Saturday, December 05, 2009
If I Have PTSD, It's Not Because of My Time In Iraq ... #1
Okay, there is a good chance that I have PTSD.
The Army has done a good job of letting those of us that have gone "there" know what the warning signs are.
HOWEVER, given everything I have been told, it is, at worst, a fairly light case of it.
I can understand that.
There have, only, been three times in my life where I, TRULY, thought my life was in danger in a fight/at gunpoint situation ... and ALL OF THOSE happened WELL BEFORE I joined the Army ... in 1989.
Two of those times happened in the same night.
I'm not telling that story, now.
This is the story of the first time a man pointed a gun at me, and I thought I would be shot.
It was late 1983. I was a senior in high school. I lived in a town of about 3,000 people. My father was the manager of the local Wal-Mart. We lived about 10 miles outside of the town where his store was. ... and, yes, the directions to our house included the phrase "turn off the paved road".
I was very involved in the high school music program, band and choir. This was the most active time of the year for our school. I was going to school an hour, or so, early every day for rehearsals, and having night rehearsals almost every day. Besides the 30+ hours I was working at the local grocery store as a bag boy.
I'm not looking for sympathy, or anything. I'm just trying to tell you, that with an active social life, I was busy.
So, on one of those nights that I had gotten home from work at 10 PM, and had to leave for school at 5, my Mom wakes me up about 1 AM.
The alarm at my father's store (which is open from 9 AM to 9 PM) has gone off. The local police have checked out the store. There is no break in. They need Dad to go turn off the alarm.
Here, let's start a time line. At this point the alarm was set off, at least, 10 minutes earlier. (It was set off. The police had to realize it. Send a squad car. They had to check it out. They had to radio back in. The police station had to call my house. Someone had to wake up to answer the phone. Then, after that, Mom came and got me.)
So, I dressed, got in the car, and Dad, and I, started the 15 minute drive into town.
We get to the store, and walk into the foyer. At which point my Dad, almost, unlocks the door. He looks up, shoves me back out the foyer, and yells: "Get in the car!"
At this point, I know nothing other than Dad has seen evidence that the store has, actually, been broken into. I get in the car and we speed off to the police station.
We get to the police station, and go in. At this point, things get surreal. My Dad (the Vice President of the local Chamber of Commerce, the President of the local Kiwannis Club, and the head of the business that is the second largest employer of people in town) says to the desk Sergeant: "Wal-Mart has been broken in to!"
The desk sergeant replies: "We know, sir. We have checked it out. Everything is okay. We have called the manager, and he is coming to turn off the alarm."
My Dad replies: "No, you are wrong. I AM THE MANAGER, AND WAL-MART HAS BEEN BROKEN INTO!"
At this point, the police turn into the "Keystone Cops".
Now, keep in mind, for time line purposes, the alarm has been going off for about 45 minutes to an hour, now.
After calling in the ENTIRE Eldon, MO Police Department, the cops on duty give me and my Dad a police escort back to the store. We thunder into the parking lot. The police cars set up a perimeter around the store, and Dad parks out battleship grey, 1978 Mercury Marquis across the ramp leading into the store.
Quickpost this image to Myspace, Digg, Facebook, and others!
Dad leads a 4-man contingent of police into the store after telling me to stay in the car.
It is now, about 2:30 AM, and I have to be ready to leave my house for school at 5. I was awoken from a dead sleep for all of this. So, I lay, on my back, across the front seat of the car, with both windows open, hang my head out the window away from the store, and try to get some sleep.
I nod off, and wake up, in turn, as each off-duty member of the Eldon Police force makes his way into the store.
About 3 AM, the last member of the Eldon Police force, finally, shows up. I hear his car shut off, open my eyes, and watch, upside-down, as he walks up to the entrance of the store where my Dad's "landbarge" of a car and I are sitting.
He does a double-take when he sees my head hanging out of the window of the car. He charges up, pulls his service revolver, puts the muzzle of this .38 revolver about an inch from the spot directly between my eyes, and yells: "What are you doing here?"
Now, keep in mind, at this point, the alarm has been going off for about 2 hours, the robber had triggered the alarm exiting the building, AND EVERY OTHER member of the Eldon Police force had to walk by this car to get in the store.
