So here we are in the dead zone between the rampant materialism of Christmas and the ugly excesses of New Year's (oddly, you get excess in both directions around New Year's Eve-- there will be drunkenness and gluttony at year end celebrations, of course, but there also won't be a spot available in the 8 AM spinning class at your local gym . . . very weird). It's too late for actual gifts, and it's too soon for quixotic resolutions, and so I'll leave you with something you can use all year long . . . some logic. It's not the most logical logic, but it's free and it's easy to understand, so what's not to like?
I use this reasoning on my children, but I suppose you could try it on adults if you don't have kids.
1. Because I said so . . . the Ur reason, an impenetrable umbrella under which all other reasons fall.
2. Because kids are starving in China/India/Bangladesh/Cleveland . . . this reason probably contributes to the childhood obesity epidemic in the United States.
3. Because it's disgusting . . . I usually pull this reason out after I catch my son Alex picking his nose (and consuming what he has mined) or when when one of my children doesn't flush the toilet and/or wash their hands or . . . sorry to go here. . . when one of my children forgets to wipe his ass and then I usually append a short history of cholera and the miracle of modern plumbing to this reason, ostensibly to scare the shit out of my children (pun intended) but they have a remarkable ability to ignore my stories of death and disease and continue with their hideous hygienic habits.
4. Because mom will go nuts if you don't get it done . . . this is a good one to use when you don't want to be the bad guy-- it usually comes into play when the kids have to finish their homework and/or clean their rooms.
5. Because that's incredibly stupid and you need to wear a helmet . . . this reason was used for a very specific situation, but if you have male children, I'm sure you'll run into something similar.
6. Because we love you . . . this usually precedes a serious grounding.
7. Because you're spoiled and need to suffer . . . after I cited this bit of logic, I chucked a completed Lego set into the recycling bin.
8. Because our family is a team, and we need to cooperate . . . this one is usually necessary after Lord of the Flies/Shining type family event; it's aiming a bit high (perhaps it should be "because our family has to abide by the laws of the United States of America, and therefore it is not legal to strangle, murder, torture, and/or cannibalize family members and they must be treated just as any other human in our society deserves."
9. Because you never see your mother and I behave like that . . . this is as irrational as any reason ever presented to a child . . . why would a pair of pre-pubescent boys act like a couple of forty-year olds who have been married for fifteen years?
10. Because you're damaging our family's reputation . . . this one is patently absurd, but in order to be a parent, you've got to be a hypocrite-- and it's no more ridiculous than the rest of the reasons, so don't be afraid to throw it into the mix.
The important thing here is variety-- you can string these reasons together in an infinite matrix of never-ending lectures and diatribes. Usually after I've perorated for ten or fifteen minutes, I've lost the desire to physically beat my children for their offenses-- and DYFUS doesn't care how long your spiel is-- they can't jail you for a filibuster. So just keep talking. These kids need some suffering, right? They should endure some sort of punishment for their behavior, and a long-winded speech is torture enough . . . so have fun with these reasons, liberally sprinkle them throughout your sermons, and if anyone has any extras for me, so that I'll be a little less predictable in 2015, then I thank you in advance.
Showing posts with label good god Dave learn how to use labels. Show all posts
Showing posts with label good god Dave learn how to use labels. Show all posts
Sunday, December 28, 2014
Thursday, December 18, 2014
Gheorghemas Day Seven (of a Possible Dozen)
On the seventh day of Gheorghemas, Big Gheorghe gave to me...
Seven Books For Reading (Seriously)
Six Beers Worth Drinking
A fiiiiifth Golden Ring..... (please?)
Four Years of Marcus;
Three Scummers Picking;
Two albums to look forward to; and
A fat guy in a jersey
Last year, I read twenty-two books (according to my Gheorghemas post). Not too shabby, if you look at how many books most Americans read each year. And many of these books were either long or difficult . . . or both: Infinite Jest, The Goldfinch, Far From the Tree, Columbine, etc.
Congrats to me.
Though I titled last year's post Seven Books for Reading, it might have been better titled: Seven Books You Can Brag That You Read (To Other Elitist Bastards). I'm proud I powered through them, but I'm not sure they were practical recommendations.
This year, however, was different. This year I read a shitload of books-- many of them short and many of them easy (two superb traits that our fearless leader Rob possesses). Plus, I was really sick in the spring with the flu and bronchitis, and I went on a cross-country trip for much of the summer. So I had some serious reading opportunities. I am proud to say that I read forty-six books, and many of them are actually books for reading: crime fiction and travel and sports and financial stuff. Here are the seven most memorable-- and I've included the covers so you can judge them:
1) The Sixth Extinction: an Unnatural History by Elizabeth Kolbert
Megafauna and an impending biological apocalypse (if you're partial to humans). This is the only "serious" book on the list, but it's vivid, surprisingly readable, and contains information vital to human survival-- so you might want to skip it and move down to the crime-thrillers.
2) The Cold Cold Ground by Adrian Mckinty
It's 1981, and a hipster Catholic cop (who is partial to The Clash) treads some dangerous ground: he's a member of the Belfast RUC, the mainly Protestant police force . . . and being the token Catholic on the force is difficult enough, but he's also simultaneously dealing with the constant civil unrest and a bona fide serial killer. Read the trilogy.
3) Play Their Hearts Out: A Coach, His Star Recruit, and the Youth Basketball Machine by George Dohrmann
If you're a parent and/or a coach, you need to read this book. It's a wild ride, full of highs and lows, despicable characters and inspirational moments, and it will change the way you view youth sports. A Mark recommendation.
4) The Power of the Dog by Don Winslow
I read this in August, while I sat on the beach at Sea Isle City, surrounded by my friends and family. While they laughed and had good times, I was immersed in a world of DEA agents, drug cartels, and torture. LOTS of torture. Winslow reads like a blend of two of my favorite authors: James Ellroy and Elmore Leonard; after I read this one, I went on a Winslow binge: Savages, The Winter of Frankie Machine, The Dawn Patrol . . . they are all worth reading.
5) Ready Player One by Ernest Kline
This book was so entertaining that I felt guilty while reading it. I recommend it to anyone enjoys references to Joust, Zork, TRS-80, War Games, Pac Man, John Hughes, Dungeons and Dragons, and things of that ilk.
6) Another Great Day at Sea: Life Aboard the U.S.S. George H. W. Bush by Geoff Dyer
7) A three way tie: Flash Boys, David and Goliath, and Think Like a Freak
Michael Lewis, Malcolm Gladwell, and the Levitt/Dubner duo have been churning out some of the slickest, most entertaining, and totally excellent non-fiction ever written. Even though these these three books will probably be considered minor efforts in their collective oeuvre, they were still totally entertaining and totally worth reading. Flash Boys sheds light on the dark and weird world of high-frequency trading; David and Goliath turns multiple underdog stories upside-down; and Think Like a Freak explains what David Lee Roth and King Solomon have in common.
Below is my entire list of books from 2014. Right now I am reading The Gentleman's Hour by Don Winslow and A History of the American People by Paul Johnson. I will certainly finish the Winslow book; it's a crime thriller set in San Diego-- lots of surfing, drugs, and male camaraderie, but I doubt I will get through the Paul Johnson tome . . . but there's always next year.
