Here's what gets me.
Sometimes you might think all the world's problems can be solved by looking in your newspaper.
For example, once I was looking for the starting time of a movie when I stumbled across a story that said running beats swimming for weight loss. This came as both a head-whacker and a "Duh-h-h," because I remember back in the Embarrassing Sixties when the prevailing exercise advice was swimming and isometric exercises.
Swimming was best (so the theory went), because you are exercising all your muscles. Isometric exercises (where you just flex a few muscles against an immovable or counter-directional object) were good, because you could exercise specific muscles and not require a large area, such as a gymnasium.
As far as I know, no one ever recommended isometric swimming, probably because you can drown while forcing your arms or legs against the bottom, and using the side of the pool isn't really swimming.
Anyway, we all know how to lose weight: We just get rid of the pieces of our bodies we don't want, which usually comes in the form of ugly, disgusting, flapping in the breeze, bulging in the middle, protruding from the rear ... fat.
Unfortunately for Baby Boomers fast approaching, passing through or waving Bye-Bye to the Age of Weight Worries, you can't just take a knife and cut off the pieces you don't want. You have to improve your bodies on a slower basis by either eating less food, exercising more or preferably both.
And as we slowly lose the bloom of our youth and approach the lilacs of advancing age, we have to think more seriously about good health, proper diet and sensible exercise.
Because if it weren't for exercise, whenever we eat that Jumbo Supreme box of buttered popcorn at the movies, we tend to put on more weight than we normally take care of with our usual exercise, which for most of us consists of eating.
But the good news is that after that story I stumbled across another article that said other studies showed exercise is also a common way to shake the blues. The bad news is exercise improves your mood only if you're not used to exercising. You see, another article said if you do aerobic exercise daily, exercising has little effect on your mood.
Dr. Randy Larsen, a psychologist at the University of Michigan, said after research with Dr. Margaret Kasimatis at Hope College, "It's sedentary people who get the biggest boost in mood when they exercise."
Oh, great! So, we can either exercise daily and be thin, or we can exercise infrequently and be in a good mood. The question still flapping in the breeze with our unwanted body parts is "Which form of exercise, aside from eating, should I choose?"
Remember, everything we do is exercise. Sleeping is exercise (not a whole lot), walking is exercise, running is exercise (a whole lot), even thinking is exercise! (Which is why watching TV is not exercise.)
"Hey, wait a minute!" you say? "If everything I do is exercise, why am I sometimes in a good mood and sometimes in a bad mood?"
Good question, and the answer lies in "aerobic." Remember, the article said daily "aerobic" exercise has little effect on your mood, which could mean that if you start out exercising in a bad mood, you could also end up in a bad mood, especially if you were trying isometric swimming.
"Wait another minute!" you say? "'Aerobic' means 'living or active only in the presence of oxygen,' so if I breathe oxygen all the time and everything I do is exercise, why am I overweight?"
Another good question, and the answer is "I don't know."
However, I suspect that "exertion" and "heavy breathing" have something to do with what we normally call "aerobic exercise," as opposed to "watching TV." But don't try to fool Mother Nature by actively breathing heavily as you watch anything on television, thinking that will serve as your exercise for the day. The fat in our lungs is minimal.
So, we can't solve all our problems with a newspaper, especially weight problems. And naturally running beats swimming for weight loss. Running, your feet pound isometrically against the ground and your sweat flies off into the air.
Swimming, your arms and legs meet less resistance, your sweat mixes with the water and seeps right back into your body!
Duh-h-h. Now, pass the popcorn, please!
I rest my case.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Did You See What I Saw?
Here's what gets me.
Assuming that you attended school, do you remember taking an English or literature class in which you read and discussed some famous literary work?
This could have been in high school where the work could have been Silas Marner, the 1861 novel by George Eliot (actually Mary Ann Evans), Julius Caesar, the (about) 1599 play by William Shakespeare (at one time thought to be actually Christopher Marlowe or even Francis Bacon) or "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner," the 1798 poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (always thought to actually be himself, except when he was writing "Kubla Khan," his famous, unfinished poem composed in an opium-induced sleep).
If you got to college, this could have been any of the plays or poems by Shakespeare or something more contemporary, such as Moby-Dick, the 1851 novel by Herman Melville, any of the novels by Ernest Hemingway or possibly even "Howl," the 1956 poem by Allen Ginsberg, which had obscenity charges brought against it.
My point is, the instructor gave you an assignment to read an agreed-upon published work, you and your classmates all read it (assuming that you did your homework and didn't try to cheat by just reading the Classic comic book or the Cliff's Notes instead) and you all discussed the work in class.
As you progressed through the hierarchy of education, your examination of literary art became more focused and more modern, at least in the survey courses. However, what happens when motion-picture art is added as a topic for literary education?
Many Baby Boomers thought they had an advantage when they "got lucky" enough to be able to see a film based on a work they were supposed to read. Nowadays, students can probably get a digital movie of whatever work they're supposed to be reading.
One problem for them, of course, is that oftentimes a finished film is vastly different from the script the writer wrote, much less the novel or play that might have inspired it.
A work of literature, such as a novel, short story or poem, is always kept intact, based on how it appeared as published after negotiations between author, editor and publisher. Film, however, is altered, changed, shortened, lengthened, made in more than one version or rereleased "with never before seen footage," all to suit the exigencies of its current "owner," whether that is the director, the editor, the producer, the studio, the distributor, the television network or station showing it between commercials with altered or silenced dialogue or even a commercial airliner that omits scenes thought to be disturbing.
This almost casual treatment of the most important art form of the present damages how society regards film, damages the permanence of film and damages the creative work of the artists who made the film.
Perhaps film should be thought about and regarded the way songs are. A song is written by a song writer. It is bought and then owned by a publisher. Then it is worked on by an arranger and recorded by an artist. However, even though a particular recording of a song by an extremely popular artist may be extremely popular and successful, that artist's recording of a song doesn't become the song. The "song" is always thought of as being separate from the recording.
Other artists sometimes "cover" a song and make equally successful recordings of it, sometimes mimicking the original arrangement, sometimes changing the arrangement drastically.
Of course, more than one version (or "arrangement") of films and sometimes even novels are made, but no recording of a song is hacked up and altered by a radio station when it is played the way a film is on its way to being distributed, except for shortened openings and endings to suit the available time.
Therefore, what constitutes a film? What should we regard as being the "artistic work" that exists in society's mind when we discuss a particular filmic piece of "literature"? The screenplay? The shooting script? The cut that the editor turns over to the studio? The version that is first released by the first distributor? The uncut, uncensored version that the director wanted, but couldn't control until the film was rereleased?
When you and I discuss the novel Moby-Dick, we compare the versions we each have in our minds based on what we read, which undoubtedly consisted of the same words.
When we discuss the movie Moby Dick, we're lucky if we both saw one same scene.
I rest my case.
Assuming that you attended school, do you remember taking an English or literature class in which you read and discussed some famous literary work?
This could have been in high school where the work could have been Silas Marner, the 1861 novel by George Eliot (actually Mary Ann Evans), Julius Caesar, the (about) 1599 play by William Shakespeare (at one time thought to be actually Christopher Marlowe or even Francis Bacon) or "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner," the 1798 poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (always thought to actually be himself, except when he was writing "Kubla Khan," his famous, unfinished poem composed in an opium-induced sleep).
If you got to college, this could have been any of the plays or poems by Shakespeare or something more contemporary, such as Moby-Dick, the 1851 novel by Herman Melville, any of the novels by Ernest Hemingway or possibly even "Howl," the 1956 poem by Allen Ginsberg, which had obscenity charges brought against it.
My point is, the instructor gave you an assignment to read an agreed-upon published work, you and your classmates all read it (assuming that you did your homework and didn't try to cheat by just reading the Classic comic book or the Cliff's Notes instead) and you all discussed the work in class.
As you progressed through the hierarchy of education, your examination of literary art became more focused and more modern, at least in the survey courses. However, what happens when motion-picture art is added as a topic for literary education?
Many Baby Boomers thought they had an advantage when they "got lucky" enough to be able to see a film based on a work they were supposed to read. Nowadays, students can probably get a digital movie of whatever work they're supposed to be reading.
One problem for them, of course, is that oftentimes a finished film is vastly different from the script the writer wrote, much less the novel or play that might have inspired it.
A work of literature, such as a novel, short story or poem, is always kept intact, based on how it appeared as published after negotiations between author, editor and publisher. Film, however, is altered, changed, shortened, lengthened, made in more than one version or rereleased "with never before seen footage," all to suit the exigencies of its current "owner," whether that is the director, the editor, the producer, the studio, the distributor, the television network or station showing it between commercials with altered or silenced dialogue or even a commercial airliner that omits scenes thought to be disturbing.
This almost casual treatment of the most important art form of the present damages how society regards film, damages the permanence of film and damages the creative work of the artists who made the film.
Perhaps film should be thought about and regarded the way songs are. A song is written by a song writer. It is bought and then owned by a publisher. Then it is worked on by an arranger and recorded by an artist. However, even though a particular recording of a song by an extremely popular artist may be extremely popular and successful, that artist's recording of a song doesn't become the song. The "song" is always thought of as being separate from the recording.
Other artists sometimes "cover" a song and make equally successful recordings of it, sometimes mimicking the original arrangement, sometimes changing the arrangement drastically.
Of course, more than one version (or "arrangement") of films and sometimes even novels are made, but no recording of a song is hacked up and altered by a radio station when it is played the way a film is on its way to being distributed, except for shortened openings and endings to suit the available time.
Therefore, what constitutes a film? What should we regard as being the "artistic work" that exists in society's mind when we discuss a particular filmic piece of "literature"? The screenplay? The shooting script? The cut that the editor turns over to the studio? The version that is first released by the first distributor? The uncut, uncensored version that the director wanted, but couldn't control until the film was rereleased?
When you and I discuss the novel Moby-Dick, we compare the versions we each have in our minds based on what we read, which undoubtedly consisted of the same words.
When we discuss the movie Moby Dick, we're lucky if we both saw one same scene.
I rest my case.
Friday, September 02, 2011
The Age of Entertainment
Here's what gets me.
We sure do like to name things, which, some would argue, goes all the way back to Adam, assuming that an Adam ever existed, who all of a sudden opened his eyes one day with the full-blown gift of language and ability to talk. So, Adam looked around, found somebody to talk to and said:
"Madam, I'm Adam."
See? We've even named his first sentence: "palindrome," which is a word, verse or sentence that reads the same backward or forward.
However, even before Adam met his rib, he had to name things: "And Adam gave names to all cattle, and to the fowl of the air, and to every beast of the field."
Even before Adam came on the scene, God was naming things: "And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night."
Right. How else can you talk about something if you can't identify it by a symbol when one of them isn't around so you can point to it and say "that one there"?
Okay, let's say there was no "Adam" or that he himself is but a symbol for the early development of the human species known as homo sapiens or hominids. Once they learned to communicate with each other, they still had to have symbols with which to refer to something, because otherwise communication was just too slow and dangerous if someone had to drag someone else off to a lion's den just to say, "Beware that thing here."
So, now we have progressed to where we have named everything collectively ("universe," or "cosmos") and everything individually the minute, second or instant we discover it ("atom," not to be confused with Adam, "electron," "nucleus," "proton," "neutron" and so on down the line).
Of course, at that point, the line between concrete and abstract is so blurred as to be perhaps nonexistent, but we also feel the need to name abstract things the minute we think of them, from the small ("second") to the large ("century"). We even give a proper name to a whole century to suit our purposes, such as the Age of Enlightenment (sometimes known as the Age of Reason) for the 18th century of Western thought (that time from 1701 to 1800, or 1700 to 1799, depending on how much you subscribe to computer technology, lingo or thought).
The Age of Enlightenment (or Reason) was so-called, because its writers "applied reason to religion, politics, morality and social life," according to Benet's Readers Encyclopedia, which just about covered everything except for science, which has reason and enlightenment built in.
Now, if the 1700s were the Age of Enlightenment (etc.), what about the 1800s and the 1900s? What about the future? Why wait until something happens or is discovered before we name it? Why not name them now?
We like to talk. We need names for things when we talk about them, and we have to avoid that lion's den when we want to warn our friends about that particular beast.
So, for the purpose of discussion and to bring things up to date, let's call the 1800s the Age of Independence and the 1900s the Age of War. (The Age of Aquarius never really caught on.)
Personally, I want to call the 21st century the Age of Entertainment (although a good case could be made for the Age of Communication). We already jumped the gun in the 1900s, and even though we are a few years into the 2000s, yearly and century boundaries are just as arbitrary as names, and even though other nations, societies and worlds in the cosmos might be concerned with activities other than entertainment, we in the U.S. seem to be consumed and obsessed with amusement, distractions and divertissements.
Even TV Guide said "entertainment has become the primary force in American life and especially in our media" (July 30, 1994). Studies are conducted and stories written that conclude we increasingly value leisure, but increasingly fear we have less leisure time.
Now that television and computers have taken over the scene, the whole world can communicate at once with each other, can experience events at the same time and can discuss those events. And what do we discuss? Madonna, Michael Jackson and O.J. Simpson.
Maybe the Day is over, Night is upon us and we are huddled around the campfire amusing ourselves with tales of amazement and wonder so we don't have to think about that nasty old lion in its den.
I rest my case.
We sure do like to name things, which, some would argue, goes all the way back to Adam, assuming that an Adam ever existed, who all of a sudden opened his eyes one day with the full-blown gift of language and ability to talk. So, Adam looked around, found somebody to talk to and said:
"Madam, I'm Adam."
See? We've even named his first sentence: "palindrome," which is a word, verse or sentence that reads the same backward or forward.
However, even before Adam met his rib, he had to name things: "And Adam gave names to all cattle, and to the fowl of the air, and to every beast of the field."
Even before Adam came on the scene, God was naming things: "And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night."
Right. How else can you talk about something if you can't identify it by a symbol when one of them isn't around so you can point to it and say "that one there"?
Okay, let's say there was no "Adam" or that he himself is but a symbol for the early development of the human species known as homo sapiens or hominids. Once they learned to communicate with each other, they still had to have symbols with which to refer to something, because otherwise communication was just too slow and dangerous if someone had to drag someone else off to a lion's den just to say, "Beware that thing here."
So, now we have progressed to where we have named everything collectively ("universe," or "cosmos") and everything individually the minute, second or instant we discover it ("atom," not to be confused with Adam, "electron," "nucleus," "proton," "neutron" and so on down the line).
