Chris Broussard

So Jason Collins, NBA center, came out as gay.  Many pundits applauded the decision, saying the time is right for a gay athlete in the four major sports to carry the torch for the presumed many hiding in the closet for fear of negative publicity or unacceptance.  The praise for Collins' revelation was nearly universal, but ESPN basketball analyst Chris Broussard said that he had a problem with Collins' lifestyle based on his personal religious beliefs.  He was asked his opinion on an "Outside the Lines" segment and was expected to be honest and forthright, which, it appears, he was.  And now many of those same pundits who supported Collins are heaping vitriol on Broussard.  He's been labeled as intolerant, a relic of the darker days, rooted in the past.  People have said that Broussard is opening a door that may not have needed to be opened, especially in 2013.  Religion is something that is off limits and should (apparently) never be used as a basis for a decision.

This is coming right back to the 99% vs. the 1%.  Why is it fine and dandy to limit the freedom of open Christians, and yet laud the freedoms of open gays?  I mean, Christianity is a lifestyle choice, much like homosexuality.  Why is one championed and the other derided?  What's the deal with this double standard?  Why do media members talk so often about the "progress" being made in the acceptance of all sexual orientations but sweep under the rug the intolerance and judgment shown to religious persons?  It's disgusting to be honest.  It's not right or proper to cheer for one group and chide another group for doing the exact same thing...expressing an opinion when asked!  To me, there is no difference between the two, and yet Collins is seen as a pioneer and Broussard is being painted as homophobic because it's convenient in 2013 to pick on Christians.

It seems that we return to the fact that Americans feel a sort of fulfillment or pride when they fancy themselves better than a certain sect.  Americans yell and scream for total freedom and equality for all but then single out Christians or people who disagree with the cause and call them un-American and behind the times and disconnected.  But these so-called "forward thinking" individuals are merely marginalizing a group of people at the expense of another group of people.  There has been no real advancement in terms of equality and acceptance; merely an illusion.  It's frustrating...

Kayla's Question

I had a students ask me why Detroit is seemingly singled out for being the worst city in the United States when there are plenty of other cities with high crime rates, sky high unemployment rates, thousands on government assistance, and a large amount of homeless milling about.  There are cities that are poorer or worse run.  There are cities that are being totally left for dead with no hint of a revitilazation effort.  Why is this, she asked?  I thought about it too.  It seems pretty unfair...

I think, as I seem to do so often, think the blame lies with the media and the media's perspective of what the paying public wants.  In the U.S., we always want to be doing better than someone else.  It contributes to the sense of pride and haughtiness that is so pervasive in the country.  If people in Cleveland can look at the news and see that Detroit is portrayed so negatively, they will feel good about themselves...and so will all the other cities and people in the country.  There always seems to be a need for a scapegoat.  It's sort of like the 99% vs. the 1%.  The 99%, because they were the majority, felt that they were the "more right" ones, the ones who deserved more spoils, and the 1% were a bunch of jerks who hoarded money.  This narrative caught on with the general public and the news media, prompting an economic culture clash of sorts.  The 99% picked on the 1% because they knew that they could without fear of getting hurt in return.  There was, so the thinking goes, safety in numbers.  I think that may be what's going on in Detroit.  Detroit hasn't fought back for years; what would they do to show that they're worthy of being anything more than the butt of jokes?

Another thing is that Americans love causes, mostly for the cache and street cred that goes along with helping a cause.  And what cause got more publicity than the plight of Detroit.  News outlets sent reporters to the city and all sorts of entertainment crews have been in the city, supposedly working to restore it to its former glory.  But rather they spent their time focused on the decay, resisting the myriad great things.  Unfortunately, when one (or a large group) gains a certain narrative, it's hard to erase it.  We've been told by the media for such a long time that Detroit is dead or dying that we start to believe it.  The media knows what sells, and apparently it's a midwestern manufacturing hub going extinct.

I hope that makes sense.  I'm very tired.

Last Night

As I've said before, my listening habits shift pretty often.  Sometimes I want tons of Bishop Allen, then change to Relient K or David Bowie or folk rock or heavy metal or 90's alt rock.  Right now I'm on a Moby kick.  I've been listening to his 2008 album "Last Night."  Apparently he wrote it to represent a full night out in New York City.  I like that.  Music represents moods, and one's mood certainly changes thoroughout an evening, as evidenced by the tracks on the album.  It fit in pretty nicely with my last night, especially the peaceful piano at the end.  If you've got an hour, take a listen.