The Unwinding: An Inner History of the New America, After the Music Stopped: The Financial Crisis, the Response, and the Work Ahead , What I Learned Losing a Million Dollars, The Cold Cold Ground, American Hippopotamus , Play Their Hearts Out: A Coach, His Star Recruit, and the Youth Basketball Machine, Futebol: The Brazilian Way of Life, Looking for Alaska, The Lizard King: The True Crimes and Passions of the World's Greatest Reptile Smugglers, The Improbability Principle, The Sixth Extinction: An Unnatural History, The Interestings, Dare Me, All Joy and No Fun: The Paradox of Modern Parenthood, Brain on Fire: My Month of Madness, You Should Have Known, Dog Soldiers, Lost in My Own Backyard, Expiration Date, The Improbability Principle, Flash Boys, The Noble Hustle: Poker, Beef Jerky and Death, It's Complicated: the social lives of networked teens, Stuff Matters: Exploring the Marvelous Materials that Shape Our Man-Made World, Another Great Day at Sea: Life Aboard the USS George H.W. Bush, No Place to Hide: Edward Snowden, the NSA, and the U.S. Surveillance State , Travels with Charley, The Lost Continent, Ungifted: Intelligence Redefined, The Truth About Talent, Practice, Creativity, and the Many Paths to Greatness , Empire's Workshop: Latin America, the United States, and the Rise of the New Imperialism, Power of the Dog, The Second Machine Age: Work, Progress, and Prosperity in a Time of Brilliant Technologies, I Hear the Sirens in the Street, David and Goliath: Underdogs, Misfits, and the Art of Battling Giants, Uncharted: Big Data as a Lens on Human Culture, Think Like a Freak, Bad Land: An American Romance, Shelter, Ready Player One, The Fever , Over Easy, The Teacher Wars: A History of America's Most Embattled Profession, Savages, The Winter of Frankie Machine, Dawn Patrol, How We Got to Now: Six Innovations That Made the Modern World
Thursday, June 05, 2014
Dave's Definitive Quadrennial World Cup Preview
Hola! Buon Giorno! Oi! Guten Tag! Can you believe four years have passed since the last World Cup? Can you believe there's a word for things that occur every four years?
You'll notice that "hello" and "marhaba" and "jambo" and"lei ho" were not included in the list of greetings. That was on purpose! No country from North America, Africa, Asia, or the Middle East has ever won the World Cup. So you should not concern yourself with those places (unless you like bribery . . . then you should head to Qatar).
Though I don't watch much professional soccer, my life is engulfed by the sport. I think about soccer. I read about soccer. I spend at least a half an hour a day daydreaming about drills and tactics. I also spend quite a bit of time talking to other soccer coaches. I play soccer on the weekends with people named Gio and Guillermo and Felipe. I run practices year round. I coach both high school and youth players.
Because of this, I also assume that other people are thinking about soccer all the time. This might be true, or it might be that people view me as a soccer guy (I have a lot of shirts with soccer balls on them) and if they have any association with soccer, then it comes up in conversation with me. This makes me think that soccer is the primary thing on most people's minds. So it was revealing (and a little mind-blowing) when I conducted some interviews about the World Cup. The main thing that I learned was that the general population (as represented by people hanging around the English Office and the high school kids in my classes) is NOT thinking about soccer. There's some actual information buried in this preview, but I'll warn you, getting to it isn't going to be pretty (except for the beefcake pics).
The following statement represents the opinions of several women I interviewed:
"You should put a picture of Ronaldo with his shirt off."
No problem.
My friend and colleague Stacey confided in me that she's "heard great things about Pele."
Chantal knew that there was a "theme song by Pit Bull."
Once I got the World Cup discussion rolling in the office, I overheard two English teachers discussing Halfthor Julius Bjornnsson.
"Halfthor Bjornnsson? What team does he play for? Croatia? The Netherlands?"
"Oh, he's not a soccer player. He plays "The Mountain" on Game of Thrones."
They put a piece of paper high on the wall in the English office that marks exactly how tall the Mountain is. This is what The Mountain looks like. He would be difficult to cover on a corner kick.
I asked them if they had any insight on the World Cup, and the nerdier of the two (no mean feat) looked at me and with great sincerity, said, "Luxembourg . . . Trinidad and Tobago . . . Ivory Coast . . . Lichtenstein." I agreed that those were countries in the world, but leveled with them that-- aside from Ivory Coast-- they were not represented in the World Cup.
Since the Caucasian nerds were useless, I decided to ask the more ethnically diverse folks. This didn't help much. Our token Jamaican woman said she was rooting for Brazil. The new teacher, who is half-Spanish, said she is "going for Spain." And the Greek guy with the fantastically ethnic name of Arghiris admitted that he knew nothing about soccer, but every four years he "pulls out the blue and white." That would be quadrennially.
Of all my students, only one spoke with confidence. He said he watched a lot of FIFA and the thing to remember was "don't waste your time rooting for America." A real patriot.
And then there is my friend Terry. You may remember him from several soccer expeditions.
While Terry can be annoyingly opinionated on many matters, there is one thing that he knows inside and out: the state capitals. Even the Dakotas. Terry occasionally comes off as being mildly autistic.
While Terry's comprehensive knowledge of geography is impressive and annoying, he also knows quite a bit about soccer. He is the boy's varsity coach at our school, he still plays (when he's not injured) and he is an avid fan. When it comes to soccer, you can trust him. Here's what he has to say:
The United States has a 40% chance of surviving their group. Their problem is defense, so they are going to have to score first and outscore teams.
The players to watch are Argentina's Sergio Aguero, Brazil's Neymar, and Uruguay's Luis Suarez.
Everyone believes the favorite is Germany and Terry is no exception, but his dark horse picks are Belgium and Ghana. Ghana is a bit young-- with an average age of 24-- but they have nine Premier League players
Belgium's team-- led by Eden Hazard-- is regarded as the "golden generation." This could be a good thing, but Terry also sees it as a kiss of death. He reminded me of 2002, when the U.S. upset the golden generation Portuguese team, and how the U.S. pulled the same stunt against the golden generation Columbian team in 1994.
That's all I've got. The important thing is that most people in America don't give a flying frack about soccer. And some people-- especially the ladies-- don't care much about how the ball bounces, they just like shirtless pictures of fit men. One of these ladies was despondent that Fabio Cannavaro retired and would not be playing for Italy. This is for her:
And finally, a student named Hector, who likes to write computer code and doesn't know anything about the World Cup, advised me that I should "include a lot of hashtags in your post." Okay, Hector.
###############################################################################
You'll notice that "hello" and "marhaba" and "jambo" and"lei ho" were not included in the list of greetings. That was on purpose! No country from North America, Africa, Asia, or the Middle East has ever won the World Cup. So you should not concern yourself with those places (unless you like bribery . . . then you should head to Qatar).
Though I don't watch much professional soccer, my life is engulfed by the sport. I think about soccer. I read about soccer. I spend at least a half an hour a day daydreaming about drills and tactics. I also spend quite a bit of time talking to other soccer coaches. I play soccer on the weekends with people named Gio and Guillermo and Felipe. I run practices year round. I coach both high school and youth players.
Because of this, I also assume that other people are thinking about soccer all the time. This might be true, or it might be that people view me as a soccer guy (I have a lot of shirts with soccer balls on them) and if they have any association with soccer, then it comes up in conversation with me. This makes me think that soccer is the primary thing on most people's minds. So it was revealing (and a little mind-blowing) when I conducted some interviews about the World Cup. The main thing that I learned was that the general population (as represented by people hanging around the English Office and the high school kids in my classes) is NOT thinking about soccer. There's some actual information buried in this preview, but I'll warn you, getting to it isn't going to be pretty (except for the beefcake pics).
The following statement represents the opinions of several women I interviewed:
"You should put a picture of Ronaldo with his shirt off."
No problem.
My friend and colleague Stacey confided in me that she's "heard great things about Pele."
Chantal knew that there was a "theme song by Pit Bull."
Once I got the World Cup discussion rolling in the office, I overheard two English teachers discussing Halfthor Julius Bjornnsson.
"Halfthor Bjornnsson? What team does he play for? Croatia? The Netherlands?"