I look him dead in the eye, upside down, and calmly say: "I am trying to get some sleep, because I have to be in a band rehearsal with your oldest daughter in about 3 hours."
At this point, he looks around a bit.
There are only two cars in town that looks like this: my Dad's, and the other belonged to one of his employees.
After a second, or two, he seemed to recognize the car, and me ... and, after a second or two more, he, finally, put his gun back in his holster, said something that to this day I don't remember, and ran into the store.
The reason I didn't hear and don't remember what the cop had to say was: it was at that moment I realized he was ready to put a bullet in my head from the time he pulled the gun. The only things that saved my life were my calm attitude, and glib answer.
Finally, Dad shut off the alarm (about 3 hours after it had been set off), and the police left the building. I had no problem staying awake to make sure Dad didn't doze off on the drive home.
I have no idea where the cop ended up that pointed the gun at my head. I know, however, that during most of the 90's he was Chief of Police for Eldon.
I do know, however, that there have only been two people that I have seen point a gun at me that I knew had intent to kill, and he is one of them. ... the other ... well, that is a story for another time.
The point is that it is good to be alive, especially, given the alternative.
The Army has done a good job of letting those of us that have gone "there" know what the warning signs are.
HOWEVER, given everything I have been told, it is, at worst, a fairly light case of it.
I can understand that.
There have, only, been three times in my life where I, TRULY, thought my life was in danger in a fight/at gunpoint situation ... and ALL OF THOSE happened WELL BEFORE I joined the Army ... in 1989.
Two of those times happened in the same night.
I'm not telling that story, now.
This is the story of the first time a man pointed a gun at me, and I thought I would be shot.
It was late 1983. I was a senior in high school. I lived in a town of about 3,000 people. My father was the manager of the local Wal-Mart. We lived about 10 miles outside of the town where his store was. ... and, yes, the directions to our house included the phrase "turn off the paved road".
I was very involved in the high school music program, band and choir. This was the most active time of the year for our school. I was going to school an hour, or so, early every day for rehearsals, and having night rehearsals almost every day. Besides the 30+ hours I was working at the local grocery store as a bag boy.
I'm not looking for sympathy, or anything. I'm just trying to tell you, that with an active social life, I was busy.
So, on one of those nights that I had gotten home from work at 10 PM, and had to leave for school at 5, my Mom wakes me up about 1 AM.
The alarm at my father's store (which is open from 9 AM to 9 PM) has gone off. The local police have checked out the store. There is no break in. They need Dad to go turn off the alarm.
Here, let's start a time line. At this point the alarm was set off, at least, 10 minutes earlier. (It was set off. The police had to realize it. Send a squad car. They had to check it out. They had to radio back in. The police station had to call my house. Someone had to wake up to answer the phone. Then, after that, Mom came and got me.)
So, I dressed, got in the car, and Dad, and I, started the 15 minute drive into town.
We get to the store, and walk into the foyer. At which point my Dad, almost, unlocks the door. He looks up, shoves me back out the foyer, and yells: "Get in the car!"
At this point, I know nothing other than Dad has seen evidence that the store has, actually, been broken into. I get in the car and we speed off to the police station.
We get to the police station, and go in. At this point, things get surreal. My Dad (the Vice President of the local Chamber of Commerce, the President of the local Kiwannis Club, and the head of the business that is the second largest employer of people in town) says to the desk Sergeant: "Wal-Mart has been broken in to!"
The desk sergeant replies: "We know, sir. We have checked it out. Everything is okay. We have called the manager, and he is coming to turn off the alarm."
My Dad replies: "No, you are wrong. I AM THE MANAGER, AND WAL-MART HAS BEEN BROKEN INTO!"
At this point, the police turn into the "Keystone Cops".
Now, keep in mind, for time line purposes, the alarm has been going off for about 45 minutes to an hour, now.
After calling in the ENTIRE Eldon, MO Police Department, the cops on duty give me and my Dad a police escort back to the store. We thunder into the parking lot. The police cars set up a perimeter around the store, and Dad parks out battleship grey, 1978 Mercury Marquis across the ramp leading into the store.
Quickpost this image to Myspace, Digg, Facebook, and others!Dad leads a 4-man contingent of police into the store after telling me to stay in the car.
It is now, about 2:30 AM, and I have to be ready to leave my house for school at 5. I was awoken from a dead sleep for all of this. So, I lay, on my back, across the front seat of the car, with both windows open, hang my head out the window away from the store, and try to get some sleep.
