Day two of my bus riding adventure was postponed by an act of war. Yes, dear readers, we American's are involved in yet another war. And of course, the liberal media (a wholly owned subsidiary of News Corp) has failed to bring it to your attention. They're probably trying to hide yet another thing this awful president with a lowly 60% approval rating and a massive list of social and economic successes has allowed to happen. So allow me to inform you of the latest developments: The attack came by surprise in the middle of the night. At 4am on February 1st, 2011, Canadian weather waged war on the state of Texas, concentrating its most brutal attacks on the city of Dallas. We woke up to a catastrophic war zone. Nearly 2 inches of solid ice blanketed our fair city, crippling our non-existent defenses against such weather systems. It was an abomination. It brought our means of transportation and economic proliferation to a grinding halt. Everything closed, with the notable exception of the brave patriots at 7-11.
We do not posses salt trucks, snow plows, or even shovels with which to tend to our own driveways. We were caught helpless and unaware, with our proverbial thermal underpants down. (We don't have those either.) 13 degree temperatures ravaged our meager insulating preparations, designed to combat heat instead of cold. They must have known that our homes are designed to retain cold air, thus making their plot as ruthless as it was ingenious. The ravages of their low pressure systems brought our temperature down to degree marks that our thermometers were not built to handle.
So I got Tuesday off of work. I'm sure one day it will be declared a national holiday, but again, with the dirty liberal media outposts in this country that refuse to report on anything but what their corporate owners deem necessary, the heroes of this day may forever go unsung.
Wednesday we were called back into the office. The ice was still present, and as fresh as the horrors lodged deep within our hearts and minds. Unspeakable horrors like having to wear a sweater and a coat at the same time. I won't go into detail, but scarves were involved.
I drove to work. Bus resolution fail. I did it, and I'm not proud of it, but at least I'm honest. Barely able to forgive myself, I resumed the bus riding again on Thursday. The trip to work was lovely. DART win. The story of the trip home, however, is a story of almost unbelievable proportions.
The 463 picks me up a mere 40 feet from the front door of my building at 5:31PM sharp, Monday through Friday. Or at least it is supposed to. On this fated day it arrived after 6PM. Don't worry, driver, I love standing outside in 3 degree wind chill.
Finally, the bus arrived. Having grown up as a white male in middle class America, I expected a drury ride home full of complaints and malicious remonstrations of the mass transit system from my fellow passengers. Surely we would brood and commiserate on our unfortunate circumstances. Instead, the hypothesis posed in my last post (go here: http://politifarce.blogspot.com/2011/02/transitional-thoughts.html) was proven. I am the outsider here. The sore thumb. The stranger in a foreign land. You see, the atmosphere on the bus that cold, dark night resembled a reunion of old army buddies more than it did the reality of the situation. It was...fun. Virtually everyone was talking to everyone else. Exciting stories of the days events were shared and enjoyed. Jokes were made at no one's expense, many of which were shockingly creative and funny. And I don't mean that 'within the context of an otherwise miserable situation', it was genuine humor. As I said mere sentences ago, it was fun.
Why was I surprised? Because I was assuming instead of thinking. What happens within a crowd at the airport when a plane is late? Misery. Anger. Belligerent behavior, empty threats, promises of revenge in the form of economic sanctions against the offending airline. It's a catastrophe. And it is fully self induced. When we feel entitled to something, for whatever reason, we are much less likely to be able to cope with disappointment. We feel put out, inconvenienced, even cheated. But the less we expect others to do for us, the more likely we are to manufacture our own perspective. The more apt we are to turn inconvenience into pleasure, cold temperatures into warm smiles, a late bus into a good time.
How fitting then that the same man screaming at the airline ticketing agent for his inconvenience is very likely to be the same man who doesn't feel that he should help feed our poor, or care for our sick. For he is entitled to something better than the rest of us. It's similar to the illusion of the self-made millionaire. No one does anything alone, certainly not achieving success. Every employer, employee, lender, borrower, consumer, or maker that you worked with (or used) to get to where you are is just as much a part of what you did as you are. Without them, you would be both lonely and broke. How soon we forget, I guess the air up at the top is thin and slows brain function.
A successful society requires a delicate balance of self-reliance and collective effort, just like a good bus ride home. Yet the definitions that we work with to define both of those concepts are too narrow and restrictive. They are not opposites, rather they are dependent variables in a simple equation. An equation that contains many other variables, like memory and pride, but is simple to balance nonetheless.
