I'm not sure I ever had a plan for my life. I can't tell you what, as a child, I wanted to be when I grew up as it changed from week to week, sometimes day to day. Heck, I still don't know. No, there was no plan, but there were expectations.
Whether my expectations were set by observing my parents and their friends or by society and the media I really can't say. But I'm almost 50 years old now and I'm not where I expected to be.
I expected I would be married and have a deep, deep passion for my "soul mate." I love my wife, whom I've been married to more than half my life now (27 years this year), and will love her deeply until I draw my dying breath but there seems to be a piece of that puzzle that either doesn't quite fit or is from a different picture.
I expected I would have children. This is something that has contributed to many existential crises as I get older. I see my friends doting on their children and now their grandchildren. My heart aches and regret swells.
I expected I would know more. This is more one of perception. I am aware that I have knowledge that many are ignorant of and that I am ignorant of many things that others have knowledge of. I do not aspire to be the smartest person in the room - several others took up that mantle long ago - but I hunger to understand more of the things I do know and wonder what I am missing.
I expected I would be better compensated. Many reading this probably had this same expectation. I saw people in TV shows and real-life who seemed to constantly move forward in their careers. All I ever seem to do is move sideways and when I do move forward it's either so big a leap that I can't handle it or it's into something far, far worse than where I am.
With so many expectations, whether realistic or fantastic, having outcomes that I would consider not toward the positive, is it any wonder I suffer from depression? Or is it the depression that makes me feel that my expectations haven't been met?
I've read enough business success and self-help books to know that I really need to shape my own destiny. The problem is that my destiny is a giant lump of drab, gray modeling clay sitting on the table before me that I have no earthly idea how to shape. It's not that I don't understand the mechanics of shaping it or that I don't feel I have the skill. The skill really doesn't matter as it can be refined over time. What I don't have is a vision. Will it be a human figure(ine)? What about something utilitarian like a cell phone stand? Maybe something grander like a model building or even a statue? Should it be something serious? Or something fun and outlandish? I just don't know. I stare and I stare but it just won't tell me what it wants to be. And for all my wishing (and judicious use of "The Force") it just won't shape itself.
So what to do about it? I need to discover what that lump of clay needs to become. Should I ask it questions? Should I simply push on it here and there and see what it starts to look like? Actually, that last one won't work. I tried that. I also tried starting to shape it into something - anything - to see what it looked like but usually ended up squishing it back into a lump.
I'm rambling. It's time to stop since I'm obviously not going to figure it all out in one blog post. I have no idea how to close out of this so I just say TTFN.
Showing posts with label About Me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label About Me. Show all posts
Thursday, February 23, 2017
Monday, January 16, 2017
Musings for MLK day
Yesterday, I went to see "Hidden Figures." The story follows three black women who were part of the early NASA space launches. These ladies were mathematical geniuses and were responsible for calculations critical to the successful launch, landing, and recovery of our spacecraft. They and their role were never recognized until recently because they were female and they were black.
I grew up in a fairly progressive household. Skin color was no more than a descriptive trait and carried no more weight about the person themselves than hair or eye color. I was born toward the end of the civil rights movement and by the time I was aware, blacks were supposedly equal in the eyes of the law. I had heard they were treated unfairly but it meant no more to me at the time than hearing of the plight of the American Indian. Race riots and the Trail of Tears were equally outside my scope of true understanding.
I will admit that I bought into some of the propaganda about the differences in caucasions and blacks. I don't know where I picked it up but I honestly believed that blacks were mentally inferior to whites by simple genetics. Their brains were simply incapable of the same capacity. I didn't speak of it much because it was never really relevant but I mention it now because it illustrates my ignorance.
In the fourth grade, I started in the magnet school program in Tulsa, OK. The magnet school program took students from across the city and put them together for a fully integrated learning environment. This was not forced bussing. You had to apply and be accepted into the magnet program. Per my understanding at the time the goal was to be 50% white and 50% black or as close as they could get. I continued in the magnet school program through high school graduation and I met some of the most incredible, talented, and intelligent people of all races.
As I watched the movie yesterday I came to the realization that I do not understand and cannot understand the reality that people of color or non-caucasion races have to endure. The best I can do is to recognize when someone - anyone - is being treated differently and do what I can to correct that. But, like the characters in the film, my view is forever colored by the "caucasion colored glasses" through which I see the world. Sometimes I just don't have the capacity to recognize those injustices. Maybe we, caucasions, are the ones who are mentally inferior. Not by genetics but by experience.