I nod off, and wake up, in turn, as each off-duty member of the Eldon Police force makes his way into the store.
About 3 AM, the last member of the Eldon Police force, finally, shows up. I hear his car shut off, open my eyes, and watch, upside-down, as he walks up to the entrance of the store where my Dad's "landbarge" of a car and I are sitting.
He does a double-take when he sees my head hanging out of the window of the car. He charges up, pulls his service revolver, puts the muzzle of this .38 revolver about an inch from the spot directly between my eyes, and yells: "What are you doing here?"
Now, keep in mind, at this point, the alarm has been going off for about 2 hours, the robber had triggered the alarm exiting the building, AND EVERY OTHER member of the Eldon Police force had to walk by this car to get in the store.
I look him dead in the eye, upside down, and calmly say: "I am trying to get some sleep, because I have to be in a band rehearsal with your oldest daughter in about 3 hours."
At this point, he looks around a bit.
There are only two cars in town that looks like this: my Dad's, and the other belonged to one of his employees.
After a second, or two, he seemed to recognize the car, and me ... and, after a second or two more, he, finally, put his gun back in his holster, said something that to this day I don't remember, and ran into the store.
The reason I didn't hear and don't remember what the cop had to say was: it was at that moment I realized he was ready to put a bullet in my head from the time he pulled the gun. The only things that saved my life were my calm attitude, and glib answer.
Finally, Dad shut off the alarm (about 3 hours after it had been set off), and the police left the building. I had no problem staying awake to make sure Dad didn't doze off on the drive home.
I have no idea where the cop ended up that pointed the gun at my head. I know, however, that during most of the 90's he was Chief of Police for Eldon.
I do know, however, that there have only been two people that I have seen point a gun at me that I knew had intent to kill, and he is one of them. ... the other ... well, that is a story for another time.
The point is that it is good to be alive, especially, given the alternative.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
"There is No More Hope"
according to my mother, circa 1981.
Let me tell you the story.
In October of 1980, my family moved from Broken Arrow, OK to Eldon, MO.
Actually, we moved to a 40 acre farm about 10 miles outside of Eldon. (Yes, directions to my house included the phrase "turn off the paved road".) The place included a cattle barn, a chicken pen, and a hog barn.
At this point, my father started collecting animals for my mother and I to take care of. He said that he was "hobby-farming". He was working 80-100 hours a week. So, he had a hobby, and mom and I were farming.
Among the various animals he collected were three sows that were, supposedly, already impregnated.
My mother named them: Faith, Hope and Charity.
My father's logic was that I would tend the sows, raise the piglets, and sell them to get the money for my first car.
After, approximately, 3 times the gestation period of a normal domesticated pig had passed, and no piglets had been born, my father had an epiphany: The sows had never been bred!
My father, then, made a decision. We would sell two of the sows, and have the third slaughtered.
Now, I could never tell the difference between any of the pigs. My mother, on the other hand, swore that she could. She maintained that Faith and Charity were the sows that we had sent to the sale barn.
A few days later, we went to the butcher and came back with a huge pile of packages wrapped in white butcher paper.
For weeks, we had chops, ham, bacon, sausage, and ribs.
Finally, one night, over a meal of pork chops, my mother pronounced: "There is no more Hope."
...
The worst part of it all is that, within a short time, the Robertson family had crapped away all Hope, for anyone, forever.
Let me tell you the story.
In October of 1980, my family moved from Broken Arrow, OK to Eldon, MO.
Actually, we moved to a 40 acre farm about 10 miles outside of Eldon. (Yes, directions to my house included the phrase "turn off the paved road".) The place included a cattle barn, a chicken pen, and a hog barn.
At this point, my father started collecting animals for my mother and I to take care of. He said that he was "hobby-farming". He was working 80-100 hours a week. So, he had a hobby, and mom and I were farming.
Among the various animals he collected were three sows that were, supposedly, already impregnated.
My mother named them: Faith, Hope and Charity.
My father's logic was that I would tend the sows, raise the piglets, and sell them to get the money for my first car.
After, approximately, 3 times the gestation period of a normal domesticated pig had passed, and no piglets had been born, my father had an epiphany: The sows had never been bred!
