So, I have not written a story since probably junior high school, but am being encouraged by Amy to follow through on an idea that I had this morning on the way to work. I will be trying my hand at this, so please leave any comments you'd like as to where you think this should go. Please be kind. My ego is brittle.
Alex stared at the man. He tried his best to control his emotions, "How old do you think I am? This is a freaking PG-13 movie!"
The ticket taker, a freshman that Alex had seen around school, was clearly unprepared for this challenge and tried to cover his ass, "I'm sorry, sir. It's theater policy. I have to check your ID."
Alex should have been used to these sorts of questions. Even though Alex's 2-year-old driver's license said otherwise, people could not be blamed for mistaking him for a much younger age. Alex was about 5 foot 4 inches, shaved once a week (mostly to get the scraggly granny-hairs from his chin), and still dressed in the clothes that his mother had bought for him when he was a freshman. It was this license that satisfied the embarrassed ticket taker and granted Alex access past the velvet ropes of the theater entrance, but not before he had a chance to look over at Erin.
Erin was beautiful. Alex couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was about her that fascinated him. It could have been her amazingly deep, dark, brown eyes. It could have been the slight dimple in one of her cheeks that came when she gave a genuine smile. Or it could have been that she was never good at hiding her feelings, a characteristic which was on full display right now as her face was a bright red in embarrassment for Alex.
Well, it wasn't all for Alex. Erin could clearly do better, they both knew that. When her classmate Alex had called out of the blue earlier in the week, she felt as if a cute 3-legged puppy was whelping for some food. She couldn't possibly say no, but, at the same time, she wasn't prepared for the situation to be so blatantly called out so early in the date.
"I'm so looking forward to this movie," Alex said to Erin as she passed the ticket taker without hassle. It was an obvious attempt to move past the incident, and failed to alleviate Erin's awkwardness.
"Me too," she said sheepishly.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Sisyphus
One way to get me frustrated at work is to finish a task that in its very nature will need to be completed again very soon. I love the sense of accomplishment that comes with knowing that I will never have to do it again. So, I'm thinking of making a recurring post of jobs that I notice that exemplify the never-ending nature of work.
Today's job is something that I have thought about often. I use a public restroom every day at work at a relatively busy tourist attraction. Sometimes, when I'm going to go and sit down for a little while in there, I run into the maintenance staff member on the way out. That is a jackpot for me and, what I can only imagine, gnashing of teeth for him. I get a clean john and he gets to see his hard work soiled.
"…Because the mail never stops. It just keeps coming and coming and coming. There’s never a letup. It’s relentless. Every day it piles up more and more, but the more you get out, the more it keeps coming. And then the bar code reader breaks. And then it’s Publisher’s Clearinghouse day."
-Newman
Today's job is something that I have thought about often. I use a public restroom every day at work at a relatively busy tourist attraction. Sometimes, when I'm going to go and sit down for a little while in there, I run into the maintenance staff member on the way out. That is a jackpot for me and, what I can only imagine, gnashing of teeth for him. I get a clean john and he gets to see his hard work soiled.
"…Because the mail never stops. It just keeps coming and coming and coming. There’s never a letup. It’s relentless. Every day it piles up more and more, but the more you get out, the more it keeps coming. And then the bar code reader breaks. And then it’s Publisher’s Clearinghouse day."
-Newman
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Fickle?
"Joe, you are so fickle in many, many aspects of your life"
-Gchat conversation from yesterday
It seemed pretty innocuous at the time. I mean, the comment was made regarding how I don't like 24 anymore (for very justifiable reasons, I think). But, as I thought about it, I really am a pretty fickle person, as illustrated by things as small and insignificant as 24. It's not something that I'm proud of either. I wish I could be totally passionate about something (professionally especially), but I have a type of ADD when it comes to my interests. I will be interested in one topic for a period of 3 months and then just as quickly I will lose that interest and move on. I have started more projects/pursuits than I can possibly list here or even remember.
I think it's an inconvenient combination of intellectual laziness and curiosity. I'm fascinated by a bunch of things, but am unwilling to commit the time and energy that they deserve. I get especially disheartened when I realize that there will always be someone who's better than me at that particular issue. Someone will always know more about history than I will. Someone will always know more about economics than I will. Someone will always know more about baseball than I will. Someone will always be a better Christian than I am. Not like any of these things are that difficult to do, but still. I also have a knee-jerk negative reaction towards anything that I'm not naturally good at. If I'm not good at it right off the bat, then I'm clearly not cut out for this.
