Some of you may read this and think, “Oh crap, he’s writing about sports.” But this is about more than sports; it’s about the intrusion of sports into modern culture and taking a look back at how professional athletes used to fit into our society.
Barry Bonds is chasing a milestone that up until 1974 was believed to be unreachable. That year Hank Aaron surpassed Babe Ruth’s career home run record of 714 dingers. Now Bonds is within six homers of tying Hank Aaron’s record of 755 and there simply isn’t any excitement out there. At least there isn’t the excitement Aaron generated – both good and bad – in his run at the record in 1973 and 1974.
During the end of the 1973 season, the news media hounded Aaron and television cameras were everywhere to record the record-breaking home run. An America still steeped in racial bigotry was also present as Aaron received thousands of letters of hate mail because a black man dared to break a white legend’s record – never mind the fact that the white legend was a legendary cad.
Now that Bonds is nearing the record, it seems there is a collective ho-hum from the media and fans. It could be because the old Roger Maris record of 61 home runs was shattered three times by supposed steroid-filled hitters Mark McGuire, Sammy Sosa and then Bonds with 73 home runs. Or it could be that Bonds is not liked by fellow players and is silent to the media. Perhaps it is the swirl of controversy emanating from the BALCO scandal that implicates steroid use by Bonds, though he has never admitted using steroids nor been found guilty of their use. For all his current 749 home runs, nobody knows how many were hit before his alleged use of steroids, how many during or how many after, so we’ll always wonder where his legitimate talent ended and was overtaken by performance enhancing substances.
It’s likely baseball fans are yawning at what should be a major achievement for all of these reasons. And that’s what’s wrong with athletes and sports these days. Putting aside all the arguments that Babe Ruth and Hank Aaron hit in smaller ball parks, batted against pitchers whose arms were dead from overuse and never had to face a split-finger fastball or a slider that fell off the plate, Aaron was easy to celebrate because he endured the attention and handled it all like a gentleman. One gets the feeling Bonds has become driven to break the record simply because he can and gets no enjoyment out of it. He knows once he breaks the record it will forever come with an asterisk, which will say more about the man than the towering home runs and his remarkable baseball longevity.
In many ways, it’s too bad Bonds is the bad guy in this. However much he has been rumored to be pumped up on steroids, he is hitting against pitchers who are likely steroid users and that’s only when they actually pitch to him. He draws a walk nearly twice as often as the next hitter and nobody is saying it takes steroids to have a good eye. This means he gets half as many attempts to hit a home run and even fewer good pitches to take a swing. Basically, he gets a home run every time a pitcher makes a mistake by throwing near the plate. Still, all is not right in Mudville.
I was talking to The Boy the other day and was lamenting (yes, Lazlo does lament) that he never got the chance to see Magic and Bird, the old Knicks and Lakers from the 1970s, Jim Brown, Gayle Sayers and the Bears and the Lombardi Packers. I wish he could have seen the old baseball players like Bob Gibson, Carl Yastrzemski and Al Kaline, the first Major League player to be paid $100,000 per season. Perhaps it’s just faded memories, but it seemed like they all played for the joy of the game and not the fame that has suddenly become greater in importance off the field and off the court than on them.
Much of the problem lies in the money today’s athletes earn. Outside of Paris Hilton and Lindsey Lohan, nowhere does someone get paid more for having so little talent. Third rate short stops are earning $10 million per year, aging point guards $18 million per year and pot-bellied golfers (sorry Ber) are getting millions in endorsements to stretch into their stretch pants. But what they are paid is not everything. It’s the whole illusion of fame and the fact they have it thrust upon them at such a young age. You can find a website today that will tell you who the best 5th graders are at basketball and a 14-year-old basketball player just verbally committed to USC before he decided which high school to play for (hat tip to Nicholas on these tidbits before he desecrated my cell phone).
Sports is also covered differently today than it was in the past. We now have ESPN 1-8 with 24-hours of news to fill and a magazine to fill what’s left. Flip on any sports show tomorrow and you’ll hear more about the NBA draft than you ever heard about the military draft. Sure, I enjoy watching ESPN more than I do CNN, but all the coverage seems to go to the athlete’s heads, making sports more about the “bling” and $4,000 suits than getting the privilege to play a sport that most of us would do for minimum wage.
There was a time (sadly, during my time), that sports writers were the stars. Everyone knew and worshiped Red Smith, Ring Lardner, Grantland Rice and Jim Murray. Their stars were bigger and brighter than the players they covered and they were beloved because they too could do things few mere mortals could: bring the color and texture to sports before it was on television. These writers were paid more than most, if not all, of the sports figures they covered and the players looked up to them and hoped to get a mention in their columns.
After Curt Flood’s legal test brought about free agency and players salaries began to rise to 10 and 20 times that of the average sports writer, a certain economic and social status began to separate the two. Players and writers were no longer invited to the same parties and what they did have in common – the love of the game – began to fade away as the disparity in economic conditions drove a wedge between them. Today sports writers are often overly cynical of athletes and athletes do much to confirm an image of a coddled and protected super class of the modern star. When a minor football player like Pac Man Jones gets nearly as much air time for his third arrest as Paris Hilton did for hers, it’s saddening to see where sports has crossed over to the worst of our modern culture. And while film stars would love to get Paris et al off the cover of the tabloids, so we sports fans look for a throwback to a time when we looked up to our athletes both on and off the field. I suppose in both cases Tina Turner was wrong – we do need another hero.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Two Years Since
Well, Bill, it’s been two years but it seems like 20. A lot has changed since you left the stage. I sold half of our business to two decent guys. You knew one of them and I think you liked him. I needed some help in replacing you; who would have thought it would take two people? It’s taken some burden off my shoulders but I do have a bit of on-the-job training going on.
We got a chance to see your family a few weeks back for what was a rare family event (something that brought us all together that was about fun and celebration – much better than a funeral, I can report). Willdabeast got married to a Brazilian family and now what is left of our family has grown in size twenty-fold. Willser was a happy man and I am sure you would not be surprised to know that your son was by his side as the Best Man. He gave a great Best Man’s speech which included a few words about missing you, had a big ol’ grin on his face all night and, perhaps, hung out with Mr. Patron a bit too much. But who didn’t?
You daughter looked lovely and older than her years. She also looks a bit like Suey at the age the two of you fell for each other. She danced, smiled at all of Nick’s awful jokes and I think even she met up with Mr. Patron.
Suey looked great. It was the first time I have seen her so happy over the last two years. I know she missed you but it also seemed she got to revel in the laughter of others. You would have been proud of her, your nephew and his cousins. They all did a great job and we have finally been blessed with a real reason to celebrate.
There’s much more to tell you, but I figure you know it all anyway. I just wanted you to know I was especially thinking of you today and all the good we once had and all that we miss. We’ll meet again someday and I hope we will all be judged favorably by the way we have dealt with your loss and yet still kept our eyes looking forward in a positive way. Some days the wave breaks in front of you and sometimes you catch the ride of your life. You’d be happy to know we’re all watching out for the big set.
We got a chance to see your family a few weeks back for what was a rare family event (something that brought us all together that was about fun and celebration – much better than a funeral, I can report). Willdabeast got married to a Brazilian family and now what is left of our family has grown in size twenty-fold. Willser was a happy man and I am sure you would not be surprised to know that your son was by his side as the Best Man. He gave a great Best Man’s speech which included a few words about missing you, had a big ol’ grin on his face all night and, perhaps, hung out with Mr. Patron a bit too much. But who didn’t?
You daughter looked lovely and older than her years. She also looks a bit like Suey at the age the two of you fell for each other. She danced, smiled at all of Nick’s awful jokes and I think even she met up with Mr. Patron.
Suey looked great. It was the first time I have seen her so happy over the last two years. I know she missed you but it also seemed she got to revel in the laughter of others. You would have been proud of her, your nephew and his cousins. They all did a great job and we have finally been blessed with a real reason to celebrate.
There’s much more to tell you, but I figure you know it all anyway. I just wanted you to know I was especially thinking of you today and all the good we once had and all that we miss. We’ll meet again someday and I hope we will all be judged favorably by the way we have dealt with your loss and yet still kept our eyes looking forward in a positive way. Some days the wave breaks in front of you and sometimes you catch the ride of your life. You’d be happy to know we’re all watching out for the big set.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Taking The Easy Road
There is an oft-used trick that musicians and writers of essays apply when they've run out of fresh ideas, reached a writing block or lost a muse. They compile. And if compiling doesn't work, they do a "best of" to re-package what they were able to accomplish when they had ideas, lived without blocks and were amused by a muse.
I don't suffer from a lack of ideas but I have been having a bit of a writer's block -- or, perhaps better said -- a completion problem. As for having a muse, well, let's say I'm interviewing. Geez, I hope Mrs. Laz has forgotten to check this site on a regular basis.
Somewhere on this hard drive is a treatise on all the hot spots in the world, perfectly researched, highly opinionated and completely boring. It’s unfinished, to boot. I also take a humorous stab at explaining modern culture, but it is without consistent wit and is missing the required ending. I’ve thought about it for a while, too, and there is simply no way to kill off the main character to wiggle my way through the final paragraph because I am the main character.