There is a very powerful scene in the film where Katherine (Taraji P. Henson) finally boils over. She has been assigned to one of the main buildings from the colored computing group. As it turns out, the only colored ladies restroom on the entire campus is in the building that houses the colored computing group - almost a quarter mile away from the building where she is assigned. Her boss, Director Al Harrison (Kevin Costner), finally confronts her for being MIA for long periods of time every day. "Where do you go?" He asks. "To the bathroom." Comes her simple reply. "For fourty minutes!?" He's not angry but obviously being managerial, trying to address an issue. That's when she breaks. She explains to him her half-mile hike to get to and from the bathroom because there are no colored restrooms in any other building and it opens a crack in the flood gates as she educates her boss and co-workers about the kind of discrimination she has to endure. And you can see the awakening in Costner's eyes. You can see that she shone a light directly through his caucasion colored glasses so that he could see... so that he could understand just a fraction of what she has to go through for no other reason than she has dark skin.
It was in that moment that I realized I was like the Al Harrison character. I don't see it. It's nearly impossible for me to see the truth because my experience has not been painted with the same brush... or even the same paint. And, truth be told, sometimes that paint comes with prejudice mixed right in. I cannot stop my mind from reflexively telling me to shy away from someone who looks "less" than I do. I even do it sometimes with people I've known for over thirty years. I have to make a conscious effort to correct myself and recognize that our experience is different and not to judge them. And I hate that. I hate that I constantly have to tell myself that but I hope I will recognize and treasure the day when I don't: When none of us do.
I grew up in a fairly progressive household. Skin color was no more than a descriptive trait and carried no more weight about the person themselves than hair or eye color. I was born toward the end of the civil rights movement and by the time I was aware, blacks were supposedly equal in the eyes of the law. I had heard they were treated unfairly but it meant no more to me at the time than hearing of the plight of the American Indian. Race riots and the Trail of Tears were equally outside my scope of true understanding.
I will admit that I bought into some of the propaganda about the differences in caucasions and blacks. I don't know where I picked it up but I honestly believed that blacks were mentally inferior to whites by simple genetics. Their brains were simply incapable of the same capacity. I didn't speak of it much because it was never really relevant but I mention it now because it illustrates my ignorance.
In the fourth grade, I started in the magnet school program in Tulsa, OK. The magnet school program took students from across the city and put them together for a fully integrated learning environment. This was not forced bussing. You had to apply and be accepted into the magnet program. Per my understanding at the time the goal was to be 50% white and 50% black or as close as they could get. I continued in the magnet school program through high school graduation and I met some of the most incredible, talented, and intelligent people of all races.
As I watched the movie yesterday I came to the realization that I do not understand and cannot understand the reality that people of color or non-caucasion races have to endure. The best I can do is to recognize when someone - anyone - is being treated differently and do what I can to correct that. But, like the characters in the film, my view is forever colored by the "caucasion colored glasses" through which I see the world. Sometimes I just don't have the capacity to recognize those injustices. Maybe we, caucasions, are the ones who are mentally inferior. Not by genetics but by experience.
There is a very powerful scene in the film where Katherine (Taraji P. Henson) finally boils over. She has been assigned to one of the main buildings from the colored computing group. As it turns out, the only colored ladies restroom on the entire campus is in the building that houses the colored computing group - almost a quarter mile away from the building where she is assigned. Her boss, Director Al Harrison (Kevin Costner), finally confronts her for being MIA for long periods of time every day. "Where do you go?" He asks. "To the bathroom." Comes her simple reply. "For fourty minutes!?" He's not angry but obviously being managerial, trying to address an issue. That's when she breaks. She explains to him her half-mile hike to get to and from the bathroom because there are no colored restrooms in any other building and it opens a crack in the flood gates as she educates her boss and co-workers about the kind of discrimination she has to endure. And you can see the awakening in Costner's eyes. You can see that she shone a light directly through his caucasion colored glasses so that he could see... so that he could understand just a fraction of what she has to go through for no other reason than she has dark skin.
It was in that moment that I realized I was like the Al Harrison character. I don't see it. It's nearly impossible for me to see the truth because my experience has not been painted with the same brush... or even the same paint. And, truth be told, sometimes that paint comes with prejudice mixed right in. I cannot stop my mind from reflexively telling me to shy away from someone who looks "less" than I do. I even do it sometimes with people I've known for over thirty years. I have to make a conscious effort to correct myself and recognize that our experience is different and not to judge them. And I hate that. I hate that I constantly have to tell myself that but I hope I will recognize and treasure the day when I don't: When none of us do.
Thursday, June 30, 2016
Primary Fandoms
When I was seven or eight years old cable television either didn't exist or wasn't widely available. To watch television we needed an antenna and with that we could receive four channels: NBC, CBS, ABC, and PBS. There were two times when television went straight to ultra boring - when the president was giving a speech and Sunday morning. It was Sunday mornings that got me interested in SciFi.