"Oh, he's not a soccer player. He plays "The Mountain" on Game of Thrones."
They put a piece of paper high on the wall in the English office that marks exactly how tall the Mountain is. This is what The Mountain looks like. He would be difficult to cover on a corner kick.
I asked them if they had any insight on the World Cup, and the nerdier of the two (no mean feat) looked at me and with great sincerity, said, "Luxembourg . . . Trinidad and Tobago . . . Ivory Coast . . . Lichtenstein." I agreed that those were countries in the world, but leveled with them that-- aside from Ivory Coast-- they were not represented in the World Cup.
Since the Caucasian nerds were useless, I decided to ask the more ethnically diverse folks. This didn't help much. Our token Jamaican woman said she was rooting for Brazil. The new teacher, who is half-Spanish, said she is "going for Spain." And the Greek guy with the fantastically ethnic name of Arghiris admitted that he knew nothing about soccer, but every four years he "pulls out the blue and white." That would be quadrennially.
Of all my students, only one spoke with confidence. He said he watched a lot of FIFA and the thing to remember was "don't waste your time rooting for America." A real patriot.
And then there is my friend Terry. You may remember him from several soccer expeditions.
While Terry can be annoyingly opinionated on many matters, there is one thing that he knows inside and out: the state capitals. Even the Dakotas. Terry occasionally comes off as being mildly autistic.
While Terry's comprehensive knowledge of geography is impressive and annoying, he also knows quite a bit about soccer. He is the boy's varsity coach at our school, he still plays (when he's not injured) and he is an avid fan. When it comes to soccer, you can trust him. Here's what he has to say:
The United States has a 40% chance of surviving their group. Their problem is defense, so they are going to have to score first and outscore teams.
The players to watch are Argentina's Sergio Aguero, Brazil's Neymar, and Uruguay's Luis Suarez.
Everyone believes the favorite is Germany and Terry is no exception, but his dark horse picks are Belgium and Ghana. Ghana is a bit young-- with an average age of 24-- but they have nine Premier League players
Belgium's team-- led by Eden Hazard-- is regarded as the "golden generation." This could be a good thing, but Terry also sees it as a kiss of death. He reminded me of 2002, when the U.S. upset the golden generation Portuguese team, and how the U.S. pulled the same stunt against the golden generation Columbian team in 1994.
That's all I've got. The important thing is that most people in America don't give a flying frack about soccer. And some people-- especially the ladies-- don't care much about how the ball bounces, they just like shirtless pictures of fit men. One of these ladies was despondent that Fabio Cannavaro retired and would not be playing for Italy. This is for her:
And finally, a student named Hector, who likes to write computer code and doesn't know anything about the World Cup, advised me that I should "include a lot of hashtags in your post." Okay, Hector.
###############################################################################
Friday, December 20, 2013
The 12 Days of Gheorghemas: Day 8
On the 8th Day of Gheorghemas, Big Gheorghe gave to me . . .
?????????????????????
Seven Books for Reading
Six cocktails
Five gooooals / things
Four legal mic drops
Three critters and an otter
Two names for naming
And a fat guy in a jer-sey
I had to check the lyrics to "The Twelve Days of Christmas" to see what Day 8 was all about, but in retrospect, I'm not sure why I did this, since the Gheorghemas posts never allude to the lyrics of the original song (Two Names? Three Woodland Animals and a Cool Little Otter? Is the G:TB Staff even trying?)
If you are ignorant like me, the eighth day of Christmas features "eight maids a milking," which sounds kind of sexy, but when I searched "eight sexy milkmaids," I got a whole lot of nothing. I did find one (fairly) sexy milk maid, but she's nothing to write home about and could hardly sustain an entire Gheorghemas post.
Further research revealed that the "eight maids a milking" actually refers to the Eight Beatitudes from the Gospel of Matthew. "Blessed are the meek" and all that. Total kibosh on my sexy milkmaid post. So I will give up on the busty farm girls, and instead give homage to the Golden Rings (which may either refer to the first five books of the Old Testament-- the Torah -- or to five ring-necked pheasants).
To make things even more ambiguous, in some versions of the song, the eight maids a milking are "ladies dancing" or "hounds a running" or "hares a running," so the lesson here is that it's anything goes as far as the lyrics (and that the G:TB Staff got it right after all).
One thing about the song is certain: Frederic Austin is the guy who came up with the prolongation of the phrase "five golden rings." That is by far the most memorable part of the song. Good job, Frederic.
As many of you know, I am not a big fan of the Christmas season, and I don't think it's because I have a Grinch-like streak. My problem is that if you are a relatively successful American, then every day is Christmas. We have plenty of food and plenty of possessions, and we don't need an excuse to consume even more. If the holidays were truly only about friends and family, then they would be tolerable . . . perhaps even kind of fun (but a bit tiresome for an introvert like me, who is perfectly content to limit my socialization to my Thursday night pub outing and one weekend event, plus a bunch of kid-related shit). But the holidays are NOT simply about friends and family. They are about shopping and decorations and Black Friday and wrapping paper and traffic and full parking lots and guilt over not getting a good present for your wife and driving around like a lunatic to several locations in one day and gaining a bunch of weight because people bake butt-loads of cookies and then bring them to work.
But I'm going to try to forget about the stuff that makes me angry, because there's nothing I can do to stem the tide of this unstoppable wave of unnecessary consumption. Instead, I am going to focus on some things that are awesome in my life right now, day in and day out. Things that make it Christmas every day in my world. And when you say it, don't shake it like a polaroid picture . . . prolong it like Frederic Austin.
Eight Awesome Things . . .
1) My wife.
As the years pass, I keep getting hairier (except for my head, of course). Meanwhile, my wife is still sexier than eight maids a milking, and she's also a great cook. Quite awesome.
2) Playing sports and games with my kids.
Coaching my kids can be torture. The practices are chaotic, and it's better not to watch the games to closely. One of my sons is a space cadet and the other one can be downright mean. But -- and this is awesome-- my boys are always up for doing something athletic and/or competitive: basketball, soccer, RISK, snowboarding, extreme sledding, chess, Settlers of Catan, tennis, catch, throwing a rock at a tree, whatever. You name it, and they'll do it at the drop of a hat. I consider myself very lucky in this regard, because playing sports and games with the kids has become "my department." It keeps me active, and makes parenting tolerable. And my wife usually handles checking the homework (another reason she is awesome).
3) Friends and family at the beach.
Though I'm more mountain person, happy to put on headphones and hike or snowboard, I have learned to appreciate the beach, for social reasons. Most summers I take three trips to the shore -- one with my extended family, one with some good friends, and one to the OBFT. The beach is an awesome place for me because if I ever get sick of interacting with people, it's perfectly acceptable to go swimming or paddle-boarding, or even to sleep or read a book. Plus, I'm fucking awesome at cornhole.
4) Rdio
Pandora is good. Spotify is better. But Rdio has got me excited about music again. It inspired me to do some research and buy an awesome pair of computer speakers (Edifier e10 Exclaim PC speakers). Rdio combines the best features of Pandora and Spotify, and it privileges the album instead of the song/playlist. I'm an album guy. Plus it's got this great little five dot continuum when you create an "artist station" -- you can adjust it from "Artist Only" to "Adventurous."
5) My Kindle
I still love taking out books from the library, because I am cheap, but there's nothing like having a book on the Kindle. If I can't sleep, I can reach into the darkness, find it, open it, and I'm reading. No book light necessary. No complaints from the wife about the rustling of pages. If my eyes get tired from a marathon reading session, I can make the font bigger. And I can bring lots of books on vacation without increasing my encumbrance.