Worse, and perhaps something that could soon produce my death, I have an unfinished tome to Mrs. Laz on the occasion of her __ birthday. I write her HallMike Cards every holiday as a means of personalizing my feelings and saving $2.99 at the local Hall Mark store. It runs several pages now, but not ready to give and now lagging far behind her birthday. Of course there is always our __ wedding anniversary coming up in a few months.
So, to fill something in this space that has remained untouched for 49 days, I am presenting a “Best of Lazlo’s Lament.” You can comment on your favorites if you like, or just point out that whatever I had in writing skill at one time is now lost. While the words will not be new, they will have been forgotten so it will seem new to what is likely a dwindling readership (which was dwindled to begin with). Sure hope I get a little readership on this as perhaps it will push me to finish the unfinished (or find a muse – geez, I hope Mrs. Laz forgot her glasses today).
Peace On Earth
Adrift On An Ocean Of Lonliness
Happy Birthday To Me
A Blessed Day
For A Gentle Warrior
No More I Love Yous
Laz Logic
My Favorite Places
On Sadness and Other Bothersome Things
That's probably way too much for the average reader to read -- especially when you can't take your computer into the bathroom. Anyway, if you find the time, you may learn something about the ravages of a man who was, and is, unhinged.
I don't suffer from a lack of ideas but I have been having a bit of a writer's block -- or, perhaps better said -- a completion problem. As for having a muse, well, let's say I'm interviewing. Geez, I hope Mrs. Laz has forgotten to check this site on a regular basis.
Somewhere on this hard drive is a treatise on all the hot spots in the world, perfectly researched, highly opinionated and completely boring. It’s unfinished, to boot. I also take a humorous stab at explaining modern culture, but it is without consistent wit and is missing the required ending. I’ve thought about it for a while, too, and there is simply no way to kill off the main character to wiggle my way through the final paragraph because I am the main character.
Worse, and perhaps something that could soon produce my death, I have an unfinished tome to Mrs. Laz on the occasion of her __ birthday. I write her HallMike Cards every holiday as a means of personalizing my feelings and saving $2.99 at the local Hall Mark store. It runs several pages now, but not ready to give and now lagging far behind her birthday. Of course there is always our __ wedding anniversary coming up in a few months.
So, to fill something in this space that has remained untouched for 49 days, I am presenting a “Best of Lazlo’s Lament.” You can comment on your favorites if you like, or just point out that whatever I had in writing skill at one time is now lost. While the words will not be new, they will have been forgotten so it will seem new to what is likely a dwindling readership (which was dwindled to begin with). Sure hope I get a little readership on this as perhaps it will push me to finish the unfinished (or find a muse – geez, I hope Mrs. Laz forgot her glasses today).
Peace On Earth
Adrift On An Ocean Of Lonliness
Happy Birthday To Me
A Blessed Day
For A Gentle Warrior
No More I Love Yous
Laz Logic
My Favorite Places
On Sadness and Other Bothersome Things
That's probably way too much for the average reader to read -- especially when you can't take your computer into the bathroom. Anyway, if you find the time, you may learn something about the ravages of a man who was, and is, unhinged.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
A Tragedy In Search of a Stereotype
When the dust settles and the TV cameras go to film another tragedy, all that will be remembered will be the young lives cut short, a handful of professors who died by their sides and the image of a lunatic who brought on this unspeakable carnage. And this is the way it should be.
For now, though, there is a human need to package this senseless bloody morning into something we can all understand. We do this because deep down inside all of us there is a need to put our normal thought process into the mind of a lunatic. We should all just stop because there is nothing normal and nothing sane about what the gunman did, and all the TV experts and resident psychologists getting airtime can just spare us their opinions. This was a kid consumed by evil who carried out the most despicable act of turning his evil on innocents.
Naturally it is difficult for the news media to come to grips with a simple and practical explanation. They want to say we live in a culture of guns; we do. They want to tell us our gun laws are too lax; they are. They want us to know he was a loner, a freak; and he was. They want us to examine the fact he was a South Korean immigrant; of course he was. They feel the need to question the administration and the campus police for their lack of premonition; but nobody could have predicted what would happen. They can’t understand why this kid wasn’t watched more closely based on his past behavior; there are hundreds like him on every campus.
What can be done to prevent this kind of sick event from happening again? Probably nothing, but we can learn from the things that aren’t so apparent and stop searching for the perfect stereotype to fit our preconceived biases. We’re much better off leaving this crazed kid in the same category as all mass murderers and mourn those who died. We’ll all sleep better knowing this particular mass murderer is a genetic mutant and in no way resembles 99.99 percent of the rest of us. Rest in peace to the victims.
For now, though, there is a human need to package this senseless bloody morning into something we can all understand. We do this because deep down inside all of us there is a need to put our normal thought process into the mind of a lunatic. We should all just stop because there is nothing normal and nothing sane about what the gunman did, and all the TV experts and resident psychologists getting airtime can just spare us their opinions. This was a kid consumed by evil who carried out the most despicable act of turning his evil on innocents.
Naturally it is difficult for the news media to come to grips with a simple and practical explanation. They want to say we live in a culture of guns; we do. They want to tell us our gun laws are too lax; they are. They want us to know he was a loner, a freak; and he was. They want us to examine the fact he was a South Korean immigrant; of course he was. They feel the need to question the administration and the campus police for their lack of premonition; but nobody could have predicted what would happen. They can’t understand why this kid wasn’t watched more closely based on his past behavior; there are hundreds like him on every campus.
What can be done to prevent this kind of sick event from happening again? Probably nothing, but we can learn from the things that aren’t so apparent and stop searching for the perfect stereotype to fit our preconceived biases. We’re much better off leaving this crazed kid in the same category as all mass murderers and mourn those who died. We’ll all sleep better knowing this particular mass murderer is a genetic mutant and in no way resembles 99.99 percent of the rest of us. Rest in peace to the victims.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Sorry I Forgot, Diane
Sorry Mrs. Laz, but I haven't been fair to Diane in this space for a while. It has been several months since I have placed a photo of her, and since I believe she is monitoring this site (along with her lawyers), I didn't want to disappoint.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
A Nation Of Whores
I’m real sorry about the content of this post. The words are not mine; I don’t even know what half of them mean. These are the lyrics of three different rap artists and what they have in common is they are all produced under CBS’s Columbia Record label. As we all now know, this is the same CBS which fired the always less-than-polite Don Imus from his radio show for boorishly referring to the Rutgers woman’s basketball team as “Nappy-headed hoes.” If you want to skip past the lyrics, I don’t blame you. But, for those who want to hear what passes for music – at least to CBS executives – please feel free to read on:
The words of Three 6-Mafia:
Yeah, run bitch. Run hoe! Ya nice motherfuckas!
Y'all jealous ass bitches!
You know what I'ma call y'all? Some Jello niggas.
Cuz y'all jealous of us, bitch.
Every motherfucker in our camp ridin clean, nigga.
Y'all know the motherfuckin score.
And this one right here is dedicated to you [censor beep].
It's dedicated to you, nigga.
More from Three Six Mafia:
Well all them hoes that used to be down with me
I signed a deal, made some money, now you bitches downin me?
Bitches tryin ta blast at me,
or am I dreamin the motherfuckers be after me?
Why you tryin ta be like me? You labelled as a wanna-be.
You ghetto hoes, you need to read a bonus Gangsta Boo
Cuz you might find a tip, bitch, that can help you.
I'm a down chick
Niggas be wantin ta crown chick
Stay around chick
Whenever, however, it's goin down, bitch.
Pearls from Lyfe Jennings:
Im from a place where them niggas dont talk a lot
License suspended so we walk a lot Always been a thug since i was a young cat
Breast fed by Godzilla mix my Similac with cognac whoa
Now i cant even pray no more
Cuz i done did so much dirt and smoked so much dro
Im afraid God will be like what you calling here for
Dont be tying my line up asking me for shit no more, whoa.
DMX at their best:
Song titled What These Bitches Want
Aiyyo!! Dog, I meet bitches, discrete bitches
Street bitches, slash, Cocoa Puff sweet bitches (WHAT?)
Make you wanna eat bitches, but not me
Y'all niggaz eat off the plate all you want but not D (UHH)
I fuck with these hoes from a distance
The instant they start to catch feelings
I start to stealin they shit
then I'm out just like a thief in the night
I sink my teeth in to bite
You thinkin life, I'm thinkin more like - whassup tonight?
Come on ma, you know I got a wife
and even though that pussy tight I'm not gon' jeapordize my life (aight?)
Now, back to something resembling normalcy by comparison. Over the years I have listened to Don Imus. He’s sometimes pretty funny, sometimes not. After a few years and several fruitless searches on my local radio dial for his show, I gave up on him. I never thought of him until the recent flap and predictable hypocrisy pushed him into the limelight.
It didn’t take long for those in the race trade to inject themselves into the middle of this show of bad taste, and the cameras followed. Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton, who each have uttered enough racial slurs to begin their own rap group, demanded Imus and any other white bigot pay a price; cash in a suitcase preferred. Sharpton even got Imus to make a trip to kiss his ring in the hope of absolution that wouldn’t come.