Sensing this in me a long time ago, my Dad gave me what turned into be one of my favorite books, The Boys of Summer by Roger Kahn. One of the stories in there is of George "The Shotgun" Shuba, the right fielder for the Brooklyn Dodgers in the 1950s. Shuba had a beautiful, natural swing that resulted in hard line drives. In an interview 30 years after Shuba's retirement, Kahn called Shuba "a natural." Shuba's response is a classic:
It has been an absolute struggle to devote myself to anything with that sort of intensity. I take some solace in the fact that I have managed to avoid fickleness (is that really a word?) in some important areas of my life. I try to be a loyal friend and I'm an apologist for my friends until the bitter end. I am committed to my girlfriend and would do almost anything for her (I would not renounce my faith, sorry baby...). I love the Lord and try to be the best witness I can be.
At the same time, I change my mind about my interests, about my non-core beliefs. I do give off the impression that I'm fickle. I continue some things that I've had interest in, but give a half-assed effort towards them at best while I totally disregard others.
I'm going to keep trying to remind myself that sure, some people are going to be better at things than me, but that's not because they're naturals. Nothing comes easy, so long as it's worth having.
-Gchat conversation from yesterday
It seemed pretty innocuous at the time. I mean, the comment was made regarding how I don't like 24 anymore (for very justifiable reasons, I think). But, as I thought about it, I really am a pretty fickle person, as illustrated by things as small and insignificant as 24. It's not something that I'm proud of either. I wish I could be totally passionate about something (professionally especially), but I have a type of ADD when it comes to my interests. I will be interested in one topic for a period of 3 months and then just as quickly I will lose that interest and move on. I have started more projects/pursuits than I can possibly list here or even remember.
I think it's an inconvenient combination of intellectual laziness and curiosity. I'm fascinated by a bunch of things, but am unwilling to commit the time and energy that they deserve. I get especially disheartened when I realize that there will always be someone who's better than me at that particular issue. Someone will always know more about history than I will. Someone will always know more about economics than I will. Someone will always know more about baseball than I will. Someone will always be a better Christian than I am. Not like any of these things are that difficult to do, but still. I also have a knee-jerk negative reaction towards anything that I'm not naturally good at. If I'm not good at it right off the bat, then I'm clearly not cut out for this.
Sensing this in me a long time ago, my Dad gave me what turned into be one of my favorite books, The Boys of Summer by Roger Kahn. One of the stories in there is of George "The Shotgun" Shuba, the right fielder for the Brooklyn Dodgers in the 1950s. Shuba had a beautiful, natural swing that resulted in hard line drives. In an interview 30 years after Shuba's retirement, Kahn called Shuba "a natural." Shuba's response is a classic:
"I swung a 44-ounce bat 600 times a night, every night, and after 60 I'd make an 'X'. Ten X's and I'd have my 600 swings... 4,200 times a week. 47,200 swings every winter. Wrists. The fastball's by you. You gotta wrist it out. Forty-seven thousand two hundred times. You call that natural?"
It has been an absolute struggle to devote myself to anything with that sort of intensity. I take some solace in the fact that I have managed to avoid fickleness (is that really a word?) in some important areas of my life. I try to be a loyal friend and I'm an apologist for my friends until the bitter end. I am committed to my girlfriend and would do almost anything for her (I would not renounce my faith, sorry baby...). I love the Lord and try to be the best witness I can be.
At the same time, I change my mind about my interests, about my non-core beliefs. I do give off the impression that I'm fickle. I continue some things that I've had interest in, but give a half-assed effort towards them at best while I totally disregard others.
I'm going to keep trying to remind myself that sure, some people are going to be better at things than me, but that's not because they're naturals. Nothing comes easy, so long as it's worth having.
Yet Another Piazza Post
I'm pretty sure that no subject has received more attention in the several incarnations of my blog than Mike Piazza. Well, Mike officially announced his retirement yesterday, ending his career as the greatest hitting catcher in baseball history and the face of the Mets franchise from the day he was traded there in 1998 to the last day of the 2005 season when it was clear that he wouldn't be re-signed.