6) Podcasts
I know I'm a bit behind the times, but podcasts are awesome. My favorites are Freakonomics, All Songs Considered, This American Life, 99% Invisible, Dan Carlin's Hard Core History and Radiolab. Podcasts have made long car rides bearable (in fact, I started on my podcast jag on the way to the last OBFT), and they have made me love walking the dog (but not picking up his steaming hot feces).
7) My job.
Specifically, teaching a Shakespeare class. Though I hate plays, I love Shakespeare. While there are plenty of annoying things about teaching -- the early start time, the students, the grading -- there's nothing like getting paid to watch Ian McKellen be Richard the Third. These are tough economic times, and I find it fairly awesome that I have a job at all.
8) Three Way Tie! The Hey Gheorghies Trope, Good Beer, and My Dog!
Any Australian bloke who still says American beer is "fucking close to water" is fucking nuts. There are so many good American beers that I have trouble drinking them all. Although I love Dale's Pale Ale, there are a few that I like even better. I'm a big fan of all the varieties of Southern Tier Brewing Company, and the same with Green Flash. Long Trail Limbo IPA is awesome, as is just about every kind of Smuttynose, and if you can ever get some Switchback from Burlington, buy a case of the big bottles.
Though the Park Pub is a local dive that opens at 7:00 AM, Pete always has Troegs Hopback on tap (along with some kind of Long Trail and something German, usually Spaten). I find this awesome, and so I can usually stay up far past my bedtime on Thursday nights, which leads me to how much I love the "Hey Gheorghies" trope . . . almost enough to tolerate the name of this blog. Not quite though.
And when I get home late from the pub, though the rest of the house is asleep, my faithful dog is there to greet me. Though having a dog can be a pain in the ass -- you can't travel at a moment's notice and picking up chunks of shit in the dark in sub-freezing weather is nobody's idea of a good time -- but there's nothing like taking a nap on the couch while your loyal companion guards you from all threats . . . and though the saber-tooth tiger has long been extinct, you know that your dog doesn't know that, and that he's ready to defend you from whatever dangerous mega-fauna rears its ugly head, and that is an awesome thing.
?????????????????????
Seven Books for Reading
Six cocktails
Five gooooals / things
Four legal mic drops
Three critters and an otter
Two names for naming
And a fat guy in a jer-sey
I had to check the lyrics to "The Twelve Days of Christmas" to see what Day 8 was all about, but in retrospect, I'm not sure why I did this, since the Gheorghemas posts never allude to the lyrics of the original song (Two Names? Three Woodland Animals and a Cool Little Otter? Is the G:TB Staff even trying?)
If you are ignorant like me, the eighth day of Christmas features "eight maids a milking," which sounds kind of sexy, but when I searched "eight sexy milkmaids," I got a whole lot of nothing. I did find one (fairly) sexy milk maid, but she's nothing to write home about and could hardly sustain an entire Gheorghemas post.
Further research revealed that the "eight maids a milking" actually refers to the Eight Beatitudes from the Gospel of Matthew. "Blessed are the meek" and all that. Total kibosh on my sexy milkmaid post. So I will give up on the busty farm girls, and instead give homage to the Golden Rings (which may either refer to the first five books of the Old Testament-- the Torah -- or to five ring-necked pheasants).
To make things even more ambiguous, in some versions of the song, the eight maids a milking are "ladies dancing" or "hounds a running" or "hares a running," so the lesson here is that it's anything goes as far as the lyrics (and that the G:TB Staff got it right after all).
One thing about the song is certain: Frederic Austin is the guy who came up with the prolongation of the phrase "five golden rings." That is by far the most memorable part of the song. Good job, Frederic.
As many of you know, I am not a big fan of the Christmas season, and I don't think it's because I have a Grinch-like streak. My problem is that if you are a relatively successful American, then every day is Christmas. We have plenty of food and plenty of possessions, and we don't need an excuse to consume even more. If the holidays were truly only about friends and family, then they would be tolerable . . . perhaps even kind of fun (but a bit tiresome for an introvert like me, who is perfectly content to limit my socialization to my Thursday night pub outing and one weekend event, plus a bunch of kid-related shit). But the holidays are NOT simply about friends and family. They are about shopping and decorations and Black Friday and wrapping paper and traffic and full parking lots and guilt over not getting a good present for your wife and driving around like a lunatic to several locations in one day and gaining a bunch of weight because people bake butt-loads of cookies and then bring them to work.
But I'm going to try to forget about the stuff that makes me angry, because there's nothing I can do to stem the tide of this unstoppable wave of unnecessary consumption. Instead, I am going to focus on some things that are awesome in my life right now, day in and day out. Things that make it Christmas every day in my world. And when you say it, don't shake it like a polaroid picture . . . prolong it like Frederic Austin.
Eight Awesome Things . . .
1) My wife.
As the years pass, I keep getting hairier (except for my head, of course). Meanwhile, my wife is still sexier than eight maids a milking, and she's also a great cook. Quite awesome.
2) Playing sports and games with my kids.
Coaching my kids can be torture. The practices are chaotic, and it's better not to watch the games to closely. One of my sons is a space cadet and the other one can be downright mean. But -- and this is awesome-- my boys are always up for doing something athletic and/or competitive: basketball, soccer, RISK, snowboarding, extreme sledding, chess, Settlers of Catan, tennis, catch, throwing a rock at a tree, whatever. You name it, and they'll do it at the drop of a hat. I consider myself very lucky in this regard, because playing sports and games with the kids has become "my department." It keeps me active, and makes parenting tolerable. And my wife usually handles checking the homework (another reason she is awesome).
3) Friends and family at the beach.
Though I'm more mountain person, happy to put on headphones and hike or snowboard, I have learned to appreciate the beach, for social reasons. Most summers I take three trips to the shore -- one with my extended family, one with some good friends, and one to the OBFT. The beach is an awesome place for me because if I ever get sick of interacting with people, it's perfectly acceptable to go swimming or paddle-boarding, or even to sleep or read a book. Plus, I'm fucking awesome at cornhole.
4) Rdio
Pandora is good. Spotify is better. But Rdio has got me excited about music again. It inspired me to do some research and buy an awesome pair of computer speakers (Edifier e10 Exclaim PC speakers). Rdio combines the best features of Pandora and Spotify, and it privileges the album instead of the song/playlist. I'm an album guy. Plus it's got this great little five dot continuum when you create an "artist station" -- you can adjust it from "Artist Only" to "Adventurous."
5) My Kindle
I still love taking out books from the library, because I am cheap, but there's nothing like having a book on the Kindle. If I can't sleep, I can reach into the darkness, find it, open it, and I'm reading. No book light necessary. No complaints from the wife about the rustling of pages. If my eyes get tired from a marathon reading session, I can make the font bigger. And I can bring lots of books on vacation without increasing my encumbrance.
6) Podcasts
I know I'm a bit behind the times, but podcasts are awesome. My favorites are Freakonomics, All Songs Considered, This American Life, 99% Invisible, Dan Carlin's Hard Core History and Radiolab. Podcasts have made long car rides bearable (in fact, I started on my podcast jag on the way to the last OBFT), and they have made me love walking the dog (but not picking up his steaming hot feces).
7) My job.
Specifically, teaching a Shakespeare class. Though I hate plays, I love Shakespeare. While there are plenty of annoying things about teaching -- the early start time, the students, the grading -- there's nothing like getting paid to watch Ian McKellen be Richard the Third. These are tough economic times, and I find it fairly awesome that I have a job at all.
8) Three Way Tie! The Hey Gheorghies Trope, Good Beer, and My Dog!
Any Australian bloke who still says American beer is "fucking close to water" is fucking nuts. There are so many good American beers that I have trouble drinking them all. Although I love Dale's Pale Ale, there are a few that I like even better. I'm a big fan of all the varieties of Southern Tier Brewing Company, and the same with Green Flash. Long Trail Limbo IPA is awesome, as is just about every kind of Smuttynose, and if you can ever get some Switchback from Burlington, buy a case of the big bottles.