My father, then, made a decision. We would sell two of the sows, and have the third slaughtered.
Now, I could never tell the difference between any of the pigs. My mother, on the other hand, swore that she could. She maintained that Faith and Charity were the sows that we had sent to the sale barn.
A few days later, we went to the butcher and came back with a huge pile of packages wrapped in white butcher paper.
For weeks, we had chops, ham, bacon, sausage, and ribs.
Finally, one night, over a meal of pork chops, my mother pronounced: "There is no more Hope."
...
The worst part of it all is that, within a short time, the Robertson family had crapped away all Hope, for anyone, forever.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Interesting Stuff
I've been listening, for while now, about "Global Warming"/"Climate Change", the harm it will do our planet, and how we, mankind, in general, and us, the US, in particular are causing it.
Michael Crichton wrote the following in the prologue to the book, "Jurassic Park":
You think man can destroy the planet? What intoxicating vanity. Let me tell you about our planet. Earth is four-and-a-half-billion-years-old. There's been life on it for nearly that long, 3.8 billion years. Bacteria first; later the first multicellular life, then the first complex creatures in the sea, on the land. Then finally the great sweeping ages of animals, the amphibians, the dinosaurs, at last the mammals, each one enduring millions on millions of years, great dynasties of creatures rising, flourishing, dying away -- all this against a background of continuous and violent upheaval. Mountain ranges thrust up, eroded away, cometary impacts, volcano eruptions, oceans rising and falling, whole continents moving, an endless, constant, violent change, colliding, buckling to make mountains over millions of years. Earth has survived everything in its time.
It will certainly survive us. If all the nuclear weapons in the world went off at once and all the plants, all the animals died and the earth was sizzling hot for a hundred thousand years, life would survive, somewhere: under the soil, frozen in arctic ice. Sooner or later, when the planet was no longer inhospitable, life would spread again. The evolutionary process would begin again. Might take a few billion years for life to regain its present variety. Of course, it would be very different from what it is now, but the earth would survive our folly, only we would not. If the ozone layer gets thinner, ultraviolet radiation sears earth, so what? Ultraviolet radiation is good for life. It's powerful energy. It promotes mutation, change. Many forms of life will thrive with more UV radiation. Many others will die out. You think this is the first time that's happened? Think about oxygen. Necessary for life now, but oxygen is actually a metabolic poison, a corrosive glass, like fluorine.
When oxygen was first produced as a waste product by certain plant cells some three billion years ago, it created a crisis for all other life on earth. Those plants were polluting the environment, exhaling a lethal gas. Earth eventually had an atmosphere incompatible with life. Nevertheless, life on earth took care of itself. In the thinking of the human being a hundred years is a long time. Hundred years ago we didn't have cars, airplanes, computers or vaccines. It was a whole different world, but to the earth, a hundred years is nothing. A million years is nothing. This planet lives and breathes on a much vaster scale. We can't imagine its slow and powerful rhythms, and we haven't got the humility to try. We've been residents here for the blink of an eye. If we're gone tomorrow, the earth will not miss us.
Think about it.
According to the geological record, climate change is normal. The way things are supposed to be.
Climate staying as it is for any protracted period of time, geologically speaking, is an aberration.
According to recent geological history, we are due for another Ice Age ... meaning in about 1,000 years, or so.
I remember something I heard once. I am sure I will not get the quote exactly right, so, let me paraphrase:
We have a word for when things stop changing: death.
Michael Crichton wrote the following in the prologue to the book, "Jurassic Park":
You think man can destroy the planet? What intoxicating vanity. Let me tell you about our planet. Earth is four-and-a-half-billion-years-old. There's been life on it for nearly that long, 3.8 billion years. Bacteria first; later the first multicellular life, then the first complex creatures in the sea, on the land. Then finally the great sweeping ages of animals, the amphibians, the dinosaurs, at last the mammals, each one enduring millions on millions of years, great dynasties of creatures rising, flourishing, dying away -- all this against a background of continuous and violent upheaval. Mountain ranges thrust up, eroded away, cometary impacts, volcano eruptions, oceans rising and falling, whole continents moving, an endless, constant, violent change, colliding, buckling to make mountains over millions of years. Earth has survived everything in its time.
