact, that's why the article caught my attention. I love the fact that a secret code for a semi-obscure game on an out-dated video system remains in popular consciousness 20 years later. Among those of us in the original Nintendo generation, I think this tells us something about ourselves. I used to think this particular brand of nostalgia was just a rite of generational passage, but the more I think about it, the more I think it's actually something much more.
First, just a quick note about the video game. I've never been a video game junkie, but I did own a used copy of "Contra," and a friend once shared its secret code with me (if you entered the code at the start of the game, your character got 30 lives instead of the usual 3, making successful completion of the game almost assured).
The game (which consisted of people shooting at you as you navigated as series of obstacle courses in the effort to purse some noble but vague cause) was so difficult that without the secret code, almost no one could complete it.
Which is why whoever programmed the secret code to enable 30 lives scheme was a genius. Had the code allowed for 300 lives, it would have been so easy as to be a pointless achievement. But most the great majority of players, 30 lives allowed for just enough of a challenge to be compelling, but enough margin of error to ensure they rarely failed. It was a still a challenging pursuit, but is was almost guaranteed to end in success.
Isn't that what we all want in life?
Wouldn't it be great if that code worked not only for a video game, but for everything? Imagine if you could just punch in a code and get 30 shots at whatever opportunity you had upcoming. I might blow one job interview, but I'm pretty sure I could make a good impression once in 30 tries. I might have said something regrettable in an argument last week, but if I got to do it over 29 more times, I would have phrased my thoughts more eloquently. I could have done the right thing instead of the wrong; been the hero instead of the goat; minded my own business when I interloped; helped someone instead of acting selfishly. And I certainly wouldn't have wasted money on that seemingly cool gadget I saw on that infomercial.
Here's the thing: people don't regret failing to do the things that never seemed realistic anyway. People regret the opportunities that just slipped by, the chances they should have taken, but didn't, the one bad decision that started an avalanche of unintended consequences. If we all had 29 do-overs, that would never be an issue. The dreams just out of our reach would be just inside them. I think that's part of the reason widespread nostalgia for this video game still exists 20 years later. We all identify with the promise that code represented.
Most of us would love a long line of do-overs. And the compelling thing is that life would still seem somewhat challenging, even if we had them. There are some things I could never pull off (winning an Olympic medal, being the life of the party, politely eating pasta) no matter how many attempts you gave me. So 30 chances wouldn't turn us into superheros who lived boring lives because we were incapable of being challenged. It would just let us accomplish everything within our abilities, and generally with the peace of mind to know we had a few chances left to spare along the way. It sounds lovely.
I know there's a reason God doesn't want us to live like that. We'd all be overly pleased with ourselves, and we'd never have the chance to grow by learning from a meaningful failure.
But I'd sure like another shot at that case I lost in January. There's no way I'd lose it 29 more times.
I haven't tried it yet, but it sure sounds fun. The forwarded article also mentioned that the Contra secret code trick has been fairly regularly used in similar tricks since the creation of the internet. In fact, that's why the article caught my attention. I love the fact that a secret code for a semi-obscure game on an out-dated video system remains in popular consciousness 20 years later. Among those of us in the original Nintendo generation, I think this tells us something about ourselves. I used to think this particular brand of nostalgia was just a rite of generational passage, but the more I think about it, the more I think it's actually something much more.
First, just a quick note about the video game. I've never been a video game junkie, but I did own a used copy of "Contra," and a friend once shared its secret code with me (if you entered the code at the start of the game, your character got 30 lives instead of the usual 3, making successful completion of the game almost assured).
The game (which consisted of people shooting at you as you navigated as series of obstacle courses in the effort to purse some noble but vague cause) was so difficult that without the secret code, almost no one could complete it.
Which is why whoever programmed the secret code to enable 30 lives scheme was a genius. Had the code allowed for 300 lives, it would have been so easy as to be a pointless achievement. But most the great majority of players, 30 lives allowed for just enough of a challenge to be compelling, but enough margin of error to ensure they rarely failed. It was a still a challenging pursuit, but is was almost guaranteed to end in success.