If the poop hits the air conditioner, and society collapses upon itself, you won't find me huddled in the north 'burbs clinging to a gun and a sense of fear. You will find me in the 'hood', because at least they know how to have a good time when things aren't going their way.
Agree or disagree, thanks for reading, and thanks for thinking.
Turning philosophy, politics, and ethics inside out, picking them apart, then reassembing them as ideas for a new way to look at life. Agree or disagree, you'll find it's worth reading. © 2011
Friday, February 4, 2011
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
transitional thoughts
It feels good to be back, doesn't it folks? I know there's been a delay since the last post, but you'll get over it. Trust me. I promised no filler when I started this, and I intend to keep that promise. Now dry your eyes and let's get going.
Yesterday I began a new phase in my life: I took the bus to work for the very first time. In fact, it was the first time I have ridden a bus, outside of a school field trip, ever. Needless to say, it made me think.
Now those of you who don't live in Dallas may have already stopped reading, but here in the Big D, this is kind of a big deal. I lived in Chicago for a while and I've visited the Big Apple a time or two, so I'm familiar with decent and efficient public transportation. Let's define this for you non-Dallas-residents. Decent and efficient, in regards to public transportation, means the kind that takes you from a place you may want to live to a place you may want to go in a somewhat timely manner, and also at times that may be convenient to the average Joe's routine. To provide some context, it must be noted that DART (Dallas' mass transit market monopoly holder) does none of the above.
To provide further context let me relate to you a short story. My office recently moved. We are directly up the street from Addison, a suburb of Dallas that literally has more bars and restaurants than residents. I noted while gazing from my 13th story office window that a favorite eatery of mine was in plain sight, and mentioned that we should amble there one fine spring day. The reaction was incredulous. 'Too far to walk' was the general consensus. So I leaned on our dear friends (unless you're a Chinese dissident) at Google and mapped out the trip. Three tenths of a mile. I expected the case to be closed, and a date to be set. But alas, this was still too far. It may take a whole 10 minutes. Someone really said that. Note that I do not work with the elderly or infirmed. These were all late-twenties/early thirties males. I mentioned that in no other city in the world would people consider driving such a trivially short distance. My arguments went unheard. In Dallas, we do a lot of things, but walking isn't one of them. In fact, outdoor recreation of any kind is banned without a significant investment in toys with which to do it, but that's for another day. In Dallas, we drive. Everywhere.
DART operates a train system that is sleek, new, clean, and runs straight north and south. My commute so happens to be west to east, so I take the filthy bus. It should be noted at this point that the author takes no artistic license in using the word 'filthy'. There were Funions in my seat. Funions the snack product. The one that mimics the flavor of onion rings fried in garlic oil after marinating in stoner day dreams.
But clean and dirty are not what this is about. This is about a thought on thoughts, so let us commence.
Every day on the way into my office building I see pretty much the same people. I often spend awkward quality time enjoying the wafts of their hangovers and farts in the elevator. And we acknowledge each other, often going so far as to communicate verbally. There is a familiarity hosted by routine and the easy common ground of geography and all of its wonderful accoutrement's like sports teams and weather. So one would assume that the same might be true of the bus. These people, at least a significant majority of them, must travel this same route daily at the same time. If they did not then the very spirit, as well as the economic lifeblood of mass transit would be defeated. But there are no glances. Not a single hint of recognition. If verbal communication is simply too much, then a passing glance, a nod, any kind of acknowledgement. Nothing. If they do know each other on some level, even the most basic level of circumstantial similarity, there is no sign of it. The only conclusion I can draw is that somehow they must lack any form of commonality. Even though the means of transit is the same, the reasons behind it are far too varied. From the teenager digging change out of his pockets hoping it will cover the fare to his girlfriend's place, to the woman riding the bus from the same starting place as me to the same building as me, everyone on a DART bus is there for a reason that is wholly unique to them. After all, in a city that drives, why are you on the bus?
Then it occurs to me that I have several reasons. It's emotional: I suffer from severe road rage, and the commute to work starts and ends my day on the wrong foot. It's logical: I am a crappy driver, and not driving is a win/win for me and society. It's political: I believe firmly in the spirit of mass transit, and that it is and can be functional for most. It's economical: I'm cheap, preferring to use the money most would put towards a car payment for other things that I find far more valuable, like not using credit cards. It's environmental: I'm reducing my impact on this planet significantly.