It will certainly survive us. If all the nuclear weapons in the world went off at once and all the plants, all the animals died and the earth was sizzling hot for a hundred thousand years, life would survive, somewhere: under the soil, frozen in arctic ice. Sooner or later, when the planet was no longer inhospitable, life would spread again. The evolutionary process would begin again. Might take a few billion years for life to regain its present variety. Of course, it would be very different from what it is now, but the earth would survive our folly, only we would not. If the ozone layer gets thinner, ultraviolet radiation sears earth, so what? Ultraviolet radiation is good for life. It's powerful energy. It promotes mutation, change. Many forms of life will thrive with more UV radiation. Many others will die out. You think this is the first time that's happened? Think about oxygen. Necessary for life now, but oxygen is actually a metabolic poison, a corrosive glass, like fluorine.
When oxygen was first produced as a waste product by certain plant cells some three billion years ago, it created a crisis for all other life on earth. Those plants were polluting the environment, exhaling a lethal gas. Earth eventually had an atmosphere incompatible with life. Nevertheless, life on earth took care of itself. In the thinking of the human being a hundred years is a long time. Hundred years ago we didn't have cars, airplanes, computers or vaccines. It was a whole different world, but to the earth, a hundred years is nothing. A million years is nothing. This planet lives and breathes on a much vaster scale. We can't imagine its slow and powerful rhythms, and we haven't got the humility to try. We've been residents here for the blink of an eye. If we're gone tomorrow, the earth will not miss us.
Think about it.
According to the geological record, climate change is normal. The way things are supposed to be.
Climate staying as it is for any protracted period of time, geologically speaking, is an aberration.
According to recent geological history, we are due for another Ice Age ... meaning in about 1,000 years, or so.
I remember something I heard once. I am sure I will not get the quote exactly right, so, let me paraphrase:
We have a word for when things stop changing: death.
Monday, November 09, 2009
Domestic Violence Goes Both Ways
I just watched "Private Sessions" with Martina McBride. There was an involved conversation about her song "Independence Day" that is about domestic violence.
The conversation brought up a memory that had not come up in a while.
When I was stationed in Panama, I was in charge of a soldier, let's call him "Roger". (For the record, to the best of my recollection, I have never been stationed anywhere with a person named Roger.")
Also, keep in mind that I was in Panama from 1995-1998. The events I am about to relate happened in 1997. President Clinton was in his second term. OJ was old news. The internet had, finally, made it to Panama. Hezbollah had bombed the Khobar Towers the year before.
"Roger" was about 6' tall, and about 190 lbs., a former high school football player. He was married to this little Venzuelan girl that was about 5' nothing. Not only short, but she could have been a model. So, she she weighed next to nothing.
Not too long after they were married and moved into housing on post, "Roger" started showing up to work with "muscle soreness" that our Physical Training sessions couldn't explain.
Then, there was the mysterious intruder on his patio with a machete that he fended off. He showed me the cut on the lower end of his deltoid, supposedly, from the fight.
I knew of some troubles that the couple were having. "Roger" told me that they were going into counseling with a Catholic chaplain. (They were, both, Catholic.)
Then, my commander and First Sergeant were asked to sit in on a counseling session, by the chaplain. In that session, the spouse, the little slip of a girl, came out and said, blatantly, that the way she worked out her stress in life was to beat the crap out of "Roger" whenever she felt like it.
The commander's answer was: " Sergeant 'Smith', you need to work harder on your relationship with your wife."
The First Sergeant's answer was that the soldier (not the spouse) needed to come to church with him (a Protestant), and quit going to Mass.
When I talked to my soldier, he responded: "What can I do?" ... and he broke it down into every possible scenario:
a) He takes her beating, and calls the MP's. Once upon arriving on the scene, the MP's would laugh and leave. The incident get reported to the chain of command, and he, either, becomes a laughingstock at work, or an unconfirmed "wife beater" to his coworkers and chain of command.
b) He defends himself, without hitting her. Just blocking the blows, and trying to stop her. She or the neighbors call the MP's. The MP's take a look at him and her. Draw their own conclusions, he goes to jail, and his career is over.
c) He hits back. She or the neighbors call the MP's. They take him to jail, and his career is over.
d) He takes it, and tries to keep it as quiet as possible. No MP's are involved. He keeps his reputation, and his career.
So, "Roger" chose "d". He didn't have any other choice. And when his chain of command should have backed him up, they blamed him for the problem.
