I was eating at a little pizza place downtown, when "Tiny Dancer" played over the oldies station on the radio. The next song that came on was "It's Still Rock 'n Roll to Me." Then I wondered what the chances were of hearing an Elton John and Billy Joel song back to back on any commercial radio station might be, and I figured those chances must be very good.
Oldies stations have always fascinated me. They have a nearly infinite volume of songworks at their disposal for programming, and nearly every station in the country taps the same 100 or so songs to play in ridiculously heavy rotation. These are nowhere close to the 100 best songs ever written, and usually, the songs that make the cut aren't even nearly the individual artists' best songs. From the above example, I probably prefer 25 or 30 Elton John songs to the one they played, and one almost never hears what I believe to be Billy Joel's best song, "Pressure" on the radio. It's about the only song he's recorded I might have a remote interest in hearing right now, and I could live a long and happy life never hearing another Elton John song, period.
So what is the appeal of the oldies radio station? It is, generally speaking, among the best of available options on any given radio dial, and that's not saying much. It's devolved into a corporate contest of who can suck the least at any given time.
Is this just the last, and most disgusting step of the corporate homogenization of our American culture? We're force fed the same crap over and over based on an actuarial analysis of our attention spans--we get only the blandest and most acceptable of all that is available in life??? (That is, over the available media outlets, with the possible exclusion of the internet)
Satellite feeds are no better. They are more specific to genre, but they still ram home the same programming in thick rotation, when an almost infinite supply of diversity would seem to exist. Is this all a symptom of Political Correctness? Are we that afraid to offend a demographic these days to take even the simplest of risks?
Life is all about calculated risk, it seems. If I run out to the store for a bottle of milk, I run the obvious risk of getting run over by a bus or train, but I can take some steps to insulate myself somewhat from these prospective events. The only media outlets that take any risks whatsoever are the ones unbowed to some outside force of influence that reminds the proprietor on a daily basis what is acceptable and what is not. These outlets are damned rare. College stations are a good bet, public radio used to be pretty good, but it seems that even these are in some way bowing a bit to the pressures of paying for their wattages, and every decision that is made seems to carry a price determined by those with the purse strings.
And all of this is subjective, of course. I run the risk with this post of offending fans of Billy Joel and Elton John, for example. For starters, however, one would need the dual calamity of liking either of the above artists AND having the patience to get through my drivel to this point. I'm claiming that this is nearly impossible to do, or I wouldn't have to listen to their shitty music in public in the first place. The entire reason terrible music is offered in public places like that is the perception that the fewest persons will be offended. By that logic, those passionate about Billy and Elton are probably similarly dispassionate in their defenses. I'm not sure if that's the case, but I would think it would have to be at least somewhat true. I've never seen anyone throw a fit when hearing songs by these artists.
Is it even possible to be passionate about Billy or Elton? Or am I missing something here? Is there some unspecified genius to their work? I know both of them are songwriters far superior to me, but I'd bet both of them will tell you their best work can't be effectively promoted and produced. They're just pushing dollars through the turnstiles, and taking all the money from all the willing lemmings, most of which know no better...
Everyone needs a hobby. Maybe reflex-like fit throwing in reaction to this crap will be one of my new ones, just to see if there is any reaction at all to the public tantrums thrown in the face of rampant mediocrity...or I suppose I could just patiently wait for the next shitty song, like I've been conditioned so well to do.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Painful Indifference
I talked to a friend earlier today, (I say talked, but these days, it's damned near impossible to get anyone to talk over the phone. I've mostly quit trying. It's all made up of a bunch of text messages, chat room crap and things like that) and found out a little about myself from our brief exchange of ideas.
I've known for a long time I've got a poor attitude about a lot of things, and I think I'm trying to work on that character defect. I even think it's a sincere effort, but I've never exactly been in this position of general dissatisfaction and confusion. Well, I have been in exactly this position, but I guess I didn't give a damn about it or about anything else until this past year. I just kind of let it slide, along with everything else...
Some time back, I had a dream. In it, my friends' wife and kids were walking by my place while I was working in the yard. I saw them walking by, and waved, and his son yelled out to me, "Pants are for suckers!" So periodically, usually on the weekend, I'll call (or text--usually text these days, sadly) to remind my friend we're both probably on the wrong side of the sucker fence. His son, incidentally, is still young enough to lack the lasting ability to remain fully clothed at all times. It's great to be too young to care...