What has our sense of perspective in this country come to? CBS throws a fading radio talent under the bus in the name of racial sensitivity and then rakes in millions off the misogynistic rap artists it produces. Jackson and Sharpton have been working off the same tired script for years, setting themselves up as the racial arbiters of our time and yet don’t have an ounce of the moral authority to lead a congregation, little alone a nation.
These two men are the real whores in this story, doing anything to move their own agenda forward. It just so happens that their agenda is the same as their plantation owners, the democrats. The debate will surely shift to the coarseness of words on talk radio and it won't be long before the Fairness Doctrine will be invoked and a movement started to put an end to talk radio (or at least conservative talk radio). Words don't usually scare the average person, but it can scare a democrat if the words cost them an election. Sure, Imus is nominally a liberal, but he can be sacrificed if he serves a larger purpose.
Rather than helping salve the wounds of racial tension, the hypocrisy and hidden agenda are so overwhelming and obvious that it will have the opposite effect. And that will end up being the sad ending of this story.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Quiet Birthdays
Today was The Boy's 25th birthday; a quarter century milestone. We had a fairly quiet evening with just family and The Ber and her mom, and it made me think about the fact that it won't be long before these kinds of celebrations fade away.
During the kids' younger years, the birthdays were celebrated like national holidays and Christmas all rolled into one. The gifts were almost entirely toys or whatever fad they were into at the moment and for reasons I will never be happy about, some assembly was always required. Then comes the electronic birthdays in which everything needs an outlet followed by the years when it was okay to buy clothes providing it was the right kind of clothes -- a tricky bit of shopping required.
Now we're just happy to be part of the celebration of their birthdays and even though we will always celebrate this day and November 9, it may be as secondary revelers as they go about building their own families. It's natural and normal for them to go from birthday hats and horns to quiet nights, but it does serve as a reminder that they are growing up and there isn't a damn thing we can do about it.
During the kids' younger years, the birthdays were celebrated like national holidays and Christmas all rolled into one. The gifts were almost entirely toys or whatever fad they were into at the moment and for reasons I will never be happy about, some assembly was always required. Then comes the electronic birthdays in which everything needs an outlet followed by the years when it was okay to buy clothes providing it was the right kind of clothes -- a tricky bit of shopping required.
Now we're just happy to be part of the celebration of their birthdays and even though we will always celebrate this day and November 9, it may be as secondary revelers as they go about building their own families. It's natural and normal for them to go from birthday hats and horns to quiet nights, but it does serve as a reminder that they are growing up and there isn't a damn thing we can do about it.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Final Farewell To A Friend
“We who choose to surround ourselves with lives even more temporary than our own, live within a fragile circle, easily and often breached. Unable to accept its awful gaps, we still would live no other way.” Irving Townsend.
That day has come for us, and we are living in a smaller circle. Thursday evening our 17-year-old best friend of a dog Mutley was given a simple shot to put him at rest. To our family, he was more than a family pet, he was a friend at all times and a bit of a fable at other times. We took great joy in creating a human persona for Mutley, I suppose because he was as close to being human as a dog could be.
It was the most heartbreaking decision our family has had to make, but in the end, the short drive to the veterinarian’s office was also the easiest. His quality of life had deteriorated in such a way that the only reason his heart was beating was because it knew of nothing else to do. Dogs have a depth of loyalty that we often seem unworthy of. By way of demonstrating that, we all believe Mutley went on living just to please us.
We were told by the vet that dogs are pack animals and when the first shot went in to relax him, he was surrounded by his pack. Mrs. Laz and I, the Boy, the Girl and the Ber were all at his side, scratching behind his ears and alternatively getting wet kisses on the mouth. We fed him snacks (lean snacks for some reason) and a bit of ice cream to keep his mind off the dizziness we were told he was feeling.
A final injection went into his hind leg but his old veins weren’t up to taking the medicine and burst. So a second injection had to go into his front paw and he began to slip quite quickly. I tried to give him another treat as if to slow down the process we all knew was happening, and he began to go for it, but the toxin had begun to do its job and he was unable to indulge in eating once more, a favorite joy of his. We all cried as we watched the life ebb out of him, but we had been crying for a while by then. The Girl stroked his soft coat several times and the Boy gave him a light final kiss on his nose and we all left the room knowing his body was there but his spirit had followed us out the door.
They say when you get to heaven all the dogs and cats you’ve had run up to greet you. Until that day, good buddy, rest in peace.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
U-C-L-A
Some years things go well for a sports fan, but usually there are more downs than ups. The Michigan Wolverines took a thumping from Greater Sladed Family’s favorite USC Trojans. The San Diego Chargers, the only professional football team I care about, got knocked out in the first round of the playoffs and then crashed the entire team despite a 14-2 record.
Mrs. Sladed would lament more about the Padres falling apart in the playoffs than I would, but I am with her in spirit having lived through decades of mediocrity with the Pads. The only other baseball team I care about, the Detroit Tigers, didn’t fare much better.
Then, the fog seems to clear and your team does something good for a change. My Team, the UCLA Bruins, is in bollege basketball's Final Four and doing it with grit, hard-nose defense and crappy shooting. Except for the crappy shooting, I haven’t seen a team like this in Westwood since the old Wooden days.
Here’s hoping the Bruins hoist another Championship banner at Pauley Pavilion. Of course you can check back in a week to find out they didn’t get any farther. And that’s the funny thing about sports. There are hundreds of teams that only dream of being in the Final Four, and who could complain for very long about a 14-2 record? I guess it’s all about finishing the job and I suspect we fans put too much on winning it all. We’re so fickle!
Mrs. Sladed would lament more about the Padres falling apart in the playoffs than I would, but I am with her in spirit having lived through decades of mediocrity with the Pads. The only other baseball team I care about, the Detroit Tigers, didn’t fare much better.
Then, the fog seems to clear and your team does something good for a change. My Team, the UCLA Bruins, is in bollege basketball's Final Four and doing it with grit, hard-nose defense and crappy shooting. Except for the crappy shooting, I haven’t seen a team like this in Westwood since the old Wooden days.
Here’s hoping the Bruins hoist another Championship banner at Pauley Pavilion. Of course you can check back in a week to find out they didn’t get any farther. And that’s the funny thing about sports. There are hundreds of teams that only dream of being in the Final Four, and who could complain for very long about a 14-2 record? I guess it’s all about finishing the job and I suspect we fans put too much on winning it all. We’re so fickle!
Hubris
The Boy and I disagree on what I feel is the most specific example, but we agree we are witnessing more hubris by politicians than every before.
First there was Chuck Hagel, a senator and would-be presidential contender. He called a press conference in his home state of Nebraska and invited the national media, which generally spends its time in Washington, DC and New York (or at Skipper’s Bar). The press was a-flutter over what Senator Hagel had dragged them out to the Nebraska corn fields to announce. Surely, they thought, it was to tell the world he would be entering the presidential race. They were wrong. He merely wanted a little attention to tell the assembled press that he was still considering running for president. Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t run for president. Stay tuned, was the best he could offer.
It’s difficult to think of a more self-important moment than Senator Hagel’s non-announcement announcement. Imagine believing the country cares so much about your personal choices that they would want in on what you were thinking on that particular day, especially when you weren’t thinking about that much. It’s an easy lure for the press because Hagel is one of those “moderate” republicans who wants us out of Iraq in some unspecified time (see the pattern here?) and took the courageous position of piling on the Attorney General. I am sure the press was hoping for more, but like most places around the country, I am sure there was a Skipper’s Bar where they could drown their sorrows.
The second round of hubris happened this past week in the bizarre announcement from John Edwards that he was staying in the race despite the fact nobody had asked. He too called a press conference and he too got plenty of takers.
Of course Edward’s yapping was a bit different than Hagel in that there was more to announce. Edwards shared with us that his wife had a reoccurrence of cancer and it had spread. The cancer in Ms. Edwards seems to be the kind people talk about beating, but, in truth, they don’t last that long. The Boy believes this announcement was worthy in that he has used his wife’s illness as a prop (my words, not The Boy’s) and there was more propping that needed to be done. Actually The Boy said Edwards had made his wife’s illness part of the strength that drives him and has included his supporters and potential donors in their journey together. I still think it’s a sick prop.
But believing the world wants to know the details of the internal struggle that happens in far too many families with cancer requires the believers to have some sense that the world cares enough for a prime time press conference followed by a 60 Minutes show. Whatever happened to quiet courage? I guess people can learn a bit about the dreaded disease. I heard a knucklehead reporter announce that he learned more about cancer watching Edward’s announcement than he had at any other time. Right, this is someone writing the news.
Actually, I know far too much about cancer and one great truth is that stress is not very helpful in living longer with the disease. Can anyone think of anything more stressful than being married to a man running for president? What kind of “man” puts his sick wife through the challenges of a presidential campaign? A man full of hubris would be my answer.
The Boy and I agree on this: if he really wanted to impress us, he would do the right thing and put his own ambition on hold and gear back up four years later. He should be spending as much quiet and non-stressful time with his wife as he can, because from what I understand, her illness is in a terminal state. He has plenty of money and plenty of time of his hands. Edwards should forget the rough travel schedule, the glad-handing and the dialing for dollars and remember he has a sick wife at home who could care less if he comes in a distant third in what will likely be her last presidential campaign.