Saturday

I had a great day.  I wish there was a way that I can explain its exquisiteness.  Even though I fashion myself as a resplendent purveyor of the written word, my simple phrases and expressions could nary do justice to the events of the evening.  What occurred was a feeling, a reminder, a notion.  I was living in the moment, free from outward distractions and focused instead on what was in front of me.  I've struggled with this for a bit; I've been preoccupied with the future or the past or the linear present, forgetting the translucence or opacity, so to speak, that lay before me.  I guess what I'm saying is that oftentimes I become distracted by what's outside of my control and don't embrace the challenges and corresponding dividends that I really can control.  So Saturday was awesome.  I had a great time.  I did new things.  I got to know people on a more personal level.  I felt confident and unguarded, which is a pretty interesting dichotomy on paper but tremendously satisfying in practice.  It was one of those days that left me smiling and marveling at the unforseen events that would have been deemed impossible months or weeks ago.

Life is always like that.  It shifts and weaves and goes in ways that we can never expect.  So why expect anything, besides the fact that we will experience the unexpected?  Saturday was one of those days that made me glad to be alive, to revel in the vagaries of the world.

The Least Likely Feeling

This entire school year I've been thinking about the end.  I'm so geeked to get out of Madison and Southeast Michigan and into Maine and daily climbing and something unique and exciting.  This school had nothing for me.  I'd been counting down since February.  There was nothing for me at that school.  My opportunities were limited and I just couldn't wait to be rid of it.

And now here I am, with 32 1/2 days to go, and I'm feeling different.  I'm still excited to see what's around the bend, yes, but I wish it didn't have to be so close and go so fast.  I came to Madison to see if something would work out, and it didn't.  I'd achieved my aim.  I didn't stay to MAKE it work out; I just wanted to find out once and for all.  I did, so it's time to move on, right?  I once thought that.  But short-sighted Ryan didn't fully comprehend everything.  He didn't know that he'd meet some wonderful people.  He didn't realize that these people would become some of his closest friends, the individuals who made teaching everyday bearable and even fun, something to look forward to.

I'm just going to come right out and say that I don't want this experience to be over.  It's shocking, feeling this way.  But I do.  I love it here right now.  I'm going to live it up.

The Shocking Back To The Future Realization!!

So I bought Back to the Future the other day at Target because it was so darn cheap.  I've watched that movie hundreds of times in the past 18 years, so many times that I can literally quote it without provocation or assistance.  It's one of those movies that make me happy and remind me of my childhood, and yet are amazing in their own right.  So anyway, I bought it on DVD and threw it in to relive the glory days.  And I'm not sure if it was my innocence causing me to cling to ignorance, but Marty seems a bit more dirty than I remember.  I mean, there he is telling George that he's not going to touch Lorraine's private parts, that it's all just an act, and then...well, I believed him.  Perhaps it's part of my naivete, but I trusted Marty.  I didn't think he was going to stoop that low.  He was the epitome of cool and I was sure he had some alternative methodology that I was too young to understand.

But here I am, age 23, and looking at things a bit askew.  When Marty asks Lorraine if she's ever had to do something and didn't have the courage to go through with it, I thought he was talking about George, like that maybe George would chicken out and not punch Marty in the stomach and he'd be stuck in 1955 forever, being chased by his own mother.  But he was, I realized, talking about himself.  He knew he had to "feel up" his mother (for lack of a PG-rated term) so that she'd be genuinely angry at Marty and would welcome George's rescue.  He was really going to go that far?  The plan was that intense?  He couldn't come up with something a little less Oedipal and revolting?  As much as Marty would have been scarred by that occurrence, I became more scarred.

I mean, I guess Marty needed to be convincing.  There was no way that Lorraine was going to get angry at the hottest guy in 1955 if he didn't, but couldn't he have said some inappropriate things to her?  Couldn't he have just been a complete jerk and driven her away?  Instead of going to "park" (which, sadly, I also learned the true meaning and intent of, which 1) makes the story more sensical but also 2) destroys my last shred of innocence), couldn't he have just driven like a crazy man around the parking lot and done tons of other things to ruin the night for her?  I don't know...he had a whole week of acting incognito to brew up something good.

But now his question to Lorraine means so much more.  Luckily for us, the viewers, he couldn't go through with it.  Hopefully.  I guess we'll never know because Biff showed up.  What a save...

Papa Grande

He's back.  I have nothing further to say.

Bookends And Robert Frost

"Nature's first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf's a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay."

Robert Frost, 1923

"Bookends" by Simon and Garfunkel, 1968

Listen to the lyrics, read the poem, and think about innocence and life and maturation and continuation.

Essential Music #1

"'Heroes'" by David Bowie (1977)

Needs almost no explanation.  Almost a sort of Romeo and Juliet love story but much more real, plausible, and sad.  Two lovers in Berlin meet everyday at the wall and dream about their lives together, imagining the ideal ("I will be king and you will be queen") and the mundane ("I'll get drunk all the time").  It's a startlingly beautiful portrait of the bonds of love and a must listen.  I don't want to explain too much - it's open to individual interpretation.