Anyway, this morning I'd relayed that I thought a new pantsless look was going to become a trend. It seems that way, anyhow. Some young actress (I assume she's an actress. I don't know what she does, but she looks good doing it.) by the name of Blake Lively decided to trot around the Letterman set wearing what appeared to be only a shirt, and a set of heels. Good for her. I liked it, anyway. I further notified my friend that this look would probably be best pulled off by the hot chicks, since they aren't really expected to think in our society, anyway. I'd just stop wearing pants, too, since no one had come to expect me to think for the past couple of decades either.
He replied, in reference to the hotties, "I haven't been giving them a break. Have you?" I'd told him previously that I wasn't giving out any more free passes based on looks. I expected, perhaps wrongly, for people to behave like human beings.
"Nope. Not gonna start now either, tho i've realized it's pretty unlikely i'll ever find anyone i really like. And I won't keep around anyone i dont. So it goes.." I find it hard to express myself in 160 characters.
"Well, at least your attitude sucks. That helps quite a bit" He had over a hundred to spare.
He lives less than a half mile away, and I've been over to his home maybe a couple of times in the past year. It's not that I don't want to see him and his family--I love them to death--It's just that each trip over there is a somewhat painful reminder of all that I don't have in life. I'm not even sure that I want what he's got...the home, the beautiful wife, and the wonderful kids...but it's another example of complete failure and lack of effort on my part to advance myself in any way, until very recently. So I don't go over there, unless I must.
"I struggle with it constantly, and i know it's a tremendous weakness. It's hard giving anyone a break when you don't like yourself." I replied.
"You've got to give to get. If you need a lift, lift someone else up. What other cliches can I think of. I hear ya, but you would the means to like yourself better could include forgiving others of their shortcomings and your own" Well, this is another thing I hate about these texts. Sometimes they come through on my end fragmented--I never know. Maybe this was the complete thought. He's got stuff going on over there. This morning, I didn't over here.
"I try that. I dont open that club in the mornings for fun. Come to think of it, I dont do much of anything for fun. Thats part of the problem. When I do try to give, i know nothing should be expected, and that is very often the case. Just numb to everything, like being f-d up, but no benefits." And I meant every word of this. Sad, but true.
"I guess I understand some of what you said. How much do you distinguish between rewarding and fun? Maybe too much. That should certainly be rewarding and therapeutic. You can not be both numb and aware unless you lacked emotion or an understanding of your surroundings and this is certainly not your condition. So, you are neither numb or lack understanding, but lack clarity of purpose. Who do you serve? This is a question worth considering. Then consider who you should serve and how you will rectify this shortcoming. This is all I think about in family relationships, work, socially...whatever." Okay, he's way over 160 characters now. But not done: "In conclusion: If you are not willing (and without reluctance or cynicism about it) to serve others, you will remain unhappy. This is a decision we make. I feel guilt when I am selfish or have been inconsiderate of others because I have failed to serve them. It takes away from them. I guess this is 'my thing' right now. This is my own path and testimony, but it could be good"
My friend brokers mortgage loans. I think. Or he did. He just started a new job, and I don't exactly know what he's doing now, but he continued, "My new motto: Realtors are People also. (Indicating they are something in addition to being homo-sapiens opposed to the 'Realtors are people too',indicating inclusionary status of a group. They may be jerks at times, but they are human. I am human. Human. Do you realize how enjoyed the next warm up should be? With or without pants"
A change in the weather could certainly do me a world of good right now: "thx. I just have absolutely no idea what my purpose or place in life might be. I'm confused and frustrated a lot. It's not what I want. With or without pants."
"Your purpose is to serve others. That is my point. Be happy about that. Not expecting people to serve you, you see. I have alwasy been a bit of an existentialist"
So ended our conversation. Then I wondered how much time Sartre spent wandering around looking for a belt to keep his pants up...
And I guess it's a good thing I don't take the world of sport too damned seriously anymore. It's one of my few pursuits, however, that I would classify as "fun." I enjoy watching legitimate competition. I've blown up TVs and wrecked apartments over the outcomes of events in the past, and at least I don't take this business too goddamned seriously now. I can't get hung up with that sort of emotional investment, since I have absolutely no control over the eventual outcomes.