While Saturday morning was cartoon time for the kids, Sunday morning was for the religious. All three of the big networks played church programs. Now, this was before mega churches and video sermons. The programming that was on was the service from a local church. If you were lucky, there was more than just one camera sitting in the back of the sanctuary with a wide shot of the altar/pulpit. Considering we often left the television off on Sundays until after church, the last thing my eight-year-old self wanted to see was more church. As George Carlin said, "Church was a weekly reminder that there was something worse than school."
With church on the big three we usually turned to PBS. This is the only reason I know what Nova is and it is what introduced me to Star Trek. It wasn't just that it was often the only thing to watch on Sunday mornings that wasn't church, I really enjoyed it. I loved Star Trek so much over the years that there was a time that I could literally identify the episode, by name, and give you a full plot synopsis by watching no more than ten seconds of any part of any original series episode. Even if it was just a closeup of Mr. Spock raising an eyebrow. Yes, seriously.
Star Trek, in its many forms, has always held a special place in my heart, like a first love. If you asked me what my fandom was, my unhesitating response, for many, many years would have been, "I'm a Trekkie!" [side note: fandom is a recent expression. It's sort-of like cosplay. It's always been there, we just didn't always call it that.] I will forever refer to myself as a Trekkie (or Trekker, depending on my mood) but I've recently been taking notice of which fandom I gravitate toward most strongly and, to my surprise, it's changed.
Way back in 1977 there was this little box office sleeper that was quietly released to theaters called Star Wars. You may have heard of it. I think it was the first movie I absolutely had to see. There were so many incredible things about the movie theater experience back then but seeing the lines wrapped around the building (we mostly had single-screen theaters back then) had to be the most spectacular to my young self. If that many people wanted to see this movie at any particular time it had to be good.
I love the original Star Wars and will forever raise it up as an example of great film making. From the story to the characters to the then ground-breaking special effects (up to that point no one had left the model stationary and moved the camera around it to create motion) it's absolutely amazing. I watch it now and can see its rough edges but still marvel that George Lucas and his team put so many firsts in that production. They literally had to invent new ways of producing special effects, some of which are still used today.
As great as it is and as great as it was I still identified myself as a Trekkie. Maybe because the fandom never got saddled with a catchy name, I don't know. What would you call a Star Wars fan, anyway? Star Warrior? Star Warian? Skywalkerer? At any rate, my placement of Star Wars as my number one favorite lasted maybe a year or two after its release if it ever was on top. I eventually settled back into my old, comfortable, Starfleet mindset.
In the early '80s PBS, yet again, introduced me to this odd little show from England called Doctor Who. I know it wasn't another Sunday morning find. I think it may have aired on Saturday afternoons. Anyway, Here was this show about this quirky guy with bushy hair and a looooong scarf around his neck traveling through space and time in... a British police box... that was bigger on the inside. This show was not some highly-polished, big-budget production. On the contrary, it looked quite cheap. But that was part of its charm. Being interested at the time in television/video production it was fascinating to see how they used ordinary objects and materials in unusual and unexpected ways.
I lost touch with the show when the local PBS stations started shuffling the schedule. It was also around that time that I really started to take an interest in girls. The latter was likely the reason I didn't fly my geek flag quite so high anymore. I lost track of The Doctor and eventually heard that the show had ended in 1989. It wasn't such a hard blow for me because I'd missed out on something like four doctors by that time and I'd settled comfortably back into my Trekkie seat in 1987 with the introduction of Star Trek: The Next Generation.
With a steady diet of Star Trek movies and television and Star Wars sequels I'd put The Doctor on a shelf to gather dust. I kept him around, to be sure, and when people asked I would politely tell them, "Yes, I know of The Doctor and enjoyed the show very much." I really didn't give him much thought until 2005 when BBC America, a channel that didn't even launch until 1998, announced that they were bringing it back.
By this time I'd done away with my self-consciousness and flew my geek flag as high as I could. I was uneasy about this rebirth (or should that be regeneration?). Would they maintain the spirit of The Doctor? Would the stories be any good? Would The Doctor be any good? I watched the first episode with trepidation. I didn't want to hate it but so many rebirths of so many shows had failed miserably. I needn't have worried. When I heard Christopher Eccleston utter the phrase, "Hello, Rose. I'm The Doctor. Run for your life." in that Doctor-esque calm and whimsy I was hooked again. This time, I don't think I've missed a single episode (thank God for DVRs).
As I look around my desk I see four Star Wars figurines, some The Walking Dead Funko pocket pop!s that I got in a grab bag, a Captain America Funko mug I won at work, a Darth Vader Mr. Potato Head, and a space marine action figure from Starcraft. Scattered about amidst all of that is a six-inch vinyl TARDIS, three postcard-sized pictures of the TARDIS (one looking in to the control room, one with the doors closed, and one with a cat peering inside), a photo of me stepping out of the Tulsa TARDIS, and a Funko pocket Pop! of the fourth Doctor (Tom Baker). But it doesn't end there. My current vehicle is a 2014 Jazz (darker) Blue Dodge Charger with a vanity plate that reads TMTRVLR (TARDIS was already taken). I think it's safe to say that I've changed my primary fandom from Trekkie to Whovian.