But even those reasons have commonalities - they are reasons that justify a choice. And some days I may not make the choice to ride the bus. I may drive, or bum a ride from my hetero life partner (aka: the wife). And maybe that's why I can't see the recognitions. Maybe I'm the outsider here. Maybe the lack of recognition is a retainer of anonymity. Maybe it provides a firmer illusion of security. Maybe it's some social fear, with or without good reason. Maybe it's just too early in the morning. Maybe maybe maybe and blah blah blah. I think that 'outsider' comment was closest to the truth...
As the bus makes its exit from my day, stage right, after depositing a handful of us off on the corner, I observe the final collapse of commonality as I turn and walk towards the side of the street where the suburbs begin and the city ends, and notice I am suddenly traveling alone.
Take the bus to work tomorrow, it will give you plenty of time to think.
Yesterday I began a new phase in my life: I took the bus to work for the very first time. In fact, it was the first time I have ridden a bus, outside of a school field trip, ever. Needless to say, it made me think.
Now those of you who don't live in Dallas may have already stopped reading, but here in the Big D, this is kind of a big deal. I lived in Chicago for a while and I've visited the Big Apple a time or two, so I'm familiar with decent and efficient public transportation. Let's define this for you non-Dallas-residents. Decent and efficient, in regards to public transportation, means the kind that takes you from a place you may want to live to a place you may want to go in a somewhat timely manner, and also at times that may be convenient to the average Joe's routine. To provide some context, it must be noted that DART (Dallas' mass transit market monopoly holder) does none of the above.
To provide further context let me relate to you a short story. My office recently moved. We are directly up the street from Addison, a suburb of Dallas that literally has more bars and restaurants than residents. I noted while gazing from my 13th story office window that a favorite eatery of mine was in plain sight, and mentioned that we should amble there one fine spring day. The reaction was incredulous. 'Too far to walk' was the general consensus. So I leaned on our dear friends (unless you're a Chinese dissident) at Google and mapped out the trip. Three tenths of a mile. I expected the case to be closed, and a date to be set. But alas, this was still too far. It may take a whole 10 minutes. Someone really said that. Note that I do not work with the elderly or infirmed. These were all late-twenties/early thirties males. I mentioned that in no other city in the world would people consider driving such a trivially short distance. My arguments went unheard. In Dallas, we do a lot of things, but walking isn't one of them. In fact, outdoor recreation of any kind is banned without a significant investment in toys with which to do it, but that's for another day. In Dallas, we drive. Everywhere.
DART operates a train system that is sleek, new, clean, and runs straight north and south. My commute so happens to be west to east, so I take the filthy bus. It should be noted at this point that the author takes no artistic license in using the word 'filthy'. There were Funions in my seat. Funions the snack product. The one that mimics the flavor of onion rings fried in garlic oil after marinating in stoner day dreams.
But clean and dirty are not what this is about. This is about a thought on thoughts, so let us commence.
Every day on the way into my office building I see pretty much the same people. I often spend awkward quality time enjoying the wafts of their hangovers and farts in the elevator. And we acknowledge each other, often going so far as to communicate verbally. There is a familiarity hosted by routine and the easy common ground of geography and all of its wonderful accoutrement's like sports teams and weather. So one would assume that the same might be true of the bus. These people, at least a significant majority of them, must travel this same route daily at the same time. If they did not then the very spirit, as well as the economic lifeblood of mass transit would be defeated. But there are no glances. Not a single hint of recognition. If verbal communication is simply too much, then a passing glance, a nod, any kind of acknowledgement. Nothing. If they do know each other on some level, even the most basic level of circumstantial similarity, there is no sign of it. The only conclusion I can draw is that somehow they must lack any form of commonality. Even though the means of transit is the same, the reasons behind it are far too varied. From the teenager digging change out of his pockets hoping it will cover the fare to his girlfriend's place, to the woman riding the bus from the same starting place as me to the same building as me, everyone on a DART bus is there for a reason that is wholly unique to them. After all, in a city that drives, why are you on the bus?
Then it occurs to me that I have several reasons. It's emotional: I suffer from severe road rage, and the commute to work starts and ends my day on the wrong foot. It's logical: I am a crappy driver, and not driving is a win/win for me and society. It's political: I believe firmly in the spirit of mass transit, and that it is and can be functional for most. It's economical: I'm cheap, preferring to use the money most would put towards a car payment for other things that I find far more valuable, like not using credit cards. It's environmental: I'm reducing my impact on this planet significantly.