It's time to give my Jayhawks a break, I suppose. I'll never understand why they waited until they were done playing to give a damn, but that's none of my business, except that I'd spent quite a bit of time pulling for them for reasons I no longer understand. I'll give them a break for playing ten minutes of legitimate basketball over the past 80 or so allotted to them. And I'll give them a pass for bawling like little kids, despite their apparent continuing indifference to the task at hand. I take nothing away from Northern Iowa. A team should have to play basketball with skill and effort the entire time the clock is running to win a contest, and this was accomplished by their fine squad. I wish them the best.
They're all just kids, and god only knows I've spent far too much of my adult life crying over likewise spilled milk...now I guess I can root whole-heartedly for K-State and Frank Martin. I'm positive that bunch will put forth their best effort, and perhaps they can teach me a thing or two about how to be a better person today.
I've known for a long time I've got a poor attitude about a lot of things, and I think I'm trying to work on that character defect. I even think it's a sincere effort, but I've never exactly been in this position of general dissatisfaction and confusion. Well, I have been in exactly this position, but I guess I didn't give a damn about it or about anything else until this past year. I just kind of let it slide, along with everything else...
Some time back, I had a dream. In it, my friends' wife and kids were walking by my place while I was working in the yard. I saw them walking by, and waved, and his son yelled out to me, "Pants are for suckers!" So periodically, usually on the weekend, I'll call (or text--usually text these days, sadly) to remind my friend we're both probably on the wrong side of the sucker fence. His son, incidentally, is still young enough to lack the lasting ability to remain fully clothed at all times. It's great to be too young to care...
Anyway, this morning I'd relayed that I thought a new pantsless look was going to become a trend. It seems that way, anyhow. Some young actress (I assume she's an actress. I don't know what she does, but she looks good doing it.) by the name of Blake Lively decided to trot around the Letterman set wearing what appeared to be only a shirt, and a set of heels. Good for her. I liked it, anyway. I further notified my friend that this look would probably be best pulled off by the hot chicks, since they aren't really expected to think in our society, anyway. I'd just stop wearing pants, too, since no one had come to expect me to think for the past couple of decades either.
He replied, in reference to the hotties, "I haven't been giving them a break. Have you?" I'd told him previously that I wasn't giving out any more free passes based on looks. I expected, perhaps wrongly, for people to behave like human beings.
"Nope. Not gonna start now either, tho i've realized it's pretty unlikely i'll ever find anyone i really like. And I won't keep around anyone i dont. So it goes.." I find it hard to express myself in 160 characters.
"Well, at least your attitude sucks. That helps quite a bit" He had over a hundred to spare.
He lives less than a half mile away, and I've been over to his home maybe a couple of times in the past year. It's not that I don't want to see him and his family--I love them to death--It's just that each trip over there is a somewhat painful reminder of all that I don't have in life. I'm not even sure that I want what he's got...the home, the beautiful wife, and the wonderful kids...but it's another example of complete failure and lack of effort on my part to advance myself in any way, until very recently. So I don't go over there, unless I must.
"I struggle with it constantly, and i know it's a tremendous weakness. It's hard giving anyone a break when you don't like yourself." I replied.
"You've got to give to get. If you need a lift, lift someone else up. What other cliches can I think of. I hear ya, but you would the means to like yourself better could include forgiving others of their shortcomings and your own" Well, this is another thing I hate about these texts. Sometimes they come through on my end fragmented--I never know. Maybe this was the complete thought. He's got stuff going on over there. This morning, I didn't over here.
"I try that. I dont open that club in the mornings for fun. Come to think of it, I dont do much of anything for fun. Thats part of the problem. When I do try to give, i know nothing should be expected, and that is very often the case. Just numb to everything, like being f-d up, but no benefits." And I meant every word of this. Sad, but true.