After all, guys abuse women. Not the other way around. No matter what kind of edged weapon the woman has.
Right?
The conversation brought up a memory that had not come up in a while.
When I was stationed in Panama, I was in charge of a soldier, let's call him "Roger". (For the record, to the best of my recollection, I have never been stationed anywhere with a person named Roger.")
Also, keep in mind that I was in Panama from 1995-1998. The events I am about to relate happened in 1997. President Clinton was in his second term. OJ was old news. The internet had, finally, made it to Panama. Hezbollah had bombed the Khobar Towers the year before.
"Roger" was about 6' tall, and about 190 lbs., a former high school football player. He was married to this little Venzuelan girl that was about 5' nothing. Not only short, but she could have been a model. So, she she weighed next to nothing.
Not too long after they were married and moved into housing on post, "Roger" started showing up to work with "muscle soreness" that our Physical Training sessions couldn't explain.
Then, there was the mysterious intruder on his patio with a machete that he fended off. He showed me the cut on the lower end of his deltoid, supposedly, from the fight.
I knew of some troubles that the couple were having. "Roger" told me that they were going into counseling with a Catholic chaplain. (They were, both, Catholic.)
Then, my commander and First Sergeant were asked to sit in on a counseling session, by the chaplain. In that session, the spouse, the little slip of a girl, came out and said, blatantly, that the way she worked out her stress in life was to beat the crap out of "Roger" whenever she felt like it.
The commander's answer was: " Sergeant 'Smith', you need to work harder on your relationship with your wife."
The First Sergeant's answer was that the soldier (not the spouse) needed to come to church with him (a Protestant), and quit going to Mass.
When I talked to my soldier, he responded: "What can I do?" ... and he broke it down into every possible scenario:
a) He takes her beating, and calls the MP's. Once upon arriving on the scene, the MP's would laugh and leave. The incident get reported to the chain of command, and he, either, becomes a laughingstock at work, or an unconfirmed "wife beater" to his coworkers and chain of command.
b) He defends himself, without hitting her. Just blocking the blows, and trying to stop her. She or the neighbors call the MP's. The MP's take a look at him and her. Draw their own conclusions, he goes to jail, and his career is over.
c) He hits back. She or the neighbors call the MP's. They take him to jail, and his career is over.
d) He takes it, and tries to keep it as quiet as possible. No MP's are involved. He keeps his reputation, and his career.
So, "Roger" chose "d". He didn't have any other choice. And when his chain of command should have backed him up, they blamed him for the problem.
After all, guys abuse women. Not the other way around. No matter what kind of edged weapon the woman has.
Right?
Friday, August 28, 2009
Observations from a Baseball Game
It's been a busy week. I haven't been able to watch much baseball, and two of my favorite teams (the Texas Rangers and the St. Louis Cardinals) are in the running for spots in the playoffs. ... and I have DVR. So, I have most of their games from this week on my DVR.
I'm watching Tuesday night's Rangers-Yankees game in New York, tonight.
I thought I would share some of the things I have noticed, as the game goes along.
*****
In the top of the first, Rangers up to bat, Josh Hamilton comes up to bat. Josh came in second during last year's Home Run Derby, in New York. It was awesome.
So, the commentator starts talking about that, while Josh is at the plate.
He says: "Since that performance during last year's Home Run Derby, it's been 13 months, for Josh."
My immediate reaction was that it has been 13 months for the rest of us, as well.
*****
In the bottom of the first, the Yankees score 4 runs. In the top of the second, the Rangers score two. Making it 2-4 Yankees.
The cameras show a close up of the Ranger's manager, Ron Washington. Ron, normally, doesn't exactly have a sunny disposition.
So, I am looking at the TV screen, and think: "Ron looks like he is so mad, he could spit."
Well, it turns out that Ron was working a mouthful of sunflower seeds at the time, and, as I finished that thought, he did, indeed, spit.
*****
So, the top of the fourth is over. The Rangers, now, lead 7-4. It looks like it is going to be an EXCELLENT night.
Which deserves some explanation.
I "follow" 6 teams: Both Missouri teams (Kansas City, and St. Louis), the two Texas teams (Texas and Houston), and the two teams that the minor league team in El Paso fed into when I lived there (Milwaukee and Arizona). I won't say I am a fan, because my relationship with several of these is more of a sado-masochistic nature. ... they just treat me wrong.