Of course, at that point, the line between concrete and abstract is so blurred as to be perhaps nonexistent, but we also feel the need to name abstract things the minute we think of them, from the small ("second") to the large ("century"). We even give a proper name to a whole century to suit our purposes, such as the Age of Enlightenment (sometimes known as the Age of Reason) for the 18th century of Western thought (that time from 1701 to 1800, or 1700 to 1799, depending on how much you subscribe to computer technology, lingo or thought).
The Age of Enlightenment (or Reason) was so-called, because its writers "applied reason to religion, politics, morality and social life," according to Benet's Readers Encyclopedia, which just about covered everything except for science, which has reason and enlightenment built in.
Now, if the 1700s were the Age of Enlightenment (etc.), what about the 1800s and the 1900s? What about the future? Why wait until something happens or is discovered before we name it? Why not name them now?
We like to talk. We need names for things when we talk about them, and we have to avoid that lion's den when we want to warn our friends about that particular beast.
So, for the purpose of discussion and to bring things up to date, let's call the 1800s the Age of Independence and the 1900s the Age of War. (The Age of Aquarius never really caught on.)
Personally, I want to call the 21st century the Age of Entertainment (although a good case could be made for the Age of Communication). We already jumped the gun in the 1900s, and even though we are a few years into the 2000s, yearly and century boundaries are just as arbitrary as names, and even though other nations, societies and worlds in the cosmos might be concerned with activities other than entertainment, we in the U.S. seem to be consumed and obsessed with amusement, distractions and divertissements.
Even TV Guide said "entertainment has become the primary force in American life and especially in our media" (July 30, 1994). Studies are conducted and stories written that conclude we increasingly value leisure, but increasingly fear we have less leisure time.
Now that television and computers have taken over the scene, the whole world can communicate at once with each other, can experience events at the same time and can discuss those events. And what do we discuss? Madonna, Michael Jackson and O.J. Simpson.
Maybe the Day is over, Night is upon us and we are huddled around the campfire amusing ourselves with tales of amazement and wonder so we don't have to think about that nasty old lion in its den.
I rest my case.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
The History of Humanity
Here's what gets me.
Liberals are "not narrow in opinion or judgment." Conservatives are "disposed to maintain existing views, conditions or institutions."
Liberals were curious. Conservatives were not.
Liberals climbed down from the trees and ventured onto the dangerous plains. Conservatives stayed in the forests and remained safe.
Liberals discovered how to cultivate crops for steady supplies of food. Conservatives tried to remain hunters and gatherers, which had worked in the past.
Liberals created stories and myths. Conservatives believed the myths were true.
Liberals saw the need for a set of rules so society could function. Conservatives saw rules as a way to get others to act like them.
Liberals ventured far from home to discover new worlds. Conservatives stayed home and managed their day-to-day affairs.
Liberals discovered new lands and civilizations. Conservatives followed to convert savages to Christianity.
Liberals settled the New World to begin a new life. Conservatives stayed in the Old World where they were comfortable.
Liberals had vision and dreams of what might be. Conservatives had memories and dreams of what had been.
Liberals dealt with ideas. Conservatives dealt with rules.
Liberals wanted to change society for the better. Conservatives wanted to keep the status quo at all costs.
Liberals became workers and Democrats. Conservatives became business owners and Republicans.
Liberals acquired knowledge. Conservatives acquired wealth.
Liberals went to war. Conservatives waged war.
Liberals asked questions. Conservatives gave answers.
Liberals fought for women to get the vote. Conservatives fought to keep women home, barefoot and pregnant.
Liberals made new discoveries in science and technology. Conservatives bought and sold products created from discoveries.
Liberals went to Hollywood and created the motion-picture industry. Conservatives stayed home, went to the movies and complained about Hollywood.
Liberals wrote ground-breaking erotic works of art. Conservatives banned them in Boston.
Liberals embraced the Theory of Evolution. Conservatives condemned it and created "monkey trials."
Liberals were open to other nations and cultures. Conservatives created isolationism.
Liberals encouraged sex education in schools. Conservatives forbade it.
Liberals believed in the equality of people. Conservatives created apartheid and "separate but equal" laws.
Liberals became newspaper reporters. Conservatives became newspaper publishers.
Liberals in the form of 60,000 authors, actors, painters and musicians emigrated from Germany. Conservatives stayed behind and sent over 6,000,000 people to concentration camps.
Liberals wrote books. Conservatives burned them.
Liberals developed the atomic bomb. Conservatives used it.
Liberals became beatniks. Conservatives ridiculed them.
Liberals created rock 'n' roll. Conservatives destroyed records.
Liberals became "freedom riders" and fought for civil rights. Conservatives supported the Ku Klux Klan and fought to preserve racism.
Liberals became hippies and questioned all authority and the Vietnam war. Conservatives derided hippies and supported all authority and the Vietnam war.
Liberals promoted peace and love. Conservatives promoted war and hate.
Liberals went to Woodstock for three days of fun and music. Conservatives tried to ban sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll.
Liberals watched "Laugh-In" and "The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour." Conservatives watched "Marcus Welby, M.D." and kicked the Smothers Brothers off the air.
Liberals took to the streets and protested against the Vietnam war. Conservatives beat up the protesters and killed them at Kent State.
Liberals think young. Conservatives want everything to be like it was when they were young.
Liberals create fashion. Conservatives are slaves to fashion.
Liberals are concerned about content and form. Conservatives are afraid of content and embarrassed by form.
Liberals believe the means justify the end. Conservatives believe the end justifies the means.
Liberals believe everyone is equal. Conservatives believe they are better than others.
Liberals are open-minded about sexuality and erotica. Conservatives are close-minded and embarrassed by sexuality and erotica.
Liberals believe knowledge is power. Conservatives believe knowledge is dangerous.
Liberals are proud to be different. Conservatives are afraid to be different.
Liberals forgive. Conservatives forget.
Liberals want to create the future. Conservatives want to re-create the past.
Liberals talk about rights and wrongs. Conservatives talk about rights and lefts.
Liberals try to discover new ways to make things work. Conservatives keep trying to make old ways work.
Liberals want people to think for themselves. Conservatives want people to think the way conservatives do.
Liberals mourn the loss of an idea. Conservatives mourn the loss of a privilege.
Liberals trust in people. Conservatives trust in God.
Liberals are brave, self-confident and willing to take chances. Conservatives are cowardly, insecure and afraid to take chances.
Liberals would rather change than die. Conservatives would rather die than change.
That's the history of humanity.
I rest my case.
Liberals are "not narrow in opinion or judgment." Conservatives are "disposed to maintain existing views, conditions or institutions."
Liberals were curious. Conservatives were not.
Liberals climbed down from the trees and ventured onto the dangerous plains. Conservatives stayed in the forests and remained safe.
Liberals discovered how to cultivate crops for steady supplies of food. Conservatives tried to remain hunters and gatherers, which had worked in the past.
Liberals created stories and myths. Conservatives believed the myths were true.
Liberals saw the need for a set of rules so society could function. Conservatives saw rules as a way to get others to act like them.
Liberals ventured far from home to discover new worlds. Conservatives stayed home and managed their day-to-day affairs.
Liberals discovered new lands and civilizations. Conservatives followed to convert savages to Christianity.
Liberals settled the New World to begin a new life. Conservatives stayed in the Old World where they were comfortable.
Liberals had vision and dreams of what might be. Conservatives had memories and dreams of what had been.
Liberals dealt with ideas. Conservatives dealt with rules.
Liberals wanted to change society for the better. Conservatives wanted to keep the status quo at all costs.
Liberals became workers and Democrats. Conservatives became business owners and Republicans.
Liberals acquired knowledge. Conservatives acquired wealth.
Liberals went to war. Conservatives waged war.
Liberals asked questions. Conservatives gave answers.
Liberals fought for women to get the vote. Conservatives fought to keep women home, barefoot and pregnant.
Liberals made new discoveries in science and technology. Conservatives bought and sold products created from discoveries.
Liberals went to Hollywood and created the motion-picture industry. Conservatives stayed home, went to the movies and complained about Hollywood.
Liberals wrote ground-breaking erotic works of art. Conservatives banned them in Boston.
Liberals embraced the Theory of Evolution. Conservatives condemned it and created "monkey trials."
Liberals were open to other nations and cultures. Conservatives created isolationism.
Liberals encouraged sex education in schools. Conservatives forbade it.
Liberals believed in the equality of people. Conservatives created apartheid and "separate but equal" laws.
Liberals became newspaper reporters. Conservatives became newspaper publishers.
Liberals in the form of 60,000 authors, actors, painters and musicians emigrated from Germany. Conservatives stayed behind and sent over 6,000,000 people to concentration camps.
Liberals wrote books. Conservatives burned them.
Liberals developed the atomic bomb. Conservatives used it.
Liberals became beatniks. Conservatives ridiculed them.
Liberals created rock 'n' roll. Conservatives destroyed records.
Liberals became "freedom riders" and fought for civil rights. Conservatives supported the Ku Klux Klan and fought to preserve racism.
Liberals became hippies and questioned all authority and the Vietnam war. Conservatives derided hippies and supported all authority and the Vietnam war.
Liberals promoted peace and love. Conservatives promoted war and hate.
Liberals went to Woodstock for three days of fun and music. Conservatives tried to ban sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll.
Liberals watched "Laugh-In" and "The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour." Conservatives watched "Marcus Welby, M.D." and kicked the Smothers Brothers off the air.
Liberals took to the streets and protested against the Vietnam war. Conservatives beat up the protesters and killed them at Kent State.
Liberals think young. Conservatives want everything to be like it was when they were young.
Liberals create fashion. Conservatives are slaves to fashion.
Liberals are concerned about content and form. Conservatives are afraid of content and embarrassed by form.
Liberals believe the means justify the end. Conservatives believe the end justifies the means.
Liberals believe everyone is equal. Conservatives believe they are better than others.
Liberals are open-minded about sexuality and erotica. Conservatives are close-minded and embarrassed by sexuality and erotica.
Liberals believe knowledge is power. Conservatives believe knowledge is dangerous.
Liberals are proud to be different. Conservatives are afraid to be different.
Liberals forgive. Conservatives forget.
Liberals want to create the future. Conservatives want to re-create the past.
Liberals talk about rights and wrongs. Conservatives talk about rights and lefts.
Liberals try to discover new ways to make things work. Conservatives keep trying to make old ways work.
Liberals want people to think for themselves. Conservatives want people to think the way conservatives do.
Liberals mourn the loss of an idea. Conservatives mourn the loss of a privilege.
Liberals trust in people. Conservatives trust in God.
Liberals are brave, self-confident and willing to take chances. Conservatives are cowardly, insecure and afraid to take chances.
Liberals would rather change than die. Conservatives would rather die than change.
That's the history of humanity.
I rest my case.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
The Dumbing of Society
Here's what gets me.
I believe that as a society we are becoming dumber, I believe we are either ignoring or disguising this fact so we can be proud of ourselves and I believe ultimately this is going to be bad for us.
First of all, you need to decide for yourself whether, forced to make a choice, you would choose to do what is best for humanity or what is best for yourself.
Of course, the optimal choice is something that is best for both humanity and yourself, but we don't always get such choices, and I believe if we tip the balance too often for our personal gain, we end up making society dumber.
In nature, some still subscribe to Darwin's theory of Survival of the Fittest, or Natural Selection. Those species and members of species who can best adapt to the environment survive and reproduce, those least fitted do not. Therefore, the best, the brightest, the fastest, the strongest and the smartest survive. The poorer, dimmer, slower, weaker and dumber lose.
It doesn't take an Einstein or a college graduate to figure out that in the game of Life there are more losers than winners. In most sporting competitions, which obviously model the game of Life, there are more losers than winners, except of course, when there are only two competitors, such as in boxing matches and tennis games.
Even so, we still seem to be fascinated with the idea of only one winner, and so we create the "world champion" and "the Number 1 seed" for competitions between two combatants.
It doesn't take a rocket scientist or a college graduate to figure out that in the bell curve of intelligence, if an intelligence quotient (IQ) of 100 represents "average," the top of the curve, there are many more people of average intelligence than of genius intelligence. And in a democracy, in which the slogan is "majority rules," by nature we are probably allowing ourselves to be ruled by people of average intelligence.
Perhaps the majority of the people--by nature, those with average intelligence--"wised up," and that is why we don't hear much about "IQ" anymore. Perhaps the Embarrassing Sixties, brought on by the enormous glut of maturing Baby Boomers, is the cause.
In the Olden Days of the Frigid Fifties, grades were awarded fairly and systematically according to the bell curve of A, B, C, D and F. Fifty percent of the students got a C, 20% got a D, another 20% a B, 5% an F and another 5% an A. There were clear winners, losers and also-rans.
However, the angry Baby Boomers who thought Life was unfair and took over administration buildings with sit-ins, be-ins and what's happenings wanted to shorten the odds on becoming "winners." In many cases they got the Administration to change the grading system to one of "Pass-Fail." No more first, second, third, fourth and fifth places. You either won or lost. You were either on the bus or off the bus.
Now, clearly the onslaught of computer technology with its binary numbering system has some connection, but we no longer seem to care for anything more than winners and losers. Remember when Avis was proud of being Number 2? No more. We even extended competitions in order to prevent ties in sporting events.
Except for the Olympics, nobody remembers who came in second. It is no longer honorable to be anything other than a winner. "We're Number 1!" And if the team I support is Number 1, that makes me Number 1, too!
However, if everybody wins, then nobody loses. And if nobody loses, then nobody wins.
Why did we make jokes about not being able to program a VCR? Because the majority of us are actually losers.
Remember when we used to say "May the best man win" even in two-people competitions? Don't dare say that around feminists.
It doesn't take a Rhodes scholar or a college graduate to figure out that everybody would like to be a winner, but not everybody can. Once everybody is equal in terms of speed, strength and dexterity, all races end in ties.
Therefore, we need to compromise. In order to allow the human race to end in a tie with as many people as possible becoming winners, we need to cooperate with one another. When we help each other, we help ourselves and eventually everyone.
The only way we can all be winners is to revere the few Einsteins, rocket scientists, Rhodes scholars and college graduates for their victories.
I rest my case.
I believe that as a society we are becoming dumber, I believe we are either ignoring or disguising this fact so we can be proud of ourselves and I believe ultimately this is going to be bad for us.
First of all, you need to decide for yourself whether, forced to make a choice, you would choose to do what is best for humanity or what is best for yourself.