But even those reasons have commonalities - they are reasons that justify a choice. And some days I may not make the choice to ride the bus. I may drive, or bum a ride from my hetero life partner (aka: the wife). And maybe that's why I can't see the recognitions. Maybe I'm the outsider here. Maybe the lack of recognition is a retainer of anonymity. Maybe it provides a firmer illusion of security. Maybe it's some social fear, with or without good reason. Maybe it's just too early in the morning. Maybe maybe maybe and blah blah blah. I think that 'outsider' comment was closest to the truth...
As the bus makes its exit from my day, stage right, after depositing a handful of us off on the corner, I observe the final collapse of commonality as I turn and walk towards the side of the street where the suburbs begin and the city ends, and notice I am suddenly traveling alone.
Take the bus to work tomorrow, it will give you plenty of time to think.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Leaki Thoughts
Welcome back one and all. It's been too long since we could sit here, have a beer, and rant, hasn't it? It has. How sad.
Well, it's back. Be happy.
Straight to the point:
Pfc. Bradley Manning is a traitor.
Julian Assange is a hero.
In response to popular demand, this will be succinct. Besides, it's an easy one.
First, Mr. Assange. If you think he's a traitor who's endangering thousands of people around the world, you're not thinking. He didn't make the secrets. He didn't lie. He didn't start wars, talk behind allies backs, he didn't cover up vital information about world governments pissing in each other's punch bowls.
He just exposed it. All of it. And bravo. Stand on the nearest chair and clap for this man. The only man among 6.2 billion with balls. Big brass ones. If we had more Julian's, we wouldn't have so many lies, cover ups, or wars. It's true. He didn't endanger US Soldiers, we did by sending them to die for oil. He didn't embarrass countless presidents, prime ministers and diplomats, they did by acting like fools because they thought no one was looking. He is a private citizen of the world, and as such the truth is his responsibility. So hooray for Julian Assange. Hooray for balls. Be grateful that someone is fighting for you.
Now, Pfc. Mr. Piece of Sh*t Traitor Bradley Manning. Lock him up. Torture him. Shoot him on the White House lawn.
But Mr. ToT's...that's awful. And it's a contradiction. How can one be a hero, and his sidekick be a villain?
It's the "Pfc." that causes problems. Private. First. Class. Property of the United States Government. He signed away his life, then he used his power to stab his employer in the back.
Mr. Assange received information, and passed it along to all interested parties without prejudice or passion.
Pfc. Manning stole. He lied. He cheated. He turned his back on his country. He violated the Uniform Code of Military Justice. He is a traitor. A common criminal. Those who cry for him cry for nothing. We can't afford that in our military. We cannot afford for them to break that code. Once we accept that, we will fall to their control, instead of guiding what they do.
Mr. Assange was bound by no such code.
Think for yourself. Agree or disagree, I hope you enjoyed the shorter format.
Well, it's back. Be happy.
Straight to the point:
Pfc. Bradley Manning is a traitor.
Julian Assange is a hero.
In response to popular demand, this will be succinct. Besides, it's an easy one.
First, Mr. Assange. If you think he's a traitor who's endangering thousands of people around the world, you're not thinking. He didn't make the secrets. He didn't lie. He didn't start wars, talk behind allies backs, he didn't cover up vital information about world governments pissing in each other's punch bowls.
He just exposed it. All of it. And bravo. Stand on the nearest chair and clap for this man. The only man among 6.2 billion with balls. Big brass ones. If we had more Julian's, we wouldn't have so many lies, cover ups, or wars. It's true. He didn't endanger US Soldiers, we did by sending them to die for oil. He didn't embarrass countless presidents, prime ministers and diplomats, they did by acting like fools because they thought no one was looking. He is a private citizen of the world, and as such the truth is his responsibility. So hooray for Julian Assange. Hooray for balls. Be grateful that someone is fighting for you.
Now, Pfc. Mr. Piece of Sh*t Traitor Bradley Manning. Lock him up. Torture him. Shoot him on the White House lawn.
But Mr. ToT's...that's awful. And it's a contradiction. How can one be a hero, and his sidekick be a villain?
It's the "Pfc." that causes problems. Private. First. Class. Property of the United States Government. He signed away his life, then he used his power to stab his employer in the back.
Mr. Assange received information, and passed it along to all interested parties without prejudice or passion.