Though the Park Pub is a local dive that opens at 7:00 AM, Pete always has Troegs Hopback on tap (along with some kind of Long Trail and something German, usually Spaten). I find this awesome, and so I can usually stay up far past my bedtime on Thursday nights, which leads me to how much I love the "Hey Gheorghies" trope . . . almost enough to tolerate the name of this blog. Not quite though.
And when I get home late from the pub, though the rest of the house is asleep, my faithful dog is there to greet me. Though having a dog can be a pain in the ass -- you can't travel at a moment's notice and picking up chunks of shit in the dark in sub-freezing weather is nobody's idea of a good time -- but there's nothing like taking a nap on the couch while your loyal companion guards you from all threats . . . and though the saber-tooth tiger has long been extinct, you know that your dog doesn't know that, and that he's ready to defend you from whatever dangerous mega-fauna rears its ugly head, and that is an awesome thing.
Thursday, December 19, 2013
The 12 Days of Gheorghemas: Day Seven
On the seventh day of Gheorghemas, Big Gheorghe gave to me . . .
Seven Books for Reading
Six cocktails
Five gooooals / things
Four legal mic drops
Three critters and an otter
Two names for naming
And a fat guy in a jer-sey
I'm not going to beat around the bush and attempt to humblebrag. I read a lot of books. Real books. LONG books. Can you even brag about something so nerdy?
I attribute this not simply to the fact that I like to read. A lot of people I know like to read, and many of them don't read a lot of books. I get shit done in the book department because I don't mind starting several books until I find one I really like, and once I really like a book, I don't mind committing to it. Though I've been called ADHD as much as anyone (who is not actually diagnosed with ADHD) the truth is that I don't really love surfing the web, or browsing magazines. I don't watch the news or scan through the channels on TV or go on Facebook or Twitter. I like albums over songs. This can be a disadvantage. At times, I can be be totally out of it, and not know basic current events or pop culture. But I love getting lost in a big idea or a convoluted plot, and I also have a deep appreciation for people who spend years of their lives researching and writing on one topic.
I went through Sentence of Dave, and I think this is a fairly accurate list of the books I finished this year. If I actually finished a book, that's a credit to it, because I'm willing to bail on a book I don't like fairly quickly. I am rather arbitrarily choosing seven of these books as "must reads," but don't take my choices too seriously -- they are all good reads (except the George R.R. Martin fiasco A Dance with Dragons . . . I hope that guy dies before he finishes his next exercise in prolixity).
Some Books I Finished in 2013:
Far From the Tree, Wild Ones, The Goldfinch, Antifragile, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, The (Honest) Truth About Dishonesty, Behind the Beautiful Forevers, Columbine, The Great Stagnation, The World Until Yesterday, A Perfect Mess, The Love Affairs of Nathaniel P., I Wear the Black Hat, Fist Stick Knife Gun, The Looming Tower, A Dance with Dragons, The Devil in the White City, Overdressed, House of Mirth, Psychiatric Tales, Collision Low Crossers and Infinite Jest.
Here are the seven that I urge you to read.
Collision Low Crossers: A year Inside the Turbulent World of NFL Football
by Nicholas Dawidoff
I just finished this one, and while I would probably have enjoyed it even more if it were about the Giants (I can imagine how compelling this book would be if you were a diehard Jets fan) but, rooting interests aside, I think this is going to be regarded as one of the greatest sports books ever written. Take that recommendation with a grain of salt, because I love saying something is the best thing ever (until the next best thing ever comes along). Anyway, this is my book of the year. 460 insightful, vivid, brilliantly written pages.
What does it offer? Nothing typical. No Cinderella story. No dramatic run to the Super Bowl (that would be the 2011 Giants). Just a great reporter, who "embedded" himself with he 2011 Jets and writes a comprehensively detailed account of all the stuff you don't see on Sunday: the camaraderie, character, and monomania of the coaching staff, the hours of watching film, tactics at the Combine, grading and evaluating players, the invented language of football, what goes on during the countless hours these men spend at "the office," the complexity of play-calling and strategy, the mind-numbing mundanity of the meetings, the anxiety of trying to play a violent sport at the highest level possible, how to be a leader of men, what happens when you don't win, what happens when your quarterback doesn't step up, loads of everyday minutia, and defense, defense, defense. An inside look written by a total outsider. Right up there with The Blind Side and Friday Night Lights.
Behind the Beautiful Forevers: Life, Death, and Hope in a Mumbai Undercity
by Catherine Boo
Everything you need to know about living in a Mumbai Undercity (and more!) An incredible work of journalism, and a great reality check that will make you appreciate your life (unless you live in a Mumbai Undercity . . . then it might just offer some practical tips on how to get by salvaging junk and navigating the byzantine Indian legal system).
The Goldfinch
by Donna Tartt
Just noticed that this is the only novel on the list. That says it all. Dickensian to the max. Picaresque.
Far From the Tree: Parents, Children, and the Search for Identity
by Andrew Solomon
If you are a parent (or have parents or know any parents or have ever been a child or know any children) then you must read this book. A magnum opus that took ten years to write. The least you can do is spend a couple weeks reading it.
Columbine
by Dave Cullen
If Newtown disturbed and confounded you, take a step back and read this comprehensive account. Another ten year effort.
Wild Ones: A Sometimes Dismaying, Weirdly Reassuring Story About Looking at People Looking at Animals in America
by Jon Mooallem
This is one of those books that I serendipitously stumbled upon, and immediately felt like it was written expressly for me. Butterflies, cranes, and polar bears. Occasional mega-fauna.
The Devil in the White City: Murder, Magic and Madness at the Fair That Changed America
by Erik Larsen
If you like architecture and serial murder (and who doesn't) then this is the book for you. Because I read a lot, I forget a lot. Though I read this a while ago, I still remember it vividly, and I imagine the images from this book will stick with me for the rest of my life.
The book I am most proud of finishing this year -- Infinite Jest -- didn't make the list because it's ridiculously long and probably only geared for elitist douche-bags. That being said, it is about sports, and it is kind of humorous, and Jerry finished it long before I did, so it is another one to keep in mind, if you like tennis and have (more than) some time to kill.
Seven Books for Reading
Six cocktails
Five gooooals / things
Four legal mic drops
Three critters and an otter
Two names for naming
And a fat guy in a jer-sey
I'm not going to beat around the bush and attempt to humblebrag. I read a lot of books. Real books. LONG books. Can you even brag about something so nerdy?
I attribute this not simply to the fact that I like to read. A lot of people I know like to read, and many of them don't read a lot of books. I get shit done in the book department because I don't mind starting several books until I find one I really like, and once I really like a book, I don't mind committing to it. Though I've been called ADHD as much as anyone (who is not actually diagnosed with ADHD) the truth is that I don't really love surfing the web, or browsing magazines. I don't watch the news or scan through the channels on TV or go on Facebook or Twitter. I like albums over songs. This can be a disadvantage. At times, I can be be totally out of it, and not know basic current events or pop culture. But I love getting lost in a big idea or a convoluted plot, and I also have a deep appreciation for people who spend years of their lives researching and writing on one topic.
I went through Sentence of Dave, and I think this is a fairly accurate list of the books I finished this year. If I actually finished a book, that's a credit to it, because I'm willing to bail on a book I don't like fairly quickly. I am rather arbitrarily choosing seven of these books as "must reads," but don't take my choices too seriously -- they are all good reads (except the George R.R. Martin fiasco A Dance with Dragons . . . I hope that guy dies before he finishes his next exercise in prolixity).