Live long and prosper, may The Force be with you, always know where your towel is, and Allons-y!
While Saturday morning was cartoon time for the kids, Sunday morning was for the religious. All three of the big networks played church programs. Now, this was before mega churches and video sermons. The programming that was on was the service from a local church. If you were lucky, there was more than just one camera sitting in the back of the sanctuary with a wide shot of the altar/pulpit. Considering we often left the television off on Sundays until after church, the last thing my eight-year-old self wanted to see was more church. As George Carlin said, "Church was a weekly reminder that there was something worse than school."
With church on the big three we usually turned to PBS. This is the only reason I know what Nova is and it is what introduced me to Star Trek. It wasn't just that it was often the only thing to watch on Sunday mornings that wasn't church, I really enjoyed it. I loved Star Trek so much over the years that there was a time that I could literally identify the episode, by name, and give you a full plot synopsis by watching no more than ten seconds of any part of any original series episode. Even if it was just a closeup of Mr. Spock raising an eyebrow. Yes, seriously.
Star Trek, in its many forms, has always held a special place in my heart, like a first love. If you asked me what my fandom was, my unhesitating response, for many, many years would have been, "I'm a Trekkie!" [side note: fandom is a recent expression. It's sort-of like cosplay. It's always been there, we just didn't always call it that.] I will forever refer to myself as a Trekkie (or Trekker, depending on my mood) but I've recently been taking notice of which fandom I gravitate toward most strongly and, to my surprise, it's changed.
Way back in 1977 there was this little box office sleeper that was quietly released to theaters called Star Wars. You may have heard of it. I think it was the first movie I absolutely had to see. There were so many incredible things about the movie theater experience back then but seeing the lines wrapped around the building (we mostly had single-screen theaters back then) had to be the most spectacular to my young self. If that many people wanted to see this movie at any particular time it had to be good.
I love the original Star Wars and will forever raise it up as an example of great film making. From the story to the characters to the then ground-breaking special effects (up to that point no one had left the model stationary and moved the camera around it to create motion) it's absolutely amazing. I watch it now and can see its rough edges but still marvel that George Lucas and his team put so many firsts in that production. They literally had to invent new ways of producing special effects, some of which are still used today.
As great as it is and as great as it was I still identified myself as a Trekkie. Maybe because the fandom never got saddled with a catchy name, I don't know. What would you call a Star Wars fan, anyway? Star Warrior? Star Warian? Skywalkerer? At any rate, my placement of Star Wars as my number one favorite lasted maybe a year or two after its release if it ever was on top. I eventually settled back into my old, comfortable, Starfleet mindset.
In the early '80s PBS, yet again, introduced me to this odd little show from England called Doctor Who. I know it wasn't another Sunday morning find. I think it may have aired on Saturday afternoons. Anyway, Here was this show about this quirky guy with bushy hair and a looooong scarf around his neck traveling through space and time in... a British police box... that was bigger on the inside. This show was not some highly-polished, big-budget production. On the contrary, it looked quite cheap. But that was part of its charm. Being interested at the time in television/video production it was fascinating to see how they used ordinary objects and materials in unusual and unexpected ways.
I lost touch with the show when the local PBS stations started shuffling the schedule. It was also around that time that I really started to take an interest in girls. The latter was likely the reason I didn't fly my geek flag quite so high anymore. I lost track of The Doctor and eventually heard that the show had ended in 1989. It wasn't such a hard blow for me because I'd missed out on something like four doctors by that time and I'd settled comfortably back into my Trekkie seat in 1987 with the introduction of Star Trek: The Next Generation.
With a steady diet of Star Trek movies and television and Star Wars sequels I'd put The Doctor on a shelf to gather dust. I kept him around, to be sure, and when people asked I would politely tell them, "Yes, I know of The Doctor and enjoyed the show very much." I really didn't give him much thought until 2005 when BBC America, a channel that didn't even launch until 1998, announced that they were bringing it back.
By this time I'd done away with my self-consciousness and flew my geek flag as high as I could. I was uneasy about this rebirth (or should that be regeneration?). Would they maintain the spirit of The Doctor? Would the stories be any good? Would The Doctor be any good? I watched the first episode with trepidation. I didn't want to hate it but so many rebirths of so many shows had failed miserably. I needn't have worried. When I heard Christopher Eccleston utter the phrase, "Hello, Rose. I'm The Doctor. Run for your life." in that Doctor-esque calm and whimsy I was hooked again. This time, I don't think I've missed a single episode (thank God for DVRs).