An interesting note: all of my songs are 5 minutes or longer.  I'm into the story presented in the lyrics.  Beats and guitar are all well and good, but it's the words that give the song meaning and hold it together.  Songs are poetry with a tempo.  They're ways to express self, raw and uncensored.  Those unguarded moments when the singer is wearing the heart on the sleeve - that's when I feel the connection.  That makes a song essential...when I can feel the story.

Essential Music #2

"Home" by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes (2009)

Here we come to the only song on my list released in the last 30 years.  Perhaps we idealize older music because it has had an opportunity to age and enhance itself, similar to fine wine or U.S. Presidents.  When we hear songs, we think about the memories that are evoked.  More recent releases don't always provide that feeling.  But that's hardly important a song can give you butterflies everytime you listen to it.  The lyrics tell such a touching story about love and its endless bounds.  Sure the emotion may be a bit idealized, but that's what love is.  It's not one of those things that is easily explained or summed up in a cute little 5 minute box.  It's beyond complicated.  It's given grown men fits and turned stumped even the greatest philosophers. There are no stable definitions.  Each individual has something personal to best describe love.  The story in this song is mine.

Essential Music #3

"Heroin" by The Velvet Underground (1967)

This song is not a pro-drug statement, but neither is it a drug condemnation.  It allows the listener to form an abject stance on his/her own based on the material presented.  The song, to me, depicts the rush that one gets from an injection.  Things get crazy, life becomes muffled, and music turns into sonic sounds and random chords thrown together in a hodgepodge.  The life of a heroin junkie is surely a confusing and unplanned one.  It almost seems to me that the song would sound different every time depending on the amount and type of drugs consumed by Lou and the rest of the band.  One could wager that the song that emerged on the record was the product of a drug fueled musical inspiration.  But the subject matter is certainly not cause for snubbing.  In fact, The Velvet Underground should be lauded for taking on such a controversial subject matter in a completely stoic and almost understated way.  As mentioned, it's not trumpeting the glories of heroin, but rather showing the effects through music.  It's a tall order to be sure, but the band is quite successful.

Essential Music #4

"Paradise By The Dashboard Light," Meat Loaf (1977)

Meat Loaf captured life in a wholly unique way.  His narrator wants it and his babe wants to give it, but only if he promises to love her forever.  He promises but, years later, he doesn't love her anymore...but he can't break his promise and leave her.  It's an all-too-realistic situation in which a person compromises his/her values in exchange for something that seems pleasing in the present, at the expense of a completely transformed future.  The thing with this song is that it could happen.  I'm sure there are plenty of married couples out there that once loved each other for a specific reason or reason but, by some transformation or maturation or simple wisening, no longer love.  The song is sad and raw and doesn't pull any punches.  It's a warning masquerading as a rock n' roll fist-pumper.  And the baseball commentary/metaphor is extremely well done.  I've heard this song plenty of times, and yet everytime causes me to stop and sing.  Awesome.

Essential Music #5

I was listening to the "Essential Music" show on the Detroit branch of NPR yesterday.  During the show, the host plays listeners' lists of essential music that are sent into the show with explanations.  I've never really heard about what makes a song "essential," but my best guess is that it sums up the things you feel and think and want to say in a way that you may never have been able to before.  Or it could be a song that captures an era.  Or maybe it's just a song that you really enjoy.  An essential song is not necessarily your favorite song; rather, I feel that it is a song that everyone needs to hear before they die.

In the hopes of having my list heard on the airwaves sometime in the future, I have compiled my list of essential songs.  While it may have been somewhat hastily created, there is no way that I'd ever be able to make a completely comprehensive list - there're just too many songs!

#5: "Rock Lobster," The B-52's (1979)

No list of essential music would be complete without "Rock Lobster."  This was the B-52's first hit from their debut album and signaled a sort of new direction in music.  They're considered a part of the "New Wave" that would infest the music scene in the 1980's.  The nonsense lyrics about a silly beach party, accompanied by the animal noises, great bass line, and the spoken word delivery that would become commonplace in B-52's material cements this song as one of the best and most important pieces of music out there.  While not the most famous B-52's song ("Love Shack?"), nor the most successful ("Roam?"), "Rock Lobster" announced their arrival.  Whenever I hear it, the volume goes up and the world goes away, while I get lost in a sea of absurdity.  This is exactly what should happen with great music.

Out Of The Box

I did something pretty crazy today.  It wasn't the craziest thing I've ever done I suppose, but it was still out there.  I've done it once before and everything worked out, but only in the short term.  If I can replicate that, then I suppose things would be going pretty well, since I've only got the short term right now anyway.  But the jury is certainly still out on the results of my actions.  I'll know more in the coming days.  But the key is that I actually went through with it.  I can take that forthrightness and apply it to any future happenstances.  Whenever I want something, I need to reach out and go for it, consequences be damned.  And I did.  Go Ry!

Mom!!

Happy Birthday to the greatest mother in the history of time!  I can't thank her enough for everything she has done to raise me and now my sister!  I'm so honored to have her in my life and can't think of a better example to follow as I make my own path into adulthood.  Thanks for being my best friend and confidante and always ready for a chat or a movie line.  You rock mom!