Of course, the optimal choice is something that is best for both humanity and yourself, but we don't always get such choices, and I believe if we tip the balance too often for our personal gain, we end up making society dumber.
In nature, some still subscribe to Darwin's theory of Survival of the Fittest, or Natural Selection. Those species and members of species who can best adapt to the environment survive and reproduce, those least fitted do not. Therefore, the best, the brightest, the fastest, the strongest and the smartest survive. The poorer, dimmer, slower, weaker and dumber lose.
It doesn't take an Einstein or a college graduate to figure out that in the game of Life there are more losers than winners. In most sporting competitions, which obviously model the game of Life, there are more losers than winners, except of course, when there are only two competitors, such as in boxing matches and tennis games.
Even so, we still seem to be fascinated with the idea of only one winner, and so we create the "world champion" and "the Number 1 seed" for competitions between two combatants.
It doesn't take a rocket scientist or a college graduate to figure out that in the bell curve of intelligence, if an intelligence quotient (IQ) of 100 represents "average," the top of the curve, there are many more people of average intelligence than of genius intelligence. And in a democracy, in which the slogan is "majority rules," by nature we are probably allowing ourselves to be ruled by people of average intelligence.
Perhaps the majority of the people--by nature, those with average intelligence--"wised up," and that is why we don't hear much about "IQ" anymore. Perhaps the Embarrassing Sixties, brought on by the enormous glut of maturing Baby Boomers, is the cause.
In the Olden Days of the Frigid Fifties, grades were awarded fairly and systematically according to the bell curve of A, B, C, D and F. Fifty percent of the students got a C, 20% got a D, another 20% a B, 5% an F and another 5% an A. There were clear winners, losers and also-rans.
However, the angry Baby Boomers who thought Life was unfair and took over administration buildings with sit-ins, be-ins and what's happenings wanted to shorten the odds on becoming "winners." In many cases they got the Administration to change the grading system to one of "Pass-Fail." No more first, second, third, fourth and fifth places. You either won or lost. You were either on the bus or off the bus.
Now, clearly the onslaught of computer technology with its binary numbering system has some connection, but we no longer seem to care for anything more than winners and losers. Remember when Avis was proud of being Number 2? No more. We even extended competitions in order to prevent ties in sporting events.
Except for the Olympics, nobody remembers who came in second. It is no longer honorable to be anything other than a winner. "We're Number 1!" And if the team I support is Number 1, that makes me Number 1, too!
However, if everybody wins, then nobody loses. And if nobody loses, then nobody wins.
Why did we make jokes about not being able to program a VCR? Because the majority of us are actually losers.
Remember when we used to say "May the best man win" even in two-people competitions? Don't dare say that around feminists.
It doesn't take a Rhodes scholar or a college graduate to figure out that everybody would like to be a winner, but not everybody can. Once everybody is equal in terms of speed, strength and dexterity, all races end in ties.
Therefore, we need to compromise. In order to allow the human race to end in a tie with as many people as possible becoming winners, we need to cooperate with one another. When we help each other, we help ourselves and eventually everyone.
The only way we can all be winners is to revere the few Einsteins, rocket scientists, Rhodes scholars and college graduates for their victories.
I rest my case.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Creatures Great and Small
Here's what gets me.
I live in Boulder, Colorado, sometimes derisively referred to as "the People's Republic of Boulder" and sometimes scornfully called "25 square miles of fantasy surrounded by reality," usually by people who live in nearby communities and are jealous of the residents who live in the city with one of the highest educated populations per capita in the country and one of the counties that continually votes Democratic in a Republican state.
Well, in the spirit of Chevy Chase on the first "Weekend Update" segments of "Saturday Night Live," I say to all those people, "I live here and you don't."
I say this with all due sympathy and respect, especially in light of all the constant hullabaloo (There's a word you don't see much of since the Sixties.) in Boulder civic circles about the town's needing more "affordable housing," because it is too expensive to live here for the people who work in the service industry, people like waitpersons and salesclerks and ticket takers and janitors.
(Question: Why is it quote: "politically incorrect" unquote: to call someone a "waiter" or a "waitress" and thus we use the artificially created word of "waitperson," but not quote: unquote: politically incorrect to call someone a "janitor," and so no one has created the artificial word of "janitperson" to refer to custodians of both sexes?)
Consequently, these so-called menial workers of undeterminable sex must live in nearby towns where jealousy is high and rents and costs of houses are lower, and they have to commute to Boulder to their jobs. Guess what the second most-pressing problem is in Boulder where the top problem is "affordable housing."
Right. Prairie dogs.
"What?" you say? "Prairie dogs?" you say? "How can burrowing rodents be a problem in a city?" you say?
Okay, okay! Not so much in the quote: unquote: "city" as in the surrounding open-space areas owned by Boulder County, which is an even nicer place to live than the City of Boulder, because you can still vote Democrat and be proud of it, you can still bask in the glow of pride of being associated with one of the unique and most desirable places to live in the country (all puns intended) and you don't have to put up with those clowns in City Hall.
You do, however (and by "you," I mean "me"), have to put up with those wildly clothed and gawkishly made-up jesters in County Hall.
(I kid the clowns in County Hall. I don't even know if they dress in gaudy clothing. I don't even know if there is such a thing as a "County Hall." I do, however, believe that some of them actually wear makeup, meaning those of the non-undetermined-sex types who are not ashamed to be known by words that identify them as being a member of the female sex, such as "county commissioner.")
(Hmmm, why is that not "county commissionperson," because sometimes there are two men and one woman serving in that office.)
Now, the reason for this mild outburst on my part is a local newspaper item I read once that began, "Boulder county open space managers are working against prairie dogs' instincts."
The story wasn't about how managepersons are trying to get the prairie dogs to stop building homes by digging burrows or to prevent them from having sex with other prairie dogs--. No! Wait! I take that back! It was about how they are trying to do that, but can't!
In other words, I guess you can quote: unquote: "fight County Hall."
You see, the people of Boulder are very environmentally conscious (no pun intended), and they manage to get laws passed that don't allow greedy land developers to build big old ugly houses on land where the prairie dogs have been living happily and peacefully for centuries (except for the occasional marauding eagle, hawk or coyote, of course), unless they arrange for the prairie dogs and their innocent prairie pups to be uprooted (pun intended) from their Burrow Sweet Burrows first and transplanted to another prairie dogless and burrowless open-space area.
However, those rascally prairie dogs aren't staying put, so to speak. They keep having sex and building new burrows on adjoining land where they aren't wanted.
So, here is an idea to solve all "affordable housing," "traffic" and "prairie dog instinct" problems: Train the prairie dogs to wait tables, sell merchandise, take tickets and be janitdogs.
They even come with their own affordable housing.
I rest my case.
I live in Boulder, Colorado, sometimes derisively referred to as "the People's Republic of Boulder" and sometimes scornfully called "25 square miles of fantasy surrounded by reality," usually by people who live in nearby communities and are jealous of the residents who live in the city with one of the highest educated populations per capita in the country and one of the counties that continually votes Democratic in a Republican state.
Well, in the spirit of Chevy Chase on the first "Weekend Update" segments of "Saturday Night Live," I say to all those people, "I live here and you don't."
I say this with all due sympathy and respect, especially in light of all the constant hullabaloo (There's a word you don't see much of since the Sixties.) in Boulder civic circles about the town's needing more "affordable housing," because it is too expensive to live here for the people who work in the service industry, people like waitpersons and salesclerks and ticket takers and janitors.
(Question: Why is it quote: "politically incorrect" unquote: to call someone a "waiter" or a "waitress" and thus we use the artificially created word of "waitperson," but not quote: unquote: politically incorrect to call someone a "janitor," and so no one has created the artificial word of "janitperson" to refer to custodians of both sexes?)
Consequently, these so-called menial workers of undeterminable sex must live in nearby towns where jealousy is high and rents and costs of houses are lower, and they have to commute to Boulder to their jobs. Guess what the second most-pressing problem is in Boulder where the top problem is "affordable housing."
Right. Prairie dogs.
"What?" you say? "Prairie dogs?" you say? "How can burrowing rodents be a problem in a city?" you say?
Okay, okay! Not so much in the quote: unquote: "city" as in the surrounding open-space areas owned by Boulder County, which is an even nicer place to live than the City of Boulder, because you can still vote Democrat and be proud of it, you can still bask in the glow of pride of being associated with one of the unique and most desirable places to live in the country (all puns intended) and you don't have to put up with those clowns in City Hall.
You do, however (and by "you," I mean "me"), have to put up with those wildly clothed and gawkishly made-up jesters in County Hall.
(I kid the clowns in County Hall. I don't even know if they dress in gaudy clothing. I don't even know if there is such a thing as a "County Hall." I do, however, believe that some of them actually wear makeup, meaning those of the non-undetermined-sex types who are not ashamed to be known by words that identify them as being a member of the female sex, such as "county commissioner.")
(Hmmm, why is that not "county commissionperson," because sometimes there are two men and one woman serving in that office.)
Now, the reason for this mild outburst on my part is a local newspaper item I read once that began, "Boulder county open space managers are working against prairie dogs' instincts."
The story wasn't about how managepersons are trying to get the prairie dogs to stop building homes by digging burrows or to prevent them from having sex with other prairie dogs--. No! Wait! I take that back! It was about how they are trying to do that, but can't!
In other words, I guess you can quote: unquote: "fight County Hall."
You see, the people of Boulder are very environmentally conscious (no pun intended), and they manage to get laws passed that don't allow greedy land developers to build big old ugly houses on land where the prairie dogs have been living happily and peacefully for centuries (except for the occasional marauding eagle, hawk or coyote, of course), unless they arrange for the prairie dogs and their innocent prairie pups to be uprooted (pun intended) from their Burrow Sweet Burrows first and transplanted to another prairie dogless and burrowless open-space area.
However, those rascally prairie dogs aren't staying put, so to speak. They keep having sex and building new burrows on adjoining land where they aren't wanted.
So, here is an idea to solve all "affordable housing," "traffic" and "prairie dog instinct" problems: Train the prairie dogs to wait tables, sell merchandise, take tickets and be janitdogs.
They even come with their own affordable housing.
I rest my case.
Monday, August 22, 2011
15 Minutes or More of Fame
Here's what gets me.
Back in 1968, Andy Warhol wrote in the catalogue for a photography exhibition of his in Stockholm, Sweden, "In the future everyone will be world-famous for fifteen minutes."
What he didn't add, however, is that everyone would want to be world-famous.
How about you? Would you like to be world-famous? Now, think long and hard before you answer. I'll wait....
Are you ready with your answer? Did you consider all the ramifications of just what "famous" means? According to The Merriam-Webster Dictionary:
famous: 1: widely known 2: honored for achievement 3: excellent, first-rate syn renowned, celebrated, noted, notorious, distinguished, eminent, illustrious
Now, think of some world-famous people and consider if you would really want to live like them.
Movie stars? Unless you have the looks of Julia Roberts or the talent of Robert De Niro, you aren't going to be making $20 million a movie, but you will have to work really hard for long, demanding hours and you will still be pestered in public restrooms for your autograph and you still won't be able to go shopping by yourself.
And speaking of De Niro, he once starred in a movie that really was called 15 minutes, which is about this very topic, and he dies.
Oops! Sorry, if you haven't seen the movie. Disregard that last sentence. Maybe he doesn't die. Maybe he only pretends to be dead, but he has to fight a couple of bad guys while tied to a chair, and he has to drive really fast through Manhattan and run as hard as he can through the streets of New York City, and we all know how dangerous that can be.
So, my point is, if you don't have looks or talent, being world-famous as a movie star is going to get you diddly-squat.
Politicians? What, are you crazy? Why would anyone want to be world-famous as the leader of a country? Those guys and some gals work excruciatingly long hours, they are watched every minute by someone and some of them are even killed by their enemies!
Oh, sure, obviously some minutes, President Clinton wasn't watched, but is being constantly watched and hounded by the press now as a private citizen really worth a few moments of under-the-desk sexual pleasure that wasn't really sex?
Oh, sure, President Bush was world-famous once, but would you really want to be "under the gun" (so to speak) so that every little thing you said was made fun of the following weekend on "Saturday Night Live"? Would you really want to have numerous Internet Websites devoted to just the stupid things you said and the dumb-looking, chimp-like facial expressions you made? Would you really want every aspect of your wild youth and drug-history past investigated and brought out into the open so that you have to admit all accusations by refusing to comment on them?
(Note to audience: You don't have to wait for the answers to these questions.)
Now, the reason I bring up this subject of 15 minutes of being world-famous is a story in the newspaper I read about nine local residents having the opportunity in what was called "a truly avant-garde auction" one year at the Lakewood Country Club near Denver to have "some sudden name fame."
As part of the Jefferson County Library Foundation's "Rare & Novel Night," an annual auction that sells old books, seven authors, including Clive Cussler and Tony Hillerman, had agreed to include nine winning bidders' names in their forthcoming novels. (Hillerman agreed to put three local names in his next book, which accounts for the numerical discrepancy, but which also waters down the "fame" thing, don't you agree?)
What, are these people crazy? Sure, it is all for a good cause in that all proceeds will help the foundation pay for a "traveling library center" (sounds suspiciously like a "bookmobile," don't you think?), but pay to get your name in print? Five lucky "winners" names are hidden every month in my trash-bill literature. Spot your name and get a discount on your next month's bill.
So, here is what I am proposing if you want a piece of that 15-minute world-famous action: Add a comment here on this Website and then wait for others to comment on your comment if it's clever, and you can forever crow about having had your name in print.
For free! Without being pestered in public restrooms. Without having to work long hours or put up with public humiliation.
I rest my case.
Back in 1968, Andy Warhol wrote in the catalogue for a photography exhibition of his in Stockholm, Sweden, "In the future everyone will be world-famous for fifteen minutes."
What he didn't add, however, is that everyone would want to be world-famous.
How about you? Would you like to be world-famous? Now, think long and hard before you answer. I'll wait....
Are you ready with your answer? Did you consider all the ramifications of just what "famous" means? According to The Merriam-Webster Dictionary:
famous: 1: widely known 2: honored for achievement 3: excellent, first-rate syn renowned, celebrated, noted, notorious, distinguished, eminent, illustrious
Now, think of some world-famous people and consider if you would really want to live like them.
Movie stars? Unless you have the looks of Julia Roberts or the talent of Robert De Niro, you aren't going to be making $20 million a movie, but you will have to work really hard for long, demanding hours and you will still be pestered in public restrooms for your autograph and you still won't be able to go shopping by yourself.