Believe it or not, I was not always obsessed with baseball. I loved the Mets as a very little kid, but lost a lot of interest when the strike came and I moved to Yankee/Red Sox territory in fourth grade. That remained the case for a while, I actually mocked peoples' passion for sports and thought they were stupid. Man, how things change. Around 1997, I was in search for a passion, an identity, something to follow and get excited about. The Mets were an adequate team at that point, just starting to get things together, but they still were missing that star, a face for their franchise.
Enter Piazza, several playoff appearances, a World Series loss, and Joe Budd as an insane Mets fan. Piazza's bat, his class and his leadership defined the Mets and was the defining figure in my first passion as a self-conscious adult. I've been watching this tribute video on a loop since yesterday, adding to my overall melancholy mood, but in the end, I'm happy to have had been able to come of age with the Mets during the Piazza years.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Limbo
This has been a rough week/month/season for me. I decided in January to take the LSAT on June 16th and probably attend law school in the Fall of 2009. This decision, in itself, was momentous for me and I'm still coming to grips with it (if you talk to me about it, I'll still equivocate and act like it depends on the LSAT). I don't know why that is, but I think it is helping to contribute to my current frustrations.
Since I decided to take up the LSAT as my secondary occupation, I have felt a sudden lack of progress in my life and almost a letdown following a very important set of personal revelations. It's only getting worse this week as the countdown has reached T-minus one month until the big test and I've progressed only a few points since I started studying six months ago. Where is this test going to take me? Can my goals survive a disappointing test score? What do I know about being a lawyer?
This time of waiting has allowed a strong sense of self-doubt to creep back into my life. I am trying my best to stem this tide and prohibit it from seeping into my personal life, but I'm afraid that I am failing miserably at that too. It is during these times where I really wish that I believed in pre-destination. I wish that God forced us down a particular, well-lit path through a beautiful safe neighborhood. It doesn't quite work out that way, however. I feel like instead of that path, I'm standing still, in a dark room with a small distant light in the distance.
I don't believe in limbo either, but, I can now understand what it feels like to spend time there. I will keep praying for patience and for guidance and I ask for yours' as well. I have faith that, with God's help, I will get out of this rut and my path will become clearer after my test, but in the meantime, I must keep my eyes on that light and keep moving my legs towards it.
Since I decided to take up the LSAT as my secondary occupation, I have felt a sudden lack of progress in my life and almost a letdown following a very important set of personal revelations. It's only getting worse this week as the countdown has reached T-minus one month until the big test and I've progressed only a few points since I started studying six months ago. Where is this test going to take me? Can my goals survive a disappointing test score? What do I know about being a lawyer?
This time of waiting has allowed a strong sense of self-doubt to creep back into my life. I am trying my best to stem this tide and prohibit it from seeping into my personal life, but I'm afraid that I am failing miserably at that too. It is during these times where I really wish that I believed in pre-destination. I wish that God forced us down a particular, well-lit path through a beautiful safe neighborhood. It doesn't quite work out that way, however. I feel like instead of that path, I'm standing still, in a dark room with a small distant light in the distance.
I don't believe in limbo either, but, I can now understand what it feels like to spend time there. I will keep praying for patience and for guidance and I ask for yours' as well. I have faith that, with God's help, I will get out of this rut and my path will become clearer after my test, but in the meantime, I must keep my eyes on that light and keep moving my legs towards it.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Thoughts on Mets Fandom
Being a Mets fan living in Washington, DC, it's very rare to make it up to Shea Stadium to see my favorite team on their home field. That is one of the reasons why my fairly new tradition of going to see the Home Opener with my Dad is a highlight of my year (not to mention the quality father-son time). Yet, in the last two seasons, I have come away disgusted, disappointed, and disillusioned with the Mets organization and especially with a very vocal minority of their fans.
The Mets are supposed to be the quirky, independent, and fun-loving younger brother of the corporate, buttoned-down New York Yankees. During yesterday's home opener, the Mets management seemed to put this quirkiness away in a museum dedicated to Mets past. The tribute video to Shea Stadium included clips of fans parading on the field with posters, a stagecoach riding around the bases, fans charging the field following one of their amazin' victories, and I'm sure none of these endearing events occurred within the last twenty years.