First there was Chuck Hagel, a senator and would-be presidential contender. He called a press conference in his home state of Nebraska and invited the national media, which generally spends its time in Washington, DC and New York (or at Skipper’s Bar). The press was a-flutter over what Senator Hagel had dragged them out to the Nebraska corn fields to announce. Surely, they thought, it was to tell the world he would be entering the presidential race. They were wrong. He merely wanted a little attention to tell the assembled press that he was still considering running for president. Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t run for president. Stay tuned, was the best he could offer.
It’s difficult to think of a more self-important moment than Senator Hagel’s non-announcement announcement. Imagine believing the country cares so much about your personal choices that they would want in on what you were thinking on that particular day, especially when you weren’t thinking about that much. It’s an easy lure for the press because Hagel is one of those “moderate” republicans who wants us out of Iraq in some unspecified time (see the pattern here?) and took the courageous position of piling on the Attorney General. I am sure the press was hoping for more, but like most places around the country, I am sure there was a Skipper’s Bar where they could drown their sorrows.
The second round of hubris happened this past week in the bizarre announcement from John Edwards that he was staying in the race despite the fact nobody had asked. He too called a press conference and he too got plenty of takers.
Of course Edward’s yapping was a bit different than Hagel in that there was more to announce. Edwards shared with us that his wife had a reoccurrence of cancer and it had spread. The cancer in Ms. Edwards seems to be the kind people talk about beating, but, in truth, they don’t last that long. The Boy believes this announcement was worthy in that he has used his wife’s illness as a prop (my words, not The Boy’s) and there was more propping that needed to be done. Actually The Boy said Edwards had made his wife’s illness part of the strength that drives him and has included his supporters and potential donors in their journey together. I still think it’s a sick prop.
But believing the world wants to know the details of the internal struggle that happens in far too many families with cancer requires the believers to have some sense that the world cares enough for a prime time press conference followed by a 60 Minutes show. Whatever happened to quiet courage? I guess people can learn a bit about the dreaded disease. I heard a knucklehead reporter announce that he learned more about cancer watching Edward’s announcement than he had at any other time. Right, this is someone writing the news.
Actually, I know far too much about cancer and one great truth is that stress is not very helpful in living longer with the disease. Can anyone think of anything more stressful than being married to a man running for president? What kind of “man” puts his sick wife through the challenges of a presidential campaign? A man full of hubris would be my answer.
The Boy and I agree on this: if he really wanted to impress us, he would do the right thing and put his own ambition on hold and gear back up four years later. He should be spending as much quiet and non-stressful time with his wife as he can, because from what I understand, her illness is in a terminal state. He has plenty of money and plenty of time of his hands. Edwards should forget the rough travel schedule, the glad-handing and the dialing for dollars and remember he has a sick wife at home who could care less if he comes in a distant third in what will likely be her last presidential campaign.
Monday, March 19, 2007
A Veritable Age Of Unreason
When one gets a few years past middle age there are certain rights bestowed upon them. One is the right to be a curmudgeon. There are perhaps lesser rights such as loss of embarrassment and control of certain bodily functions. But for the moment I will dwell on the former rather than the latter.
Of late, Italiphil and I have been complaining about the general rudeness in business today. Common courtesy has disappeared and an ugly rudeness has taken its place. We grumble on about it a lot. Less enlightened and younger readers may say we’re fast approaching curmudegery, if there is a word, but we still remember a day when a phone call was promptly returned and a person’s handshake really was his bond, not just a Cameron Crowe line
When you’re in the midst of curmudgening, you tend to wonder how it has come to pass that the world has gone so wrong and how very smart you have become over the years. This, naturally, leads to being more pissed off.
Our parents had to put up with the Beatles, long hair and a confusing set of differing values. It seems our lot has to endure with smart little boys with bright ideas – like derivatives, start up ventures and the convenient parsing of certain sexual acts not being sex at all. Or at least our generation can’t get that final notion past our wives. We also have to put up with rap, which as near as I can tell is the sound of one man yelling while others throw trash cans down a flight of metal stairs. But I can live with these affronts. What Italiphil and I have struggled with is the loss of appreciation for what our age and experience has brought us. Certainly years of toil should mean something to the smart young people nipping at our heels to get a piece of what we have.
In my business there are a number of people who have entered it presuming they would begin at the top. The old adage of doing what I am doing while their mammies were wrapping their butts in diapers could never be truer. And yet it doesn’t stop their conceits and where they believe they fit in the world. This isn’t to say that some of these younger people aren’t clever, it’s just we don’t want to feel that our time spent blazing the trail for them was wasted.
When Pete Wilson was lured from the Senate to take the lowly job as governor of California, he brought with him much of his young Senate staff. One never met a bunch of more cocksure twenty-somethings. We used to call them the “Penny Loafer Boys” because they wore the uniform of DC and Ivy League training: blue blazers, starched blue cotton pin-point Oxfords and, of course, penny loafers. They came to Sacramento believing they actually knew what they were doing. Within a few months, Willie Brown had them twisted into so many Rubic’s Cubes that they were passing tax increases and extending rights to gays – not exactly what the conservatives had in mind when they dialed Pete’s number.
So Italiohil and I wonder, if we’re not sounding too old and out of step, is it too much trouble to return our phone calls promptly, as a point of taking another task off your Blackberry list if nothing else? Or, what if you ask us to write you an urgent proposal and to have it in your e-mail inbox by the morning, that you actually read it and say thanks? How about giving us some credit for knowing what you think you know, only we actually knew it when we were your age? Perhaps you could just give us some credit when you’re stealing our ideas or re-inventing what we already invented?
It would really be appreciated if you youngins could do this for us. Then we can stop being a curmudgeon and matriculate to being dirty old men. We could use the change of pace.
Of late, Italiphil and I have been complaining about the general rudeness in business today. Common courtesy has disappeared and an ugly rudeness has taken its place. We grumble on about it a lot. Less enlightened and younger readers may say we’re fast approaching curmudegery, if there is a word, but we still remember a day when a phone call was promptly returned and a person’s handshake really was his bond, not just a Cameron Crowe line
When you’re in the midst of curmudgening, you tend to wonder how it has come to pass that the world has gone so wrong and how very smart you have become over the years. This, naturally, leads to being more pissed off.
Our parents had to put up with the Beatles, long hair and a confusing set of differing values. It seems our lot has to endure with smart little boys with bright ideas – like derivatives, start up ventures and the convenient parsing of certain sexual acts not being sex at all. Or at least our generation can’t get that final notion past our wives. We also have to put up with rap, which as near as I can tell is the sound of one man yelling while others throw trash cans down a flight of metal stairs. But I can live with these affronts. What Italiphil and I have struggled with is the loss of appreciation for what our age and experience has brought us. Certainly years of toil should mean something to the smart young people nipping at our heels to get a piece of what we have.
In my business there are a number of people who have entered it presuming they would begin at the top. The old adage of doing what I am doing while their mammies were wrapping their butts in diapers could never be truer. And yet it doesn’t stop their conceits and where they believe they fit in the world. This isn’t to say that some of these younger people aren’t clever, it’s just we don’t want to feel that our time spent blazing the trail for them was wasted.
When Pete Wilson was lured from the Senate to take the lowly job as governor of California, he brought with him much of his young Senate staff. One never met a bunch of more cocksure twenty-somethings. We used to call them the “Penny Loafer Boys” because they wore the uniform of DC and Ivy League training: blue blazers, starched blue cotton pin-point Oxfords and, of course, penny loafers. They came to Sacramento believing they actually knew what they were doing. Within a few months, Willie Brown had them twisted into so many Rubic’s Cubes that they were passing tax increases and extending rights to gays – not exactly what the conservatives had in mind when they dialed Pete’s number.
So Italiohil and I wonder, if we’re not sounding too old and out of step, is it too much trouble to return our phone calls promptly, as a point of taking another task off your Blackberry list if nothing else? Or, what if you ask us to write you an urgent proposal and to have it in your e-mail inbox by the morning, that you actually read it and say thanks? How about giving us some credit for knowing what you think you know, only we actually knew it when we were your age? Perhaps you could just give us some credit when you’re stealing our ideas or re-inventing what we already invented?
It would really be appreciated if you youngins could do this for us. Then we can stop being a curmudgeon and matriculate to being dirty old men. We could use the change of pace.
Rushing To Judgment
Mrs. Laz and I saw a good rendition of the 1950s play “Twelve Angry Men” the other day. It’s great drama that cleverly demonstrates that truth is not always easy to find, and that early judgment and prejudice is the bastion of the ignorant and lazy. And one other thing about the play: it starred George Wendt and the hicks from Sacramento actually held back the urge to yell out “Norrrrrmmmmm!” when he first came on stage. Maybe we’re growing up here, after all.
We saw the play on the heels of the guilty verdict of Scooter Libby and the reflexive and immediate hearings from democrats who promised not to waste your time and, if memory served, had some kind of a 100-day plan that involved something important. Damn if I can remember what it was.
As we now know, Libby was found guilty of what is normally called a process crime – in other words a crime that occurred during the investigation of an underlying crime. Quick judgment has been made by lazy journalists and opportunists from across the aisle that Libby did all sorts of heinous crimes and protected bigger fish up the food chain. Boiled down, however, Libby was found guilty of having a faulty memory, at least compared to that of reporter Tim Russert.
