I don't know about you but I enjoy following The Olympics, always have. I like watching the various events and learning little bits and pieces about the athletes. You can depend upon the networks to do a couple of profiles that are really interesting.
And you can also depend upon the networks to do something really dumb. In their infinite wisdom they'll hit a bulls eye in the boneheaded move category.
This year NBC has repeated some of the mistakes of the past. There is one in particular that chaps my hide. The suits have this nasty habit of showing events hours after the results have been posted on the Net. Look, I understand that Bejing is 15 hours ahead and that they are trying to do the best they can to help sell advertising by trying to push games into primetime.
That was fine when you hadn't any access to the Net. When the best you could do was a string a couple of tomato cans together no one knew what was going on across the world and you could get away with tape delay.
But those monkeys don't seem to care that there are millions of people who enjoy watching the events live. I want to savor the excitement of watching Michael Phelps race without knowing in advance that he is going to crush the competition. I want to wonder what is going to happen in gymnastics and ponder the possibilities.
Too bad for Old Jack. NBC doesn't give a rat's ass about that. They'll show us Wednesday's events on Thursday and then follow up by showing Thursday on Friday. A perverse Groundhog Day cycle.
Thanks for nothing NBC.
I Want To Die
It was more than a little shocking to hear those words spoken aloud.
"I want to die."
The pregnant pause afterwards confirmed that they were completely flabbergasted. No one had expected to hear that and the lack of protestation confirmed that they didn't believe in the speaker's sincerity.
Because you know that if they had taken it seriously there would have been an immediate response, they would have followed up on it, tried to ascertain what the problem was and how they could help.
At least that seems to be the obvious expectation, friends don't sit there while you declare your readiness to end your corporeal existance. And if they do, well either you are a drama queen or you need to get new friends.
A cry for help is a cry for help. Silence is not the answer, but then again maybe it is. Afterall they say that people who are truly intent on committing suicide don't really spell it out, they do it. They act upon their desires.
And the desire to kill oneself can be far more powerful than anyone cares to admit or believe. When you don't have a concrete reason to believe that there is anything after this it makes it much easier to see death as being a respite from the pain, a well earned vacation.
"I want to die."
It is one thing to think it, but once you verbalize it, actually speak the words it takes on new meaning. It becomes more real and you find yourself considering the various methods you can use to commit the deed.
Having a morbid sense of humor it is easy to see what the police would call it:
Homocide against yourself
C'mon now, you know that it is worth a chuckle. Ok, maybe not, but life is lacking, you're not exactly burning up the fun meter. Sadness, depression, frustration and anger are different, you own those feelings, you just know that somewhere there is a dictionary with your picture in it.
For a time there are the thoughts about what your loss would do to the family and the world. Suicide may not be as painless as advertised. You think about how the wife and kids will fare and wonder if your parents will feel responsible. It is almost enough to keep you from trying to pull the trigger. It is almost enough to prevent you from making that first cut, but the blistering pain and the empty, hollow feeling push those thoughts out of your head.
Now all you really want to do is find an escape from the madness. It doesn't matter whether you are truly mentally ill or something else. The pain and misery make you spend much of the day doubled over, wishing you were comatose.
The light of the sun isn't a pleasure, it is torture. Laughter and smiles from others torture your soul further. Your anger is fueled by seeing how others are happy and knowing that you can't share in their happiness.
So the moment comes when you start to entertain the idea of letting go. You play around with ways and means, consider what your note will say, if anything. You can't really explain it, so you don't bother to do much.
A simple note that says "Elvis has left the building" will suffice. Or maybe it should read "will the last person to leave remember to turn out the lights."
End of story, fade to black and utter silence.
"I want to die."
The pregnant pause afterwards confirmed that they were completely flabbergasted. No one had expected to hear that and the lack of protestation confirmed that they didn't believe in the speaker's sincerity.
Because you know that if they had taken it seriously there would have been an immediate response, they would have followed up on it, tried to ascertain what the problem was and how they could help.
At least that seems to be the obvious expectation, friends don't sit there while you declare your readiness to end your corporeal existance. And if they do, well either you are a drama queen or you need to get new friends.
A cry for help is a cry for help. Silence is not the answer, but then again maybe it is. Afterall they say that people who are truly intent on committing suicide don't really spell it out, they do it. They act upon their desires.