Pfc. Manning stole. He lied. He cheated. He turned his back on his country. He violated the Uniform Code of Military Justice. He is a traitor. A common criminal. Those who cry for him cry for nothing. We can't afford that in our military. We cannot afford for them to break that code. Once we accept that, we will fall to their control, instead of guiding what they do.
Mr. Assange was bound by no such code.
Think for yourself. Agree or disagree, I hope you enjoyed the shorter format.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Parental Thoughts
Relax. It doesn't say "prenatal", it says "parental". Yes, I, your fearless writer, am jumping into the abyss that is the "Tiger Mother" backlash. If you're not up to speed, you can read about it...anywhere. Popping "Tiger Mother" into just about any search engine will get you 1 to 1500 articles and blog posts about Amy Chua. And look at me, adding to the melee. Shame shame shame.
I don't have to much to say about it, but you can bet your buttons I have something to say about it. Generally, I believe that overparenting is far less distasteful and dangerous than underparenting. I see so much underparenting that I must admit that I can feel myself happily and heartily excusing overparenting when I witness it.
Let's take a quick sidebar to define these terms so we're all on the same page:
Overparent (verb): the act of doing more than you should as a parent, be it enforcing unneccesary behaviors on your child or elliciting unnatural actions and/or reactions from your child.
Underparent (verb): the act of failing to provide basic protection, nutrition, education, appropriate behavioral guidance, and emotional care to your child.
Basically, one is doing too much, the other is doing too little. Is that a fine enough line for you? Well they're the buckets that American culture has given us with which to define all parenting. Welcome to a happy-medium-free culture
This lady, Amy Chua, she walked into a bear trap. Or I guess a tiger trap. You see, there's very little that parents enjoy more than criticizing other parents, and this lady painted a toddler leash-shaped target on her back. She even did it at just such an angle so that everyone can take shots. Oops.
I'll refrain. If you think she's evil, you know she'll get what she has coming. If you think she's a genius just saying what needed to be said, she can be your martyr. Either way, think it over, think it through, and reach your own conclusion. I'm here to make an entirely different point.
One day I'll come back to discuss this further, but let's see how my kid grows up first. We live in a world of too many experts. Or as my kindergarden teacher so wisely said: "Too many chieftans and not enough little indians just doing their jobs." Shockingly racists, I'm sure, but what a perfect statement on personal responsibility.
Moving on. So many people want their child to be the best. They want them to play on the stage at Juliard, to edit the Harvard Law Review, to be Class President at Yale, to run a Fortune 10. On and on the list goes.
I see a problem here. Well, several problems really, but I can boil it down to one main concern. Eventually. First, we're all aware that not everyone wants to be these people. We all want the best for our lives, but for everyone that 'best' is different. And we didn't decide it at age 2. Also, we're all somewhat aware that these people come from a wide variety of backgrounds. The CEO of Kelloggs was a truck driver for them first. Carl Sagan's parents didn't force him to do homework 6 hours a night. B.B. King was raised in crushing poverty, harldy ever going to school, much less Juliard, yet he played at Carnegie Hall, sold out ampitheaters, and for Presidents and Royalty.
If the fact that raising your child under such extreme conditions yields no promise of getting what you want from them isn't enough to disuade you from overparenting, then consider this. If someone learns to work so hard they can get whatever they want, is there any gaurantee that they will be qualified for what they get?
Wait, that sounds like a contradiction. It's not. Hard work can make you a rockstar on paper, or on a farm. But if you don't love it, and it doesn't love you, the consequences can be catostrophic. The level of catostrophy is directly proportional to the amount of power the job has. Think: "W".
Convinced? Let's get you there. Yale Grad, rich and powerful daddy, he was even a direct descendent of a President! Yet he failed at every thing he did every moment of every day for 8 years. A lust for power, coupled with the drive to get a job he was grotesquely underqualified for, had rancid consequences for millions of people. Strategery.
So how likely is it that the person who missed every party, every potential friendship and love interest, every dance, every football game, every kegger, so that they could be your boss one day, is actually qualified to be your boss?
Are they really smarter and more qualified, or are they just a workaholic? To be completely contrarian, isn't the mere fact that they had to work harder a sort of alarm bell? Too much? Ok, I'll back it up. How about this: In a world of information technology, which is what this world is becoming, can we afford to let imposters get ahead? People that are going to make it are...going to make it. I think you'd be hard pressed to find a world leader that would say "I would have drank myself to death in a gutter if it wasn't for such a harsh and unforgiving upbringing. Thank god my mommy emotionally abused me and denied my happiness. It turned me into the CEO of [insert name here] that I am today..." Or even worse, sub the words "been happy" for "drank myself to death in a gutter" and make the second sentence drip with sarcasm. What's more believable?