The actual trial was a parade of journalists who had trouble remembering any details of their conversations with Libby and came down to whether or not he talked to Russert on a certain day and what was said. Libby remembers it one way and Russert the other. Memory and juries can be a funny thing and so can judges. The defense brought up several instances when Russert could not remember details of important statements and events but the judge ruled Russert’s fuzzy memory could not be considered by the DC jury that was picked from a pool of republican-hating people who weren’t smart enough to get out of jury service. The jury was forced to decide who was telling the truth between the two and settled on Libby as the liar. If only Libby took the Hilary Clinton method of testifying and said “I can’t recall” 250 times he would not be a convicted felon today.
Of course we know now that the original investigation by special prosecutor Patrick Fitzgerald was a two-week journey to the truth and ended up being a two-year search to find a criminal without a crime being committed. Most will tell you the investigation was about the leaking of a covert CIA agent’s name, Valerie Plame, to reporter Robert Novak. Fitgerald knew early in his investigation that the State Department’s Richard Armitage was Novak’s source and revealed what he knew without political motivation and without knowing she had been undercover many years before. Armitage was never charged with a crime precisely because under the way the law protecting covert agents is written, there never was a law broken. This is because Plame had become a desk jockey and was known by half the social scene in DC as a CIA analyst at the time she was the subject of Armitage’s obscenity-laced conversation with Novak.
The democrats put on a great stage show this past week, bringing out the injured party herself, Ms. Plame. She complained that her $65,000 per year career was ruined and she could no longer work covertly again – leaving out the part that nobody was considering her for such service ever again. Just to make sure the nutcases watching C-Span were fully bamboozled, hearing chairman Henry Waxman referred to Plame as “covert” as if it were her first name. Obviously if Plame had been covert at the time of Novak’s story, Armitage would be looking for a presidential pardon instead of Libby.
I stopped feeling sorry for Plame and her supposed outing about the time she posed with her husband for the cover of Vanity Fair with gleeful looks abounding. Of course the loss of her secret identity will be eased by her book earnings and from the movie that will be filmed about her travails.
An appeal will settle the matter with Libby and history will allow future generations to have a chuckle at this perverse bit of bad theater, but this investigation could have focused on a different hideous crime: the revealing of numerous state secrets to the press by real intelligence personnel, the publishing of these facts by certain newspapers and the curious underwear stuffing by former National Security Council chief Sandy Berger.
Most of those who really work at the Pickle Farm would rather see these bad actors pay the price for these very real and damaging breeches of national security. And this would not come from a rush to judgment, but from a real and methodical understanding of the truth.
We saw the play on the heels of the guilty verdict of Scooter Libby and the reflexive and immediate hearings from democrats who promised not to waste your time and, if memory served, had some kind of a 100-day plan that involved something important. Damn if I can remember what it was.
As we now know, Libby was found guilty of what is normally called a process crime – in other words a crime that occurred during the investigation of an underlying crime. Quick judgment has been made by lazy journalists and opportunists from across the aisle that Libby did all sorts of heinous crimes and protected bigger fish up the food chain. Boiled down, however, Libby was found guilty of having a faulty memory, at least compared to that of reporter Tim Russert.
The actual trial was a parade of journalists who had trouble remembering any details of their conversations with Libby and came down to whether or not he talked to Russert on a certain day and what was said. Libby remembers it one way and Russert the other. Memory and juries can be a funny thing and so can judges. The defense brought up several instances when Russert could not remember details of important statements and events but the judge ruled Russert’s fuzzy memory could not be considered by the DC jury that was picked from a pool of republican-hating people who weren’t smart enough to get out of jury service. The jury was forced to decide who was telling the truth between the two and settled on Libby as the liar. If only Libby took the Hilary Clinton method of testifying and said “I can’t recall” 250 times he would not be a convicted felon today.
Of course we know now that the original investigation by special prosecutor Patrick Fitzgerald was a two-week journey to the truth and ended up being a two-year search to find a criminal without a crime being committed. Most will tell you the investigation was about the leaking of a covert CIA agent’s name, Valerie Plame, to reporter Robert Novak. Fitgerald knew early in his investigation that the State Department’s Richard Armitage was Novak’s source and revealed what he knew without political motivation and without knowing she had been undercover many years before. Armitage was never charged with a crime precisely because under the way the law protecting covert agents is written, there never was a law broken. This is because Plame had become a desk jockey and was known by half the social scene in DC as a CIA analyst at the time she was the subject of Armitage’s obscenity-laced conversation with Novak.
The democrats put on a great stage show this past week, bringing out the injured party herself, Ms. Plame. She complained that her $65,000 per year career was ruined and she could no longer work covertly again – leaving out the part that nobody was considering her for such service ever again. Just to make sure the nutcases watching C-Span were fully bamboozled, hearing chairman Henry Waxman referred to Plame as “covert” as if it were her first name. Obviously if Plame had been covert at the time of Novak’s story, Armitage would be looking for a presidential pardon instead of Libby.
I stopped feeling sorry for Plame and her supposed outing about the time she posed with her husband for the cover of Vanity Fair with gleeful looks abounding. Of course the loss of her secret identity will be eased by her book earnings and from the movie that will be filmed about her travails.
An appeal will settle the matter with Libby and history will allow future generations to have a chuckle at this perverse bit of bad theater, but this investigation could have focused on a different hideous crime: the revealing of numerous state secrets to the press by real intelligence personnel, the publishing of these facts by certain newspapers and the curious underwear stuffing by former National Security Council chief Sandy Berger.
Most of those who really work at the Pickle Farm would rather see these bad actors pay the price for these very real and damaging breeches of national security. And this would not come from a rush to judgment, but from a real and methodical understanding of the truth.
No Doubting Thomas
While flying to our Virginia estates, I had the pleasure of sitting next to Helen Thomas, the first lady of the first row in the White House press corps for the last several decades. While I am not a huge fan of her recent bout of negativity toward this president in particular and life around her in general, she is still an impressive woman who has seen so much over her career and remains quite sharp at age 86.
Those who know me are aware I strike up conversations with any poor soul sitting next to me on airplanes unless they give me that “don’t bother me” look. If I am want to engage with mere mortals, obviously there would be nothing to stop me from bending Helen’s ear for a two-hour flight. To my surprise, there was mutual ear-bending and we had a great conversation about a whole host of things.
I found out a few things about her. One, she drinks Scotch. Perhaps at a volume most would consider excessive. Two, when I asked her who her two most interesting interviews were she quickly answered JFK for his intellect and charisma and LBJ for his paranoia.
We also share the same notion of the modern journalist – that they are pack-like, following the lead of their colleagues only when it’s safe to echo the thoughts of the others. Ms Thomas is just the opposite; speaking her mind, perhaps too often for most, and is very critical of her colleagues for failing to keep the public informed. She even wrote a book about it and called out many of her peers by name (Watchdogs of Democracy?: The Waning Washington Press Corps and How It Has Failed the Public).
Something I didn’t need to learn – mainly because it is obvious to anyone – is she hates our president and this war with the passion of the converted. Not sure if it’s because of her Lebanese upbringing or jaded opposition to authority and brazen power. It was difficult to have a conversation without her making a negative comment about GW and the war. Even if her facts were suspect (dwelling on the myth that 650,000 Iraqis have been killed since 2003 – or 13,000 per month), her passion was real and it was difficult to argue with many of her points on American standing around the world.
We did agree on one point about journalists, however. It was obvious that Ms. Thomas has been paying attention throughout her years and knows more about most things than most journalists. We talked about a range of subjects that I know simply because of where my own work has taken me. I mentioned I was working in the Balkans and she instantly asked me if certain Serbian war criminals would be caught and knew their names. Outside of Serbia there are only a handful of people who know that kind of detail. She even told me she once interviewed Tito who told her when he died the Balkans would explode into ethnic war; which, of course is what happened.
Most journalists coming out of school these days have no historical reference point beyond their own years. While it is encouraged, they are not required to study the Humanities and rarely know much about the subjects they cover. This lack of intellectual curiosity can be a real danger when journalists utilize the lessons of history to compare to current events and often make bold observations that assume we are living in the worst of times. Many younger journalists also come to the job as an advocate rather than an observer. They follow the words of famed journalist I.F. Stone who once wrote “It is the job of the journalist to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.” I thought the job of the journalist was to tell us the truth, at least as they see it, and let us make our own decisions. Ms Thomas’ opinions may be contrary to most, but she will never be accused of not trying to bring us the truth as she sees it. It was a great ride sitting next to her and far better than the guy picking his nose and reading over my shoulder on this flight. How do you like those apples, Mr. Nosey Pants?
Those who know me are aware I strike up conversations with any poor soul sitting next to me on airplanes unless they give me that “don’t bother me” look. If I am want to engage with mere mortals, obviously there would be nothing to stop me from bending Helen’s ear for a two-hour flight. To my surprise, there was mutual ear-bending and we had a great conversation about a whole host of things.
I found out a few things about her. One, she drinks Scotch. Perhaps at a volume most would consider excessive. Two, when I asked her who her two most interesting interviews were she quickly answered JFK for his intellect and charisma and LBJ for his paranoia.