And speaking of De Niro, he once starred in a movie that really was called 15 minutes, which is about this very topic, and he dies.
Oops! Sorry, if you haven't seen the movie. Disregard that last sentence. Maybe he doesn't die. Maybe he only pretends to be dead, but he has to fight a couple of bad guys while tied to a chair, and he has to drive really fast through Manhattan and run as hard as he can through the streets of New York City, and we all know how dangerous that can be.
So, my point is, if you don't have looks or talent, being world-famous as a movie star is going to get you diddly-squat.
Politicians? What, are you crazy? Why would anyone want to be world-famous as the leader of a country? Those guys and some gals work excruciatingly long hours, they are watched every minute by someone and some of them are even killed by their enemies!
Oh, sure, obviously some minutes, President Clinton wasn't watched, but is being constantly watched and hounded by the press now as a private citizen really worth a few moments of under-the-desk sexual pleasure that wasn't really sex?
Oh, sure, President Bush was world-famous once, but would you really want to be "under the gun" (so to speak) so that every little thing you said was made fun of the following weekend on "Saturday Night Live"? Would you really want to have numerous Internet Websites devoted to just the stupid things you said and the dumb-looking, chimp-like facial expressions you made? Would you really want every aspect of your wild youth and drug-history past investigated and brought out into the open so that you have to admit all accusations by refusing to comment on them?
(Note to audience: You don't have to wait for the answers to these questions.)
Now, the reason I bring up this subject of 15 minutes of being world-famous is a story in the newspaper I read about nine local residents having the opportunity in what was called "a truly avant-garde auction" one year at the Lakewood Country Club near Denver to have "some sudden name fame."
As part of the Jefferson County Library Foundation's "Rare & Novel Night," an annual auction that sells old books, seven authors, including Clive Cussler and Tony Hillerman, had agreed to include nine winning bidders' names in their forthcoming novels. (Hillerman agreed to put three local names in his next book, which accounts for the numerical discrepancy, but which also waters down the "fame" thing, don't you agree?)
What, are these people crazy? Sure, it is all for a good cause in that all proceeds will help the foundation pay for a "traveling library center" (sounds suspiciously like a "bookmobile," don't you think?), but pay to get your name in print? Five lucky "winners" names are hidden every month in my trash-bill literature. Spot your name and get a discount on your next month's bill.
So, here is what I am proposing if you want a piece of that 15-minute world-famous action: Add a comment here on this Website and then wait for others to comment on your comment if it's clever, and you can forever crow about having had your name in print.
For free! Without being pestered in public restrooms. Without having to work long hours or put up with public humiliation.
I rest my case.
Friday, August 05, 2011
The Dying of the Yuppie
Here's what gets me.
We seem to have an unhealthy concern for names, labels and statistics (or, as David Letterman says they say in Indiana: "sa-tis-tics").
For example, a poll was conducted in 1991 that concluded the Age of the Yuppie was dying and people were more interested in good health and a happy marriage than they used to be.
The poll was actually a telephone survey of 600 adults conducted for the Lifetime cable show "The Great American TV Poll" with these results:
* Forty percent (that is, 240 people) said that faith in God was what they valued most.
* Twenty-nine percent (174 people) said "a happy marriage."
* Five percent (30 people) said a job they enjoy.
* Two percent (12 people) said the money they make.
* Two percent (12 more people) said respect for people in the community.
* One percent (6 people) said none of the mentioned values was most important to them.
Now, the results of this poll were reported in a newspaper article with the headline "Poll finds that the Age of the Yuppie is dying."
Wait a minute! Who said anything about "Yuppies"? How did the newspaper reporter (or, more likely, the headline writer) conclude the "age of the Yuppie" was dying from the fact that 240 people out of 600 said that faith in God was what they valued most down to 12 people who said that none of the mentioned values was most important to them?
Another cheap joke at the expense of the much-maligned "Young Upwardly Mobile Professionals" (read "successful Baby Boomers"--"Subbies," maybe?)?
We don't even know what values were mentioned in the poll. We don't even know that those 600 anonymous people were Yuppies. We don't know what a true Yuppie is, and we don't even know that the poll was designed to tell us anything about Yuppies.
All we know is that a poll was conducted by telephone involving 600 adults, they responded to a list of suggested values as to which was most important to them and the newspaper article took a cheap shot at so-called Yuppies, probably because only two percent responded that the money they make was most important.
However, that was then and this is now, as some people like to say when they need a transition. And there happens to be some evidence that the term "Yuppie" is dying, if not the "age" itself.
For example, The Denver Post once reported that the acronym had "gone the way of the yellow tie," saying that it first appeared in 1984 at the height of the Reagan era and "stuck as a symbol for conspicuous consumption."
I disagree. I believe it stuck as a symbol for a subset of the Baby Boomer generation to get blamed for all the excesses that the Reagan era brought us, as well as a one-word, recognizable term that could be used as a cheap shot to get a knee-jerk reaction, just like "hippie" and "peacenik" were used in the years before Reagan.
At any rate, the Post reported that in 1986 the term appeared in 386 articles in The New York Times, but in 1992, "just 199." Just 199? That's more than half, or 51.5544 percent, to be exact and excessive.
The space shuttle Challenger exploded in 1986, U.S. warplanes attacked and bombed Libya in 1986 and Ivan Boesky (hardly a Yuppie and definitely not a Baby Boomer) pleaded guilty in 1986 to an unspecified criminal count, paid a $100 million fine, returned his profits from illegal trading and was banned for life from trading seciurities. What do you want to bet that the appearance of "Challenger," "Muammar al-Qadaffy" and "Ivan Boesky" dropped off 51.5544 percent in New York Times articles from 1986 to 1991?
In fact, if it weren't for the success of Yuppies and the jealousy of both non-Yuppie Baby Boomers (Nubbies?) and non-Baby Boomers (Nobbies?), the term would never have caught on in the first place.
However, just like "Cleveland," "geezer" and "the New York Mets," use of the term can bring an instant, knee-jerk reaction in your audience and a smug, self-satisfied expression of "Boy, am I glad I'm not one of them!"
And the sooner we stop using names, labels and statistics to do our thinking for us, the sooner we will start showing respect for the people we are talking and thinking about.
Assuming they deserve it, of course.
I rest my case.
We seem to have an unhealthy concern for names, labels and statistics (or, as David Letterman says they say in Indiana: "sa-tis-tics").
For example, a poll was conducted in 1991 that concluded the Age of the Yuppie was dying and people were more interested in good health and a happy marriage than they used to be.
The poll was actually a telephone survey of 600 adults conducted for the Lifetime cable show "The Great American TV Poll" with these results:
* Forty percent (that is, 240 people) said that faith in God was what they valued most.
* Twenty-nine percent (174 people) said "a happy marriage."
* Five percent (30 people) said a job they enjoy.
* Two percent (12 people) said the money they make.
* Two percent (12 more people) said respect for people in the community.
* One percent (6 people) said none of the mentioned values was most important to them.
Now, the results of this poll were reported in a newspaper article with the headline "Poll finds that the Age of the Yuppie is dying."
Wait a minute! Who said anything about "Yuppies"? How did the newspaper reporter (or, more likely, the headline writer) conclude the "age of the Yuppie" was dying from the fact that 240 people out of 600 said that faith in God was what they valued most down to 12 people who said that none of the mentioned values was most important to them?
Another cheap joke at the expense of the much-maligned "Young Upwardly Mobile Professionals" (read "successful Baby Boomers"--"Subbies," maybe?)?
We don't even know what values were mentioned in the poll. We don't even know that those 600 anonymous people were Yuppies. We don't know what a true Yuppie is, and we don't even know that the poll was designed to tell us anything about Yuppies.
All we know is that a poll was conducted by telephone involving 600 adults, they responded to a list of suggested values as to which was most important to them and the newspaper article took a cheap shot at so-called Yuppies, probably because only two percent responded that the money they make was most important.
However, that was then and this is now, as some people like to say when they need a transition. And there happens to be some evidence that the term "Yuppie" is dying, if not the "age" itself.
For example, The Denver Post once reported that the acronym had "gone the way of the yellow tie," saying that it first appeared in 1984 at the height of the Reagan era and "stuck as a symbol for conspicuous consumption."
I disagree. I believe it stuck as a symbol for a subset of the Baby Boomer generation to get blamed for all the excesses that the Reagan era brought us, as well as a one-word, recognizable term that could be used as a cheap shot to get a knee-jerk reaction, just like "hippie" and "peacenik" were used in the years before Reagan.
At any rate, the Post reported that in 1986 the term appeared in 386 articles in The New York Times, but in 1992, "just 199." Just 199? That's more than half, or 51.5544 percent, to be exact and excessive.
The space shuttle Challenger exploded in 1986, U.S. warplanes attacked and bombed Libya in 1986 and Ivan Boesky (hardly a Yuppie and definitely not a Baby Boomer) pleaded guilty in 1986 to an unspecified criminal count, paid a $100 million fine, returned his profits from illegal trading and was banned for life from trading seciurities. What do you want to bet that the appearance of "Challenger," "Muammar al-Qadaffy" and "Ivan Boesky" dropped off 51.5544 percent in New York Times articles from 1986 to 1991?
In fact, if it weren't for the success of Yuppies and the jealousy of both non-Yuppie Baby Boomers (Nubbies?) and non-Baby Boomers (Nobbies?), the term would never have caught on in the first place.
However, just like "Cleveland," "geezer" and "the New York Mets," use of the term can bring an instant, knee-jerk reaction in your audience and a smug, self-satisfied expression of "Boy, am I glad I'm not one of them!"
And the sooner we stop using names, labels and statistics to do our thinking for us, the sooner we will start showing respect for the people we are talking and thinking about.
Assuming they deserve it, of course.
I rest my case.
Monday, July 25, 2011
The Dumb Leading the Dumb
Here's what gets me.
Every so often (and sometimes even every day), I will read something in the newspaper that indicates to me that people all over the world are just getting dumber than a chicken with its head cut off.
Now, some of you might question how I know just how dumb and/or smart a chicken with its head cut off is, seeing as how hardly anyone today even gets to see a live chicken anymore, with or without its top fitting.
The answer is simple. When I was a boy, many's the time my family would drive to Como, Texas, to visit my grandparents on their farm, and every Sunday I would watch Grandma go out back to fetch Sunday dinner.
She would select a particularly plump hen from the coop, which shows you that chickens aren't exactly Rhodes scholars even with their heads on, because surely they would have suspected something after all those Sundays of watching their relatives disappear one by one.
Then Grandma would take that flightless wonder back toward the house, and she would stand firmly with her stumpy legs apart and fling that hen by the neck around and around her own head until the bird and its noggin were separated with a snap.
So, would that suspicious chicken rush back to the safety of its coop, as any intelligent creature would do? It would not. It would flap and flutter around the back yard like a--well--like a chicken with its head cut off, allowing Grandma to pick it up and put it out of its misery in the frying pan. Now, that is dumb.
But I digress. What did I read once that leads me to believe that people all over the world are just getting dumber than Sunday dinner, you ask? I'll tell you.
A judge in Louisiana threw out a lawsuit against Hollywood director Oliver Stone on First Amendment grounds that claimed his 1994 movie Natural Born Killers led to a young couple's bloody crime rampage.
What's dumb about that, you ask? That's not the dumb part. That's the smart part. The dumb part was that the lawsuit was filed in the first place against the makers of the movie by the family of a Louisiana store clerk who was shot and paralyzed in a rampage by a girl and her boyfriend in an apparent copy-cat series of crimes. (In case you haven't seen this bloody, violent, satirical work of art, a girl and her boyfriend go on a bloody--yes--rampage, but are caught in the all's well that end's well.)
Now, we don't know if the grieving family just happened to be greedy and thought they could make some easy money off the tragedy of their store-clerk relative or if they were just dumber than a--here it comes again--a chicken with all its parts save one. But if you are so dumb as to be influenced to copy-cat the deeds of a movie you see or a book you read or a TV show you stare at and not consider the right and wrong or the good and bad or the likely consequences of your duplicate actions, then you should never see or read or watch Moby-Dick, or you just might find yourself in a rowboat out on the ocean searching for a white sperm whale.
However, if you are a tall lanky man with a scar down your face and into your beard and with only one leg attached to you, you might be forgiven, especially if you lost that leg by somebody's sweet little grandmother grabbing that limb and flinging you around and around her head until it separated from the rest of your body and you went running away as best you could like a--are you ready for this one?--a one-legged sailor.
If you are not a etc. etc. etc., then you are just dumb, because if you could pay attention to the end of the movie or the novel or the TV broadcast, you would have known that Captain Ahab dies.
And anyone who copy-cats a protagonist in a tragic event that ends in the protagonist's death is either dumber than a--one more time--decapitated chanticleer or one leg short of a crazy, whale-obsessed, seagoing madman.
Did Elizabethans run around killing their stepfathers after seeing a performance of Hamlet? No.
Do deer run amuck after watching Bambi? No.
But apparently we do.
I rest my case.
Every so often (and sometimes even every day), I will read something in the newspaper that indicates to me that people all over the world are just getting dumber than a chicken with its head cut off.
Now, some of you might question how I know just how dumb and/or smart a chicken with its head cut off is, seeing as how hardly anyone today even gets to see a live chicken anymore, with or without its top fitting.
The answer is simple. When I was a boy, many's the time my family would drive to Como, Texas, to visit my grandparents on their farm, and every Sunday I would watch Grandma go out back to fetch Sunday dinner.
She would select a particularly plump hen from the coop, which shows you that chickens aren't exactly Rhodes scholars even with their heads on, because surely they would have suspected something after all those Sundays of watching their relatives disappear one by one.
Then Grandma would take that flightless wonder back toward the house, and she would stand firmly with her stumpy legs apart and fling that hen by the neck around and around her own head until the bird and its noggin were separated with a snap.
So, would that suspicious chicken rush back to the safety of its coop, as any intelligent creature would do? It would not. It would flap and flutter around the back yard like a--well--like a chicken with its head cut off, allowing Grandma to pick it up and put it out of its misery in the frying pan. Now, that is dumb.
But I digress. What did I read once that leads me to believe that people all over the world are just getting dumber than Sunday dinner, you ask? I'll tell you.
A judge in Louisiana threw out a lawsuit against Hollywood director Oliver Stone on First Amendment grounds that claimed his 1994 movie Natural Born Killers led to a young couple's bloody crime rampage.