As I look around my desk I see four Star Wars figurines, some The Walking Dead Funko pocket pop!s that I got in a grab bag, a Captain America Funko mug I won at work, a Darth Vader Mr. Potato Head, and a space marine action figure from Starcraft. Scattered about amidst all of that is a six-inch vinyl TARDIS, three postcard-sized pictures of the TARDIS (one looking in to the control room, one with the doors closed, and one with a cat peering inside), a photo of me stepping out of the Tulsa TARDIS, and a Funko pocket Pop! of the fourth Doctor (Tom Baker). But it doesn't end there. My current vehicle is a 2014 Jazz (darker) Blue Dodge Charger with a vanity plate that reads TMTRVLR (TARDIS was already taken). I think it's safe to say that I've changed my primary fandom from Trekkie to Whovian.
Live long and prosper, may The Force be with you, always know where your towel is, and Allons-y!
Thursday, August 08, 2013
The Matrix: Revelations
My entire life I have been curious about how things work. I used to take things apart (if I could figure out how without breaking them) just to see what was inside - even if I didn't know what all those whozamajiggers did. At the time, I was just curious to see what the whozamajiggers looked like. Once, when I was 5 or so, my curiosity even figured out how to erase part of a pre-recorded cassette tape with the tabs broken out. I am the guy who will pay attention to - or at least look for - the man behind the curtain.
Today, I still have that same curiosity. I want to know how it works. I need to know how some small piece fits into a larger picture. When I send an email and it doesn't get to its destination, I want to know where it's been and why it came back or where it got stuck. That's why I learned to read message headers (hint: you read them from bottom to top). In networking your computer sends a signal down a wire, it goes to a box, some magic happens, then it ends up where it's supposed to be. I want to know what magic goes on inside the box.
But my curiosity goes beyond signal flow and systemic thinking. For instance, I have had cameras at my disposal since I was a child. I have taken many thousands of pictures in my life. Yet, many of my pictures are simply snapshots, not photographs. I understand a lot of the technical aspects of photography - aperture, shutter speed, ISO, depth-of-field, etc. - but somehow I haven't quite gotten the hang of composition. My eye sees a beautiful scene but somehow, when I click the shutter, I don't ever quite capture the emotion and excitement that comes with good composition.
It's like I'm seeing the Matrix code and it's just a bunch of random characters streaming down my screen. I recognize bits and pieces of code but I know it all means something. I want to see the matrix. I want to have a deep understanding.
Now, I know I can't know everything so there will always be parts of it streaming by that I don't understand - like quantum mechanics - but I want to be able to see the blonde, the brunette, the redhead, etc. (it's a movie reference for those who don't know) I feel like if I concentrate on one or two lines I'll begin to see it but there are so many many lines falling down the screen I keep losing track of the one I'm watching and getting distracted by others. Going back the my photography I want to see, in my mind, what the photograph will look like before I snap the shutter so that, when I see the captured scene, even if it's a little off it's not a surprise that it didn't come out or holds no interest.
Until then, I keep staring at the screen watching the pretty shapes falling down.
Friday, October 19, 2012
State Of The To Do List
Back in late December, rather than setting resolutions for the new year I created a To Do List. A list of goals for the year 2012, if you will. Some have fared well while others have been completely ignored. Here's a status update.
- Get the new design/CMS for my celebrity photo site online
- Haven't touched it
- Complete one "Book of Me" entry per month
- This started out okay and I intended to keep up with it. On March 2, 2012 my friend Kevin and I recorded the first weekly episode of the Two Rambling Idiots Podcast. The Book of Me posts went to the back burner but I think the podcast counts toward a check mark on this one.
- Watch 3 classic movies I've never seen
- The three movies I chose were The Usual Suspects, Network, and The Trouble With Harry
- I got The Usual Suspects and Network out of the way pretty quickly but I wasn't sure where or if I could find The Trouble With Harry
- I caught The Third Man on AMC the other night. It was one of the possibilities before I settled on The Trouble With Harry so I settled in and watched it
- Check this one off, too
- Finish transferring my dad's Beatles albums to MP3
- I honestly can't recall if I've made progress on this or not but it's not done
- Sort out at least 25% of my "2 Sort" music folder
- I haven't even opened my 2 Sort music folder
- Unsubscribe from email lists I don't read
- I've marked this one done and have seriously reduced the amount of "noise" in my inbox
- New ones I don't recall subscribing to keep popping up now and then but I'm taking care of those as they come along
- Leave myself notes to find/look for/open in 1 year, 5 years and 10 years
- I started writing one of these and abandoned the project
- I had started recording a video diary and was interested to look back on the ones I'd recorded just a week or so before so I think my focus shifted on this one but I still scribbled it out on the list
- Make a short movie, just to say I did it
- I got the bug to do this one Saturday morning and even had a basic concept in mind. What I didn't have were actors. What I didn't have was access to actors willing to "wing it" with me (I didn't ask anyone). Then it came to me - action figures!