Some Books I Finished in 2013:
Far From the Tree, Wild Ones, The Goldfinch, Antifragile, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, The (Honest) Truth About Dishonesty, Behind the Beautiful Forevers, Columbine, The Great Stagnation, The World Until Yesterday, A Perfect Mess, The Love Affairs of Nathaniel P., I Wear the Black Hat, Fist Stick Knife Gun, The Looming Tower, A Dance with Dragons, The Devil in the White City, Overdressed, House of Mirth, Psychiatric Tales, Collision Low Crossers and Infinite Jest.
Here are the seven that I urge you to read.
Collision Low Crossers: A year Inside the Turbulent World of NFL Football
by Nicholas Dawidoff
I just finished this one, and while I would probably have enjoyed it even more if it were about the Giants (I can imagine how compelling this book would be if you were a diehard Jets fan) but, rooting interests aside, I think this is going to be regarded as one of the greatest sports books ever written. Take that recommendation with a grain of salt, because I love saying something is the best thing ever (until the next best thing ever comes along). Anyway, this is my book of the year. 460 insightful, vivid, brilliantly written pages.
What does it offer? Nothing typical. No Cinderella story. No dramatic run to the Super Bowl (that would be the 2011 Giants). Just a great reporter, who "embedded" himself with he 2011 Jets and writes a comprehensively detailed account of all the stuff you don't see on Sunday: the camaraderie, character, and monomania of the coaching staff, the hours of watching film, tactics at the Combine, grading and evaluating players, the invented language of football, what goes on during the countless hours these men spend at "the office," the complexity of play-calling and strategy, the mind-numbing mundanity of the meetings, the anxiety of trying to play a violent sport at the highest level possible, how to be a leader of men, what happens when you don't win, what happens when your quarterback doesn't step up, loads of everyday minutia, and defense, defense, defense. An inside look written by a total outsider. Right up there with The Blind Side and Friday Night Lights.
Behind the Beautiful Forevers: Life, Death, and Hope in a Mumbai Undercity
by Catherine Boo
Everything you need to know about living in a Mumbai Undercity (and more!) An incredible work of journalism, and a great reality check that will make you appreciate your life (unless you live in a Mumbai Undercity . . . then it might just offer some practical tips on how to get by salvaging junk and navigating the byzantine Indian legal system).
The Goldfinch
by Donna Tartt
Just noticed that this is the only novel on the list. That says it all. Dickensian to the max. Picaresque.
Far From the Tree: Parents, Children, and the Search for Identity
by Andrew Solomon
If you are a parent (or have parents or know any parents or have ever been a child or know any children) then you must read this book. A magnum opus that took ten years to write. The least you can do is spend a couple weeks reading it.
Columbine
by Dave Cullen
If Newtown disturbed and confounded you, take a step back and read this comprehensive account. Another ten year effort.
Wild Ones: A Sometimes Dismaying, Weirdly Reassuring Story About Looking at People Looking at Animals in America
by Jon Mooallem
This is one of those books that I serendipitously stumbled upon, and immediately felt like it was written expressly for me. Butterflies, cranes, and polar bears. Occasional mega-fauna.
The Devil in the White City: Murder, Magic and Madness at the Fair That Changed America
by Erik Larsen
If you like architecture and serial murder (and who doesn't) then this is the book for you. Because I read a lot, I forget a lot. Though I read this a while ago, I still remember it vividly, and I imagine the images from this book will stick with me for the rest of my life.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Put Me In Coach, I'm Ready to . . . Coach? Coach? Coach?
My wife asked an interesting question while we were watching Serena Williams destroy a tiny old Japanese lady at Wimbledon (the match had a professional wrestling quality about it . . . it was hard not to root for Date-Krumm, despite what happened at Pearl Harbor). My wife said: "Is tennis the only sport where there is no coaching at all?" I brought up golf, but she reminded me that golfers -- professional ones at least -- have caddies to consult with.
Officially, tennis players aren't supposed to receive any coaching during play -- it's illegal. This is a controversial issue . . . my favorite purported breach of this rule is when Maria Sharapova's father was allegedly "holding up pieces of fruit" during a match. Some folks deemed this "coaching," as he was passing his absent-minded daughter the message to eat something between sets (fruit, I suppose). Reminds me of this fabulous high-fructose bit of athletic instruction:
I wasn't able to find much information on how much coaching is allowed during different sports, and how influential this coaching is, so I will take some uneducated guesses. I'm not talking about the training before the event -- I'm speculating on the amount and influence of coaching during the event. I'll try my best to come up with a half-baked continuum, and the the real sports people can correct me in the comments.
Short of giving someone a lesson, I can't see how coaching is going to help all that much during a tennis match anyway (aside from reminding someone to eat a banana so they they don't get a calf cramp . . . and I'm sure there would be a lot of volunteers willing to rub Maria Sharapova's calf cramp while feeding her a banana).
I think mid-match tennis coaching might go like this: Try hitting your first serve in the little box more often! Don't hit your backhand into the stands anymore! Stop staring at Ana Ivanovic's legs and focus!
Golf is similar -- you shouldn't screw with someone's swing when they are about to engage in medal play. Years ago, I was a high school golf coach. I once said this to a player, just before he teed off: Hey, Brian? Quick tip? If you return your right elbow to your sternum on your follow through, and shift maybe twenty percent more of your weight to your left foot on impact, you might corral that slice you've been dealing with . . . or if that doesn't work, then it might be that you need to loosen your grip and turn it a couple millimeters clockwise . . . and this is a tough three-iron over the water, you don't want to start the match with penalty strokes, so forget about the drink and think good thoughts, mainly: elbow, sternum, weight-shift, loosen that grip, and most importantly . . . don't lose your tempo! Good luck! Wait, wait! Step back! I don't think the club-face is aligned properly with your stance!
Obviously, the results were disastrous.
I am in the middle of David Foster Wallace's masterpiece Infinite Jest, which is mainly set at a fictitious high-caliber tennis academy. Hal Incandenza has to break some bad news to his "Little Buddies," who he must mentor through the program; he tells them that tennis is a sport where "you are deeply alone." Every player knows where he stands in relation to all the other players. There is no community, only existential alienation. And thus it is fitting that the tennis player must remain alone and isolated on the court, without the aid of a coach or the comradeship of a caddy or trainer.
Golf is a bit more collegial. The introduction of actual coaching would make it interminably slow, and I suppose it's lonely when you're hitting the ball very poorly, but otherwise, it's a good walk spoiled for everyone out there. You're all in it together against the course. And you've got your caddy.
I am guessing that the coaching that happens during a boxing match is fairly useless, even if your trainer is giving you really specific and excellent advice, such as: Just make sure he hits you an even number of times, so you don't end up with amnesia. With the roar of the crowd and the whump of the gloves hitting your noggin, the best coaching is still going to sound like this: Wakka woof woof wakka whoom! Or perhaps it sounds more like the adults talking in Peanuts. I will have to do more research on this subject. But in between rounds, you do get a minute to offer your sage wisdom about the sweet science, as you shove vaseline up your fighter's nose.
Coaches probably have even less influence during a wrestling match, as the breaks between rounds are shorter and there's even more lactic acid involved. The best thing a wrestling coach can yell at his young charge is: Make sure you wash those mat burns with peroxide! Otherwise, you'll contract a Staph infection!
I coach soccer and I will admit something: there is no correlation between what you yell on the sidelines and what your players do on the field. If you didn't teach them ahead of time, it's too late. The soccer field is big, and the players are very far away from you. I spend my time talking to the players on the bench, to avoid behaving absurdly. I occasionally turn and look at the game, but the ball is invariably out of bounds.