Isn't that what we all want in life?
Wouldn't it be great if that code worked not only for a video game, but for everything? Imagine if you could just punch in a code and get 30 shots at whatever opportunity you had upcoming. I might blow one job interview, but I'm pretty sure I could make a good impression once in 30 tries. I might have said something regrettable in an argument last week, but if I got to do it over 29 more times, I would have phrased my thoughts more eloquently. I could have done the right thing instead of the wrong; been the hero instead of the goat; minded my own business when I interloped; helped someone instead of acting selfishly. And I certainly wouldn't have wasted money on that seemingly cool gadget I saw on that infomercial.
Here's the thing: people don't regret failing to do the things that never seemed realistic anyway. People regret the opportunities that just slipped by, the chances they should have taken, but didn't, the one bad decision that started an avalanche of unintended consequences. If we all had 29 do-overs, that would never be an issue. The dreams just out of our reach would be just inside them. I think that's part of the reason widespread nostalgia for this video game still exists 20 years later. We all identify with the promise that code represented.
Most of us would love a long line of do-overs. And the compelling thing is that life would still seem somewhat challenging, even if we had them. There are some things I could never pull off (winning an Olympic medal, being the life of the party, politely eating pasta) no matter how many attempts you gave me. So 30 chances wouldn't turn us into superheros who lived boring lives because we were incapable of being challenged. It would just let us accomplish everything within our abilities, and generally with the peace of mind to know we had a few chances left to spare along the way. It sounds lovely.
I know there's a reason God doesn't want us to live like that. We'd all be overly pleased with ourselves, and we'd never have the chance to grow by learning from a meaningful failure.
But I'd sure like another shot at that case I lost in January. There's no way I'd lose it 29 more times.
Gym People
Some places just bring out the worst in people. But nowhere does this phenomenon occur quite to same degree as at the gym.
We have quite a cast of characters at ours. The most prominent example is Mohawk Trainer Guy. He's a short, stocky Asian guy (with Mohawk) who is almost always there, wearing his trademark jeans and flip-flops. Without fail, he is accompanied by a (different) slim female protege who he somehow conned into paying him for a personal training session. Best I can tell, the sessions consist of two elements: (1) Mohawk Trainer Guy trying to make trainee laugh during the middle of exercise in the hope of getting her number later; and (2) Mohawk Trainer allowing trainee the privilege of watching him work out alongside her in a cartoonishly exaggerated, grunt-filled manner, in the hope of getting her number later. One time, I saw him, trainee in tow, doing "sprints" back and forth across a 10-foot wide corner of the gym for an extended period of time, grunting for all he was worth all the while. The trainee, no doubt paying good money for this endeavor, looked as if she was strongly considering bolting for the door. Strangely, I never see him with the same trainee more than once.
He's relatively harmless (unless you're the trainee), but the constant grunting gets annoying. But his grunting has nothing on that of Air Guitar Guy. The first time I saw AGG, he was strumming (and singing) along to a Jimi Hendrix song on the gym radio, which seemed somewhat understandable. He was very nice and chatted me up in between riffs, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt, at least until he started doing the exact same musical routine to he next song, which was something along the lines of "Love Life Us Up Where We Belong." I see him often, and he always spends more time pretending to be a musician and trying to make friends than he does working out. Although, to be fair, when he does work out, he grunts loudly enough to make up for his lack of activity otherwise. He is a 120-pound weakling, but his lungs are strong, that I know.
I can laugh at both of these guys. But what is not remotely funny, and shouldn't even be legal, is High Shorts Guy. HSG is a middle aged light-skinned man who insists on wearing shorts that barely cover his posterior. He wears the same set of skin tight floss-length shorts for every workout, which inevitably includes lunges, leg lifts, or some similar cringing-inducing skin-exposing exercise, invariably performed directly in front of me. I think he gets some bizarre sexual satisfaction from it. It's either that or he's hoping people will eventually give him money to buy new pants. There can't be any other explanation. There just can't.