"I guess I understand some of what you said. How much do you distinguish between rewarding and fun? Maybe too much. That should certainly be rewarding and therapeutic. You can not be both numb and aware unless you lacked emotion or an understanding of your surroundings and this is certainly not your condition. So, you are neither numb or lack understanding, but lack clarity of purpose. Who do you serve? This is a question worth considering. Then consider who you should serve and how you will rectify this shortcoming. This is all I think about in family relationships, work, socially...whatever." Okay, he's way over 160 characters now. But not done: "In conclusion: If you are not willing (and without reluctance or cynicism about it) to serve others, you will remain unhappy. This is a decision we make. I feel guilt when I am selfish or have been inconsiderate of others because I have failed to serve them. It takes away from them. I guess this is 'my thing' right now. This is my own path and testimony, but it could be good"
My friend brokers mortgage loans. I think. Or he did. He just started a new job, and I don't exactly know what he's doing now, but he continued, "My new motto: Realtors are People also. (Indicating they are something in addition to being homo-sapiens opposed to the 'Realtors are people too',indicating inclusionary status of a group. They may be jerks at times, but they are human. I am human. Human. Do you realize how enjoyed the next warm up should be? With or without pants"
A change in the weather could certainly do me a world of good right now: "thx. I just have absolutely no idea what my purpose or place in life might be. I'm confused and frustrated a lot. It's not what I want. With or without pants."
"Your purpose is to serve others. That is my point. Be happy about that. Not expecting people to serve you, you see. I have alwasy been a bit of an existentialist"
So ended our conversation. Then I wondered how much time Sartre spent wandering around looking for a belt to keep his pants up...
And I guess it's a good thing I don't take the world of sport too damned seriously anymore. It's one of my few pursuits, however, that I would classify as "fun." I enjoy watching legitimate competition. I've blown up TVs and wrecked apartments over the outcomes of events in the past, and at least I don't take this business too goddamned seriously now. I can't get hung up with that sort of emotional investment, since I have absolutely no control over the eventual outcomes.
It's time to give my Jayhawks a break, I suppose. I'll never understand why they waited until they were done playing to give a damn, but that's none of my business, except that I'd spent quite a bit of time pulling for them for reasons I no longer understand. I'll give them a break for playing ten minutes of legitimate basketball over the past 80 or so allotted to them. And I'll give them a pass for bawling like little kids, despite their apparent continuing indifference to the task at hand. I take nothing away from Northern Iowa. A team should have to play basketball with skill and effort the entire time the clock is running to win a contest, and this was accomplished by their fine squad. I wish them the best.
They're all just kids, and god only knows I've spent far too much of my adult life crying over likewise spilled milk...now I guess I can root whole-heartedly for K-State and Frank Martin. I'm positive that bunch will put forth their best effort, and perhaps they can teach me a thing or two about how to be a better person today.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Winter Weather Advisory
For whatever reason, I awoke at about 2am this morning. It probably has something to do with a certain cat. But I found myself awake in the middle of the night, and we're again blanketed in white in the heartland. It's discouraging, to say the least, but it's happened before and I'm sure it will happen again at an even later date in the future...
Twenty years ago this spring, I was playing golf for my high school team. We had a good squad that year, and the first tourney of the year was played on our home course at the time, Alvamar, in Lawrence. I'll never forget it--It was April 2, and the weather forecast wasn't good. It was to be gray all day, and conditions were set to deteriorate as the day wore on. I thought this was good news for me, because I considered myself a "bad weather golfer." I used to hit the ball low with a draw (if I was lucky), and that lends itself well to a lot of the ridiculous weather one encounters in the Midwest. It's not by accident that Tom Watson found himself in contention for another British Open last year. The conditions in Kansas, if one is serious about playing golf, are formidable.
On this "Spring" day in 1990, it was anything but golfing weather. People were trying to play dressed in long underwear and parkas. The club officials seriously considered not even opening the course for play that morning, but by the time they could have made a decision, something in the neighborhood of ten mini-buses and vans were in their lot, and I guess they made a decision to pocket some cash. It wasn't like they stood to make any money off the sane population, all of whom were surely at home enjoying some hot chocolate and artificial heat...
I made the turn at 42, which I thought was a pretty good score that morning. Terrible north wind, and as I was finishing the nine, a pretty good slap of sleet was beginning to smack my face coming up the 9th fairway. No one else in my foursome was even breaking 50, and they all chalked it up to the poor conditions. I loved it. I wasn't nearly as good as the other quality players, so I needed an Act of God to keep me somewhat competitive. We were the first group in, and at that tournament there was no shotgun start. Everyone lined up on the first tee and went from there. That's rare at a high school tournament...