I have also coached basketball and this is a different story. Things happen fast, so you constantly feel as if you're going to have an anxiety attack, but you can change defenses and call plays. You can't actually shoot the ball, but you can try to get your team to give the ball to the person you want to shoot it. And then you can jump up and down if he makes it. You can also influence the official by throwing a chair at him.
I've never managed a baseball team, but I recognize that the game proceeds at such a lethargic pace that the coach has time to do all sorts of things (as do the players . . . in what other sport is there enough time to give someone a "hotfoot"?)
No one will debate the great significance and influence of the High School Chess Coach.
And then, of course, there is football. These coaches earn their money. They are the auteurs. Fellini. Godard, Bergman, Parcells, Gibbs, Landry, Shula, Lombardi, Pacino. They communicate with the quarterback by radio. They get images from upstairs. They put in the "nickel back." They use "the dime." They invent the spread offense. They decide to fake the punt.
I played Intellivision football when I was a kid, and the play calling was rudimentary. 9-6-2-4 was my favorite. My skills bottomed out with Tecmo Bowl and the superhuman Bo Jackson avatar. Madden confounded me, and my younger brothers would destroy me because they could call and understand the plays. No amount of juking and spinning could erase this truth. And thus, I am happy as a soccer coach . . . or as they are more commonly known, a soccer trainer. You train the players, and then let them loose on the field to do what they will. And, miracle of miracles, you get paid almost as much as the football coach!
Officially, tennis players aren't supposed to receive any coaching during play -- it's illegal. This is a controversial issue . . . my favorite purported breach of this rule is when Maria Sharapova's father was allegedly "holding up pieces of fruit" during a match. Some folks deemed this "coaching," as he was passing his absent-minded daughter the message to eat something between sets (fruit, I suppose). Reminds me of this fabulous high-fructose bit of athletic instruction:
I wasn't able to find much information on how much coaching is allowed during different sports, and how influential this coaching is, so I will take some uneducated guesses. I'm not talking about the training before the event -- I'm speculating on the amount and influence of coaching during the event. I'll try my best to come up with a half-baked continuum, and the the real sports people can correct me in the comments.
Short of giving someone a lesson, I can't see how coaching is going to help all that much during a tennis match anyway (aside from reminding someone to eat a banana so they they don't get a calf cramp . . . and I'm sure there would be a lot of volunteers willing to rub Maria Sharapova's calf cramp while feeding her a banana).
I think mid-match tennis coaching might go like this: Try hitting your first serve in the little box more often! Don't hit your backhand into the stands anymore! Stop staring at Ana Ivanovic's legs and focus!
Golf is similar -- you shouldn't screw with someone's swing when they are about to engage in medal play. Years ago, I was a high school golf coach. I once said this to a player, just before he teed off: Hey, Brian? Quick tip? If you return your right elbow to your sternum on your follow through, and shift maybe twenty percent more of your weight to your left foot on impact, you might corral that slice you've been dealing with . . . or if that doesn't work, then it might be that you need to loosen your grip and turn it a couple millimeters clockwise . . . and this is a tough three-iron over the water, you don't want to start the match with penalty strokes, so forget about the drink and think good thoughts, mainly: elbow, sternum, weight-shift, loosen that grip, and most importantly . . . don't lose your tempo! Good luck! Wait, wait! Step back! I don't think the club-face is aligned properly with your stance!
Obviously, the results were disastrous.
I am in the middle of David Foster Wallace's masterpiece Infinite Jest, which is mainly set at a fictitious high-caliber tennis academy. Hal Incandenza has to break some bad news to his "Little Buddies," who he must mentor through the program; he tells them that tennis is a sport where "you are deeply alone." Every player knows where he stands in relation to all the other players. There is no community, only existential alienation. And thus it is fitting that the tennis player must remain alone and isolated on the court, without the aid of a coach or the comradeship of a caddy or trainer.
Golf is a bit more collegial. The introduction of actual coaching would make it interminably slow, and I suppose it's lonely when you're hitting the ball very poorly, but otherwise, it's a good walk spoiled for everyone out there. You're all in it together against the course. And you've got your caddy.
I am guessing that the coaching that happens during a boxing match is fairly useless, even if your trainer is giving you really specific and excellent advice, such as: Just make sure he hits you an even number of times, so you don't end up with amnesia. With the roar of the crowd and the whump of the gloves hitting your noggin, the best coaching is still going to sound like this: Wakka woof woof wakka whoom! Or perhaps it sounds more like the adults talking in Peanuts. I will have to do more research on this subject. But in between rounds, you do get a minute to offer your sage wisdom about the sweet science, as you shove vaseline up your fighter's nose.
Coaches probably have even less influence during a wrestling match, as the breaks between rounds are shorter and there's even more lactic acid involved. The best thing a wrestling coach can yell at his young charge is: Make sure you wash those mat burns with peroxide! Otherwise, you'll contract a Staph infection!
I coach soccer and I will admit something: there is no correlation between what you yell on the sidelines and what your players do on the field. If you didn't teach them ahead of time, it's too late. The soccer field is big, and the players are very far away from you. I spend my time talking to the players on the bench, to avoid behaving absurdly. I occasionally turn and look at the game, but the ball is invariably out of bounds.
I have also coached basketball and this is a different story. Things happen fast, so you constantly feel as if you're going to have an anxiety attack, but you can change defenses and call plays. You can't actually shoot the ball, but you can try to get your team to give the ball to the person you want to shoot it. And then you can jump up and down if he makes it. You can also influence the official by throwing a chair at him.
And then, of course, there is football. These coaches earn their money. They are the auteurs. Fellini. Godard, Bergman, Parcells, Gibbs, Landry, Shula, Lombardi, Pacino. They communicate with the quarterback by radio. They get images from upstairs. They put in the "nickel back." They use "the dime." They invent the spread offense. They decide to fake the punt.
I played Intellivision football when I was a kid, and the play calling was rudimentary. 9-6-2-4 was my favorite. My skills bottomed out with Tecmo Bowl and the superhuman Bo Jackson avatar. Madden confounded me, and my younger brothers would destroy me because they could call and understand the plays. No amount of juking and spinning could erase this truth. And thus, I am happy as a soccer coach . . . or as they are more commonly known, a soccer trainer. You train the players, and then let them loose on the field to do what they will. And, miracle of miracles, you get paid almost as much as the football coach!
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Can I Drink More Liquor? Why Haven't I?
I love the taste of beer. I love drinking beer. I love the renaissance in beer brewing in America. I love a cold beer on the beach. I love a cold beer after I mow my lawn (actually, I don't mow my own lawn . . . we pay someone to mow our lawn because my wife doesn't like the way my manual push-mower cuts the grass). So I love a cold beer after someone else mows my lawn.
Not only do I love beer, but I need beer. I am a coach. Before soccer practice, I put two pint glasses in the freezer. I know that I am going to need that beer when I get home from coaching those children. I am a high school teacher. After a long day of being shallow and pedantic in front of surly teenagers, nothing soothes my swollen larynx nodules more than a cold beer.
But I'm getting older. My beard has a lot of white hairs in it. And I'm getting fatter, which would be fine, except that I'm trying to eke a few more years of basketball, soccer, and snowboarding out of my body. Plus, like everyone else, I want to look badass. So I'm constantly trying to adopt a liquor drink. I know liquor has less calories than beer, and I know it will make me less bloated and gassy. Did I tell you beer makes me bloated and gassy? It's a crying shame. Liquor doesn't do this to me.
At this point, some of you might be saying: why not just quit drinking altogether? I wish that were an option. If I lived alone, in a lighthouse, with an unlimited Netflix account and a large library of books, and I only had to interact with people (especially my children) when I felt like it, then maybe I could pull it off. But if I'm going to continue life as a family man . . . with a wife, kids, a dog, a house, a job . . . teaching and coaching and being generally involved and friendly in my community, then I'm going to need to lean on the crutch of alcohol.