Listening

I think it's pretty awesome to listen to other people.  It's way more enlightening than talking myself.  I mean, I know everything I'm going to say.  Why do I need to hear it again?  I want to work on this more.

In addition, I think I want to hang out in the used book store this weekend.  And get another tattoo.  Mutually exclusive thoughts...

A Frustrating Distinction

I was reading an article by Joe Posnanski, one of my favorite sports columnists.  Within, he was discussing Jackie Robinson and the integration of baseball.  He was listing off the last teams to integrate - the Yankees in 1955, the Phillies in 1957, the Tigers in 1958, and the Red Sox in 1959.  Posnanski then denigrates the Sox and their "Hall of Fame" owner (his quotation marks, not mine) for shamefully being the last team, and yet says nothing about the Tigers or Phillies.  I mean, yes, it sucks that they waited so long to integrate their teams, but what difference does a year make?  Why should the Sox and owner Tom Yawkey be so criticized, and yet the Tigers and Phillies receive no such ill will?  Is it just because the Sox were last to the table?  They joined the revolution 12 years after the Dodgers, but the Tigers and Phillies also lasted more than a decade before integrating.  Why does he pick on the Red Sox?? And why do we, as a society, point to the last one to do something profound as the worst, the MOST shameful, as if there's a barometer that measures the shame quotient.  We place an emphasis on distinction, even if it's a negative one.  I don't know why that is.

Just a thought today...

Carpe Diem

I want, nay, I need to make my life extraordinary.  For myself.  Nobody is out there to tell me how to go about doing this.  Good thing.  It's in my hands.

Pretty cool.

Solitary Walks

I don't quite recall what it was that got me so geeked up to write about my most enjoyable walks, but I'm going to divulge nonetheless.

I remember walking down the main pedestrian thoroughfare in Denver last July the day after the movie theater shooting.  The televisions were all turned to news of the tragedy and many people were glued to the sets.  I felt so aloof and apart from society.  I didn't know what my place was.  I was getting ready to fly back to Michigan, I had been dumped and rebuffed, I was alone, and I felt...different.  Like I was the only one feeling this.  I was staring incredulously at the buildings and people and traffic.  My gaze was never fixed on anything for longer than a few seconds.  I was nearly overwhelmed.  I gave a hamburger to a man asking for change.  I missed my bus.  I bought a big Coke.  The things we remember.

I was walking down the dirt path in Tangitatu, Kenya.  Actually I was half-running, but was pretty out of shape so I threw in a bunch of walking.  I was a few miles away from my camp.  The sun was beating down.  Some shepherds were off tending the sheep and goats.  I was completely out of breath and was angry at the pain.  I was angry at Africa.  My dream of a 3-month exploration session had devolved and became extinct. I felt, for the most part, misunderstood.  But I wasn't.

I was walking around Rapid City.  There were statues of presidents.  It was dark and a bit chilly.  I looked haggard.  It'd been a week since my last shower, and 7 weeks since my last shave.  I was stopping at every street corner and looking at the placards.  Some people looked at me and some didn't.  I looked at most.  I tried to at least.

I was walking at Bryce Canyon.  The sky was pristine blue.  The ground was rust red.  The trail was nearly devoid of people, even though it was the height of summer.  I was newly employed but also newly single.  It was an interesting dichotomy.  I spent my journey ranking the individual splendors of the all the national parks.  I watched the horseriders as they galloped past.  I took some pictures and tried to make myself feel infinite, like had happened so many times before when I'd rejoiced in nature.  It didn't happen.

I was walking in the parking lot at Madison.  I was the last one out.  My car was the only one still parked.  It was warm.  It was still light.  Winter had finally been vanquished.  I smiled.  I didn't share that smile with anyone, but it was meaningful nevertheless.  My heart was lightened.  I was happy.

Boston

I've been thinking a lot about this Boston Marathon stuff.  It's complete nonsense that our sporting events are not always safe.  The fact that there are people out there who try to kill as many people as they can is sickening.  But I'm not going to preach to the choir here; every single person who reads this would wholeheartedly agree with my assertion that terrorism of any kind for terrorism's sake is one of the worst things imaginable.  Victims of these terrible tragedies should always be near our hearts.

But, cynical though it may be, my thoughts extended beyond the event and its aftermath.  I was struck by the changes in government that this is going to create.  Security is going to be tightened at marathons and other outdoor sporting events.  Participation will go down as people worry about the next attack.  The government will put in place new search procedures or some other type of mechanization that will hopefully prevent another disaster.  This is the way it worked after the nonsense in Connecticut and Colorado.  There were tougher gun laws enacted.  This is the way it worked after 9/11.  There were more stringent security measures in airplanes.  The government has a history of seeing a problem/situation and trying to solve it with more legislation.  But who does this legislation affect?  Law-abiding citizens.  It will be more difficult to do the things that we once did because the government is attempting to cure the country of its ailments.  But more laws and expanded rules will not do much in the long run.  People who want to break laws will continue to break laws.  Creating additional layers to a law to supposedly prevent criminal activity will not stop the criminals.  Instead, the government is further hamstringing the obeying populace.  Our lives are being micromanaged and our individual freedoms are being ripped away.