We also share the same notion of the modern journalist – that they are pack-like, following the lead of their colleagues only when it’s safe to echo the thoughts of the others. Ms Thomas is just the opposite; speaking her mind, perhaps too often for most, and is very critical of her colleagues for failing to keep the public informed. She even wrote a book about it and called out many of her peers by name (Watchdogs of Democracy?: The Waning Washington Press Corps and How It Has Failed the Public).
Something I didn’t need to learn – mainly because it is obvious to anyone – is she hates our president and this war with the passion of the converted. Not sure if it’s because of her Lebanese upbringing or jaded opposition to authority and brazen power. It was difficult to have a conversation without her making a negative comment about GW and the war. Even if her facts were suspect (dwelling on the myth that 650,000 Iraqis have been killed since 2003 – or 13,000 per month), her passion was real and it was difficult to argue with many of her points on American standing around the world.
We did agree on one point about journalists, however. It was obvious that Ms. Thomas has been paying attention throughout her years and knows more about most things than most journalists. We talked about a range of subjects that I know simply because of where my own work has taken me. I mentioned I was working in the Balkans and she instantly asked me if certain Serbian war criminals would be caught and knew their names. Outside of Serbia there are only a handful of people who know that kind of detail. She even told me she once interviewed Tito who told her when he died the Balkans would explode into ethnic war; which, of course is what happened.
Most journalists coming out of school these days have no historical reference point beyond their own years. While it is encouraged, they are not required to study the Humanities and rarely know much about the subjects they cover. This lack of intellectual curiosity can be a real danger when journalists utilize the lessons of history to compare to current events and often make bold observations that assume we are living in the worst of times. Many younger journalists also come to the job as an advocate rather than an observer. They follow the words of famed journalist I.F. Stone who once wrote “It is the job of the journalist to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.” I thought the job of the journalist was to tell us the truth, at least as they see it, and let us make our own decisions. Ms Thomas’ opinions may be contrary to most, but she will never be accused of not trying to bring us the truth as she sees it. It was a great ride sitting next to her and far better than the guy picking his nose and reading over my shoulder on this flight. How do you like those apples, Mr. Nosey Pants?
OK, It Was a Short Sabbatical
OK, so I am writing on this blog again. This doesn’t mean that I have given up on writing a novel. To the contrary I have found writing in short bursts such as these posts very helpful to keeping my writing skills honed, such as they are. I have written more in my novel and I feel like I benefited from having written in this space, as much for the practice as writing for an audience, something that can be overlooked when one wants to sell books to more than just to his immediate family and friends.
I have missed my blog and writing it again is like being reacquainted with a long lost friend – you know, the kind of friend who you used to love to be with until they stole money from you or did some other rotten thing. Well, I am sure everyone has those kinds of friends. Anyway, I also have to admit that I find myself wanting to yap about things that are going on around me, even if nobody is reading or agrees with me. In other words, expect more and what lies above are examples of some pent up thoughts.
I have missed my blog and writing it again is like being reacquainted with a long lost friend – you know, the kind of friend who you used to love to be with until they stole money from you or did some other rotten thing. Well, I am sure everyone has those kinds of friends. Anyway, I also have to admit that I find myself wanting to yap about things that are going on around me, even if nobody is reading or agrees with me. In other words, expect more and what lies above are examples of some pent up thoughts.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Happy Trails
In the past year and a half, I've written 150 posts that have averaged about two pages each, or roughly 300 typed pages. I began Lazlo's Lament as an accidental blogger and then discovered I enjoyed the short writing exercises and keeping some of you entertained some of the time. Even the name was a bit of a whim because I didn't expect to still be at this 18 months later.
Writing Lazlo's Lament has been a joy and a challenge as I tried to entertain you all and, I suspect, entertain myself. It's also been a bit of a chore because at some point you come to realize that people are reading what passes for this modern-day mass communication, and you feel compelled to write good (or is it well?) As Sladed will attest, we vanity bloggers find that everything happening around us becomes a trigger for that all-illusive content and that this process becomes seductive and addictive, leaving too many brain cells tied up in this undertaking for our own good.
I suspect the blank sheet of paper that we stare at when we have a good idea carries the same feeling I used to get when I was feverishly writing my novel and wondering where my story was taking me next and how I would find the right mix of prose to make the journey worthwhile. At this moment, I don't know where my novel is, let alone where it's going. But I need to find out, and there is a big part of me that wonders where it would be now if I had invested those same 300 pages and edits into my novel.
For those who may have heard at one point or another, I have written more than 400 pages of my novel; some in great need of editing, some not half-bad. If you also know me, you are aware that I have a terrible history of completing things. From musical instruments to foreign languages to sports, I have started them all and mastered none. At 50-years-old, perhaps this is a good time to see if I can complete something I started and learn what it feels like to be satisfied when I have finished, even if it is only on my terms.
So, to completely bury the lead, I won't be posting to this site for a while as I take whatever energy has gone into writing this nonsense and put it toward completing something that has been a lifelong dream: a novel. Wish me luck and thank you for all your kind thoughts, your complaints, your reasoned debate and, hopefully, for a laugh or two. Be well.
Writing Lazlo's Lament has been a joy and a challenge as I tried to entertain you all and, I suspect, entertain myself. It's also been a bit of a chore because at some point you come to realize that people are reading what passes for this modern-day mass communication, and you feel compelled to write good (or is it well?) As Sladed will attest, we vanity bloggers find that everything happening around us becomes a trigger for that all-illusive content and that this process becomes seductive and addictive, leaving too many brain cells tied up in this undertaking for our own good.
I suspect the blank sheet of paper that we stare at when we have a good idea carries the same feeling I used to get when I was feverishly writing my novel and wondering where my story was taking me next and how I would find the right mix of prose to make the journey worthwhile. At this moment, I don't know where my novel is, let alone where it's going. But I need to find out, and there is a big part of me that wonders where it would be now if I had invested those same 300 pages and edits into my novel.
For those who may have heard at one point or another, I have written more than 400 pages of my novel; some in great need of editing, some not half-bad. If you also know me, you are aware that I have a terrible history of completing things. From musical instruments to foreign languages to sports, I have started them all and mastered none. At 50-years-old, perhaps this is a good time to see if I can complete something I started and learn what it feels like to be satisfied when I have finished, even if it is only on my terms.
So, to completely bury the lead, I won't be posting to this site for a while as I take whatever energy has gone into writing this nonsense and put it toward completing something that has been a lifelong dream: a novel. Wish me luck and thank you for all your kind thoughts, your complaints, your reasoned debate and, hopefully, for a laugh or two. Be well.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
It's Friggin' Cold
As a reprieve from the vigorous debate on my last post on global warming and Iraq, I offer this post on – global warming. Or should I discuss global cooling because, damn, is it cold.
It was minus 2 degrees in Minneapolis where I switched planes and had to wait far too long to get off the jetway and on the plane. In Virginia, it’s 21 degrees and snowing. We need a patch of global warming and we need it now.
The snow is fluffy and white and beautiful, but I will likely end up skidding on ice and sail into a snow drift. The good news, I know what to do if I end up in a snow drift: stay with the car. The bad news is nobody is coming. I could call AAA and they will commend me for staying with the car, but I think they do that so they will no where to find the body once the snow melts. As good a company as AAA is, the only difference between them and any other towing service is, while neither will come out in this weather to extricate me from a snow drift, at least AAA won’t charge me.
It's pretty cold inside my Virginia Estates too and this is saying something because usually it’s 80 degrees inside when it 20 degrees outside. It’s so cold I considered backing the car up and sticking the exhaust pipe in the window to keep it warmer in the bedroom. My plan was foiled when the engine block froze.
In the end, it is better to stay inside rather than drive in this weather. I know the kids used to long for storms like this because it meant that the weather was bad enough to cancel school but, ironically, not bad enough to meet up with their friends and go sledding. What the kids may not have known was that we parents longed for the same kind of day because we didn’t really feel like going into work either. And this brings me to my marketing suggestion for AAA. Rather than fish us out for bad driving in bad weather, they should come to our house, make us a lunch and give us a few drinks, wrap our legs in a warm blanket, turn on the television and tell us not to go anywhere. Now this would be a service worth paying the big bucks for.
It was minus 2 degrees in Minneapolis where I switched planes and had to wait far too long to get off the jetway and on the plane. In Virginia, it’s 21 degrees and snowing. We need a patch of global warming and we need it now.
The snow is fluffy and white and beautiful, but I will likely end up skidding on ice and sail into a snow drift. The good news, I know what to do if I end up in a snow drift: stay with the car. The bad news is nobody is coming. I could call AAA and they will commend me for staying with the car, but I think they do that so they will no where to find the body once the snow melts. As good a company as AAA is, the only difference between them and any other towing service is, while neither will come out in this weather to extricate me from a snow drift, at least AAA won’t charge me.
It's pretty cold inside my Virginia Estates too and this is saying something because usually it’s 80 degrees inside when it 20 degrees outside. It’s so cold I considered backing the car up and sticking the exhaust pipe in the window to keep it warmer in the bedroom. My plan was foiled when the engine block froze.