What's dumb about that, you ask? That's not the dumb part. That's the smart part. The dumb part was that the lawsuit was filed in the first place against the makers of the movie by the family of a Louisiana store clerk who was shot and paralyzed in a rampage by a girl and her boyfriend in an apparent copy-cat series of crimes. (In case you haven't seen this bloody, violent, satirical work of art, a girl and her boyfriend go on a bloody--yes--rampage, but are caught in the all's well that end's well.)
Now, we don't know if the grieving family just happened to be greedy and thought they could make some easy money off the tragedy of their store-clerk relative or if they were just dumber than a--here it comes again--a chicken with all its parts save one. But if you are so dumb as to be influenced to copy-cat the deeds of a movie you see or a book you read or a TV show you stare at and not consider the right and wrong or the good and bad or the likely consequences of your duplicate actions, then you should never see or read or watch Moby-Dick, or you just might find yourself in a rowboat out on the ocean searching for a white sperm whale.
However, if you are a tall lanky man with a scar down your face and into your beard and with only one leg attached to you, you might be forgiven, especially if you lost that leg by somebody's sweet little grandmother grabbing that limb and flinging you around and around her head until it separated from the rest of your body and you went running away as best you could like a--are you ready for this one?--a one-legged sailor.
If you are not a etc. etc. etc., then you are just dumb, because if you could pay attention to the end of the movie or the novel or the TV broadcast, you would have known that Captain Ahab dies.
And anyone who copy-cats a protagonist in a tragic event that ends in the protagonist's death is either dumber than a--one more time--decapitated chanticleer or one leg short of a crazy, whale-obsessed, seagoing madman.
Did Elizabethans run around killing their stepfathers after seeing a performance of Hamlet? No.
Do deer run amuck after watching Bambi? No.
But apparently we do.
I rest my case.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
First Review of THE SEARCHER
Here is the first review of my most recent book, THE SEARCHER.
Marie Alena Castle
------------------
The Searcher
Xlibris.com, amazon.com
93 pages HB $27.89; PB $17.84
Here is something different in atheist books. Written as a prose poem in chapters, it is offered as an antidote for the spirituality blatherings of The Prophet, published in 1923 by Kahlil Gibran.
The Searcher is an intriguing little book presented as a dialogue between a man and a woman engaging in late-night musings about life. No heavy philosophy here, just thought-provoking observations on themes long associated with religion, but which religion has never understood, sidetracked as it is in a make-believe supernatural fantasy. You can read it in an hour.
Dan Culberson introduces the dialogue with three questions, then uses the number 7, which religion has made significant for some incomprehensible reason, to divide his chapters and bring religion's hot-air balloons down to Earth.
"Seven Noble Themes" covers Sex, Love, Religion, War, Grace, Humility and Wisdom. "Seven Deadly Sins" takes on Envy, Gluttony, Greed, Lust, Pride, Sloth and Wrath. "Seven Virtues" dissects Charity, Faith, Fortitude, Hope, Justice, Prudence and Temperance. "Seven Corporal Senses" discusses Animation, Feeling, Hearing, Sight, Smell, Speech and Taste. A chapter on "Life and Love" winds up the book.
The Searcher is a good book to leave out on a coffee table. The topics are easy to grasp by a curious visitor and might stimulate some productive outside-the-book dialogue.
Try the chapter on "Pride," for example:
So what is the next Deadly Sin that we can dissect and examine.
That would be Pride, he said, something I fear we find ourselves coming close to being guilty of,
Or, more exactly, elation over an act or possession, haughty behavior, or disdain in an ostentatious display.
That describes a public display of Pride, she said, but would not an inner feeling of Pride be not so repulsive to our Creators of Sin.
Once again, he said, our Creators of Sin were not thinking in terms of an offense against society but of an offense against God,
And if, in fact, Pride of an act or a possession is a sin, you do not have to display it openly to your fellow sinners,
But you can keep it secretly to yourself and still be guilty of the sin.
For the purposes of discussion, she said, let us assume that there is no God,
Let us assume that the concept of God was created to help humankind become better people in their struggle throughout life,
And that instead of God creating mankind in God's image, mankind created God in mankind's image,
That being the case, then why are we encouraged to take Pride in our work, Pride in our behavior, Pride in our appearance in order to succeed and become better people.
Interesting, he said, and the only answer I can think of at the moment is that, assuming that the Creators of Sin were correct, even in the absence of God,
Perhaps a certain amount of Pride is beneficial in one's life struggle,
But we must be wary of indulging ourselves too much,
We must be cautious and avoid letting too much Pride, either public or private, interfere with that struggle,
Which we also must assume is the purpose of living.
Self-discipline in everything, she said.
Moderation in all, he finished.
(Marie Alena Castle is the communications director for Atheists for Human Rights in Minneapolis, MN.)
To order the book directly from the publisher & review copies:
1-888-795-4274
Orders@Xlibris.com
www.Xlibris.com
http://www2.xlibris.com/bookstore/bookdisplay.asp?bookid=32423
Book page: www.xlibris.com/TheSearcher.html
Author page: www.xlibris.com/Culberson.html
Official page: http://dan-culberson.com
The Searcher
Dan Culberson
ISBN: 978-1-4415-2009-8 (Hardcover)
ISBN: 978-1-4415-2008-1 (Softcover)
Marie Alena Castle
------------------
The Searcher
Xlibris.com, amazon.com
93 pages HB $27.89; PB $17.84
Here is something different in atheist books. Written as a prose poem in chapters, it is offered as an antidote for the spirituality blatherings of The Prophet, published in 1923 by Kahlil Gibran.
The Searcher is an intriguing little book presented as a dialogue between a man and a woman engaging in late-night musings about life. No heavy philosophy here, just thought-provoking observations on themes long associated with religion, but which religion has never understood, sidetracked as it is in a make-believe supernatural fantasy. You can read it in an hour.
Dan Culberson introduces the dialogue with three questions, then uses the number 7, which religion has made significant for some incomprehensible reason, to divide his chapters and bring religion's hot-air balloons down to Earth.
"Seven Noble Themes" covers Sex, Love, Religion, War, Grace, Humility and Wisdom. "Seven Deadly Sins" takes on Envy, Gluttony, Greed, Lust, Pride, Sloth and Wrath. "Seven Virtues" dissects Charity, Faith, Fortitude, Hope, Justice, Prudence and Temperance. "Seven Corporal Senses" discusses Animation, Feeling, Hearing, Sight, Smell, Speech and Taste. A chapter on "Life and Love" winds up the book.
The Searcher is a good book to leave out on a coffee table. The topics are easy to grasp by a curious visitor and might stimulate some productive outside-the-book dialogue.
Try the chapter on "Pride," for example:
So what is the next Deadly Sin that we can dissect and examine.
That would be Pride, he said, something I fear we find ourselves coming close to being guilty of,
Or, more exactly, elation over an act or possession, haughty behavior, or disdain in an ostentatious display.
That describes a public display of Pride, she said, but would not an inner feeling of Pride be not so repulsive to our Creators of Sin.
Once again, he said, our Creators of Sin were not thinking in terms of an offense against society but of an offense against God,
And if, in fact, Pride of an act or a possession is a sin, you do not have to display it openly to your fellow sinners,
But you can keep it secretly to yourself and still be guilty of the sin.
For the purposes of discussion, she said, let us assume that there is no God,
Let us assume that the concept of God was created to help humankind become better people in their struggle throughout life,
And that instead of God creating mankind in God's image, mankind created God in mankind's image,
That being the case, then why are we encouraged to take Pride in our work, Pride in our behavior, Pride in our appearance in order to succeed and become better people.
Interesting, he said, and the only answer I can think of at the moment is that, assuming that the Creators of Sin were correct, even in the absence of God,
Perhaps a certain amount of Pride is beneficial in one's life struggle,
But we must be wary of indulging ourselves too much,
We must be cautious and avoid letting too much Pride, either public or private, interfere with that struggle,
Which we also must assume is the purpose of living.
Self-discipline in everything, she said.
Moderation in all, he finished.
(Marie Alena Castle is the communications director for Atheists for Human Rights in Minneapolis, MN.)
To order the book directly from the publisher & review copies:
1-888-795-4274
Orders@Xlibris.com
www.Xlibris.com
http://www2.xlibris.com/bookstore/bookdisplay.asp?bookid=32423
Book page: www.xlibris.com/TheSearcher.html
Author page: www.xlibris.com/Culberson.html
Official page: http://dan-culberson.com
The Searcher
Dan Culberson
ISBN: 978-1-4415-2009-8 (Hardcover)
ISBN: 978-1-4415-2008-1 (Softcover)
Sunday, May 31, 2009
The Searcher
THE SEARCHER
The Searcher (2009), by Dan Culberson, is published by Xlibris Corporation, a division of Random House, Inc., in both a hardcover and a softcover edition.
This series of late-night dialogues and an intellectual discourse between a man and a woman in which they discuss the Three Questions of Existence, the Seven Noble Themes, the Seven Deadly Sins, the Seven Virtues, the Seven Corporal Senses, and Life and Love helps the reader reach an understanding of why we exist and why we are here.
It is a prose poem in chapters and a handbook of advice that can be carried at all times in order to help understand the meanings of life and is an antidote to the preachings and spirituality of The Prophet, published in 1923 by Kahlil Gibran.
To order it directly from the publisher and review copies: 1-888-795-4274
Orders@Xlibris.com
www.Xlibris.com
http://www2.xlibris.com/bookstore/bookdisplay.asp?bookid=32423
Book page: www.xlibris.com/TheSearcher.html
Author page: www.xlibris.com/Culberson.html
The Searcher (2009), by Dan Culberson, is published by Xlibris Corporation, a division of Random House, Inc., in both a hardcover and a softcover edition.
This series of late-night dialogues and an intellectual discourse between a man and a woman in which they discuss the Three Questions of Existence, the Seven Noble Themes, the Seven Deadly Sins, the Seven Virtues, the Seven Corporal Senses, and Life and Love helps the reader reach an understanding of why we exist and why we are here.
It is a prose poem in chapters and a handbook of advice that can be carried at all times in order to help understand the meanings of life and is an antidote to the preachings and spirituality of The Prophet, published in 1923 by Kahlil Gibran.
To order it directly from the publisher and review copies: 1-888-795-4274
Orders@Xlibris.com
www.Xlibris.com
http://www2.xlibris.com/bookstore/bookdisplay.asp?bookid=32423
Book page: www.xlibris.com/TheSearcher.html
Author page: www.xlibris.com/Culberson.html
Official page: www.amazon.com/s?search-type=ss&index=books&field-author=Dan%20Culberson
THE SEARCHER
Dan Culberson
ISBN: 978-1-4415-2009-8 (Hardcover)
ISBN: 978-1-4415-2008-1 (Softcover)
Friday, May 09, 2008
PLASTIC MAN: A Novel of the Sixties
And after a fairly long "glitch," we are back in business:
PLASTIC MAN: A Novel of the Sixties, by Dan Culberson, was published April 3, 2008, in both a hardcover and a softcover edition by Xlibris Corporation, a division of Random House Publishers.
This serio-comic story about college life at the University of Colorado in Boulder symbolizes the decade of the Sixties and has been called "a legitimate contender for the Great American Novel." A work of self-discovery and cultural analysis, the novel employs three different time schemes: The present describes the protagonist's journey after dropping out of college following a personal tragedy and hitchhiking from Colorado to California, the past describes his memories of his mostly comic experiences in college, and the future describes his musings of what happened to the country from the Sixties up to the present day.
Culberson was graduated Phi Beta Kappa with a B.A. degree in English literature in the Honors Program from the University of Colorado, was president of the Pi Kappa Alpha fraternity and was also a member of the Phi Epsilon Phi sophomore men's honorary and the Hammers junior men's honorary. Classmates of his at C.U. and longtime residents of Boulder might very well recognize characters, events, and places depicted in the novel.Culberson was born in Carmel, CA, but grew up all over the U.S. and Europe. He has lived in Monterey, CA: Medford, OR; Lawton, OK (twice); Pampa, TX; Minot, ND; El Paso, TX; Tacoma, WA; Kennewick, WA; Erlangen, Germany; Lebanon, MO; Colorado Springs, CO (where he attended high school); Boulder, CO (where he attended college and now lives); and Heidelberg and Sindelfingen, Germany. He served three years in the U.S. Army, retired from IBM after a career in publications and is a writer, editor, and publisher who came of age in the Sixties, which he remembers quite well, and who continues to write, edit, live, and think in the mountains. He was named a Boulder Pacesetter in 1985 by the BOULDER DAILY CAMERA in the first year of that program and has been a film reviewer since 1972 for magazines, newspapers, radio and TV, whose current "Hotshots" reviews are on KGNU Public Radio in Boulder and Denver every week, as well as on TV and all over the Internet.
To order the novel directly from the publisher: 1-888-795-4274
Orders@Xlibris.comwww.Xlibris.comhttp://www2.xlibris.com/bookstore/bookdisplay.asp?bookid=32426
Book page: www.xlibris.com/PlasticMan.html
Author page: www.xlibris.com/Culberson.html
PLASTIC MAN: A Novel of the Sixties
ISBN: 978-1-4363-2027-6 (Hardcover)
ISBN: 978-1-4363-2026-9 (Softcover)
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
The Fundamentals of Effective Writing
Neither More Nor Less
THE FUNDAMENTALS OF EFFECTIVE WRITING
(August 30, 2006)
THE FUNDAMENTALS OF EFFECTIVE WRITING
(August 30, 2006)
"When I use a word," Humpty Dumpty said, in rather a scornful tone, it means just what I choose it to mean--neither more nor less."
"The question is," said Alice, "whether you can make words mean so many different things."
"The question is," said Humpty Dumpty, "which is to be master--that's all."--Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
THE FUNDAMENTALS OF EFFECTIVE WRITING
May I have a word with you?
All writing is creative writing, because all writers create something from nothing. Even technical writing requires as much creative thought as does a novel, short story or poem, because technical writing is nothing more than writing about a technical subject.
However, the task of writing--the steps involved in putting words on paper or in a computer file--can be the same, regardless of whether you are writing a technical report, magazine article, scholarly paper, news story, poem or book. If you follow these six steps, you will eliminate a lot of worry and frustration whenever you want to write anything effectively.
First, choose a subject. Decide what you are going to write about. Even if you have been assigned a topic, you can still consider the subject in depth, examining all aspects and choosing which ones you want to emphasize.