And the desire to kill oneself can be far more powerful than anyone cares to admit or believe. When you don't have a concrete reason to believe that there is anything after this it makes it much easier to see death as being a respite from the pain, a well earned vacation.
"I want to die."
It is one thing to think it, but once you verbalize it, actually speak the words it takes on new meaning. It becomes more real and you find yourself considering the various methods you can use to commit the deed.
Having a morbid sense of humor it is easy to see what the police would call it:
Homocide against yourself
C'mon now, you know that it is worth a chuckle. Ok, maybe not, but life is lacking, you're not exactly burning up the fun meter. Sadness, depression, frustration and anger are different, you own those feelings, you just know that somewhere there is a dictionary with your picture in it.
For a time there are the thoughts about what your loss would do to the family and the world. Suicide may not be as painless as advertised. You think about how the wife and kids will fare and wonder if your parents will feel responsible. It is almost enough to keep you from trying to pull the trigger. It is almost enough to prevent you from making that first cut, but the blistering pain and the empty, hollow feeling push those thoughts out of your head.
Now all you really want to do is find an escape from the madness. It doesn't matter whether you are truly mentally ill or something else. The pain and misery make you spend much of the day doubled over, wishing you were comatose.
The light of the sun isn't a pleasure, it is torture. Laughter and smiles from others torture your soul further. Your anger is fueled by seeing how others are happy and knowing that you can't share in their happiness.
So the moment comes when you start to entertain the idea of letting go. You play around with ways and means, consider what your note will say, if anything. You can't really explain it, so you don't bother to do much.
A simple note that says "Elvis has left the building" will suffice. Or maybe it should read "will the last person to leave remember to turn out the lights."
End of story, fade to black and utter silence.
Sex And Blogging- My 'R' Rated Post Woohoo
This is a recycled post from here, but it is still applicable
You know I really shouldn't be surprised at the number of blog entries throughout this vast blogosphere that are about sex. There are literally thousands upon thousands in which people describe their conquests, fantasies, fears and illusions.
Now maybe I am becoming a cranky old man, I do aspire to be the neighborhood curmudgeon, but I have a couple of random questions/statements to make.
In my travels throughout cyberspace I have stumbled across a number of blogs in which the authors are not just talking about sex, but bragging about their skills. I find that kind of funny for a number of reasons.
Because the reality is that even though people are sexual beings there are all sorts of factors that go into good sex and what feels good to one person may not translate to another.
If we are going to share this kind of intimate detail about ourselves it might actually be more interesting and more fun to read about the bad experiences than the good ones.
You know I really shouldn't be surprised at the number of blog entries throughout this vast blogosphere that are about sex. There are literally thousands upon thousands in which people describe their conquests, fantasies, fears and illusions.
Now maybe I am becoming a cranky old man, I do aspire to be the neighborhood curmudgeon, but I have a couple of random questions/statements to make.
In my travels throughout cyberspace I have stumbled across a number of blogs in which the authors are not just talking about sex, but bragging about their skills. I find that kind of funny for a number of reasons.
- Back in the day when I was a wee lad you never heard women speak about sex, at least not in my neighborhood. It wasn't until college that I heard women speak about what they really wanted and it was real eye opener for me.
- I laugh at the number of female bloggers who brag about their oral sex ability. The posts that I have seen always include a hearty promotion of their ability at giving it as if no one else was capable of being so skillful.
- Many of the men write about being such amazing lovers that they were literally beating the women off with sticks.
Because the reality is that even though people are sexual beings there are all sorts of factors that go into good sex and what feels good to one person may not translate to another.
If we are going to share this kind of intimate detail about ourselves it might actually be more interesting and more fun to read about the bad experiences than the good ones.
Name A Song That Makes You Cry
It is the return of Name a Song That Makes You Cry. One year later I am curious to see if you have new songs to add to the list. Here is what we came up with last year.
One more thing, I haven't totally vetted the videos, I really just tried to make sure that the song was being played in it.