Overparenting is an overreaction to the fear of being an underparent. But if you have that fear, you're not an underparent. Underparents have no idea such a thing exists, and would never even consider that they might be underparenting. Or at least they would never do anything about it, even if they did consider it.
We must ask: "If our kid isn't actually smarter, faster, or more musically inclined, are we doing anyone a service by pushing them to become an expert in that area?" Can we afford engineers that lack creativity? Can we afford world leaders that lack social skills? CEO's that don't actually get the 'why' behind their business? Can we tolerate anymore Mickey Mouse Club House musicians?
I say no. The guaranteed cost seems to greatly outweigh the alleged benefit. We'd be better off letting the cream rise to the top naturally rather than telling the coffee it can be cream one day if it just tries harder.
Moreover, for possibly the first time in human history, many kids in the developed western world can actually be kids. Plain and simple. Just...kids. No death by measels or polio. No walking to school 10 miles each way in the snow. No factory labor at age 6. Just opportunity, love, learning, and fun. If they are among these lucky few, who are we to stop them? Who are we to take that away?
Well, well, well, I think I just found a place where overparenting and underparenting become the same thing...
Thanks for reading. Agree or disagree, I hope you thought.
I don't have to much to say about it, but you can bet your buttons I have something to say about it. Generally, I believe that overparenting is far less distasteful and dangerous than underparenting. I see so much underparenting that I must admit that I can feel myself happily and heartily excusing overparenting when I witness it.
Let's take a quick sidebar to define these terms so we're all on the same page:
Overparent (verb): the act of doing more than you should as a parent, be it enforcing unneccesary behaviors on your child or elliciting unnatural actions and/or reactions from your child.
Underparent (verb): the act of failing to provide basic protection, nutrition, education, appropriate behavioral guidance, and emotional care to your child.
Basically, one is doing too much, the other is doing too little. Is that a fine enough line for you? Well they're the buckets that American culture has given us with which to define all parenting. Welcome to a happy-medium-free culture
This lady, Amy Chua, she walked into a bear trap. Or I guess a tiger trap. You see, there's very little that parents enjoy more than criticizing other parents, and this lady painted a toddler leash-shaped target on her back. She even did it at just such an angle so that everyone can take shots. Oops.
I'll refrain. If you think she's evil, you know she'll get what she has coming. If you think she's a genius just saying what needed to be said, she can be your martyr. Either way, think it over, think it through, and reach your own conclusion. I'm here to make an entirely different point.
One day I'll come back to discuss this further, but let's see how my kid grows up first. We live in a world of too many experts. Or as my kindergarden teacher so wisely said: "Too many chieftans and not enough little indians just doing their jobs." Shockingly racists, I'm sure, but what a perfect statement on personal responsibility.
Moving on. So many people want their child to be the best. They want them to play on the stage at Juliard, to edit the Harvard Law Review, to be Class President at Yale, to run a Fortune 10. On and on the list goes.
I see a problem here. Well, several problems really, but I can boil it down to one main concern. Eventually. First, we're all aware that not everyone wants to be these people. We all want the best for our lives, but for everyone that 'best' is different. And we didn't decide it at age 2. Also, we're all somewhat aware that these people come from a wide variety of backgrounds. The CEO of Kelloggs was a truck driver for them first. Carl Sagan's parents didn't force him to do homework 6 hours a night. B.B. King was raised in crushing poverty, harldy ever going to school, much less Juliard, yet he played at Carnegie Hall, sold out ampitheaters, and for Presidents and Royalty.
If the fact that raising your child under such extreme conditions yields no promise of getting what you want from them isn't enough to disuade you from overparenting, then consider this. If someone learns to work so hard they can get whatever they want, is there any gaurantee that they will be qualified for what they get?
Wait, that sounds like a contradiction. It's not. Hard work can make you a rockstar on paper, or on a farm. But if you don't love it, and it doesn't love you, the consequences can be catostrophic. The level of catostrophy is directly proportional to the amount of power the job has. Think: "W".
Convinced? Let's get you there. Yale Grad, rich and powerful daddy, he was even a direct descendent of a President! Yet he failed at every thing he did every moment of every day for 8 years. A lust for power, coupled with the drive to get a job he was grotesquely underqualified for, had rancid consequences for millions of people. Strategery.