The other important fact is ... how to explain it?
Well, take how most people view the Dallas Cowboys in the NFL. Most people that I have known either LOVE the Cowboys with an, almost, irrational passion ... or they hate the Cowboys the same way.
For a lot of die hard baseball fans, we fall into similar categories regarding the Yankees.
So, for me, all of "my teams" could have the worst single day in the history of their clubs, simultaneously, BUT, IF the Yankees lose, it's still a good baseball day.
Don't get me wrong.
I wouldn't go as far as the character "Joe" in the musical "Damn Yankees", but I can relate to his feelings.
So, it looks like one of "my teams" ... one of my favorites, in fact, is going to beat the ... Yankees.
I am proud of myself. I'm getting to the point where I can control the urge to use the "D" word when I refer to ... that team.
*****
So, pitching, in this game for ... that team the Rangers are playing ... is a guy named Joba Chamberlain.
Now for a long time, I had only read this pitchers name. I figured it was some variant of the name of the Biblical figure "Job", and I thought that was pretty cool.
I was wrong, on both counts: pronunciation and derivation.
Here is the story of the derivation of the name, according to Wikipedia:
When Joba (then Justin) was a little boy, his two-year-old cousin was unable to pronounce her brother (Joba's other cousin) Joshua's name correctly, pronouncing it as Joba instead. Harlan Chamberlain heard this and liked the nickname, so he began referring to Justin (instead of cousin Joshua) as Joba. Harlan said the name was "dynamic." Joba agreed, and eventually had his name legally changed.
So, my first instinct, upon hearing the actual pronunciation of this guy's name is to refer to him as "the Hut". Daddy, apparently, had never seen Star Wars.
*****
If Derek Jeter wasn't a Yankee, he would be one of my all-time favorite baseball players.
*****
My DVR stopped in the bottom of the 7th. However, the Rangers (I found out from other sources) won 10-9.
It was a good night.
I'm watching Tuesday night's Rangers-Yankees game in New York, tonight.
I thought I would share some of the things I have noticed, as the game goes along.
*****
In the top of the first, Rangers up to bat, Josh Hamilton comes up to bat. Josh came in second during last year's Home Run Derby, in New York. It was awesome.
So, the commentator starts talking about that, while Josh is at the plate.
He says: "Since that performance during last year's Home Run Derby, it's been 13 months, for Josh."
My immediate reaction was that it has been 13 months for the rest of us, as well.
*****
In the bottom of the first, the Yankees score 4 runs. In the top of the second, the Rangers score two. Making it 2-4 Yankees.
The cameras show a close up of the Ranger's manager, Ron Washington. Ron, normally, doesn't exactly have a sunny disposition.
So, I am looking at the TV screen, and think: "Ron looks like he is so mad, he could spit."
Well, it turns out that Ron was working a mouthful of sunflower seeds at the time, and, as I finished that thought, he did, indeed, spit.
*****
So, the top of the fourth is over. The Rangers, now, lead 7-4. It looks like it is going to be an EXCELLENT night.
Which deserves some explanation.
I "follow" 6 teams: Both Missouri teams (Kansas City, and St. Louis), the two Texas teams (Texas and Houston), and the two teams that the minor league team in El Paso fed into when I lived there (Milwaukee and Arizona). I won't say I am a fan, because my relationship with several of these is more of a sado-masochistic nature. ... they just treat me wrong.
The other important fact is ... how to explain it?
Well, take how most people view the Dallas Cowboys in the NFL. Most people that I have known either LOVE the Cowboys with an, almost, irrational passion ... or they hate the Cowboys the same way.
For a lot of die hard baseball fans, we fall into similar categories regarding the Yankees.
So, for me, all of "my teams" could have the worst single day in the history of their clubs, simultaneously, BUT, IF the Yankees lose, it's still a good baseball day.
Don't get me wrong.
I wouldn't go as far as the character "Joe" in the musical "Damn Yankees", but I can relate to his feelings.
So, it looks like one of "my teams" ... one of my favorites, in fact, is going to beat the ... Yankees.
I am proud of myself. I'm getting to the point where I can control the urge to use the "D" word when I refer to ... that team.