Here's my point: why do people lose all semblance of common sense and social etiquette the minute they walk through the front door of a gym? I doubt High Shorts Guy goes to work wearing a tank top every day. Air Guitar Guy can't possibly strum to his car radio nonstop while he is driving. If Mohawk Trainer Guy worked at Subway, I can't believe he'd insist that customers watch him make his own sandwich as he was making theirs, nor would he grunt when he reached for the olives.
But there's something about walking into a gym that makes people lose their minds. Every gym has at least one Cell Phone Work Out Guy, who doubly annoys by both exposing you to his lame conversation (that could totally have waited half an hour until the workout was done) and by needlessly taking up valuable workout equipment as he does. Every gym has a Way Too Comfortable Naked Old Person, who lounges around the locker room in the buff as though it were the tea parlor of a nudist colony.
It's as though some people walk into a gym for a brief escape from every day life and think that concept includes the right to escape from all sense of social normalcy. Other people walk in for a work out, and just tune out the rest of the world.
I had an encounter with one of these Oblivious Guys last week.
I was doing some shoulder lifts in front of a rack of dumbbells (by which I mean weights, not the crew I've already described). There are 8 dumbbells on this rack, which is surrounded by a large, open floor, presumably so that eight people can use this weight set simultaneously. But not if Oblivious Guy has anything to say about it.
In between sets, I walked over to get some water, and I hadn't yet moved two feet in that direction before some dude takes the exact spot where I was standing, the exact dumbbell I was using, and throws his towel over the the entire front half of the weight rack, rendering half of the 8 weights on it inaccessible.
Post-hydration, I walk back over to the weight rack. Oblivious Guy has finished his set, but he's now leaning, arms spread eagle, over an entire side of 4 x 4 weight rack, with his towel draped over the other side. The combined effect shuts out about 6 of the 8 dumbbells from use. I stand behind him and wait a good 2-3 minutes, but nothing happens. He notices me waiting but does not move or acknowledge my presence. He just leans on the rack.
Finally, I just walk around to the other side of the rack, deftly avoid the hanging towel, and grab dumbbell near the bottom that's 10 pounds too heavy for me. I step a few feet to the side and start an abbreviated set. Meanwhile, Oblivious Guy stops resting on the rack and walks around to the side I'm standing on so he can lean against the rack from that direction. Shortly thereafter, he, for no apparent reason, takes two steps in my direction, almost bumping into me as I finish my set just in time to step around him.
I put my weight back on the rack, and he grabs it and starts a set of the exact same exercise I was doing. His towel, of course, remains draped over the entire rack.
I manage to re-grab my original weight from the front side, and finish my workout shortly before Oblivious Guy (who now has a stack of 4 differing weights sitting uselessly at this feet) grabs it, and adds it to his collection, only to resume leaning against the weight rack. Long after I left that section of the gym, I looked over and noticed that he kept his towel draped over the rack, and all five weights at his feet, only using one, until his workout was complete.
Oblivious Guy couldn't have done better if he were actively trying to antagonize me, but I really don't think he noticed me at all. He showed no signs of ill-will, never changed expression or even acknowledged my existence the entire episode. He was just working out and nothing, or no one, else mattered. In Gym World, people do that. It was as though I was completely invisible; my existence wholly unremarkable and not worthy of the slightest notice.
I bet that never happens to High Shorts Guy.
We have quite a cast of characters at ours. The most prominent example is Mohawk Trainer Guy. He's a short, stocky Asian guy (with Mohawk) who is almost always there, wearing his trademark jeans and flip-flops. Without fail, he is accompanied by a (different) slim female protege who he somehow conned into paying him for a personal training session. Best I can tell, the sessions consist of two elements: (1) Mohawk Trainer Guy trying to make trainee laugh during the middle of exercise in the hope of getting her number later; and (2) Mohawk Trainer allowing trainee the privilege of watching him work out alongside her in a cartoonishly exaggerated, grunt-filled manner, in the hope of getting her number later. One time, I saw him, trainee in tow, doing "sprints" back and forth across a 10-foot wide corner of the gym for an extended period of time, grunting for all he was worth all the while. The trainee, no doubt paying good money for this endeavor, looked as if she was strongly considering bolting for the door. Strangely, I never see him with the same trainee more than once.