- I went to the local store to grab a few and proceed to produce my... what's the opposite of masterpiece? What I didn't realize was that action figures are A) all either robots or aliens and wouldn't fit my production and B) WHEN DID ACTION FIGURES JUMP TO $9 EACH!!??
- I came across a bunch of figures later at a garage sale for 10¢ each that would work great. They're now sitting in a drawer waiting for production to start. Good thing I don't have to pay them.
- Learn how to photograph people
- Any volunteers who would like to help me out with this by either being a tutor or subject?
- Earn an engineering-level technical certification
- This has been a start/stop/change subjects process but I think I finally have the right resources to accomplish this. Progress is stalled at the moment so I just have to follow through, study and get this out of the way.
And there you have the status report. One abandoned, three marked done, four unstarted and two in progress.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Things To Do In 2012
I don't do resolutions. Resolutions are often not specific enough and fall into the category of things we say to ourselves on a daily basis as we look at ourselves in the mirror. "I really need to lose weight," or "I really need to quit smoking," or "I really should..." They're often ideas, not goals, which only sets us up for failure. How many of you have formulated a specific resolution like, "I will lose 20 pounds by March 31 in order to look my best for my sister's wedding in May."? Anyone?
The second reason I don't do resolutions is that they are often forgotten or put aside by mid-February. We don't hold ourselves accountable. We don't go back to those resolutions periodically to ask ourselves, "How am I doing?" If that's the case, why bother?
The third, but not necessarily final, reason I don't do resolutions is that they are often singular. Hey, we don't want to make our selves crazy by resolving to lose weight, quit smoking, drink less, further our education AND blog more. That's way too much to work on at once,
This year, I decided that I would do something similar but different. I have a few long-term projects I want/need to work on and a few things I want to learn. With that in mind, I decided to come up with a To Do list for the new year. So, without further
- Get the new design/CMS for my celebrity photo site online.
- As I was originally designing the new look and readying to transfer to a new Content Management System, I decided I wanted to re-crop, resize, and watermark all of my pictures. Because of my glasses at the time, I ended up leaning in to the monitor and tilting my head back as I worked... for an entire day. I got a lot done but I was hurting for over a week after that and haven't really picked it up since. It's time to Git 'R Done.
- Complete one "Book of Me" entry per month
- Part of the reason I keep a blog is to collect my stories. I want to do more with that so by the end of 2012, I should have at least 12 new personal stories collected here.
- Watch 3 classic movies I've never seen
- I love movies. Plenty of people know that and I will often find myself in a discussion about movies. Many friends have told me I need to see The Usual Suspects. So this is the year I will do that. But why stop there? Let's make it 3 movies I haven't seen.
- The Usual Suspects
- Network
- The Trouble With Harry
- Finish transferring my dad's Beatles albums to MP3
- I've had the records for about 2 years now. It's time I finished that project.
- Sort out at least 25% of my "2 Sort" music folder
- It's a collection of music I have acquired that is mis-tagged, mis-labeled or just not sorted into a genre or artist folder yet. It's time to get it knocked out a little bit.
- Unsubscribe from email lists I don't read
- My inbox is a MESS. It always is. I need to reduce some of the clutter and noise so unsubscribing from lists and newsletters I don't read is a great way to at least accumulate a little less.
- Leave myself notes to find/look for/open in 1 year, 5 years and 10 years
- I saw this on a list I found on the internet. It actually said to leave yourself a note in a library book and look for it 20 years later. I don't want to invest that kind of time (although I may do it just to leave a note to the finder).
- Make a short movie, just to say I did it
- This is another one I found on the internet. It said it shouldn't be a YouTube video but an actual movie, with a story. This may be the most difficult to accomplish but it sounds like fun.
- Learn how to photograph people
- I love photography but I'm not too great at it. I have a camera-shy wife and no kids so most of my photos are landscapes and animals. I'm slowly getting better at that but I suck at portraits. I have a few friends who are professional photographers so I think I'm going to hit them up for some pointers. Now, if I only had a test subject. Anyone want to volunteer?
- Earn an engineering-level technical certification
- I had a hard time with this last one. I wasn't sure what I wanted to put on the list. I'm not even sure I want this on the list. The fact of the matter is, however, that in order to progress in my job, I need an e-level cert. I have a hard time putting forth the effort for self-study, for various reasons, so I have had a lot of false starts. But here it is, my public declaration that I will do this. I will do this within a year.
So, that's the list. I will type it up neatly, post it where I can see it, refer to it throughout the year and give regular progress reports.
Oh, before I go, I should tell you my resolution for the new year is to take better care of myself. I'm starting to get a little fluffy.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Awwww Rats!