Even after these events and promotions became impractical and unprofitable, the Mets hung onto some semblance of character with a manager like Bobby Valentine and players like Turk Wendell, Benny Agbayani, and Timo Perez. Notice that all of these figures were involved in, what was the turning point of the New York Mets organization, the 2000 World Series.
The 2000 World Series (the Subway Series) is still the most painful experience in my baseball life (including the 2006 Game 7 loss and the epic 2007 collapse). The Mets got thumped by their intra-city rivals, stamping the Mets forever as second-class citizens in their own city. Rather than embracing that status and pursuing the niche market of a beloved team, the Mets organization set out to copy the Yankee winning machine. The last two managers in the post-Bobby Valentine era have been Art Howe and Willie Randolph. They tried to replace Valentine with two Joe Torre clones who have emphasized "professionalism", another word for boredom (honestly, who would you rather have in the dugout, Torre who might as well be asleep, or Valentine and his fake mustache?).
Unfortunately, a copy is never quite as good as the original. The Mets organization and the Mets fans are trying to be the Yankees and doing it badly. The Mets wanted more money, so what do they do? They rip-off the Yankees' idea and create a local area sports network which provides biased coverage and cheesy news. The Mets wanted a new stadium, so what do they do? They design a new ballpark that desperately tries to look like every other new stadium in the country and removes 10,000 seats, forcing up ticket prices and making people turn to the Mets own network to watch the games. I understand Major League Baseball is a business, but, it doesn't mean that I have to enjoy seeing my team lose its identity for a few innings of Johan Santana.
Even more disappointing is the Mets fan reaction to all this. The Mets fan has become a party to this selling out. We oggle the new stadium and buy into the constant Mets' spin. We have changed from "wait 'til next year" to the Yankees' mantra of "World Series or else". This display of absolute obsession was on display at yesterday's game and turned violent on several occassions. Rather than cheering on their own team, several fans in my area barraged a lone Phillies fan with insults, food and beer. There was an actual altercation in the section next to me because a man wore a Nationals hat. This is absurd! Mets fans have always been some of the most passionate fans in baseball, but now we have begun to turn out passion into hatred and unreasonableness. It's also self-defeating; I have a hard time believing that this do-or-die attitude has nothing to do with the Mets' disappointing .500 performance at home the last few years.
I love the Mets and I can't imagine myself rooting for any other team, but I'm afraid that the Mets I loved are no more. Rooting for Yankees-lite with a bunch of wanna-be Yankee fans is just not the same.
The Mets are supposed to be the quirky, independent, and fun-loving younger brother of the corporate, buttoned-down New York Yankees. During yesterday's home opener, the Mets management seemed to put this quirkiness away in a museum dedicated to Mets past. The tribute video to Shea Stadium included clips of fans parading on the field with posters, a stagecoach riding around the bases, fans charging the field following one of their amazin' victories, and I'm sure none of these endearing events occurred within the last twenty years.
Even after these events and promotions became impractical and unprofitable, the Mets hung onto some semblance of character with a manager like Bobby Valentine and players like Turk Wendell, Benny Agbayani, and Timo Perez. Notice that all of these figures were involved in, what was the turning point of the New York Mets organization, the 2000 World Series.
The 2000 World Series (the Subway Series) is still the most painful experience in my baseball life (including the 2006 Game 7 loss and the epic 2007 collapse). The Mets got thumped by their intra-city rivals, stamping the Mets forever as second-class citizens in their own city. Rather than embracing that status and pursuing the niche market of a beloved team, the Mets organization set out to copy the Yankee winning machine. The last two managers in the post-Bobby Valentine era have been Art Howe and Willie Randolph. They tried to replace Valentine with two Joe Torre clones who have emphasized "professionalism", another word for boredom (honestly, who would you rather have in the dugout, Torre who might as well be asleep, or Valentine and his fake mustache?).