In the end, it is better to stay inside rather than drive in this weather. I know the kids used to long for storms like this because it meant that the weather was bad enough to cancel school but, ironically, not bad enough to meet up with their friends and go sledding. What the kids may not have known was that we parents longed for the same kind of day because we didn’t really feel like going into work either. And this brings me to my marketing suggestion for AAA. Rather than fish us out for bad driving in bad weather, they should come to our house, make us a lunch and give us a few drinks, wrap our legs in a warm blanket, turn on the television and tell us not to go anywhere. Now this would be a service worth paying the big bucks for.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
He's Not Dead Yet
In a tribute to the Black Plague that only Monty Python can do, there is a scene in the movie Monty Python and The Holy Grail where a guy is pulling a wagon through the streets of a town yelling, “Bring out your dead.” The wagon is heaped with dead people. A short while later, a man puts his father on the wagon and the father is obviously not dead. The father complains, saying, “I’m not dead yet.”
This is kind of how our dog Mutties must have felt last week. Weak and feeble, it looked like it was the end for our 17-year-old cocker spaniel. He couldn’t raise his head very well, he had a vacant look and worse, he refused something to eat even when delicately handed to him. For those who know Mutties, there is never a moment when he won’t eat something.
So the family was in seclusion last week trying to reach a consensus about what to do and what would be most fair to him. None of us wanted him to suffer even a little bit. On Friday he was worse than he had been the night before. He was shivering and unable to move. I called the family and said it was likely time we let The Vet and not The Lord take him. All were in sad agreement. Even the Boy gave him a plug on his blog, Gonewandering.
On a whim I decided to give him a Johnsonville Polish Brat and he gobbled it down with vigor. He then stood up and slowly walked to the toilet to drink some refreshing water, walked outside to do his business – both varieties, and then went back to sleep with a comfortable look about him.
The day before he was practically praying about his crucifixion (the only thing it could be for such a god-like creature) in the Garden of Gethsemane and the next day, thanks to a Polish sausage and holy water, he was alive and kicking. It is now Sunday and he is doing even better. Koala Bears have suggested it was all in the water. Maybe so, but we’re happily off the death watch for the moment.
By the way, if you decide to buy the Monty Python movie or any book or movie, for that matter, go through the Sladed Blog so he gets some extra money and will prove to me that I can make a buck or two ogg this blogging thing.
Special thoughts go out to Italiphil who is desperately trying to save his wonderful Scottie dog Annie. Annie has poor kidney function but, hopefully, is young and strong enough to pull out of this.
This is kind of how our dog Mutties must have felt last week. Weak and feeble, it looked like it was the end for our 17-year-old cocker spaniel. He couldn’t raise his head very well, he had a vacant look and worse, he refused something to eat even when delicately handed to him. For those who know Mutties, there is never a moment when he won’t eat something.
So the family was in seclusion last week trying to reach a consensus about what to do and what would be most fair to him. None of us wanted him to suffer even a little bit. On Friday he was worse than he had been the night before. He was shivering and unable to move. I called the family and said it was likely time we let The Vet and not The Lord take him. All were in sad agreement. Even the Boy gave him a plug on his blog, Gonewandering.
On a whim I decided to give him a Johnsonville Polish Brat and he gobbled it down with vigor. He then stood up and slowly walked to the toilet to drink some refreshing water, walked outside to do his business – both varieties, and then went back to sleep with a comfortable look about him.
The day before he was practically praying about his crucifixion (the only thing it could be for such a god-like creature) in the Garden of Gethsemane and the next day, thanks to a Polish sausage and holy water, he was alive and kicking. It is now Sunday and he is doing even better. Koala Bears have suggested it was all in the water. Maybe so, but we’re happily off the death watch for the moment.
By the way, if you decide to buy the Monty Python movie or any book or movie, for that matter, go through the Sladed Blog so he gets some extra money and will prove to me that I can make a buck or two ogg this blogging thing.
Special thoughts go out to Italiphil who is desperately trying to save his wonderful Scottie dog Annie. Annie has poor kidney function but, hopefully, is young and strong enough to pull out of this.
Saturday, February 03, 2007
Media Hysteria
There seems to be a passion among journalists to label things. Lately there have been two mantras coming from the chattering class.
For the past year, there has been one story or another about one scientists or organization proclaiming there is global warming. Lately there has been a slight modification and the word “manmade” has been added to the headline.
The other has been a year-long discussion about whether or not there is a “civil war” in Iraq, as if this definition changes anything for the average Iraqi or affects our forces in the battlefield.
For the sake of greater economy for future headline writers, let’s stipulate two points to the media so it can move on to other hysterias: there is global warming and it is a civil war in Iraq. Now there is no more need for breathless headlines and interviews to support the media’s new cause celeb. Anymore stories or headlines trying to further define these issues will seem like beating a dead horse (although speaking of beating dead horses, they could write more on Barbaro and give us more intimate details beyond what his last meal was – grass, as the shocking truth turns out).
Having offered permission for the media to move on it should now be a bit scary for them. Now they can’t offer the opinion of others to manufacture a story. They should write about the solutions and the impact of those solutions on their subscriber base. And this is where it gets tricky.
If we sign on to Kyoto or even go so far as to all agree that we are in the midst of manmade global warming, what are we to do? Ride our bikes to work? Stop using air conditioning? Shut down all carbon burning power plants (i.e. most power plants), plant a billion new trees or close down most manufacturing facilities and re-deploy the displaced workforce? At the same time, give China and India a free pass because, you know, they are developing and need to engage in a little bit of global warming to take their people out of poverty, right?
In Iraq, so what if there is a civil war? This is a distinction without a difference. There was one going on before W. was out of high school and, as it happens, it pitted the Sunnis against the Shiites. This really shouldn’t surprise anyone in the media because they were covering this story back then, too. The difference this time is the Sunnis are in the minority and don’t have control of as many guns. They do seem to have a strong willingness to blow themselves up, so they have that going for them.
Let the media discuss the solution on this one, too. We could leave Iraq and Afgahnistan (where is the body count on Afghanistan, by the way) and just let them kill each other, and then the media could write headlines discussing the humanitarian and genocidal problems in the region. We could stay and put our men and women in harm’s way and have more stories about supporting the troops but not the mission. We could also take the gloves off and put a quicker end to the violence, but that would smell like victory and there is already too much vested in defeat.
Of course the main thing the media can do is stop listening to the democrats who believe they have an anti-war mandate from November’s elections (despite having to win with pro-war candidates) and ignore their enabling republicans who say the war is lost and we need our troops home in six months. First, if the war is really lost, why wait six months? Bring them home now and don’t allow another troop to die or be injured.
Absent that, do the media and those who seek their coverage have any understanding that the rise in sectarian violence – sorry, civil war – has much to do with their call to get the U.S. out the Viet Nam “quagmire?” Really, if you were a terrorits and wanted the Americans out of Iraq and understood the whim of the American public that no longer has the stomach for a body bag on television, what would you do to turn up the pressure? Increase the violence and cause gasps among the body politic, or take a nap while the U.S. undergoes this debate? The hundreds killed in recent weeks has given us the answer to this question. Perhaps those in the media could check their hands to see if they can find any blood on them.
For the past year, there has been one story or another about one scientists or organization proclaiming there is global warming. Lately there has been a slight modification and the word “manmade” has been added to the headline.
The other has been a year-long discussion about whether or not there is a “civil war” in Iraq, as if this definition changes anything for the average Iraqi or affects our forces in the battlefield.
For the sake of greater economy for future headline writers, let’s stipulate two points to the media so it can move on to other hysterias: there is global warming and it is a civil war in Iraq. Now there is no more need for breathless headlines and interviews to support the media’s new cause celeb. Anymore stories or headlines trying to further define these issues will seem like beating a dead horse (although speaking of beating dead horses, they could write more on Barbaro and give us more intimate details beyond what his last meal was – grass, as the shocking truth turns out).
Having offered permission for the media to move on it should now be a bit scary for them. Now they can’t offer the opinion of others to manufacture a story. They should write about the solutions and the impact of those solutions on their subscriber base. And this is where it gets tricky.
If we sign on to Kyoto or even go so far as to all agree that we are in the midst of manmade global warming, what are we to do? Ride our bikes to work? Stop using air conditioning? Shut down all carbon burning power plants (i.e. most power plants), plant a billion new trees or close down most manufacturing facilities and re-deploy the displaced workforce? At the same time, give China and India a free pass because, you know, they are developing and need to engage in a little bit of global warming to take their people out of poverty, right?
In Iraq, so what if there is a civil war? This is a distinction without a difference. There was one going on before W. was out of high school and, as it happens, it pitted the Sunnis against the Shiites. This really shouldn’t surprise anyone in the media because they were covering this story back then, too. The difference this time is the Sunnis are in the minority and don’t have control of as many guns. They do seem to have a strong willingness to blow themselves up, so they have that going for them.
Let the media discuss the solution on this one, too. We could leave Iraq and Afgahnistan (where is the body count on Afghanistan, by the way) and just let them kill each other, and then the media could write headlines discussing the humanitarian and genocidal problems in the region. We could stay and put our men and women in harm’s way and have more stories about supporting the troops but not the mission. We could also take the gloves off and put a quicker end to the violence, but that would smell like victory and there is already too much vested in defeat.