There were murmurs in the clubhouse that maybe we should take it easy for a bit and see what the weather would do. This was silly in my world, because the thing was just getting interesting for me. Golf can be an easy game to win, if one is the only person on the course who wants to be there. I'd already had some schnapps well before the tee-off, and I was still ready to go. Besides, I was hitting the ball well that day. I also dressed in deft defiance of the terrific weather, wearing only a turtleneck and long sleeves. I was freezing cold, of course, but it made for nice effect in contrast to those in Carharts and stocking hats. We headed to the tenth tee to taunt the obvious limitations of the day.
I played much better on the back nine than the front. I started hitting my putts, which of course, is the trick to scoring well. My problem had never been getting the ball to the green, it was that simple concept of keeping the ball on the ground that always led to the major defeats. But when the putts start falling, well, anything can happen.
We kept playing on, and it must have been about the twelfth green when the sleet became so bad and thick that the greens were covered in a white icy layer. The balls left tracks of green in their wake, incriminating any errant putts for the future groups to inspect. My putts on the back nine left a track from ball to hole. Almost every green. It shouldn't have happened that way, as one has to really pound the ball when it has to plow through an extra layer of impediment to get to the hole. The course in my little town has sand greens, so I had a bit of experience in really having to nail a putt to get it to go anywhere. It was heaven.
By about hole fourteen, I was the only person in my group not playing a colored ball. It was icy everywhere, and rain was mixing in nicely with the sleet, but I knew exactly where my ball was going, and I didn't see any need to switch up a ball that had served me well to that point. The weather, which had been so much a friend, was about to do me in.
I parred the next couple of holes, and hit a perfect drive on hole sixteen. I was in great position to murder that hole. About a hundred yards out, middle of the fairway. Great birdie opportunity. I was two over on the back, which was the best I'd played Quail Creek Nine to that point. It's very difficult. But the marshall's cart arrived, telling us the course was now closed. I didn't see any problem with the now half-inch of sleet blanketing the course, but they said something about killing off all the greens, which would have effectively ended my high-school golfing career. Hard to golf if you've killed your course...
I still felt good about my score on the ride back to the clubhouse, and as long as everyone had finished at least the nine, there would be a winner declared. I'd heard rumors that someone had posted a 41 on the front, but I didn't believe it. In this weather, it would be damned near impossible...but hey, I still don't understand how I shot as well as I did on the back. Must have been DeKuyper's..
Turned out my teammate shot the 41, and he won the aborted tourney by a stroke. We won the two-man competition by something like ten strokes or better, although we wouldn't have gotten anything at all in a four-man game. I'm not sure anyone else on the team broke 60 that day. To add insult to injury, some other guy tied me at 42, and I lost a scorecard playoff. I would have been something like ten strokes ahead of the both of them on the back nine...They got brutalized out there after the turn.
Maybe I used to have more fire to fight through the brutality of the Midwestern Winter. Is it stubbornness? Defiance? I don't know quite what it was that I used to have, but I wish I could find out what I did with whatever it was. I guess time has worn me down just a bit, and I have a hard time looking out the window to see that optimism of spring through the limited visibility of a continuing late Winter storm. For a first day of Spring, it's a long one. And I know it will be better soon. It has to be. I just have a continuing difficulty in bringing the future I know is out there to my present condition. So much of golf mirrors life. The mental condition makes virtually all the difference in the final score.
Twenty years ago this spring, I was playing golf for my high school team. We had a good squad that year, and the first tourney of the year was played on our home course at the time, Alvamar, in Lawrence. I'll never forget it--It was April 2, and the weather forecast wasn't good. It was to be gray all day, and conditions were set to deteriorate as the day wore on. I thought this was good news for me, because I considered myself a "bad weather golfer." I used to hit the ball low with a draw (if I was lucky), and that lends itself well to a lot of the ridiculous weather one encounters in the Midwest. It's not by accident that Tom Watson found himself in contention for another British Open last year. The conditions in Kansas, if one is serious about playing golf, are formidable.