He's relatively harmless (unless you're the trainee), but the constant grunting gets annoying. But his grunting has nothing on that of Air Guitar Guy. The first time I saw AGG, he was strumming (and singing) along to a Jimi Hendrix song on the gym radio, which seemed somewhat understandable. He was very nice and chatted me up in between riffs, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt, at least until he started doing the exact same musical routine to he next song, which was something along the lines of "Love Life Us Up Where We Belong." I see him often, and he always spends more time pretending to be a musician and trying to make friends than he does working out. Although, to be fair, when he does work out, he grunts loudly enough to make up for his lack of activity otherwise. He is a 120-pound weakling, but his lungs are strong, that I know.
I can laugh at both of these guys. But what is not remotely funny, and shouldn't even be legal, is High Shorts Guy. HSG is a middle aged light-skinned man who insists on wearing shorts that barely cover his posterior. He wears the same set of skin tight floss-length shorts for every workout, which inevitably includes lunges, leg lifts, or some similar cringing-inducing skin-exposing exercise, invariably performed directly in front of me. I think he gets some bizarre sexual satisfaction from it. It's either that or he's hoping people will eventually give him money to buy new pants. There can't be any other explanation. There just can't.
Here's my point: why do people lose all semblance of common sense and social etiquette the minute they walk through the front door of a gym? I doubt High Shorts Guy goes to work wearing a tank top every day. Air Guitar Guy can't possibly strum to his car radio nonstop while he is driving. If Mohawk Trainer Guy worked at Subway, I can't believe he'd insist that customers watch him make his own sandwich as he was making theirs, nor would he grunt when he reached for the olives.
But there's something about walking into a gym that makes people lose their minds. Every gym has at least one Cell Phone Work Out Guy, who doubly annoys by both exposing you to his lame conversation (that could totally have waited half an hour until the workout was done) and by needlessly taking up valuable workout equipment as he does. Every gym has a Way Too Comfortable Naked Old Person, who lounges around the locker room in the buff as though it were the tea parlor of a nudist colony.
It's as though some people walk into a gym for a brief escape from every day life and think that concept includes the right to escape from all sense of social normalcy. Other people walk in for a work out, and just tune out the rest of the world.
I had an encounter with one of these Oblivious Guys last week.
I was doing some shoulder lifts in front of a rack of dumbbells (by which I mean weights, not the crew I've already described). There are 8 dumbbells on this rack, which is surrounded by a large, open floor, presumably so that eight people can use this weight set simultaneously. But not if Oblivious Guy has anything to say about it.
In between sets, I walked over to get some water, and I hadn't yet moved two feet in that direction before some dude takes the exact spot where I was standing, the exact dumbbell I was using, and throws his towel over the the entire front half of the weight rack, rendering half of the 8 weights on it inaccessible.
Post-hydration, I walk back over to the weight rack. Oblivious Guy has finished his set, but he's now leaning, arms spread eagle, over an entire side of 4 x 4 weight rack, with his towel draped over the other side. The combined effect shuts out about 6 of the 8 dumbbells from use. I stand behind him and wait a good 2-3 minutes, but nothing happens. He notices me waiting but does not move or acknowledge my presence. He just leans on the rack.
Finally, I just walk around to the other side of the rack, deftly avoid the hanging towel, and grab dumbbell near the bottom that's 10 pounds too heavy for me. I step a few feet to the side and start an abbreviated set. Meanwhile, Oblivious Guy stops resting on the rack and walks around to the side I'm standing on so he can lean against the rack from that direction. Shortly thereafter, he, for no apparent reason, takes two steps in my direction, almost bumping into me as I finish my set just in time to step around him.
I put my weight back on the rack, and he grabs it and starts a set of the exact same exercise I was doing. His towel, of course, remains draped over the entire rack.