So how likely is it that the person who missed every party, every potential friendship and love interest, every dance, every football game, every kegger, so that they could be your boss one day, is actually qualified to be your boss?
Are they really smarter and more qualified, or are they just a workaholic? To be completely contrarian, isn't the mere fact that they had to work harder a sort of alarm bell? Too much? Ok, I'll back it up. How about this: In a world of information technology, which is what this world is becoming, can we afford to let imposters get ahead? People that are going to make it are...going to make it. I think you'd be hard pressed to find a world leader that would say "I would have drank myself to death in a gutter if it wasn't for such a harsh and unforgiving upbringing. Thank god my mommy emotionally abused me and denied my happiness. It turned me into the CEO of [insert name here] that I am today..." Or even worse, sub the words "been happy" for "drank myself to death in a gutter" and make the second sentence drip with sarcasm. What's more believable?
Overparenting is an overreaction to the fear of being an underparent. But if you have that fear, you're not an underparent. Underparents have no idea such a thing exists, and would never even consider that they might be underparenting. Or at least they would never do anything about it, even if they did consider it.
We must ask: "If our kid isn't actually smarter, faster, or more musically inclined, are we doing anyone a service by pushing them to become an expert in that area?" Can we afford engineers that lack creativity? Can we afford world leaders that lack social skills? CEO's that don't actually get the 'why' behind their business? Can we tolerate anymore Mickey Mouse Club House musicians?
I say no. The guaranteed cost seems to greatly outweigh the alleged benefit. We'd be better off letting the cream rise to the top naturally rather than telling the coffee it can be cream one day if it just tries harder.
Moreover, for possibly the first time in human history, many kids in the developed western world can actually be kids. Plain and simple. Just...kids. No death by measels or polio. No walking to school 10 miles each way in the snow. No factory labor at age 6. Just opportunity, love, learning, and fun. If they are among these lucky few, who are we to stop them? Who are we to take that away?
Well, well, well, I think I just found a place where overparenting and underparenting become the same thing...
Thanks for reading. Agree or disagree, I hope you thought.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Pre Thoughts
Welcome, one and all, to the pondering pagoda. Mr. ToT's is putting on a new hat today...
Today, faithful readers, I'm going to dabble in the 'critic' business, but with my own little spin. How does one 'spin' being a critic? The cushiest, most b.s. job on the planet. How does one make this self-proclaimed "profession" less relevant than it already is? Like this:
I haven't yet seen the movie I'm going to review, but I'm confident that I don't really need to. Seems like it would be a waste of time in this case.
Oh yeah, and before I forget...****spoiler alert****
Ashton Kutcher and Natalie Portman star in "No Strings Attached", release date...go look it up somewhere else. Just wait till your done reading, please. This movie is about booty calls. Regular booty calls, between the same two people. Kinda like When Harry Met Sally, except crappy, predictable, and with sex.
This promises to be yet another hack dramedy about modern relationships, pawned off by creatively editted previews as "original", "quirky", "insightful", and whatever other bilge phrases they decide to attach. There's another thing you can guarantee, the descriptors on the poster won't be original. They'll probably be copy/pasted from the Knocked Up movie poster.
Before I tear this movie apart, let me address the one reason that several people I know may consider seeing this. No, it's not a lack of better things to do. Drinking epicac and vomitting to death may fall under the category of 'Better things to do'. What may lure countless unsuspecting males into theaters to sacrifice $10 of their money on this disgrace to cinema is simple - it's the promise of Natalie Portman side boob. Possibly even nudity. Enticing? Mayhap, depending on your taste, but don't let it fool you, this movie will suck. Also, considering the prude attitude of the MPAA, you're far more likely to see a shot of man ass than side boob, much less whole boob. Another guarantee of failure.
That was the spoiler, by the way. This movie will be fail incarnate. I give it 5 laughs, 2 of which will be awkward.
For his part, Ashton Kutcher will do what he does best: "Michael" from That 70's Show. Maybe he'll mix in a little Dude Where's My Car, but what can we really expect from the guy that reprised candid camera, and substituted his famous friends for non-famous people? It was a step down. If you make millions of dollars doing movies and you have the nerve to take yourself seriously, die. Picking on innocent people at the dry cleaners, thats comedy.