Unfortunately, a copy is never quite as good as the original. The Mets organization and the Mets fans are trying to be the Yankees and doing it badly. The Mets wanted more money, so what do they do? They rip-off the Yankees' idea and create a local area sports network which provides biased coverage and cheesy news. The Mets wanted a new stadium, so what do they do? They design a new ballpark that desperately tries to look like every other new stadium in the country and removes 10,000 seats, forcing up ticket prices and making people turn to the Mets own network to watch the games. I understand Major League Baseball is a business, but, it doesn't mean that I have to enjoy seeing my team lose its identity for a few innings of Johan Santana.
Even more disappointing is the Mets fan reaction to all this. The Mets fan has become a party to this selling out. We oggle the new stadium and buy into the constant Mets' spin. We have changed from "wait 'til next year" to the Yankees' mantra of "World Series or else". This display of absolute obsession was on display at yesterday's game and turned violent on several occassions. Rather than cheering on their own team, several fans in my area barraged a lone Phillies fan with insults, food and beer. There was an actual altercation in the section next to me because a man wore a Nationals hat. This is absurd! Mets fans have always been some of the most passionate fans in baseball, but now we have begun to turn out passion into hatred and unreasonableness. It's also self-defeating; I have a hard time believing that this do-or-die attitude has nothing to do with the Mets' disappointing .500 performance at home the last few years.
I love the Mets and I can't imagine myself rooting for any other team, but I'm afraid that the Mets I loved are no more. Rooting for Yankees-lite with a bunch of wanna-be Yankee fans is just not the same.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
My Disappointment with the Sopranos Ending
I know that I am so far behind the times on this story, but this is what happens when you rely on DVDs rather than HBO for your Sopranos kick. Anyway, I finally finished the Sopranos last night and I must say that I'm disappointed, but not for the popular reasons. Contrary to popular opinion, I loved the ending scene on an artistic level, although I had been prepared for it by the loud criticisms surrounding the episode.
Rather, I was disappointed in the Soprano family. The strength of the Sopranos as a show was getting the viewer so involved in its characters. Throughout their six seasons, I have seen the characters grow, take steps back, and yes, get whacked, but through it all, I developed a connection with them. It's because of this, that I was disappointed to see Meadow compromise on her beliefs so that she can become a high paid defense attorney for the mob. I was glad to see A.J. show some backbone in working hard, but just as disappointed when he compromised his beliefs because his parents made him a better offer.
Throughout the series, I had been hoping that the Soprano children would be able to avoid making the moral lapses of their father. Unfortunately, the finale offered us bleak moral prospects for the Sopranos, let alone the ambiguous immediate future of the family's patriarch. This, however, is not an artistic criticism at all.
The final scene was nothing short of brilliant, living up to the show's reputation for writing and cinematography. The public outrage over the disappointment says something about the blood lust and lack of imagination of Americans. We have no room in movies, books, or television for endings where there is no clear cut resolution. Artists are supposed to wrap up the message for their viewers, rather than let the audience struggle with it themselves. (Look at the response to my favorite movie this year: No Country For Old Men) Sure I love conclusions that are made for me, but I find them to be more artificial than natural. The Sopranos ending was true to life in the respect that it was morally ambiguous and anti-climactic.
Rather, I was disappointed in the Soprano family. The strength of the Sopranos as a show was getting the viewer so involved in its characters. Throughout their six seasons, I have seen the characters grow, take steps back, and yes, get whacked, but through it all, I developed a connection with them. It's because of this, that I was disappointed to see Meadow compromise on her beliefs so that she can become a high paid defense attorney for the mob. I was glad to see A.J. show some backbone in working hard, but just as disappointed when he compromised his beliefs because his parents made him a better offer.
Throughout the series, I had been hoping that the Soprano children would be able to avoid making the moral lapses of their father. Unfortunately, the finale offered us bleak moral prospects for the Sopranos, let alone the ambiguous immediate future of the family's patriarch. This, however, is not an artistic criticism at all.
The final scene was nothing short of brilliant, living up to the show's reputation for writing and cinematography. The public outrage over the disappointment says something about the blood lust and lack of imagination of Americans. We have no room in movies, books, or television for endings where there is no clear cut resolution. Artists are supposed to wrap up the message for their viewers, rather than let the audience struggle with it themselves. (Look at the response to my favorite movie this year: No Country For Old Men) Sure I love conclusions that are made for me, but I find them to be more artificial than natural. The Sopranos ending was true to life in the respect that it was morally ambiguous and anti-climactic.
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