I manage to re-grab my original weight from the front side, and finish my workout shortly before Oblivious Guy (who now has a stack of 4 differing weights sitting uselessly at this feet) grabs it, and adds it to his collection, only to resume leaning against the weight rack. Long after I left that section of the gym, I looked over and noticed that he kept his towel draped over the rack, and all five weights at his feet, only using one, until his workout was complete.
Oblivious Guy couldn't have done better if he were actively trying to antagonize me, but I really don't think he noticed me at all. He showed no signs of ill-will, never changed expression or even acknowledged my existence the entire episode. He was just working out and nothing, or no one, else mattered. In Gym World, people do that. It was as though I was completely invisible; my existence wholly unremarkable and not worthy of the slightest notice.
I bet that never happens to High Shorts Guy.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Sports Make Me Feel Old
The last of my childhood heroes said good-bye last week.
Ken Griffey Junior was my hero, and not just in a sports worship kind of way. He was the only historically dominant hitter of the past 20 years never associated with steroids. His refusal to jump in the same moral sewer with those he competed against (Bonds, Sosa, McGuire) is the reason he finished his career number 5 on the all-time home run list rather than number one. He chose integrity over the drugs that could have kept him healthier (in the short term) and added a few years to his career. The world needs more people like that.
His retirement last week, at age 40, has made me reflect. It also made me feel old. Most of the consequences of aging I was prepared for. I knew that a day would come when my joints would ache some days for no apparent reason, that I'd start to get fat if I ate everything in sight, and that I'd find today's chart-topping music extraordinarily dumb. What no one ever told me is that someday I would lose my childhood heroes, and no one would replace them.
One of the fun things about being a baseball fan was checking the box scores every morning to see if my guy hit a home run. That part of the game is dead to me now; I still love my team, but there's no individual on it who is anything more to me than a baseball player who happens to play for my team.
This has now happened to me in every single sport. I lost Dan Marino in football, and it's never been the same. It was exciting again when my old college pal Shaun Alexander was dominating the league, but now he's out of the league too. We graduated together at Alabama and shared some great conversations along the way. And he's now too old to play. So what does that say about me?
I've now lost, to at least some degree, a reason to care in almost every single sport. For different reasons, I identified with both Andre Agassi and his wife Steffi Graf, but since they've retired I can't maintain an interest in tennis. Evander Holyfied has been too old to be a serious boxer for a decade, and no one else has summoned my interest. The basketball player I most modelled my game after, Allen Iverson, retired this year as well.
Of course, I knew the day for all these things would come, but I somehow expected that when one favorite player left, another would be there to pick up my rooting interest. It worked that way, to some degree, when I was a kid. Before I was an adult, it wasn't that hard to find people to model myself after. No one ever told me it no longer works that way once you have an office job. I'll never again have cause or opportunity to dream of being The Next Ken Griffey Junior, or anyone else. I'm now past the age where my favorite player can double as a role model. There may be other players I admire for various reasons, but it will never quite be the same.
Soon, I'll be reduced to rooting for the few remaining players roughly my age, as some lame attempt to squeeze out the last remnants of my youth by proxy.
After that, I'm not sure what happens.
I just know I'm not prepared for it.
post script:
The aging phenomenon is, I think, one reason why college sports loyalties never die. There's a link between you, your favorite school, and everyone else who chooses to go there, that never goes away. Our colleges don't change very much, even after we leave, and we take comfort in thinking that whatever attracted us to our school of choice attracted its current players too. So we can continue seeing ourselves in these athletes, giving us a personal link that eventually goes away at the professional level.
While pro sports eventually make us feel old, college sports do the opposite. It's a much more uplifting story. If only football season would hurry up and get here...
Ken Griffey Junior was my hero, and not just in a sports worship kind of way. He was the only historically dominant hitter of the past 20 years never associated with steroids. His refusal to jump in the same moral sewer with those he competed against (Bonds, Sosa, McGuire) is the reason he finished his career number 5 on the all-time home run list rather than number one. He chose integrity over the drugs that could have kept him healthier (in the short term) and added a few years to his career. The world needs more people like that.