I understand the government's need to save face.  In the wake of tragedy, the government will be branded unhelpful and uncaring if it fails to act in some way.  For some reason, people have this insatiable need for some sort of justice (the justice that is likely fed them on news shows and press clippings) and want the government to set up some sort of net to catch those dastardly criminals.  But they fail to realize that only the "regular" citizens are suffering.  It's disheartening.

I'm not trying to minimize the situation or in some way speak inappropriately about yesterday's events.  I'm merely trying to shed some perspective on the next steps.  It's a frightful prospect.  Pretty soon we are going to be completely reliant on the government to provide us with everything.  The laws will be so strict that we will at risk if we do anything.  It's a longshot to be sure, but I've seen enough dystopian thrillers to know that it could happen.  The government could get so big that there's no room for individuals anymore.

Wow that last paragraph sounded pretty psycho and conspiratorial.  I'm not really that out there.  But the governments reaction to Boston - that's what I'm really concerned about.  I've often thought that terrorist attacks happen for the attention and to put the United States into a state of panic.  9/11 severely crippled air travel and kept us on our toes for years.  Perhaps the instigator is just looking for another way to make the people of the United States fearful.

Anyway, it sucks that this happened.  So many people deserved much more.

Overcast Days

Today was 65 and cloudy.  It was humid, but not the kind of humidity that makes you sweat profusely until the scale reckons you unrecognizable.  It was a refreshing kind of humid that reminds you that spring is, after many months off, finally among us.  For some reason I've always been drawn to these overcast days.  The sunny days garner all the love and praise, but it's those cloudy ones that go along unloved and underrated.  The warmth is there, along with the everpresent threat of a beautiful downpour replete with peals of thunder. With a cloudy day comes the opportunity to sit on the porch and look out on the environment surrounding us.  Reflections abound.  We can look up and see what the sky fully holds.  Without squinting.

But I can't focus because there's an amateur guitarist plucking away.  It's incessant.  Which is almost like the sun on those admittedly splendid summer days.  It comes at you and doesn't stop.  We seek the shade and the artificial coolness.  Cloudy days, however, are all shady...

A sampling of what was on my mind.  I guess I'll write about Boston tomorrow.

Eight Line Poem

"The tactful cactus by your window
Surveys the prairie of your room
The mobile spins to its collision
Clara puts her head between her paws
They've opened shops down West side
Will all the cacti find a home
But the key to the city
Is in the sun that pins the branches to the sky"
-David Bowie, 1971

I can think about this poem all day.  It doesn't get me any closer to the true meaning.  I think that's why I love it.

Mysteries

There are a lot.  Too many to name.  Many times we'll never know how to solve them.  Hence the name.  Wiser men than us have tried and fallen short.  I will be no different, try as I may.  Oftentimes we lunge for the solution.  Some succeed to an extent.  Others fail, sometimes spectacularly.  This should not be an end.  Think about like climbing.  Perhaps we're too short or too inexperienced to send a difficult route.  Maybe we're too tired (or think we are) and can't complete that final sequence to the top.  But we need to try.  Make that leap of faith.  We can fall and give up or we can reach the top, no matter the number of attempts it takes.  That's what mysteries are.  A chance for us to take a chance.  And if we fail, we've got that top rope, the belayer, and the harness to keep us safe.  That's a lot of protection.  How could we possibly get hurt?

Hotels vs. Rest Areas

Who needs hotels when rest areas are just as good?  One can park at a roadside rest stop, put on the parking brake, lock up the doors, and slumber.  If one is lucky, perhaps he may even be able to sprawl out in the friendly confines of the backseat and try to stretch out (much simpler if Gary Coleman is the driver).  Gone is the painful search for the correct hotel, the unnecessarily tight bed covers, the faint smell of smoke, and the brutal hum of the air conditioner.  It's not worth the money.  A rest stop is free.  There are no perks, and one doesn't walk away disappointed because he wasn't expecting them anyhow.  The sun, the world's shared alarm clock, rouses the sleeping soul and rejuventes her for another extended driving spurt.  The driver is on the road in 90 seconds, having not missed a beat.  They say that we get what we pay for.  In the case of rest areas, it couldn't be more apt.

To all those who are fearful of the full exposure, buy a baseball bat.  To those who enjoy the perks of continental breakfast, take a closer look at highway billboards.  Hotels advertise free breakfast, not breakfast for paying customers only.  A quick stop at a hotel for breakfast is a good use of resources...and a great money saving tip!  To all those who want the creature comfort of home, why are you traveling anyway?