Of course the main thing the media can do is stop listening to the democrats who believe they have an anti-war mandate from November’s elections (despite having to win with pro-war candidates) and ignore their enabling republicans who say the war is lost and we need our troops home in six months. First, if the war is really lost, why wait six months? Bring them home now and don’t allow another troop to die or be injured.
Absent that, do the media and those who seek their coverage have any understanding that the rise in sectarian violence – sorry, civil war – has much to do with their call to get the U.S. out the Viet Nam “quagmire?” Really, if you were a terrorits and wanted the Americans out of Iraq and understood the whim of the American public that no longer has the stomach for a body bag on television, what would you do to turn up the pressure? Increase the violence and cause gasps among the body politic, or take a nap while the U.S. undergoes this debate? The hundreds killed in recent weeks has given us the answer to this question. Perhaps those in the media could check their hands to see if they can find any blood on them.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Help! My Wife Is Trying To Keep Me Alive! (Updated)
The comedian turned actor Denis Leary used to tell a joke about busy-bodies complaining he smoked too much. They would tell him, “You’re taking 10 years off your life,” and he would respond, “Yeah, but they’re the worst 10 years.”
In a way, that’s how I feel. Mrs. Laz, with good intention, has been quietly and regularly replacing food that is bad for me with food that is good for me.
First it was the salt. She poured out all that tasty Morton Salt, good for meat curing, with sea salt or some other light salt that requires three times the amount just to get the tongue tingling. From there she purchased something called egg substitutes to replace all the cholesterol I was getting in regular eggs. Do they make chicken substitutes?
Butter was too good for me and soon it was replaced by margarine and then light margarine, which was replaced by canola margarine and then something that only shared the color yellow with the original butter. I just have my toast dry now since the supposedly good stuff doesn’t melt or spread too well.
Next she read somewhere that we need fiber in our diet. Now everything in our house has enough fiber in it to back up the average elephant for months. Wheat tortillas, wheat hot dog buns, wheat spaghetti noodles, wheat flour, 400 grain sprouted wheat bread and even extra high fiber wheat oatmeal – sugar free of course. All these foods may have a ton of fiber but they taste like cardboard which, I assume, has plenty of fiber too.
She has even tried to fool me on the sweets she hides. She's switched out the delicious milk chocolate M&Ms with less tasty, but better for me, dark chocolate M&Ms and it's gotten to the point where I don't even want to search her hiding places anymore (but the bag is on the last shelf of the nook cabinets).
I asked the obvious, “Can we eat like we used to and just take vitamins?” No, we have to eat food that is good for us and I’m afraid I will end up having to live out those last ten, crummy years after all.
UPDATE: I found the new hiding place for the crummy M&Ms. They were in the second oven that we never use; although we could have. Anyway, many are in my tummy now making a harmonious yummmmmm sound. Also, I forgot to mention cheese. Mrs. Laz buys low-fat cheese for me and that pretty much removes the reason to have cheese in the first place. Cheese is basically mucus anyway, but it shouldn't taste like that. Thought you would all like to know.
In a way, that’s how I feel. Mrs. Laz, with good intention, has been quietly and regularly replacing food that is bad for me with food that is good for me.
First it was the salt. She poured out all that tasty Morton Salt, good for meat curing, with sea salt or some other light salt that requires three times the amount just to get the tongue tingling. From there she purchased something called egg substitutes to replace all the cholesterol I was getting in regular eggs. Do they make chicken substitutes?
Butter was too good for me and soon it was replaced by margarine and then light margarine, which was replaced by canola margarine and then something that only shared the color yellow with the original butter. I just have my toast dry now since the supposedly good stuff doesn’t melt or spread too well.
Next she read somewhere that we need fiber in our diet. Now everything in our house has enough fiber in it to back up the average elephant for months. Wheat tortillas, wheat hot dog buns, wheat spaghetti noodles, wheat flour, 400 grain sprouted wheat bread and even extra high fiber wheat oatmeal – sugar free of course. All these foods may have a ton of fiber but they taste like cardboard which, I assume, has plenty of fiber too.
She has even tried to fool me on the sweets she hides. She's switched out the delicious milk chocolate M&Ms with less tasty, but better for me, dark chocolate M&Ms and it's gotten to the point where I don't even want to search her hiding places anymore (but the bag is on the last shelf of the nook cabinets).
I asked the obvious, “Can we eat like we used to and just take vitamins?” No, we have to eat food that is good for us and I’m afraid I will end up having to live out those last ten, crummy years after all.
UPDATE: I found the new hiding place for the crummy M&Ms. They were in the second oven that we never use; although we could have. Anyway, many are in my tummy now making a harmonious yummmmmm sound. Also, I forgot to mention cheese. Mrs. Laz buys low-fat cheese for me and that pretty much removes the reason to have cheese in the first place. Cheese is basically mucus anyway, but it shouldn't taste like that. Thought you would all like to know.
Friday, January 26, 2007
What To Do
Talk about your mixed messages. President Bush takes a stand to oust Saddam Hussein, in part on sketchy intelligence and in part on removing a homicidal madman before he kills more innocents. Six months before the president decides to rid Iraq of Hussein, he follows the wishes of Congress and gets a vote to authorize regime change, which was really a re-authorization from a 1998 vote giving President Clinton the authority to do the same. Congress caught a whiff of public sentiment in late 2002 – just before the election, very cruel – and voted overwhelmingly to pass the “Authorization for Use of Military Force Against Iraq Resolution.”
One would guess President Bush took Congress seriously back then, if for no other reason than the resolution passed 296-133 in the House and 77-23 in the Senate. From that point on, the debate has raged on a number of issues such as the quality of the intelligence, the number of troops that were used and the presence of a real plan for occupation following Saddam’s removal. This debate has become pointless and stale unless you’re running for higher office. However, the debate is instructional for what a future president should do when faced with the changing whim of the public and the predictable change in mood from politicians seeking their votes.
Case in point is the situation in Darfur. To get a good feel for this, look at this website imploring President Bush to stop the killing. It essentially asks him to do what we did in Iraq in 1992, including the not-so-well hidden request for armed troops. This is rich. To many, President Bush in particular and America in general represents much of what is evil in the world. This because we are occupiers, bullies and are intent on policing the world; or, put another way, just what the do-gooders are requesting we do to save those in need in Da
rfur.
Boiled down, what is happening in Darfur is what is occurring in Iraq: sectarian violence between different religious groups. Unless I am confused, the current attitude is that we are all against interfering or causing an increase in sectarian violence and putting our men and women in harms way to attempt to put an end to it.
We tried to help out in Somalia based in large part by a series of CNN news reports about petty warlords stealing food from starving refugees caught up in sectarian violence. The humanitarian crisis was in our living rooms so much that President Bush (41) decided to send troops to help distribute the food. Shortly thereafter, something quite different was broadcast into our living rooms by CNN; that of dead American troops being carried through the streets of Mogadishu. Public opinion was high to save the starving but reached rock bottom when the public learned there was a price to pay for our doing so. President Clinton, always driven by polls on major decisions, removed the troops, which also removed the last doubt by Osama bin Laden that the U.S. was nothing more than a Paper Tiger.
And now Darfur. What should President Bush do? What should a future president do since it is unlikely the warring factions will have gone through all 2.5 million people of Darfur by 2008? Inquiring minds and arm-chair quarterbacks are waiting.
One would guess President Bush took Congress seriously back then, if for no other reason than the resolution passed 296-133 in the House and 77-23 in the Senate. From that point on, the debate has raged on a number of issues such as the quality of the intelligence, the number of troops that were used and the presence of a real plan for occupation following Saddam’s removal. This debate has become pointless and stale unless you’re running for higher office. However, the debate is instructional for what a future president should do when faced with the changing whim of the public and the predictable change in mood from politicians seeking their votes.
Case in point is the situation in Darfur. To get a good feel for this, look at this website imploring President Bush to stop the killing. It essentially asks him to do what we did in Iraq in 1992, including the not-so-well hidden request for armed troops. This is rich. To many, President Bush in particular and America in general represents much of what is evil in the world. This because we are occupiers, bullies and are intent on policing the world; or, put another way, just what the do-gooders are requesting we do to save those in need in Da
rfur.Boiled down, what is happening in Darfur is what is occurring in Iraq: sectarian violence between different religious groups. Unless I am confused, the current attitude is that we are all against interfering or causing an increase in sectarian violence and putting our men and women in harms way to attempt to put an end to it.
We tried to help out in Somalia based in large part by a series of CNN news reports about petty warlords stealing food from starving refugees caught up in sectarian violence. The humanitarian crisis was in our living rooms so much that President Bush (41) decided to send troops to help distribute the food. Shortly thereafter, something quite different was broadcast into our living rooms by CNN; that of dead American troops being carried through the streets of Mogadishu. Public opinion was high to save the starving but reached rock bottom when the public learned there was a price to pay for our doing so. President Clinton, always driven by polls on major decisions, removed the troops, which also removed the last doubt by Osama bin Laden that the U.S. was nothing more than a Paper Tiger.
And now Darfur. What should President Bush do? What should a future president do since it is unlikely the warring factions will have gone through all 2.5 million people of Darfur by 2008? Inquiring minds and arm-chair quarterbacks are waiting.
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