I am on vacation now in Sea Isle City with my cousins, and yesterday we put in a full day on the beach. At 6:30 PM yesterday, while I was embroiled in a heated corn-hole match with my twenty-something cousins, we ran out of beer. This was an intense match, and I needed alcohol to steady my hand. I couldn't wait until the cooler was replenished, so I sought aid from my older cousins -- who were sitting in chairs with my father, sipping stuff out of green Solo cups. They provided me with a cup of warm gin, instructed me to put some ice in it, and then drink it. My cousin Jeff said, "We're purists over here." I am not a purist, so once I tasted the iced gin, I tried to add some iced tea to it to smooth out the flavor . . . but it didn't work. My younger cousins said they could see the pain on my face when I tried to drink it. I felt less a man (but we did win the corn-hole match). When another cousin arrived with cold beer, I surreptitiously poured my gin and iced tea into a hole in the sand. I would never make it in the Old West.
I like high-end tequila. I can drink it, but I am certainly no purist. In fact, I am a pain in the ass. When my friend had his annual "Steak and Tequila Night", it evolved into "S and T Night," so that I could drink Sol and Tecate. I had a perfunctory glass of tequila, but it was hot, and nothing goes down like a cold beer. I was bloated and gassy the next day. If I would have stuck with tequila all night, this wouldn't have happened. And there's no way I can see myself pouring a glass of tequila on the rocks after a long day at work.
I experimented with Sambuca, which I really like . . . in fact, I like all the anise liquors: arak, raki, ouzo, etc. I drank a ton of the stuff when I lived in Syria, because the beer had formaldehyde in it and you got a splitting headache after you drank two. But now that I'm back in the States, and there's good beer everywhere, a cold and milky glass of Sambuca pales in comparison to a cold beer in a frozen mug.
Last Friday, I was at a wedding, and I took a sip of someone's dirty martini and thought: this is it. This will be my drink! So I ordered one and got half way through it before I realized that it would not be my drink. I went back to beer. And this seriously impaired my ability to consume all the food at the wedding. If I could learn to drink liquor, I could be far more gluttonous at these sorts of events. First world problems, you say, and you are right, but not completely right. Jared Diamond's new book, The World Until Yesterday, describes some insanely gluttonous eating that goes on in Papua New Guinea . . . stuffing ourselves may be one of our most human characteristics, but usually when tribes feasted, then the feast was followed by fasting and famine.
A dark and stormy is pretty tasty, but it seems awfully close to a Chocolate Choo-Choo. Gin and tonic is doable, but drinking one of those makes me feel like a 90 year old female alcoholic.
I want to look like John Wayne in The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance . . . drinking straight brown liquor from a glass. No ice. But unless my taste buds decay fast, it's not going to happen. Instead, I'll be swilling beer, and running waist-deep into the ocean every seven minutes -- which doesn't look very macho. John Wayne doesn't ever have to pee when he's drinking.
Could I do more to combat this weakness in my character? Absolutely. I could follow the dinner-time advice I give to my kids: you have to try something ten times before you decide if you like it or not.
I could listen to my friends when they drone on about single malt scotch. I could find a liquor-mentor. I could read up.
Have I done any of these things. The answer is a shameful "no." Why not? Because I like the taste of beer! And maybe there's nothing wrong with that.
Not only do I love beer, but I need beer. I am a coach. Before soccer practice, I put two pint glasses in the freezer. I know that I am going to need that beer when I get home from coaching those children. I am a high school teacher. After a long day of being shallow and pedantic in front of surly teenagers, nothing soothes my swollen larynx nodules more than a cold beer.
But I'm getting older. My beard has a lot of white hairs in it. And I'm getting fatter, which would be fine, except that I'm trying to eke a few more years of basketball, soccer, and snowboarding out of my body. Plus, like everyone else, I want to look badass. So I'm constantly trying to adopt a liquor drink. I know liquor has less calories than beer, and I know it will make me less bloated and gassy. Did I tell you beer makes me bloated and gassy? It's a crying shame. Liquor doesn't do this to me.
At this point, some of you might be saying: why not just quit drinking altogether? I wish that were an option. If I lived alone, in a lighthouse, with an unlimited Netflix account and a large library of books, and I only had to interact with people (especially my children) when I felt like it, then maybe I could pull it off. But if I'm going to continue life as a family man . . . with a wife, kids, a dog, a house, a job . . . teaching and coaching and being generally involved and friendly in my community, then I'm going to need to lean on the crutch of alcohol.
I am on vacation now in Sea Isle City with my cousins, and yesterday we put in a full day on the beach. At 6:30 PM yesterday, while I was embroiled in a heated corn-hole match with my twenty-something cousins, we ran out of beer. This was an intense match, and I needed alcohol to steady my hand. I couldn't wait until the cooler was replenished, so I sought aid from my older cousins -- who were sitting in chairs with my father, sipping stuff out of green Solo cups. They provided me with a cup of warm gin, instructed me to put some ice in it, and then drink it. My cousin Jeff said, "We're purists over here." I am not a purist, so once I tasted the iced gin, I tried to add some iced tea to it to smooth out the flavor . . . but it didn't work. My younger cousins said they could see the pain on my face when I tried to drink it. I felt less a man (but we did win the corn-hole match). When another cousin arrived with cold beer, I surreptitiously poured my gin and iced tea into a hole in the sand. I would never make it in the Old West.
I like high-end tequila. I can drink it, but I am certainly no purist. In fact, I am a pain in the ass. When my friend had his annual "Steak and Tequila Night", it evolved into "S and T Night," so that I could drink Sol and Tecate. I had a perfunctory glass of tequila, but it was hot, and nothing goes down like a cold beer. I was bloated and gassy the next day. If I would have stuck with tequila all night, this wouldn't have happened. And there's no way I can see myself pouring a glass of tequila on the rocks after a long day at work.
I experimented with Sambuca, which I really like . . . in fact, I like all the anise liquors: arak, raki, ouzo, etc. I drank a ton of the stuff when I lived in Syria, because the beer had formaldehyde in it and you got a splitting headache after you drank two. But now that I'm back in the States, and there's good beer everywhere, a cold and milky glass of Sambuca pales in comparison to a cold beer in a frozen mug.
Last Friday, I was at a wedding, and I took a sip of someone's dirty martini and thought: this is it. This will be my drink! So I ordered one and got half way through it before I realized that it would not be my drink. I went back to beer. And this seriously impaired my ability to consume all the food at the wedding. If I could learn to drink liquor, I could be far more gluttonous at these sorts of events. First world problems, you say, and you are right, but not completely right. Jared Diamond's new book, The World Until Yesterday, describes some insanely gluttonous eating that goes on in Papua New Guinea . . . stuffing ourselves may be one of our most human characteristics, but usually when tribes feasted, then the feast was followed by fasting and famine.
A dark and stormy is pretty tasty, but it seems awfully close to a Chocolate Choo-Choo. Gin and tonic is doable, but drinking one of those makes me feel like a 90 year old female alcoholic.
I want to look like John Wayne in The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance . . . drinking straight brown liquor from a glass. No ice. But unless my taste buds decay fast, it's not going to happen. Instead, I'll be swilling beer, and running waist-deep into the ocean every seven minutes -- which doesn't look very macho. John Wayne doesn't ever have to pee when he's drinking.
Could I do more to combat this weakness in my character? Absolutely. I could follow the dinner-time advice I give to my kids: you have to try something ten times before you decide if you like it or not.
I could listen to my friends when they drone on about single malt scotch. I could find a liquor-mentor. I could read up.
Have I done any of these things. The answer is a shameful "no." Why not? Because I like the taste of beer! And maybe there's nothing wrong with that.
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