Rest areas: America's sleepaway special!

Laziness

Is it considered being lazy when you're doing things you want to do?  Participating in activities that give you great enjoyment, even if society tells you that you shouldn't be doing these things?  If I spend hours scouring the Internet when I "should" be grading papers, am I the dictionary definition of lazy?  If so, why?  I'm having a wonderful time on the Internet.  I'm learning some important things.  I read about Richard Nixon.  That's useful right?  Especially as a social studies teacher.  Do I deserve to chastised?  Did I do wrong?  Or at least no good?  One man's laziness is another man's exercise (or something like that.)  Where is that line drawn?  It should be a wholly personal decision.  If you feel guilt about not accomplishing as much as you may have wanted, then you are being lazy.  It's not dependent on society's moods and swoons.  The proverbial "they" cannot tell you how to feel.

I wrote this post in second person.  I think the "you" is myself.  I'm trying to validate a wasted weekend.  Hmm...

A Recent Memory...For Me

Last week I visited my family in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.  I got to see my aunt and uncle, which was splendid, but the highlight of the trip was hanging out with my great-grandma.  She's 90 now and has been going downhill a bit in the past few years.  I'm not sure how much time she has left.  I was the only one with her for a couple hours and we spent time watching the Twins-Tigers game on television and talking about baseball and my grandpa and her life as a mother and grandmother and her fondest memories and everything else - interspersed with some random naps of course.  It was such a great thing.  My great grandma has seen so much in her life, and for her to be sharp enough to share those memories with me, I'm truly honored.  I can't wait to have a story as rich as hers that I can divulge to my great grandkids...

Another Weekend Cometh

There are about 9 more weeks until the end of this year.  I'm counting down the days.  It's not that I don't like Madison...but I'm so beyond stoked to work at that camp this summer that I can barely handle it.  I get to climb every single day!  Oh boy......

The Best Run Ever

I know it's pretty hyperbolic to label anything as the best.  I've been on thousands of runs.  Many of them are mundane and repetitious.  How can I possibly pick one to be the best?  What is the criteria?  My fastest run, or the run in which I felt most comfortable?  The run in which I had the best company or came up with the best ideas?  The run with the most beautiful weather or sights?  I mean, I've run through the Redwoods where they filmed Return of the Jedi, at Hayward Field (the home of Oregon track), for 18 miles on a beautiful summer afternoon, on mountain trails and down back alleys, through ranches and forests, up hills and in gales, along the water and through Washington, D.C. (not to mention Las Vegas, Istanbul, St. Louis, and Moscow), through sheep pastures in Kenya and along the seaside in Ireland, and even in the middle of the ocean on a cruise ship.  But last week...how do I explain it?

I was at Wind Cave National Park in South Dakota and had about an hour and a half to kill before my cave tour.  I ran along the park road to the East Bison Flats trailhead and decided to meander back to the visitor's center along the defined trail.  It was an extremely beautiful trail and it was very well-kept.  I was in the middle of yellow prairie grass that seemed to go on forever and, before long I may have become entranced by the amber waves because, unbeknownst to me, I had somehow left the beaten path and was following the game trails.  At some point I stopped in a depression in the land to take in the scene around me.  I was surrounded by prairie grass.  To my left lay and antelope, chilling in the morning sun.  To my right I could see some buffalo grazing.  There were no cars in sight, no signs of civilization.  I was communing with nature.  It was perfect.  I stood there for quite some time, stricken by the emptiness and majesty.  I was without a watch, without a care, and was drinking it all in and contemplating my place in the world.  It was pretty heady stuff.  Eventually I returned to the cave tour, but I still cannot get that run out of my head.  It may have been the best run ever...

Stephen Stills

"And if you can't be with the one you love, honey, love the one you're with..."
"Love The One You're With," Stephen Stills

Are you kidding me?  This is the way that we're supposed to go through life?  Settling?  I was getting pretty incensed the other day when I saw someone's Facebook status update read "Love is about learning to love the person you're with, not trying to change them into something they're not" or something like that...I'm paraphrasing.  We're reading "Romeo and Juliet" in my class and Romeo falls so hard for Juliet that he is killing himself for her in a matter of days.  If all runs together, doesn't it?  Loving who you're with instead of moving on and finding someone better and more appropriate for your needs and desires, or learning to love the one you're with, or falling head over heels for whatever dame shows up on your doorstep.  This is absolutely insane!

Love is about being with someone that you completely and utterly can't stand being without.  You love them for their positive traits and negative traits and idiosyncracies and exasperations.  You love them uncontrollably and unabashedly.  You love them because you want to, not because you feel you need to.  You give them everything you have, and they return the favor and then some.  You put their needs in front of yours because you know that they're doing the same thing for you.  It's not about settling with some Joe (or Joanna) Schmo just because it's convenient.  It's about patience and waiting for that one to come into your life and completely rock your world - indefinitely.