Some say life is a rat race. I couldn't agree more. The last few weeks have certainly made me feel as if I am running around a maze just hoping I'll stumble upon the exit. I was shoved into the maze and the door was locked behind me. I have run into and overcome a few obstacles, run into a dead end or two, and found new obstacles to overcome. At the moment, my future is in the hands of others. I can certainly choose a direction but whether or not the obstacles are lowered or doors are unlocked is completely out of my control.
I was involuntarily released from my employment on August 20. The short version is that my direct supervisor and I had communication difficulties. These difficulties led to unspoken expectations on both sides and preconceived resentments on both sides. The end result was that by the time we realized this and started to work beyond the obstacles the damage had been done and I could no longer be effective in my position. I was in the position for two years. The story is, of course, much deeper and much more detailed but when you boil it all down, those are the basics.
My aunt passed away on September 12th from what started as breast cancer. She had been in remission but they found tumors in her spine and pelvis. In the end there was one in her brain, too. My mother had gone to visit after she had been taken to the hospital and was on a respirator. My dad couldn't go since he had broken his leg and had almost no mobility. The wife and I spent the last part of August in KC helping him get around then I went back over Labor Day for a couple of days because I was the only one available.
I've been fighting a mistake in my dismissal that caused me to be unable to apply for any jobs at my previous place of employment. That part got resolved on Wednesday but it also caused me to be denied unemployment benefits. Now that it's corrected on one end, I'm waiting to hear on the benefits appeal. It's so frustrating having to take a potato and wait.
Looking for jobs is depressing and distressing. Most of what I'm finding in my field (which ain't much at all compared to 3 years ago) is for application developers - which I'm not. Some others are scaring me off because they're above my skill level. Most of what's left is call center work which I would prefer not to go back to. It's hard to find two jobs a week to apply for under those circumstances.
Overall, though, we are re-normalizing. We have more meals at home. We think twice, then reconsider and finally have to make a fourth go-round before we buy anything (bathroom tissue is always a yes). I ended my garage sale habit on August 21st. I would like to say I'm getting a lot of projects done around the house but between the traveling and the appealing and the job searching there just hasn't been time. I'll get a round tiut one of these days and make things happen. I already got part of the kitchen cleaned up.
My mood is pretty good. I tend to be optimistic about things. Even though I got fired I still learned a lot of indelible lessons about me, about my abilities, and about where the shortcomings in my performance hindered me (I plan to work on those). It has come to me, though, that with all of the roadblocks I stumbled across my destiny no longer lies at OSU and there is a high probability it no longer belongs in Stillwater.
Time will tell but we know this time not to move too far from our support system - that didn't turn out so well the last time we did that.
I was involuntarily released from my employment on August 20. The short version is that my direct supervisor and I had communication difficulties. These difficulties led to unspoken expectations on both sides and preconceived resentments on both sides. The end result was that by the time we realized this and started to work beyond the obstacles the damage had been done and I could no longer be effective in my position. I was in the position for two years. The story is, of course, much deeper and much more detailed but when you boil it all down, those are the basics.
My aunt passed away on September 12th from what started as breast cancer. She had been in remission but they found tumors in her spine and pelvis. In the end there was one in her brain, too. My mother had gone to visit after she had been taken to the hospital and was on a respirator. My dad couldn't go since he had broken his leg and had almost no mobility. The wife and I spent the last part of August in KC helping him get around then I went back over Labor Day for a couple of days because I was the only one available.
I've been fighting a mistake in my dismissal that caused me to be unable to apply for any jobs at my previous place of employment. That part got resolved on Wednesday but it also caused me to be denied unemployment benefits. Now that it's corrected on one end, I'm waiting to hear on the benefits appeal. It's so frustrating having to take a potato and wait.
Looking for jobs is depressing and distressing. Most of what I'm finding in my field (which ain't much at all compared to 3 years ago) is for application developers - which I'm not. Some others are scaring me off because they're above my skill level. Most of what's left is call center work which I would prefer not to go back to. It's hard to find two jobs a week to apply for under those circumstances.
Overall, though, we are re-normalizing. We have more meals at home. We think twice, then reconsider and finally have to make a fourth go-round before we buy anything (bathroom tissue is always a yes). I ended my garage sale habit on August 21st. I would like to say I'm getting a lot of projects done around the house but between the traveling and the appealing and the job searching there just hasn't been time. I'll get a round tiut one of these days and make things happen. I already got part of the kitchen cleaned up.
My mood is pretty good. I tend to be optimistic about things. Even though I got fired I still learned a lot of indelible lessons about me, about my abilities, and about where the shortcomings in my performance hindered me (I plan to work on those). It has come to me, though, that with all of the roadblocks I stumbled across my destiny no longer lies at OSU and there is a high probability it no longer belongs in Stillwater.