Even if you work for someone who always assigns your subjects, many opportunities exist to write about something on your own. You should always take them, because you become a better writer when you keep writing and practicing as often as possible.
Second, decide on a form. Even if the form has been determined for you, there are variations on every form, and every variation you can think of is worthy of consideration.
For example, if you are assigned to write an operating guide for a new computer and your employer has an existing set of guidelines, you can still play around with the form in terms of a better variation, perhaps just a slight rearrangement of the topics.
Third, plan your piece as best you can. Even if you are writing according to a formula, you will save time and worry if you consider carefully how you are going to do it. A schedule might help by giving you a deadline by which to finish certain topics, sections or chapters.
Even if you are given an outline you must follow, examine it carefully. Can it be improved? An outline lets you know where you are going before you start writing. If you are creating from scratch, you should think about it, plan it, and outline your piece before you start choosing words and stringing them together so they best communicate what you have in mind.
Fourth, write down the words you choose, so you won't forget them and so you can keep them in permanent form for your readers. Picture your audience and write in their language as much as possible. Use words they will understand, and explain everything they won't understand.
Fill this draft with as many details as you can. You will discover that you can delete extraneous material more easily than you can add to it, because the words that need deleting are already there staring you in the face. Although some people believe that all a writer does is think of some words, put them down in permanent form, and never look at them again, you should not consider writing in this way, especially if you want to become a better writer. Putting the words down is the easy part of writing. Now comes the hard part.
Fifth, rewrite your work and be your own, harshest critic. Put it aside for a while, so you can reread it fresh without being influenced by both the words you have written and the effort taken to write them.
As you rewrite, change some of the words. Read your draft out loud, and replace a phrase with another one that means the same thing, but sounds better. Prepare a fresh copy without the deleted material, and you will probably agree the writing is better and not even miss the deletions.
Sixth, have someone else read what you have written and ask for comments. Better yet, submit it to a trained editor. Now you want a reaction to your draft from someone not as close to it as you are.
If you are writing for publication or simply for dissemination of your information, never be afraid to show your work to someone else. After all, the whole point of writing is for someone else to read it, and an editor is merely a knowledgeable, surrogate audience.
The fundamentals of effective writing are the same for any kind of writing, together they constitute six steps that describe the task of writing and following them will make you a better, more effective writer.
END
Saturday, August 12, 2006
The Art of Writing
Neither More Nor Less
THE ART OF WRITING
(August 12, 2006)
"When I use a word," Humpty Dumpty said, in rather a scornful tone, it means just what I choose it to mean--neither more nor less."
"The question is," said Alice, "whether you can make words mean so many different things."
"The question is," said Humpty Dumpty, "which is to be master--that's all."--Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.
THE ART OF WRITING
May I have a word with you?
To understand what art has to do with writing, forget the traditional, dictionary meanings of "art." I don't mean "skill acquired by experience, study or observation," nor "the conscious use of skill and creative imagination, especially in the production of aesthetic objects." And I certainly don't mean "the conscious production of arrangement of sounds, colors, forms, movements or other elements in a manner that affects the sense of beauty; specifically, the production of the beautiful in a graphic or plastic medium."
When I use the word "art," I mean an anthropological definition that I have yet to see improved upon: "Art is man playing at his craft." (Naturally, in this sense, "man" means the species of the human race, the totality of human beings, both male and female.)
Of course, some people might say that this definition can be improved to "Art is man or woman playing at his or her craft" or possibly "Art is a person playing at that person's craft." Although it doesn't quite have the same ring to it, perhaps the best definition of art that comes closest to the original and doesn't offend anyone who is sensitive to any possibility of sexist language is "Art is people playing at their craft."
Craft basically means "skill in planning, making or executing," "especially in handwork or the arts." Therefore, the craft of painting, for example, is being skillful at painting pictures, and being skillful is simply knowing one's tools thoroughly and knowing how to use them sufficiently well enough to produce a pleasing, satisfactory result.
The tools of painting are basically paint, brushes and the medium onto which the paint is applied. And before painters can be considered artists, before they can properly be considered to be "people playing at their craft," they must first be good craftsmen and craftswomen.
Only after painters have mastered their craft can they begin playing at it, using the components to amuse themselves and others, to try out different ways of expressing something, of depicting something, to stretch the accepted limits of their art and bring satisfaction and joy to themselves, their audience and their critics.
Then they are artists.
Like painting, photography is another means of visual depiction of objects. However, photography is more "technical" than painting is, because it requires the knowledge and mastery of a mechanical device, as well as a more scientific analysis of the subject matter in terms of its distance from the device and the amount of light falling on it.
Interestingly enough, the word "technical" comes from the Latin technicus, which in turn came from the Greek tekhnikos, meaning "pertaining to art or skill."
And photographers can also be artists when they have enough knowledge about the craft of photography to be able to play at it, such as knowing which films can be "pushed" (overdeveloped to compensate for an underdeveloped exposure) in order to achieve an effect that couldn't be achieved under normal conditions, how to frame their objects and how to use selective focus all for the purpose of producing a pleasing, satisfactory result.
Finally, writing is a craft, and it can also be an art, just like painting and photography. The tools of the craft are paper and pen, typewriters and nowadays computers. However, the most important tool for writers is their language, and one of the basic facts about language is that no one word ever means exactly the same thing to two different people.
If using language well is a craft, then good writing is an art, to be practiced diligently, until the craft of choosing, arranging, substituting and rearranging words is honed into the fine art of good communication of ideas. After writers have mastered their craft of being able to use their language well, then they can begin playing at it in order to achieve their pleasing and satisfactory results.
Some fiction and poetry are like abstract painting. The audience absorbs and becomes aware of a mood that the artist wants. Slowly, they understand what the writer wanted them to understand, or else they are changed and have a new understanding of something they didn't have before.
Journalism is like realistic painting, because the audience recognizes what they are seeing and know immediately what the writer wants them to know.
Technical writing is like photography, in which the writers show a realistic picture to the audience.
And all writing can be art, if you just work and play at it.
END
THE ART OF WRITING
(August 12, 2006)
"When I use a word," Humpty Dumpty said, in rather a scornful tone, it means just what I choose it to mean--neither more nor less."
"The question is," said Alice, "whether you can make words mean so many different things."
"The question is," said Humpty Dumpty, "which is to be master--that's all."--Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.
THE ART OF WRITING
May I have a word with you?
To understand what art has to do with writing, forget the traditional, dictionary meanings of "art." I don't mean "skill acquired by experience, study or observation," nor "the conscious use of skill and creative imagination, especially in the production of aesthetic objects." And I certainly don't mean "the conscious production of arrangement of sounds, colors, forms, movements or other elements in a manner that affects the sense of beauty; specifically, the production of the beautiful in a graphic or plastic medium."
When I use the word "art," I mean an anthropological definition that I have yet to see improved upon: "Art is man playing at his craft." (Naturally, in this sense, "man" means the species of the human race, the totality of human beings, both male and female.)
Of course, some people might say that this definition can be improved to "Art is man or woman playing at his or her craft" or possibly "Art is a person playing at that person's craft." Although it doesn't quite have the same ring to it, perhaps the best definition of art that comes closest to the original and doesn't offend anyone who is sensitive to any possibility of sexist language is "Art is people playing at their craft."
Craft basically means "skill in planning, making or executing," "especially in handwork or the arts." Therefore, the craft of painting, for example, is being skillful at painting pictures, and being skillful is simply knowing one's tools thoroughly and knowing how to use them sufficiently well enough to produce a pleasing, satisfactory result.
The tools of painting are basically paint, brushes and the medium onto which the paint is applied. And before painters can be considered artists, before they can properly be considered to be "people playing at their craft," they must first be good craftsmen and craftswomen.
Only after painters have mastered their craft can they begin playing at it, using the components to amuse themselves and others, to try out different ways of expressing something, of depicting something, to stretch the accepted limits of their art and bring satisfaction and joy to themselves, their audience and their critics.
Then they are artists.
Like painting, photography is another means of visual depiction of objects. However, photography is more "technical" than painting is, because it requires the knowledge and mastery of a mechanical device, as well as a more scientific analysis of the subject matter in terms of its distance from the device and the amount of light falling on it.
Interestingly enough, the word "technical" comes from the Latin technicus, which in turn came from the Greek tekhnikos, meaning "pertaining to art or skill."
And photographers can also be artists when they have enough knowledge about the craft of photography to be able to play at it, such as knowing which films can be "pushed" (overdeveloped to compensate for an underdeveloped exposure) in order to achieve an effect that couldn't be achieved under normal conditions, how to frame their objects and how to use selective focus all for the purpose of producing a pleasing, satisfactory result.
Finally, writing is a craft, and it can also be an art, just like painting and photography. The tools of the craft are paper and pen, typewriters and nowadays computers. However, the most important tool for writers is their language, and one of the basic facts about language is that no one word ever means exactly the same thing to two different people.
If using language well is a craft, then good writing is an art, to be practiced diligently, until the craft of choosing, arranging, substituting and rearranging words is honed into the fine art of good communication of ideas. After writers have mastered their craft of being able to use their language well, then they can begin playing at it in order to achieve their pleasing and satisfactory results.
Some fiction and poetry are like abstract painting. The audience absorbs and becomes aware of a mood that the artist wants. Slowly, they understand what the writer wanted them to understand, or else they are changed and have a new understanding of something they didn't have before.
Journalism is like realistic painting, because the audience recognizes what they are seeing and know immediately what the writer wants them to know.
Technical writing is like photography, in which the writers show a realistic picture to the audience.
And all writing can be art, if you just work and play at it.
END
Saturday, August 05, 2006
Society's Scapegoat
The Boomer Files
SOCIETY'S SCAPEGOAT
August 5, 2006
I'll tell you something.
Once upon a time there was a young man and woman who met, fell passionately in love and left the safety and security of their parents' houses to travel west and build a home and new life of their own.
They discovered a relatively untouched land of pristine beauty and after a minor diversion and disagreement with the previous residents, they managed to acquire a small, but comfortable residence and set up housekeeping.
However, the young man was called home to settle a major dispute where his parents lived, and he did so reluctantly. Although his parents had lived in their home all their lives, one of their neighbors had suddenly built a fence on his parents' property, which they started using as their own for barbecue parties.
The young man went home, discussed the matter with his parents, tried to reason with the obnoxious neighbors and finally settled the matter by getting into a fistfight with the neighbors' son, who had been the one with the idea in the first place and who had built the illegal fence and the barbecue, as well.
The young man won the fight, although both combatants sustained bloody and broken noses, and the neighbors agreed to remove the fence and destroy the barbecue pit. He then thanked himself for a good deed well done, said goodbye to his parents and the neighbors and returned to his own home and his loving wife.
Because she had been anxious about his safety, the young man's wife welcomed him back home with open arms and not much clothing. Nine months later, she delivered a beautiful, healthy, bouncing baby boy.
The young couple lavished all their love on their baby boy, who was larger than other babies, and as some parents do with their firstborn, they spoiled him rotten. Anything he wanted within his parents' budget and many times outside their budget, he could have.
Because he was larger than other children his age, as the baby boy grew up and went through school, he usually got his way with his peers, as well. You might say that he lived a privileged life. You might say that he was blessed with good luck. You might say that he was a victim of his circumstances.
A few years later, the young couple had another child, a beautiful, healthy, bouncing baby girl. Although they loved her with all their sincerity, the baby girl could never receive the intensity of the love they had given their baby boy, simply because she was second on the scene.
The baby girl, too, grew up and went to school, but because she wasn't as large as her brother had been at her age, she wasn't able to get her way as much as he had. She resented this, especially since she was continually being reminded of the baby boy's accomplishments at her age by her parents, because her teachers still remembered the baby boy's achievements in school and compared hers with his and because everywhere she went she saw evidence that the baby boy had been there first, done that first.
Now, older people began to resent the baby boy for all the privileges they saw he received when he was growing up, privileges they had not received from their own parents. And because of all the attention the baby boy received and all the focus on him both inside and outside their family, the baby girl also resented him. She and her playmates would make cruel, unjustified jokes about him, and because the baby girl felt she had no identity apart from the baby boy, she started calling herself X.
The baby boy, who had long since ceased being a baby, was confused by all this hostility toward him. Although he had been privileged growing up, he lashed out during his adolescence. He thought that his parents were stupid, old-fashioned and "square," as he put it.
When he was a teenager, he was called a juvenile delinquent. When he rebelled even more in fashion, speech and indulgences, he called himself a hippie, because he believed that only he was hip in a world so square.
When the baby boy became a man, he resented still being called a baby. He resented being blamed for his parents' mistakes. And he resented being blamed by his sister, Girl X, for every failure, every shortcoming and every mistake she made.
In other words, Baby Boy was tired of being Society's Scapegoat.
END
SOCIETY'S SCAPEGOAT
August 5, 2006
I'll tell you something.
Once upon a time there was a young man and woman who met, fell passionately in love and left the safety and security of their parents' houses to travel west and build a home and new life of their own.
They discovered a relatively untouched land of pristine beauty and after a minor diversion and disagreement with the previous residents, they managed to acquire a small, but comfortable residence and set up housekeeping.
However, the young man was called home to settle a major dispute where his parents lived, and he did so reluctantly. Although his parents had lived in their home all their lives, one of their neighbors had suddenly built a fence on his parents' property, which they started using as their own for barbecue parties.
The young man went home, discussed the matter with his parents, tried to reason with the obnoxious neighbors and finally settled the matter by getting into a fistfight with the neighbors' son, who had been the one with the idea in the first place and who had built the illegal fence and the barbecue, as well.
The young man won the fight, although both combatants sustained bloody and broken noses, and the neighbors agreed to remove the fence and destroy the barbecue pit. He then thanked himself for a good deed well done, said goodbye to his parents and the neighbors and returned to his own home and his loving wife.
Because she had been anxious about his safety, the young man's wife welcomed him back home with open arms and not much clothing. Nine months later, she delivered a beautiful, healthy, bouncing baby boy.
The young couple lavished all their love on their baby boy, who was larger than other babies, and as some parents do with their firstborn, they spoiled him rotten. Anything he wanted within his parents' budget and many times outside their budget, he could have.
Because he was larger than other children his age, as the baby boy grew up and went through school, he usually got his way with his peers, as well. You might say that he lived a privileged life. You might say that he was blessed with good luck. You might say that he was a victim of his circumstances.
A few years later, the young couple had another child, a beautiful, healthy, bouncing baby girl. Although they loved her with all their sincerity, the baby girl could never receive the intensity of the love they had given their baby boy, simply because she was second on the scene.