My uncle once told me that even if you think that a person is one in a million, there are at least 7,000 people in the world that fit that exact criteria.  The world is huge.  There is so much out there to learn and explore and we'd be remiss if we merely stuck around our comfort zone and accepted the status quo.  Love is not always going to fall into your lap, and when it does, it doesn't always last.  It needs to be sought deliberately and nurtured.  But we need to discover our own selves fully first...

I'm reminded of Benvolio's words from "Romeo and Juliet" when Romeo is hung up on Rosaline the nun:
"Examine other beauties."  There are others out there.  Settling should be the last thing on our agenda.

Bullpens

Oh how I pine for the glory days of baseball.  I'm sick and tired of this age of specialized bullpens that are put together to supposedly ease the workloads of the starters, lest they get arm injuries and become ineffective.  I think pitch counts and bullpens and all that is nonsense and really doesn't improve the team in the long run.  Let's run an example here: let's say that Stephen Strasburg wasn't put on an innings limit and his pitch counts weren't monitored.  Would he have gotten injured?  Maybe.  There's no way to know, just as there's no way to prove that his decreased throwing regimen contributed to his health.  Some players, pitchers especially, are going to get injured no matter the situation.  Others respond better to higher pitch counts and more innings and less rest between starts.  Every pitcher is not exactly the same, and yet the "best" baseball minds in the game seem to be treating them as such.  A few examples: last summer, Johan Santana threw his first no-hitter ever and needed 140 pitches or something to do it.  The rest of the year his stuff wasn't as good, with many pundits pointing to his "abuse" during his no-hitter as his undoing.  Never mind the fact that he was susceptible to injury and had taken the entire previous year off; it must have been the high pitch count.  Then we have Edwin Jackson, who threw 150 pitches and walked 8 in his no-hitter for the Diamondbacks.  He lost his previous effectiveness, with the pitch count again taking the brunt of the blame - but remember that he walked 8!  He had control issues that were certainly going to bring his stats back toward the mean.  There are so many other mitigating factors to blame here - the leagues figuring out the pitchers, home/away games, etc. - that using pitch counts as a frame of reference is a fool's errand.  Further, when Justin Verlander is able to throw 130 pitches in successive starts with success, he is not lauded.  The point I'm trying to make here, though, is that some are built for it and some are not.

There are many pitchers in the minor leagues that will never sniff the Big Show.  There is no shortage of very good talent.  But why are we spending so much time preventing potential injuries when there is a backlog of talent?  If one cannot take the rigors of pitching, there will be another one to take over who could be just as effective, or even more so.  It's not like there're a finite number of ballplayers; the players will always be there.

But instead of riding out the best pitcher (starters are typically the best on a team), managers will defer to the lesser arms in the bullpen that either couldn't cut it as a starter, have a limited arsenal, or just don't have the mindset to be a starting pitcher.  This is ridiculous.  Today the Tigers' pitcher walked 3 men in a row.  Really?  In a major league game?  This should never happen.  But it does, far too often.  Managers remove the starter after 100 or so pitches to "protect the arm" and put the ball into the hands of worse pitchers with control issues.  Why is this a good idea?  Why has this become acceptable?  I'm of the mind that the starter will give you the best chance to win most of the time.  That's why they're expected to pitch at least 200 innings a year (though I wish it were more).  These relievers come in based on matchups (with tiny sample sizes) and yet are expected to get outs that they may not even be qualified to get.  It's such a bizarre concept.  Teams end up losing games they shouldn't have, and winning games they had no business winning.  I say put the ball in the hands of the men that are most capable.  Win or lose with your best options.

Indians

I was driving through Rapid City, South Dakota during my road trip when I saw an Indian man staggering on the sidewalk, obviously drunk, in the middle of the afternoon.  It was shocking and sad and, yet, all too common on and around the reservations that the U.S. government set up to supposedly ease the lives of the Indians that were so cruelly destroyed so many generations ago.  This lonely individual, however, was exhibit A in the demonstration that the system is simply not working; nay, it's been broken for many years.

Back in the 1820's, the U.S. was feeling pretty high and mighty.  We had just "defeated" the British for the second time in our battle for independence (though the War of 1812 was more like not getting beaten).  We had purchased Louisiana and had sent Lewis and Clark all the way to the Pacific Ocean.  During the course of the journey (1803-1806), they met some Indians (for the sake of clarity, I will be referring to Native Peoples as "Indians" throughout, as that is how they appear in all, admittedly antiquated, government literature) who helped them get to the ocean.  This was the American's first usurption of power, as upon rearrival in Washington they declared the land hospitable and free.  Lewis and Clark had, in what would become a sorry trend, taken advantage of the genorsity and trusting spirit of the Indians in the name of selfish gain.