His retirement last week, at age 40, has made me reflect. It also made me feel old. Most of the consequences of aging I was prepared for. I knew that a day would come when my joints would ache some days for no apparent reason, that I'd start to get fat if I ate everything in sight, and that I'd find today's chart-topping music extraordinarily dumb. What no one ever told me is that someday I would lose my childhood heroes, and no one would replace them.
One of the fun things about being a baseball fan was checking the box scores every morning to see if my guy hit a home run. That part of the game is dead to me now; I still love my team, but there's no individual on it who is anything more to me than a baseball player who happens to play for my team.
This has now happened to me in every single sport. I lost Dan Marino in football, and it's never been the same. It was exciting again when my old college pal Shaun Alexander was dominating the league, but now he's out of the league too. We graduated together at Alabama and shared some great conversations along the way. And he's now too old to play. So what does that say about me?
I've now lost, to at least some degree, a reason to care in almost every single sport. For different reasons, I identified with both Andre Agassi and his wife Steffi Graf, but since they've retired I can't maintain an interest in tennis. Evander Holyfied has been too old to be a serious boxer for a decade, and no one else has summoned my interest. The basketball player I most modelled my game after, Allen Iverson, retired this year as well.
Of course, I knew the day for all these things would come, but I somehow expected that when one favorite player left, another would be there to pick up my rooting interest. It worked that way, to some degree, when I was a kid. Before I was an adult, it wasn't that hard to find people to model myself after. No one ever told me it no longer works that way once you have an office job. I'll never again have cause or opportunity to dream of being The Next Ken Griffey Junior, or anyone else. I'm now past the age where my favorite player can double as a role model. There may be other players I admire for various reasons, but it will never quite be the same.
Soon, I'll be reduced to rooting for the few remaining players roughly my age, as some lame attempt to squeeze out the last remnants of my youth by proxy.
After that, I'm not sure what happens.
I just know I'm not prepared for it.
post script:
The aging phenomenon is, I think, one reason why college sports loyalties never die. There's a link between you, your favorite school, and everyone else who chooses to go there, that never goes away. Our colleges don't change very much, even after we leave, and we take comfort in thinking that whatever attracted us to our school of choice attracted its current players too. So we can continue seeing ourselves in these athletes, giving us a personal link that eventually goes away at the professional level.
While pro sports eventually make us feel old, college sports do the opposite. It's a much more uplifting story. If only football season would hurry up and get here...
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Mixed Blessing
Some people don't mind getting sick. It's a built-in excuse to take it easy for a few days. Most people who know me well (and know that I generally welcome any excuse to be inactive I can find) might assume I'm one of those people. I used to be.
But now, I absolutely hate being sick. It's partly because I don't get sick unless I get some monster illness that I won't be rid of for weeks, it's partly because I tend to live my life behind schedule anyway, so there's no time built in for six days in bed, but it's mostly because I just hate the feeling of missing out on life. But that's also the one silver lining to it: I never appreciate life more than when I don't feel well enough to live it.
As I mentioned in another post, I've had a stomach virus for 6 days that has left me weak, dehydrated and on all-liquid diet since Monday. It's finally going away. But I noticed something last night. At the end of the usual Saturday night, I start to think about, sometimes dread, the workday challenges that will face me after one more day off. Last night, 5 days into a life-sucking stomach virus, I noticed that I wasn't praying God would take that laundry list away. I was just asking to get well so I could face it.
I find myself doing this most everytime I've been ill for a few days. Those administrative tasks around the house and difficult calls at work suddenly don't seem so bad when compared to the prospect of shuffling around like a zombie for a 7th consecutive day. I'll take my problems if I can just feel alive enough to face them.
Yesterday, I was thinking of all those things I normally take for granted but haven't been able to do in the last week (like consume food in non-liquid form, go the gym, go out for coffee, have a glass of wine, or a trip to the bookstore).
The one good thing about being sick this long is that it re-focuses your priorities. And you never have quite the same zest for life as when every bite of solid food is a cause for celebration...