More to come:
Everybody Hurts by REM
Goodbye My Lover by James Blunt
Visions of Paradise- Mick Jagger
Shostakovich's 5th Symphony
Stars and Stripes Forever
Where Were You When The World Stopped Turning-Alan Jackson
This One's For You-Barry Manilow
The Partisan -Leonard Cohen
The Circle Game- Joni Mitchell
Skin- Rascal Flatts
Schindler's List Theme-John Williams
Ordinary Miracles - Amy Sky
Dante's Prayer-Loreena McKennitt
Same Old Lang Syne-Dan Fogelberg
Father of Mine- Everclear
Hatikva
Cool, Cool River -Paul Simon
Cat's In The Cradle -Harry Chapin
My Little Town -Paul Simon
At Seventeen- Janice Ian
Roll Me Away-Bob Seger
Carmina Burana-Carl Orff
Heroes- David Bowie
Malibu- Hole
Say Yes- Elliott Smith
Whiskey Lullaby- Braid Paisley and Allison Kraus
The Living Years- Mike and The Mechanics
Brokedown Palace-The Grateful Dead
Where've You Been- Kathy Mattea
Alone again naturally - Gilbert O'Sullivan
The lady of Shalott -Loreena McKennitt
Mansions of the Lord- West Point Glee Club
Madame Butterfly "Tu, Tu, Piccolo Iddio!- Maria Callas
My Yiddishe Mama-Yosef Rosenblatt
Father of Girls- Perry Como
For Good- Wicked
Even Now- Barry Manilow
Vanishing- Mariah Carey
Lullaby-Billy Joel
When a Man Loves a Woman- Percy Sledge
Good Riddance (Time of your Life)- Green Day
Boulevard of Broken Dreams- Green Day
What hurts the most - Rascal Flatts
Love without End Amen- George Strait
Hold me now- Johnny Logan
We've got tonight- Bob Seger
One more thing, I haven't totally vetted the videos, I really just tried to make sure that the song was being played in it.
More to come:
Everybody Hurts by REM
Goodbye My Lover by James Blunt
Visions of Paradise- Mick Jagger
Shostakovich's 5th Symphony
Stars and Stripes Forever
Where Were You When The World Stopped Turning-Alan Jackson
This One's For You-Barry Manilow
The Partisan -Leonard Cohen
The Circle Game- Joni Mitchell
Skin- Rascal Flatts
Schindler's List Theme-John Williams
Ordinary Miracles - Amy Sky
Dante's Prayer-Loreena McKennitt
Same Old Lang Syne-Dan Fogelberg
Father of Mine- Everclear
Hatikva
Cool, Cool River -Paul Simon
Cat's In The Cradle -Harry Chapin
My Little Town -Paul Simon
At Seventeen- Janice Ian
Roll Me Away-Bob Seger
Carmina Burana-Carl Orff
Heroes- David Bowie
Malibu- Hole
Say Yes- Elliott Smith
Whiskey Lullaby- Braid Paisley and Allison Kraus
The Living Years- Mike and The Mechanics
Brokedown Palace-The Grateful Dead
Where've You Been- Kathy Mattea
Alone again naturally - Gilbert O'Sullivan
The lady of Shalott -Loreena McKennitt
Mansions of the Lord- West Point Glee Club
Madame Butterfly "Tu, Tu, Piccolo Iddio!- Maria Callas
My Yiddishe Mama-Yosef Rosenblatt
Father of Girls- Perry Como
For Good- Wicked
Even Now- Barry Manilow
Vanishing- Mariah Carey
Lullaby-Billy Joel
When a Man Loves a Woman- Percy Sledge
Good Riddance (Time of your Life)- Green Day
Boulevard of Broken Dreams- Green Day
What hurts the most - Rascal Flatts
Love without End Amen- George Strait
Hold me now- Johnny Logan
We've got tonight- Bob Seger
Dad Did It Better
This past weekend I went to a barbecue and hung out with a bunch of old friends. It was nice to catch up with everyone. We had a good time telling old stories for the 1,209,092 time and spent a lot of time laughing at the silly things we used to do.
For the most part we did a good job of avoiding the dreaded adult talk but in the end it came about. The conversation covered our jobs/businesses, investments, houses, insurance of all types, politics, The Olympics and a smattering of plain old sports. Not to mention the children, boy did we talk about the kids.
Midway through the afternoon one of the guys pulled me aside to ask me for some advice about his son. He is all of three and is quite the precocious child. I listened to my friend relate his concerns about whether his child was normal and how he had picked me because I have been married and a father much longer than he has.
I laughed when he said that. I am at 12.5 years of marriage and almost 8 years of playing dad. When I laughed he looked hurt and asked why I was laughing. I told him that I wasn't laughing about his child, just kind of chuckling about a conversation we once had many years ago.