*****
So, pitching, in this game for ... that team the Rangers are playing ... is a guy named Joba Chamberlain.
Now for a long time, I had only read this pitchers name. I figured it was some variant of the name of the Biblical figure "Job", and I thought that was pretty cool.
I was wrong, on both counts: pronunciation and derivation.
Here is the story of the derivation of the name, according to Wikipedia:
When Joba (then Justin) was a little boy, his two-year-old cousin was unable to pronounce her brother (Joba's other cousin) Joshua's name correctly, pronouncing it as Joba instead. Harlan Chamberlain heard this and liked the nickname, so he began referring to Justin (instead of cousin Joshua) as Joba. Harlan said the name was "dynamic." Joba agreed, and eventually had his name legally changed.
So, my first instinct, upon hearing the actual pronunciation of this guy's name is to refer to him as "the Hut". Daddy, apparently, had never seen Star Wars.
*****
If Derek Jeter wasn't a Yankee, he would be one of my all-time favorite baseball players.
*****
My DVR stopped in the bottom of the 7th. However, the Rangers (I found out from other sources) won 10-9.
It was a good night.
Labels: baseball, Damn Yankees, Home Run Derby, Jabba the Hut, Joba Chamberlain, Josh Ramilton, New York Yankees, Ron Washington, Texas Rangers
Monday, July 06, 2009
Vote Early, Vote Often!
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Cognitive Dissonance II
My second favorite cognitive dissonance story ever goes something like this (forgive me if I embellish, I heard the story second hand. I am sure I will be corrected as both of the people involved are friends of mine):
It's the mid-80's. Two young men are about to be the male leads in a high school play. One, a junior, is the star of his high school's drama department. The other is a talented freshman. He will, eventually, become the star of the department. This is his first production.
The freshman had been brilliant in rehearsal. The junior notices, as the show is about to open, the freshman is having terrible stage fright. The show opens and the freshman is horrible. His nerves completely debilitated him.
After the show, the junior pulls the freshman aside. He tells the freshman something along these lines:
I noticed that you had some stage fright problems tonight. I want to share with you this old, and honored technique to deal with stage fright. It's a classic technique used by many great actors throughout the years.
I want you to go out and buy the nicest crystal wine glass you can find. It has to be crystal.
Bring it to the theater.
As part of your show prep, you have to fill the glass with water. Stare at the glass of water. Make your mind as clear as the water. Become the water.
Once you are the water. Once your mind is that clear. Drink the water.
The freshman does this for the next show, and the subsequent run of the show. His stage fright disappears. He is brilliant on stage and steals the show.
At the end of the run, the freshman thanks the junior for the help, and for showing him this great acting technique.
At this point, the junior comes clean. He tells the freshman that he had made it all up. He was just trying to get the freshman out of his head.
The kicker for this is that the junior was my closest friend my senior year in high school, Byron ... who was, not much later, a groomsman in my wedding.
The freshman was my little brother, Craig.
It's the mid-80's. Two young men are about to be the male leads in a high school play. One, a junior, is the star of his high school's drama department. The other is a talented freshman. He will, eventually, become the star of the department. This is his first production.
The freshman had been brilliant in rehearsal. The junior notices, as the show is about to open, the freshman is having terrible stage fright. The show opens and the freshman is horrible. His nerves completely debilitated him.
After the show, the junior pulls the freshman aside. He tells the freshman something along these lines:
I noticed that you had some stage fright problems tonight. I want to share with you this old, and honored technique to deal with stage fright. It's a classic technique used by many great actors throughout the years.
I want you to go out and buy the nicest crystal wine glass you can find. It has to be crystal.
Bring it to the theater.
As part of your show prep, you have to fill the glass with water. Stare at the glass of water. Make your mind as clear as the water. Become the water.
Once you are the water. Once your mind is that clear. Drink the water.
The freshman does this for the next show, and the subsequent run of the show. His stage fright disappears. He is brilliant on stage and steals the show.
At the end of the run, the freshman thanks the junior for the help, and for showing him this great acting technique.
At this point, the junior comes clean. He tells the freshman that he had made it all up. He was just trying to get the freshman out of his head.
The kicker for this is that the junior was my closest friend my senior year in high school, Byron ... who was, not much later, a groomsman in my wedding.
The freshman was my little brother, Craig.
Labels: cognitive dissonance