But now, I absolutely hate being sick. It's partly because I don't get sick unless I get some monster illness that I won't be rid of for weeks, it's partly because I tend to live my life behind schedule anyway, so there's no time built in for six days in bed, but it's mostly because I just hate the feeling of missing out on life. But that's also the one silver lining to it: I never appreciate life more than when I don't feel well enough to live it.
As I mentioned in another post, I've had a stomach virus for 6 days that has left me weak, dehydrated and on all-liquid diet since Monday. It's finally going away. But I noticed something last night. At the end of the usual Saturday night, I start to think about, sometimes dread, the workday challenges that will face me after one more day off. Last night, 5 days into a life-sucking stomach virus, I noticed that I wasn't praying God would take that laundry list away. I was just asking to get well so I could face it.
I find myself doing this most everytime I've been ill for a few days. Those administrative tasks around the house and difficult calls at work suddenly don't seem so bad when compared to the prospect of shuffling around like a zombie for a 7th consecutive day. I'll take my problems if I can just feel alive enough to face them.
Yesterday, I was thinking of all those things I normally take for granted but haven't been able to do in the last week (like consume food in non-liquid form, go the gym, go out for coffee, have a glass of wine, or a trip to the bookstore).
The one good thing about being sick this long is that it re-focuses your priorities. And you never have quite the same zest for life as when every bite of solid food is a cause for celebration...
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Running in Circles and a Programming Note
Just got back from a 5-day vacation on the beach, rested and refreshed, to immediately get an evil stomach virus that will wipe out all the refreshment and mental peace the vacation provided. Isn't life funny that way?
We spent so much time running in circles. Take my last month: to counteract the toll of a stressful period of daily life (the annual spring heavy workload and the stress of the flood), I took a carefree, hedonistically sleepless vacation filled with great times, great food and great friends. It was exactly what I needed to life my spirits enough to face the burdens in front of me anew. But the price paid for that was a compromised immune system, which led to decline in productivity upon my return to work. And by the time I'm healthy enough to tackle it, things will have piled up so much that I'll soon feel just as stressed and overburdened as I did when I first decided I needed that vacation. So I'll plan another one down the road, and the cycle will repeat. I almost always get sick during or immediately upon a return from a vacation, even the low-key relaxing ones.
I'm not saying vacations are pointless. I think the memory of recent good times helps one get through the harder ones. But these cycles just go to show there's a yin for every yang. The mind needs an occasional break in routine to keep my sanity, but the body craves normalcy. Just as my body sometimes needs to skip church on a given Sunday to ensure a restful day, but I feel my spirit suffering for the next week when I do. Everything in life is a trade-off. If you do one thing, you are, by definition, missing out on something else.
Anyway, I haven't gotten to post much lately, but assuming my recovery from this Stomach Death Curse of Doom doesn't take too long, I should be back in the swing of things relatively soon. Hopefully by the weekend at least.
I'll see you then.
We spent so much time running in circles. Take my last month: to counteract the toll of a stressful period of daily life (the annual spring heavy workload and the stress of the flood), I took a carefree, hedonistically sleepless vacation filled with great times, great food and great friends. It was exactly what I needed to life my spirits enough to face the burdens in front of me anew. But the price paid for that was a compromised immune system, which led to decline in productivity upon my return to work. And by the time I'm healthy enough to tackle it, things will have piled up so much that I'll soon feel just as stressed and overburdened as I did when I first decided I needed that vacation. So I'll plan another one down the road, and the cycle will repeat. I almost always get sick during or immediately upon a return from a vacation, even the low-key relaxing ones.
I'm not saying vacations are pointless. I think the memory of recent good times helps one get through the harder ones. But these cycles just go to show there's a yin for every yang. The mind needs an occasional break in routine to keep my sanity, but the body craves normalcy. Just as my body sometimes needs to skip church on a given Sunday to ensure a restful day, but I feel my spirit suffering for the next week when I do. Everything in life is a trade-off. If you do one thing, you are, by definition, missing out on something else.
Anyway, I haven't gotten to post much lately, but assuming my recovery from this Stomach Death Curse of Doom doesn't take too long, I should be back in the swing of things relatively soon. Hopefully by the weekend at least.
I'll see you then.
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