The baby girl, too, grew up and went to school, but because she wasn't as large as her brother had been at her age, she wasn't able to get her way as much as he had. She resented this, especially since she was continually being reminded of the baby boy's accomplishments at her age by her parents, because her teachers still remembered the baby boy's achievements in school and compared hers with his and because everywhere she went she saw evidence that the baby boy had been there first, done that first.
Now, older people began to resent the baby boy for all the privileges they saw he received when he was growing up, privileges they had not received from their own parents. And because of all the attention the baby boy received and all the focus on him both inside and outside their family, the baby girl also resented him. She and her playmates would make cruel, unjustified jokes about him, and because the baby girl felt she had no identity apart from the baby boy, she started calling herself X.
The baby boy, who had long since ceased being a baby, was confused by all this hostility toward him. Although he had been privileged growing up, he lashed out during his adolescence. He thought that his parents were stupid, old-fashioned and "square," as he put it.
When he was a teenager, he was called a juvenile delinquent. When he rebelled even more in fashion, speech and indulgences, he called himself a hippie, because he believed that only he was hip in a world so square.
When the baby boy became a man, he resented still being called a baby. He resented being blamed for his parents' mistakes. And he resented being blamed by his sister, Girl X, for every failure, every shortcoming and every mistake she made.
In other words, Baby Boy was tired of being Society's Scapegoat.
END
Saturday, July 15, 2006
The Midnight Flight of George Afeared
(With apologies to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)
July 7, 2006
(FOREWORD: Feel free to distribute this as freely as you wish, but only as long as proper attribution is made, and if you make any money from it, I want some.--Dan Culberson)
Listen all people and you shall hear
Of the midnight flight of George Afeared,
On the thirteenth of June, in double-oh six;
Pulling another of his sneaky tricks
After five short hours he was in the clear.
He said to his pilot, "If the insurgents arrive
By foot or vehicle from Baghdad to-night,
Give me a call or three or five
On my aides' cell phones and we'll take flight,--
One for the money, and two for the show;
Three to get ready and off we'll go,
Ready to flee and get the hell out
Up to the sky and then we can shout,
For the Democrat pansies to weep and to pout."
Then he said "Ta-ta!" and with smirky grin
Proudly tucked his codpiece in,
Just as the moon rose over the west,
Where lying wide on the tarmac crest,
Sat Air Force One, presidential plane;
A mighty ship, with each rivet and stain
Across the moon like a ghostly train,
And a huge white hulk, that had just been in flight
Like an incubus silently in the night.
Meanwhile, his aides through alley and street
Lead him and guide him, with watchful eyes,
Till in the explosions going up to the skies
Cover the stumblings of the frightened man,
The sound of shots, and the oppresive heat,
And the sorrowful wail of torn families' cries,
Brought on by invasion of this innocent land.
Then they entered the "green zone" of the puppet prime minister,
By the safe side entrance, with many a glance,
To the minister's office, as if by chance,
And startled the Iraqis with what seemed to them sinister
Of this unannounced visit with just five minutes notice
From the man become acronymized only as POTUS,--
He was visiting the minister "to look you in the eye,"
And send a signal to all that spirits were high,
Where he paused not once for the next five hours
'Though six had been scheduled for the Baghdad Towers
Saying the War on Terror would never die.
Beneath, in the rubble, lay the dead,
From the IEDs that did kill,
Friend and foe alike and still
This man could say, what ran through his head,
The memorized catch-phrase, with straight face
Masking the truth in the terrorists' race,
By seeming to bluster, "All is well!"
A moment only he feels the spell
Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread
Of the naked lie and the countless dead;
For suddenly all his fears replace
The swagger and smirk as far away,
Where the river glistens to greet the day,--
A plume of smoke that rises and hovers
O'er the broken city like layers of covers.
Meanwhile, impatient to turn and fly,
Booted and gunned, with a fearful cry
Across the room walked George Afeared.
Now he looked in the minister's eye,
Now he paid full attention to what he could hear,
Then, impetuous, stamped the floor,
And turned and feinted for the door;
But mostly he listened with timid ears
As the explosions continued to feed his fears,
Which rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.
And lo! as he looks in the minister's face
A glimmer, the thought that he must race!
He heads for the exit, then pauses and turns,
And wonders and muses, then continues apace
As a second explosion in Baghdad burns.
A hurry of boots in the village street,
A group in the moonlight, a crowd in the dark,
And afar, from the houses, while passing, a bark
Called out by a dog lying hoping to greet;
That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,
The fate of a nation was riding that night;
And the bark called out by that dog, in his fright,
Symboled the land with its flames and its heat.
He has left the city and mounted the jeep,
And behind him, turmoiled and broad and steep,
Is poor Baghdad, inside where everyone hides;
And beside the bushes that skirt its edge,
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,
Lies fearful The Bush in his jeep as he rides.
It was twelve by the POTUS watch
When he left the tarmac from Baghdad town.
He began to crow of another notch,
Heard the cheering from the leader's dogs,
But felt the damp of the river fogs,
That rise up after the sun goes down.
It was one by the POTUS watch,
When he headed toward Washington.
He feared to have made another botch
Swim in the moonlight as he flew,
And the country below, black and bare,
Gaze at him with a spectral glare,
As if they already somehow knew
Of the empty visit that was already gone.
It was two by the POTUS watch,
When he fell asleep o'er a German town.
He dreamed of crowing another Gotch-
A! to the twittering Dems among the crowd,
And practiced saying it clear and loud
Blowing his own horn up and down.
And one was safe and asleep in his bed
While at the bridge another would fall,
Who that day would be lying dead,
And families again would wail and bawl.
You know the rest. On TV you have seen
How the POTUS party fled so green,--
How the insurgents retaliated eye for eye,
From behind each wall against each lie,
Chasing our soldiers down the lane,
Then crossing the ruins to emerge again
With IEDs at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to blow and load.
So through the night flew George Afeared;
And so through the night went his cry of success
To every radio, TV and press,--
A cry of bluster, and not of revere,
A slink in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a ploy that shall echo for evermore!
For, borne on the wings of Air Force One,
The War on Terror, never done,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The thumping of chest-beats of that screed,
And the midnight bluster of George Afeared.
(AFTERWORD: This parody was constructed using source material from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Dahr Jamail and truthout.org, Tom Raum and the Associated Press, Robin Toner & Kate Zernike and the New York Times News Service, the Providence Journal, Peter G. Gosselin and the Los Angeles Times, Molly Ivins and Creators Syndicate, and AMERICAN POETRY AND PROSE, Fourth Edition, Part One, edited by Norman Foerster, which includes the advisory, "Its historical inaccuracies are unimportant.")
July 7, 2006
(FOREWORD: Feel free to distribute this as freely as you wish, but only as long as proper attribution is made, and if you make any money from it, I want some.--Dan Culberson)
Listen all people and you shall hear
Of the midnight flight of George Afeared,
On the thirteenth of June, in double-oh six;
Pulling another of his sneaky tricks
After five short hours he was in the clear.
He said to his pilot, "If the insurgents arrive
By foot or vehicle from Baghdad to-night,
Give me a call or three or five
On my aides' cell phones and we'll take flight,--
One for the money, and two for the show;
Three to get ready and off we'll go,
Ready to flee and get the hell out
Up to the sky and then we can shout,
For the Democrat pansies to weep and to pout."
Then he said "Ta-ta!" and with smirky grin
Proudly tucked his codpiece in,
Just as the moon rose over the west,
Where lying wide on the tarmac crest,
Sat Air Force One, presidential plane;
A mighty ship, with each rivet and stain
Across the moon like a ghostly train,
And a huge white hulk, that had just been in flight
Like an incubus silently in the night.
Meanwhile, his aides through alley and street
Lead him and guide him, with watchful eyes,
Till in the explosions going up to the skies
Cover the stumblings of the frightened man,
The sound of shots, and the oppresive heat,
And the sorrowful wail of torn families' cries,
Brought on by invasion of this innocent land.
Then they entered the "green zone" of the puppet prime minister,
By the safe side entrance, with many a glance,
To the minister's office, as if by chance,
And startled the Iraqis with what seemed to them sinister
Of this unannounced visit with just five minutes notice
From the man become acronymized only as POTUS,--
He was visiting the minister "to look you in the eye,"
And send a signal to all that spirits were high,
Where he paused not once for the next five hours
'Though six had been scheduled for the Baghdad Towers
Saying the War on Terror would never die.
Beneath, in the rubble, lay the dead,
From the IEDs that did kill,
Friend and foe alike and still
This man could say, what ran through his head,
The memorized catch-phrase, with straight face
Masking the truth in the terrorists' race,
By seeming to bluster, "All is well!"
A moment only he feels the spell
Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread
Of the naked lie and the countless dead;
For suddenly all his fears replace
The swagger and smirk as far away,
Where the river glistens to greet the day,--
A plume of smoke that rises and hovers
O'er the broken city like layers of covers.
Meanwhile, impatient to turn and fly,
Booted and gunned, with a fearful cry
Across the room walked George Afeared.
Now he looked in the minister's eye,
Now he paid full attention to what he could hear,
Then, impetuous, stamped the floor,
And turned and feinted for the door;
But mostly he listened with timid ears
As the explosions continued to feed his fears,
Which rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.
And lo! as he looks in the minister's face
A glimmer, the thought that he must race!
He heads for the exit, then pauses and turns,
And wonders and muses, then continues apace
As a second explosion in Baghdad burns.
A hurry of boots in the village street,
A group in the moonlight, a crowd in the dark,
And afar, from the houses, while passing, a bark
Called out by a dog lying hoping to greet;
That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,
The fate of a nation was riding that night;
And the bark called out by that dog, in his fright,
Symboled the land with its flames and its heat.
He has left the city and mounted the jeep,
And behind him, turmoiled and broad and steep,
Is poor Baghdad, inside where everyone hides;
And beside the bushes that skirt its edge,
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,
Lies fearful The Bush in his jeep as he rides.
It was twelve by the POTUS watch
When he left the tarmac from Baghdad town.
He began to crow of another notch,
Heard the cheering from the leader's dogs,
But felt the damp of the river fogs,
That rise up after the sun goes down.
It was one by the POTUS watch,
When he headed toward Washington.
He feared to have made another botch
Swim in the moonlight as he flew,
And the country below, black and bare,
Gaze at him with a spectral glare,
As if they already somehow knew
Of the empty visit that was already gone.
It was two by the POTUS watch,
When he fell asleep o'er a German town.
He dreamed of crowing another Gotch-
A! to the twittering Dems among the crowd,
And practiced saying it clear and loud
Blowing his own horn up and down.
And one was safe and asleep in his bed
While at the bridge another would fall,
Who that day would be lying dead,
And families again would wail and bawl.
You know the rest. On TV you have seen
How the POTUS party fled so green,--
How the insurgents retaliated eye for eye,
From behind each wall against each lie,
Chasing our soldiers down the lane,
Then crossing the ruins to emerge again
With IEDs at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to blow and load.
So through the night flew George Afeared;
And so through the night went his cry of success
To every radio, TV and press,--
A cry of bluster, and not of revere,
A slink in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a ploy that shall echo for evermore!
For, borne on the wings of Air Force One,
The War on Terror, never done,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The thumping of chest-beats of that screed,
And the midnight bluster of George Afeared.
(AFTERWORD: This parody was constructed using source material from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Dahr Jamail and truthout.org, Tom Raum and the Associated Press, Robin Toner & Kate Zernike and the New York Times News Service, the Providence Journal, Peter G. Gosselin and the Los Angeles Times, Molly Ivins and Creators Syndicate, and AMERICAN POETRY AND PROSE, Fourth Edition, Part One, edited by Norman Foerster, which includes the advisory, "Its historical inaccuracies are unimportant.")
Monday, July 03, 2006
My Life and Works
July 3, 2006
DISCLAIMER ALERT: Well, not exactly, as over the years there have been other activities, hobbies, jobs and even professions that interested me and caused me to have aspirations about doing them for a living. However, I remember writing a story when I was in the second grade that I was proud of, although I no longer have it or even remember what it was about, and as I grew older I took a serious interest in writing, telling stories and even, yes, journalism.
It is no wonder that I no longer have that first story, because my father was a career soldier in the U.S. Army, and we moved all over the United States and spent three years in Europe for one of his tours of duty. Consequently, because we were moving practically every year, my mother was in the habit of throwing away anything she believed was unnecessary so that it didn't have to be packed, moved and unpacked.
So, here is the list of the places we lived, in order, starting with where I was born: Carmel, CA (although we lived in nearby Monterey, CA); Medford, OR; Lawton, OK; Pampa, TX; Lawton, OK (again); Minot, ND; El Paso, TX; Tacoma, WA; Kennewick, WA; Erlangen, Germany; Lebanon, MO; and Colorado Springs, CO, where my father retired from the Army and we could consider ourselves living in a permanent home.
In fact, until I was a junior in high school in Colorado Springs, the longest I had ever lived in one place was three years, and that was the three years we had spent in Germany.
Now, I remember writing a story when I was about nine years old that took place in the Old West and which featured the Ames Brothers as the protagonists. The thing that sticks out the most in my memory is that they traveled the West and encountered various famous outlaws, such as Jesse James and Cole Younger, they would get into a dispute and one of the Ames Brothers would shoot the gun out of the hand of the famous outlaw. I have no misgivings about not having that story anymore.
However, when I was 12 and living in Germany, I earned enough money to buy a typewriter, a portable Royal, and I became serious about writing. I had seen the movie Francis (about a talking mule), and that inspired me to write my own story, J.B. Junebug, which took place in World War II and featured a talking bird. At the time, I thought I had written a novel, but when I came across my manuscript five years later, I was surprised and disappointed to discover that it was only 17 pages of single-spaced type. I believe I still have that story and could even find it if given enough time to search for it.
I then became even more serious about writing in high school, took journalism and worked as a reporter on my weekly newspaper in my junior year and became Co-Editor-in-Chief my senior year, which included writing a column every other week. Also, I was an editor on the literary magazine, won a journalism scholarship to the University of Colorado and was a reporter for the college newspaper.
But before I go into a more detailed list of my writing accomlpishments, let me return to the topic of other activities that held my interest in my youth and adulthood about which I was just as serious, some even considered at one time or another to become my profession.