Fast forward a few years to Jackson's presidency.  The population of the United States was growing at an extremely robust pace.  Land, especially in the south with the propensity for plantation agriculture, was becoming scarce and the people needed some new places to settle.  Enter the Trail of Tears, Jackson's bizarre idea to forcibly uproot all of the Indians in Florida, southern Georgia, Mississippi, and Alabama and relocate them west of the Mississippi River.  It seemed like a brilliant plan for the Americans, except that nobody ran it by the Indians.  Instead, the cavalry, fresh off some Indian destruction in the North (Tippecanoe, for example), took their horses and guns and marched the Indians to their new "home."  Many died of disease and starvation on the journey, and those that survived were subject to unforseen hardships in their western habitat.  But Americans were sitting pretty.

More years passed, and the United States, after stealing some land chunks from Mexico, now officially stretched from sea to sea.  This land addition, coupled with the discovery of gold and other precious metals out west, encouraged Americans to once again spread out, Indian territory be damned.  This process continued for some time, until all Indians, regardless of tribe, were appointed a small tract of land in Oklahoma - only to see that taken away as well.

Eventually, there was no more land for the Indians.  The government was faced with a problem.  For some reason, they started to grow something resembling a conscience and wanted to provide for the ancestors of the people they had stolen land from.  The Indians, having nothing else (and nary a tribal identity), gratefully accepted these provisions out of necessity.  Indians were put into reservations near their ancestral lands and were afforded special privileges - cash, gambling/casinos, rations, etc.  The Indians, it may have seemed, had struck it rich.  They didn't have to do any hunting and gathering for themselves anymore.  They were going to be well taken care of.  An overlooked fact, however, is that the Indians are fiercely loyal and steeped in tradition.  They WANTED to hunt and gather and provide for themselves, but the Americans had taken away every avenue in which to do it.  The Americans had eliminated the buffalo, stolen land, killed scores of Indians in battles, spread diseases among the tribes, and wouldn't even accept Indians into mainstream society.  They had been completely ostracized BEFORE the government stepped in; now, after the supposed "assistance," they were becoming even worse off.

This was evident the other day in South Dakota.  Indians have become consumed by gambling - one of the "privileges" afforded them by the government - and alcohol, twin vices that can destroy even the strongest and most vigilant individual.  Reservation schools are among the worst in the nation.  Highly qualified teachers don't want to teach there, leaving students in the hands of the uncertified.  This cycle continues, with each subsequent generation missing out on even more opportunities.  Stripped of their traditions, Indians turned to alcohol to cope.  It doesn't seem to be getting any better.

Indians know the government is going to provide.  Reparations are going to be paid regardless of station.  The once proud Indian no longer has to do anything for himself.  The government, in its eagerness to correct transgressions, went too far and made the Indian almost completely dependent.  It's grossly negligent, thinking that the best way to cure what ails the Indian is to make them more American - adhering to societal norms, handouts/social programs, casinos, etc.  A way of life was stolen, and the American, of course, thinks throwing money at the problem will make things better.  It won't.  It hasn't.

This is not to say that all Indians are at the mercy of the government or that all reservations have no hope.  Rather, I'm speaking from my experience of seeing that one off balance man on the streets and my thought process.  It's a sad commentary, to be sure, but it's certainly not ALL Indians, or even remotely close to all.

Catch

One of the most telling signs that spring has finally emerged from its sequestered hibernation is the late afternoon sun, bathing the earth in its splendor and making it almost impossible not to bask in its glory.

I played catch for the first time this year.  My arm hurt the next day but, nevertheless, there I was playing catch yet again.  The extended beauty of the sun's rays almost demands that we enjoy it.  I'm reminded of Shoeless Joe Jackson in Field of Dreams when talking about the joy and rewards of baseball.  When you're a great ballplayer, people wait on you and give you brass beds and brass spitoons but, at the very core, it's just a game.  You don't deserve all the adulation; you'd play for food money.  It's all about the smell of the fresh cut grass and the new cowhide.  It's so easy.

Having a catch reminded me of that simple truth.  When the world seems endlessly stressful and things just don't work out the way we always imagine them to, we can take solace in the purity that comes from a little back and forth with the baseball.  We can turn off the outside distractions and, if for only a few minutes, focus on the ball hitting glove and smile.  We can revel in the intrinsic beauty and everlasting pleasures, especially when you get to share those moments with someone you genuinely care about.  It's pretty dang close to perfection.

Back...

Yes I've been away for a few days.  Spring break came at the most convenient time, allowing me the pleasure to once again explore the splendors of the west.  Upon my return to the Michigan, however, I was bombarded with the realization that I had done absolutely nothing of note to get ready for the final push at school.  I graded and planned and was crazy busy upon my rearrival, rendering my blogging hands useless until the fire died down...

And it has.  I'll be working like mad to catch back up with the blogs in the hopes of actually meeting my goal of 8 months ago.  Too deep to stop now...