You see the last time he asked me for advice it was in reference to an old girlfriend. She wasn't taking care of his "oral needs" and so he asked me for some help. One of these days I'll have to blog about that, but today isn't the day.
Anyhoo, in the midst of this discussion he asked "do you ever feel like your parents were better at this than you are?"
I smiled and said "everyday."
Intellectually I know that my parents felt a tremendous amount of stress and pressure. I have heard stories and exchanged a few tales with my father about this. But, when I think about it I remember very few moments where I knew that they were worried about "major" things.
The image I have in my head is of parents who were rocks, you couldn't shake 'em up. They handled whatever life threw at them, just chewed it up and spit it out.
It seems quite different from my own experience. It is not that I spend all day worrying about life, or concerned that I am a bad father. I don't. I do alright, but compared to my parents I think that I fall short.
Now maybe that is just the star crossed eyes of their son speaking, but it is hard not to view them as being better at the parenting thing than I am.
Apparently this is more common than I thought because my friend smiled and told me that he had the same feelings.
We spent a few more minutes talking about it all and came to an agreement that successful parenting requires acting skills. How many times do you find yourself fighting to maintain a poker face or struggling to deliver the perfect line. Except in this business there are no Oscars.
There is no adoring public, papparazzi or personal assistant to help give you an inflated view of yourself. There is just your family, which really isn't such a bad thing.
In the end you do the best you can not to screw up your kids too badly and hope that one day they'll tell a friend that "dad did it better."
For the most part we did a good job of avoiding the dreaded adult talk but in the end it came about. The conversation covered our jobs/businesses, investments, houses, insurance of all types, politics, The Olympics and a smattering of plain old sports. Not to mention the children, boy did we talk about the kids.
Midway through the afternoon one of the guys pulled me aside to ask me for some advice about his son. He is all of three and is quite the precocious child. I listened to my friend relate his concerns about whether his child was normal and how he had picked me because I have been married and a father much longer than he has.
I laughed when he said that. I am at 12.5 years of marriage and almost 8 years of playing dad. When I laughed he looked hurt and asked why I was laughing. I told him that I wasn't laughing about his child, just kind of chuckling about a conversation we once had many years ago.
You see the last time he asked me for advice it was in reference to an old girlfriend. She wasn't taking care of his "oral needs" and so he asked me for some help. One of these days I'll have to blog about that, but today isn't the day.
Anyhoo, in the midst of this discussion he asked "do you ever feel like your parents were better at this than you are?"
I smiled and said "everyday."
Intellectually I know that my parents felt a tremendous amount of stress and pressure. I have heard stories and exchanged a few tales with my father about this. But, when I think about it I remember very few moments where I knew that they were worried about "major" things.
The image I have in my head is of parents who were rocks, you couldn't shake 'em up. They handled whatever life threw at them, just chewed it up and spit it out.
It seems quite different from my own experience. It is not that I spend all day worrying about life, or concerned that I am a bad father. I don't. I do alright, but compared to my parents I think that I fall short.
Now maybe that is just the star crossed eyes of their son speaking, but it is hard not to view them as being better at the parenting thing than I am.
Apparently this is more common than I thought because my friend smiled and told me that he had the same feelings.
We spent a few more minutes talking about it all and came to an agreement that successful parenting requires acting skills. How many times do you find yourself fighting to maintain a poker face or struggling to deliver the perfect line. Except in this business there are no Oscars.
There is no adoring public, papparazzi or personal assistant to help give you an inflated view of yourself. There is just your family, which really isn't such a bad thing.
In the end you do the best you can not to screw up your kids too badly and hope that one day they'll tell a friend that "dad did it better."
Crazy Brits- Shin Kicking Contest
I included the description below the video.
British Shin Kicking Championship video from http://www.soglos.com./ The British Shin Kicking Championships
take place every year in Gloucestershire as part of the Cotswold Olimpick Games.
Competitors stuff their trousers with straw to protect their shins - which
receive a hard battering from opponents whose aim is to unstable their rival
before throwing them to the ground. Thousands turn up to watch the competitive
and brutal sport - while many a brave shin kicker can be seen limping away,
covered in mud. The 2008 winner, Steve 'The Bulldog', can be seen at the end of
the video being lifted by supporters, after a gruelling evening of knocking out
several components. Find out more about the Cotswold Olimpick Games on http://www.soglos.com./
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