On this "Spring" day in 1990, it was anything but golfing weather. People were trying to play dressed in long underwear and parkas. The club officials seriously considered not even opening the course for play that morning, but by the time they could have made a decision, something in the neighborhood of ten mini-buses and vans were in their lot, and I guess they made a decision to pocket some cash. It wasn't like they stood to make any money off the sane population, all of whom were surely at home enjoying some hot chocolate and artificial heat...
I made the turn at 42, which I thought was a pretty good score that morning. Terrible north wind, and as I was finishing the nine, a pretty good slap of sleet was beginning to smack my face coming up the 9th fairway. No one else in my foursome was even breaking 50, and they all chalked it up to the poor conditions. I loved it. I wasn't nearly as good as the other quality players, so I needed an Act of God to keep me somewhat competitive. We were the first group in, and at that tournament there was no shotgun start. Everyone lined up on the first tee and went from there. That's rare at a high school tournament...
There were murmurs in the clubhouse that maybe we should take it easy for a bit and see what the weather would do. This was silly in my world, because the thing was just getting interesting for me. Golf can be an easy game to win, if one is the only person on the course who wants to be there. I'd already had some schnapps well before the tee-off, and I was still ready to go. Besides, I was hitting the ball well that day. I also dressed in deft defiance of the terrific weather, wearing only a turtleneck and long sleeves. I was freezing cold, of course, but it made for nice effect in contrast to those in Carharts and stocking hats. We headed to the tenth tee to taunt the obvious limitations of the day.
I played much better on the back nine than the front. I started hitting my putts, which of course, is the trick to scoring well. My problem had never been getting the ball to the green, it was that simple concept of keeping the ball on the ground that always led to the major defeats. But when the putts start falling, well, anything can happen.
We kept playing on, and it must have been about the twelfth green when the sleet became so bad and thick that the greens were covered in a white icy layer. The balls left tracks of green in their wake, incriminating any errant putts for the future groups to inspect. My putts on the back nine left a track from ball to hole. Almost every green. It shouldn't have happened that way, as one has to really pound the ball when it has to plow through an extra layer of impediment to get to the hole. The course in my little town has sand greens, so I had a bit of experience in really having to nail a putt to get it to go anywhere. It was heaven.
By about hole fourteen, I was the only person in my group not playing a colored ball. It was icy everywhere, and rain was mixing in nicely with the sleet, but I knew exactly where my ball was going, and I didn't see any need to switch up a ball that had served me well to that point. The weather, which had been so much a friend, was about to do me in.
I parred the next couple of holes, and hit a perfect drive on hole sixteen. I was in great position to murder that hole. About a hundred yards out, middle of the fairway. Great birdie opportunity. I was two over on the back, which was the best I'd played Quail Creek Nine to that point. It's very difficult. But the marshall's cart arrived, telling us the course was now closed. I didn't see any problem with the now half-inch of sleet blanketing the course, but they said something about killing off all the greens, which would have effectively ended my high-school golfing career. Hard to golf if you've killed your course...
I still felt good about my score on the ride back to the clubhouse, and as long as everyone had finished at least the nine, there would be a winner declared. I'd heard rumors that someone had posted a 41 on the front, but I didn't believe it. In this weather, it would be damned near impossible...but hey, I still don't understand how I shot as well as I did on the back. Must have been DeKuyper's..
Turned out my teammate shot the 41, and he won the aborted tourney by a stroke. We won the two-man competition by something like ten strokes or better, although we wouldn't have gotten anything at all in a four-man game. I'm not sure anyone else on the team broke 60 that day. To add insult to injury, some other guy tied me at 42, and I lost a scorecard playoff. I would have been something like ten strokes ahead of the both of them on the back nine...They got brutalized out there after the turn.
Maybe I used to have more fire to fight through the brutality of the Midwestern Winter. Is it stubbornness? Defiance? I don't know quite what it was that I used to have, but I wish I could find out what I did with whatever it was. I guess time has worn me down just a bit, and I have a hard time looking out the window to see that optimism of spring through the limited visibility of a continuing late Winter storm. For a first day of Spring, it's a long one. And I know it will be better soon. It has to be. I just have a continuing difficulty in bringing the future I know is out there to my present condition. So much of golf mirrors life. The mental condition makes virtually all the difference in the final score.
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