I feel confident about being able to write something interesting about any of these subjects:
* ACTING--I was on stage first when I was six and in the first grade, receiving my first public laughter, which was for something that I had created; in a second-grade production I performed a pantomime to "McNamara's Band"; in a fourth-grade production of "Sleeping Beauty," I played Prince Charming; in high school I appeared in a couple of plays, performing the lead in one of them; but then in college I dropped my interest in acting, and it wasn't until my divorce after a 10-year marriage that I realized I had suppressed something I was interested in; I then joined a community theatre group and for the next nine years I acted in, directed and/or worked on the crew of every production until I became burned out and dropped out of theatre, but not acting: I had acted in a few amateur films and was selected to appear in two Hollywood productionss that were made near my hometown: The Disappearance of Aimee, with Faye Dunaway, Bette Davis and James Woods, and American Flyers, with Kevin Costner before he became famous.
* MUSIC--When I was in Germany my parents bought a piano and encouraged me (read: "forced") to take piano lessons for the three years we lived there; my allowance was increased fourfold if I practiced one hour a day, and I soon memorized "The Minute Waltz," ending each practice session with however many renditions of it were required to fill out the hour exactly; I was also in the school choir in grammar school and was complimented enough to believe that I have a pretty good singing voice; when we returned to the U.S. I took another year of piano lessons before deciding that I would never be good enough to be a professional pianist; in high school I was given a ukulele and was serious enough to get a book and learn how to play some songs; in college I bought a four-string banjo and did the same; and then when the folk-song craze swept the country, I turned in my four-string for a five-string banjo, taught myself how to play it and even wrote songs on it when there was no piano available.
* FILMMAKING--When I was in the U.S. Army for a three-year tour, I was stationed in Heidelberg, Germany, for 1-1/2 years, where I met some friends who were interested in filmmaking, I wrote a script based on the idea of one of the friends, we shot it on weekends and it won an award and was shown at the 1969 Malta Film Festival; when I was working for IBM, my manager gave me an assignment to write a film that featured our department and that began a sideline of writing, producing and/or directing a number of films both inside and outside of work, one of which won an award and was shown at both the 1988 Aspen Film Festival and the 1988 Denver International Film Festival.
* PHOTOGRAPHY--Also when I was in Germany for the Army, one of my friends was a serious photographer, and I also became interested and serious, buying an expensive camera and parlaying it into taking photographs at work for IBM and being the official photographer for two community theatre groups to which I belonged.
* TELEVISION--When I became burned out in community theatre, our local cable-TV operation began a public-TV station for the city, I went to the first orientation for members and became so active that I wrote, directed, produced and/or worked on the crew of one ongoing weekly live production and at the end of my involvement with public-access TV I was producing and editing six weekly programs.
* RADIO--I became interested in and involved in radio production while I was in high school, being the co-host of a weekly sports show and announcing a few basketball and baseball games; I took some radio training when I joined the Army, although I was never able to use it; and in 1978 I became involved with the new public radio station in my hometown when it began operation, and I am still involved with it, writing and producing a weekly movie review as a volunteer.
* TEACHING--I joined the Army in order to attend its journalism school and after graduation was retained as an instructor at the school; however, when I got out of the Army and decided that I wasn't going to become a successful novelist as I had planned, I went back to graduate school with the idea of obtaining an M.A. degree in English literature and becoming a college professor, but a motorcycle accident forced me to change those plans; then when I was working for IBM, after taking a class in technical writing, I was asked by the instructor to teach an editing class when the scheduled instructor had to cancel at the last minute, he was so impressed that he engaged me to teach more classes and eventually run the entire operation of various courses for our division, where eventually I prepared additional courses and taught them all over the U.S., Europe and Canada.
But back to writing, which is the purpose of this blog:
I am currently writing freelance articles for various publications, some of which I publish myself, in which my columns appear monthly. For 34 years I have been a film critic for three newspapers, two magazines, two radio stations and a cable-TV station, with 3,842 published reviews as of July 3, 2006. I currently write, produce and deliver a weekly film review for KGNU Community Radio, where I have been volunteering since 1978, and in 1994 I wrote a monthly column for a local newspaper and in 1996 wrote a column for another newspaper, both published in Boulder, Colorado, where I live.
I have also written instructor's guides for two Red Cross seminars, published five short stories in various publications and published a total of 722 articles in various publications, some of which I was a staff writer for, and on the Internet.
In addition, I have published two works of fiction; 14 nonfiction books; 167 films, videotapes, commercials and live TV productions; 3 live TV comedy routines; and 147 items of special interest, but who's counting?
I received a B.A. degree (Phi Beta Kappa) in English literature with a distributed minor in history, anthropology, the classics, psychology and philosophy from the University of Colorado in Boulder, during which year I also won a full scholarship to the Rocky Mountain Writers Conference.
My first novel is still being worked on, and my second novel is only half finished. In addition, I have written countless poems, 10 film scripts and treatments, 2 plays and 1 science-fiction novella.
In 2005 my nonfiction book, An Atheist's Handbook, was published by Xlibris Corp., a division of Random House.
I took early retirement from IBM, where I worked as a technical writer, editor, publications planner, technical-report editor and information developer as my main jobs, as well as photographer, film and video writer and producer, course developer and instructor as sideline jobs, which I was allowed to do as long as I satisfied my manager with my main jobs.
As I say at the top, all I ever wanted to be was a writer.
DISCLAIMER ALERT: Well, not exactly, as over the years there have been other activities, hobbies, jobs and even professions that interested me and caused me to have aspirations about doing them for a living. However, I remember writing a story when I was in the second grade that I was proud of, although I no longer have it or even remember what it was about, and as I grew older I took a serious interest in writing, telling stories and even, yes, journalism.
It is no wonder that I no longer have that first story, because my father was a career soldier in the U.S. Army, and we moved all over the United States and spent three years in Europe for one of his tours of duty. Consequently, because we were moving practically every year, my mother was in the habit of throwing away anything she believed was unnecessary so that it didn't have to be packed, moved and unpacked.
So, here is the list of the places we lived, in order, starting with where I was born: Carmel, CA (although we lived in nearby Monterey, CA); Medford, OR; Lawton, OK; Pampa, TX; Lawton, OK (again); Minot, ND; El Paso, TX; Tacoma, WA; Kennewick, WA; Erlangen, Germany; Lebanon, MO; and Colorado Springs, CO, where my father retired from the Army and we could consider ourselves living in a permanent home.
In fact, until I was a junior in high school in Colorado Springs, the longest I had ever lived in one place was three years, and that was the three years we had spent in Germany.
Now, I remember writing a story when I was about nine years old that took place in the Old West and which featured the Ames Brothers as the protagonists. The thing that sticks out the most in my memory is that they traveled the West and encountered various famous outlaws, such as Jesse James and Cole Younger, they would get into a dispute and one of the Ames Brothers would shoot the gun out of the hand of the famous outlaw. I have no misgivings about not having that story anymore.
However, when I was 12 and living in Germany, I earned enough money to buy a typewriter, a portable Royal, and I became serious about writing. I had seen the movie Francis (about a talking mule), and that inspired me to write my own story, J.B. Junebug, which took place in World War II and featured a talking bird. At the time, I thought I had written a novel, but when I came across my manuscript five years later, I was surprised and disappointed to discover that it was only 17 pages of single-spaced type. I believe I still have that story and could even find it if given enough time to search for it.
I then became even more serious about writing in high school, took journalism and worked as a reporter on my weekly newspaper in my junior year and became Co-Editor-in-Chief my senior year, which included writing a column every other week. Also, I was an editor on the literary magazine, won a journalism scholarship to the University of Colorado and was a reporter for the college newspaper.
But before I go into a more detailed list of my writing accomlpishments, let me return to the topic of other activities that held my interest in my youth and adulthood about which I was just as serious, some even considered at one time or another to become my profession.
I feel confident about being able to write something interesting about any of these subjects:
* ACTING--I was on stage first when I was six and in the first grade, receiving my first public laughter, which was for something that I had created; in a second-grade production I performed a pantomime to "McNamara's Band"; in a fourth-grade production of "Sleeping Beauty," I played Prince Charming; in high school I appeared in a couple of plays, performing the lead in one of them; but then in college I dropped my interest in acting, and it wasn't until my divorce after a 10-year marriage that I realized I had suppressed something I was interested in; I then joined a community theatre group and for the next nine years I acted in, directed and/or worked on the crew of every production until I became burned out and dropped out of theatre, but not acting: I had acted in a few amateur films and was selected to appear in two Hollywood productionss that were made near my hometown: The Disappearance of Aimee, with Faye Dunaway, Bette Davis and James Woods, and American Flyers, with Kevin Costner before he became famous.
* MUSIC--When I was in Germany my parents bought a piano and encouraged me (read: "forced") to take piano lessons for the three years we lived there; my allowance was increased fourfold if I practiced one hour a day, and I soon memorized "The Minute Waltz," ending each practice session with however many renditions of it were required to fill out the hour exactly; I was also in the school choir in grammar school and was complimented enough to believe that I have a pretty good singing voice; when we returned to the U.S. I took another year of piano lessons before deciding that I would never be good enough to be a professional pianist; in high school I was given a ukulele and was serious enough to get a book and learn how to play some songs; in college I bought a four-string banjo and did the same; and then when the folk-song craze swept the country, I turned in my four-string for a five-string banjo, taught myself how to play it and even wrote songs on it when there was no piano available.
* FILMMAKING--When I was in the U.S. Army for a three-year tour, I was stationed in Heidelberg, Germany, for 1-1/2 years, where I met some friends who were interested in filmmaking, I wrote a script based on the idea of one of the friends, we shot it on weekends and it won an award and was shown at the 1969 Malta Film Festival; when I was working for IBM, my manager gave me an assignment to write a film that featured our department and that began a sideline of writing, producing and/or directing a number of films both inside and outside of work, one of which won an award and was shown at both the 1988 Aspen Film Festival and the 1988 Denver International Film Festival.
* PHOTOGRAPHY--Also when I was in Germany for the Army, one of my friends was a serious photographer, and I also became interested and serious, buying an expensive camera and parlaying it into taking photographs at work for IBM and being the official photographer for two community theatre groups to which I belonged.
* TELEVISION--When I became burned out in community theatre, our local cable-TV operation began a public-TV station for the city, I went to the first orientation for members and became so active that I wrote, directed, produced and/or worked on the crew of one ongoing weekly live production and at the end of my involvement with public-access TV I was producing and editing six weekly programs.
* RADIO--I became interested in and involved in radio production while I was in high school, being the co-host of a weekly sports show and announcing a few basketball and baseball games; I took some radio training when I joined the Army, although I was never able to use it; and in 1978 I became involved with the new public radio station in my hometown when it began operation, and I am still involved with it, writing and producing a weekly movie review as a volunteer.
* TEACHING--I joined the Army in order to attend its journalism school and after graduation was retained as an instructor at the school; however, when I got out of the Army and decided that I wasn't going to become a successful novelist as I had planned, I went back to graduate school with the idea of obtaining an M.A. degree in English literature and becoming a college professor, but a motorcycle accident forced me to change those plans; then when I was working for IBM, after taking a class in technical writing, I was asked by the instructor to teach an editing class when the scheduled instructor had to cancel at the last minute, he was so impressed that he engaged me to teach more classes and eventually run the entire operation of various courses for our division, where eventually I prepared additional courses and taught them all over the U.S., Europe and Canada.
But back to writing, which is the purpose of this blog:
I am currently writing freelance articles for various publications, some of which I publish myself, in which my columns appear monthly. For 34 years I have been a film critic for three newspapers, two magazines, two radio stations and a cable-TV station, with 3,842 published reviews as of July 3, 2006. I currently write, produce and deliver a weekly film review for KGNU Community Radio, where I have been volunteering since 1978, and in 1994 I wrote a monthly column for a local newspaper and in 1996 wrote a column for another newspaper, both published in Boulder, Colorado, where I live.
I have also written instructor's guides for two Red Cross seminars, published five short stories in various publications and published a total of 722 articles in various publications, some of which I was a staff writer for, and on the Internet.
In addition, I have published two works of fiction; 14 nonfiction books; 167 films, videotapes, commercials and live TV productions; 3 live TV comedy routines; and 147 items of special interest, but who's counting?
I received a B.A. degree (Phi Beta Kappa) in English literature with a distributed minor in history, anthropology, the classics, psychology and philosophy from the University of Colorado in Boulder, during which year I also won a full scholarship to the Rocky Mountain Writers Conference.
My first novel is still being worked on, and my second novel is only half finished. In addition, I have written countless poems, 10 film scripts and treatments, 2 plays and 1 science-fiction novella.
In 2005 my nonfiction book, An Atheist's Handbook, was published by Xlibris Corp., a division of Random House.
I took early retirement from IBM, where I worked as a technical writer, editor, publications planner, technical-report editor and information developer as my main jobs, as well as photographer, film and video writer and producer, course developer and instructor as sideline jobs, which I was allowed to do as long as I satisfied my manager with my main jobs.
As I say at the top, all I ever wanted to be was a writer.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
An Atheist's Handbook
My recently published book, AN ATHEIST'S HANDBOOK, is now available to be ordered from the publisher, XlibrisCorporation, a division of Random House.
You can order it directly from the publisher at:
1-888-795-4274
www.Xlibris.com
Orders@Xlibris.com
It can also be ordered from Amazon.com, BarnesandNoble.com, Borders.com, EvolveFISH.com and various other online bookstores on the Internet:
AN ATHEIST'S HANDBOOK
Dan Culberson
ISBN: 1-4134-7653-8
It is only 112 pages long, can be read in one sitting, and would make a good Christmas present. (All puns intended.) As the blurb on the back page says: "An Atheist's Handbook describes the 'Who, What, When,Where, Why, and How' of the author's transition from religiousbeliever to religious nonbeliever in a logical, philosophical,and easy-to-read fashion. It should be required reading foreveryone who does or does not believe in God."
You can order it directly from the publisher at:
1-888-795-4274
www.Xlibris.com
Orders@Xlibris.com
It can also be ordered from Amazon.com, BarnesandNoble.com, Borders.com, EvolveFISH.com and various other online bookstores on the Internet:
AN ATHEIST'S HANDBOOK
Dan Culberson
ISBN: 1-4134-7653-8
It is only 112 pages long, can be read in one sitting, and would make a good Christmas present. (All puns intended.) As the blurb on the back page says: "An Atheist's Handbook describes the 'Who, What, When,Where, Why, and How' of the author's transition from religiousbeliever to religious nonbeliever in a logical, philosophical,and easy-to-read fashion. It should be required reading foreveryone who does or does not believe in God."
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