Natalie Portman will do what she does best: That vaguely aloof, detached girl who seems to process things on such a deep internal level that you wonder how she ever got a career acting. One can easily mistake any of her on screen emotions for constipation, confusion, or a combination of the two. We all knew that girl at one point in our lives. We called her shallow. Or cold. Or "hey, what's your name again?". Hollywood likes to glorify that type lately. Like the chick from those vampire films. She's neither attractive nor talented. As a good friend of mine once said "Have we run out of thin, pretty people???".
Another reason to ditch this film in favor of a cheap cigar or 6 pack of PBR, is that you can get what you want for a better price, oh ye seekers of side boob. If you want Natalie Portman T&A without having to suffer through another romantic comedy that will surely try to shove some vague moral lesson down your throat while it rides the vortex of flushing toilet water into a predictable ending, here are some suggestions:
Black Swan - apparently she gets it on. With herself. Awesome. MSNBC called it "self sex" in their review. Let's call it what it is: flipping the bean. That's right...masturbation.
The Darjeeling Limited - there is a short film affixed to the beginning of this really awesome flick. In it, you get to see her naked from behind. She's not my type, but it's a nice rear. And the movie is funny too. Unlike No Strings Attached, which will suck. I promise.
So if you do one thing this weekend, avoid this film.
Thanks for reading!
Today, faithful readers, I'm going to dabble in the 'critic' business, but with my own little spin. How does one 'spin' being a critic? The cushiest, most b.s. job on the planet. How does one make this self-proclaimed "profession" less relevant than it already is? Like this:
I haven't yet seen the movie I'm going to review, but I'm confident that I don't really need to. Seems like it would be a waste of time in this case.
Oh yeah, and before I forget...****spoiler alert****
Ashton Kutcher and Natalie Portman star in "No Strings Attached", release date...go look it up somewhere else. Just wait till your done reading, please. This movie is about booty calls. Regular booty calls, between the same two people. Kinda like When Harry Met Sally, except crappy, predictable, and with sex.
This promises to be yet another hack dramedy about modern relationships, pawned off by creatively editted previews as "original", "quirky", "insightful", and whatever other bilge phrases they decide to attach. There's another thing you can guarantee, the descriptors on the poster won't be original. They'll probably be copy/pasted from the Knocked Up movie poster.
Before I tear this movie apart, let me address the one reason that several people I know may consider seeing this. No, it's not a lack of better things to do. Drinking epicac and vomitting to death may fall under the category of 'Better things to do'. What may lure countless unsuspecting males into theaters to sacrifice $10 of their money on this disgrace to cinema is simple - it's the promise of Natalie Portman side boob. Possibly even nudity. Enticing? Mayhap, depending on your taste, but don't let it fool you, this movie will suck. Also, considering the prude attitude of the MPAA, you're far more likely to see a shot of man ass than side boob, much less whole boob. Another guarantee of failure.
That was the spoiler, by the way. This movie will be fail incarnate. I give it 5 laughs, 2 of which will be awkward.
For his part, Ashton Kutcher will do what he does best: "Michael" from That 70's Show. Maybe he'll mix in a little Dude Where's My Car, but what can we really expect from the guy that reprised candid camera, and substituted his famous friends for non-famous people? It was a step down. If you make millions of dollars doing movies and you have the nerve to take yourself seriously, die. Picking on innocent people at the dry cleaners, thats comedy.
Natalie Portman will do what she does best: That vaguely aloof, detached girl who seems to process things on such a deep internal level that you wonder how she ever got a career acting. One can easily mistake any of her on screen emotions for constipation, confusion, or a combination of the two. We all knew that girl at one point in our lives. We called her shallow. Or cold. Or "hey, what's your name again?". Hollywood likes to glorify that type lately. Like the chick from those vampire films. She's neither attractive nor talented. As a good friend of mine once said "Have we run out of thin, pretty people???".
Another reason to ditch this film in favor of a cheap cigar or 6 pack of PBR, is that you can get what you want for a better price, oh ye seekers of side boob. If you want Natalie Portman T&A without having to suffer through another romantic comedy that will surely try to shove some vague moral lesson down your throat while it rides the vortex of flushing toilet water into a predictable ending, here are some suggestions:
Black Swan - apparently she gets it on. With herself. Awesome. MSNBC called it "self sex" in their review. Let's call it what it is: flipping the bean. That's right...masturbation.
The Darjeeling Limited - there is a short film affixed to the beginning of this really awesome flick. In it, you get to see her naked from behind. She's not my type, but it's a nice rear. And the movie is funny too. Unlike No Strings Attached, which will suck. I promise.
So if you do one thing this weekend, avoid this film.
Thanks for reading!
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