Time will tell but we know this time not to move too far from our support system - that didn't turn out so well the last time we did that.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
First Time Around The Block
My brother's first car - and he has had many since - was a 1976, I believe, Chevy Camaro RS. It had a 305 V8 engine, two-tone gold and primer paint and must have been made out of steel because this thing had the longest, heaviest doors of any car I've ever seen. I would describe it better but I've never been much of a gear head (I had to Google the engine size). In 1981 when he bought it, the only thing I knew was it was loud, fast and cool.
I enjoyed riding around in my brother's car but never had any aspirations of driving. I've always been one to get information first, then try something. (Unless information is not available in which case I will thoroughly screw things up with no outside assistance.) I was content to sit in the passenger seat (or the back) and just enjoy being with my brother in his loud, fast, cool car.
One weekend he had been working on it (as he often had to do) and ended up letting a friend, who had come over to help (or maybe just drool over the car), take it for a spin. Later, he and I were heading out on an errand and he pulled over and stopped just after turning the first corner on the route away from the house. He instructed me to get out and come sit in the driver's seat.
I was... confused would be a good word. I had no idea what he was trying to do until he told me he was going to let me drive his car out to the main street. I was... still confused would be an accurate description. My brother told me he didn't want me to be jealous because he had let [insert name of unremembered friend] drive the car and was going to let me take the wheel. I thought what the hell and got in the driver's seat.
Up until this point, my only experience in control of a motor vehicle was limited to an incident with a malfunctioning school bus and the bus driver asking me to give it some gas (the parking brake was on) while he gave the engine a magic stare that would presumably accurately diagnose the difficulty and allow him to repair it without tools or duct tape. I pushed down on the pedal and what happened next broke his concentration, thus rendering the magic stare useless. I didn't mash the pedal down to the floor - I knew that would be too much - but I did give it a firm press and the engine revved up so quickly that it startled me and I removed my foot very quickly.
Recalling this incident, I knew I had to be cautious with the gas pedal. It wouldn't do to go barreling down the street only to ruin someone's manicured lawn and begin a lengthy and costly renovation project by rapidly installing a new, wide doorway directly into their living room.
I put the car in gear and pretty much let the idle carry me to the end of the short street. I signaled right and gave it some gas to make the turn. Being a V8, the engine accelerated more rapidly than I expected so I reacted by removing my foot almost completely from the gas pedal. The effect of this was to squish us gently into the seat backs then hurl us forward to be impeded by the shoulder straps.
I rounded the corner on inertia but had to correct our course when I almost drove it into the curb. Of course, I over-corrected slightly so immediately following the forward lunge was a lovely bi-lateral jolt.
I eventually managed to orient the giant, steel projectile I was strapped into relatively on course and on the correct side of the street but we were on a slight upward grade so idling to the corner wasn't going to happen. I pressed the gas pedal again and my brother and I were treated to a repeat performance of the squish-lunge maneuver. I wanted so bad to do this well but each time I tried to accelerate smoothly the vehicle informed me that I was seriously underestimating the power of its 305 engine.
I made it about half way up the street and decided to give up before I gave one or both of us whiplash. I pulled over, said "thank you" to my brother and let him take over from there. It wasn't until I took driver's education that I took control of a vehicle again. I wasn't afraid but it was nice to have someone next to me telling me to gently press down on the gas pedal.
-----------------------------------------------
Edit: I have been notified by my brother that it was a 1971 Camaro with a 350 V8. He doesn't remember the incident but he let me know that I got the car wrong.
I enjoyed riding around in my brother's car but never had any aspirations of driving. I've always been one to get information first, then try something. (Unless information is not available in which case I will thoroughly screw things up with no outside assistance.) I was content to sit in the passenger seat (or the back) and just enjoy being with my brother in his loud, fast, cool car.
One weekend he had been working on it (as he often had to do) and ended up letting a friend, who had come over to help (or maybe just drool over the car), take it for a spin. Later, he and I were heading out on an errand and he pulled over and stopped just after turning the first corner on the route away from the house. He instructed me to get out and come sit in the driver's seat.
I was... confused would be a good word. I had no idea what he was trying to do until he told me he was going to let me drive his car out to the main street. I was... still confused would be an accurate description. My brother told me he didn't want me to be jealous because he had let [insert name of unremembered friend] drive the car and was going to let me take the wheel. I thought what the hell and got in the driver's seat.
Up until this point, my only experience in control of a motor vehicle was limited to an incident with a malfunctioning school bus and the bus driver asking me to give it some gas (the parking brake was on) while he gave the engine a magic stare that would presumably accurately diagnose the difficulty and allow him to repair it without tools or duct tape. I pushed down on the pedal and what happened next broke his concentration, thus rendering the magic stare useless. I didn't mash the pedal down to the floor - I knew that would be too much - but I did give it a firm press and the engine revved up so quickly that it startled me and I removed my foot very quickly.
Recalling this incident, I knew I had to be cautious with the gas pedal. It wouldn't do to go barreling down the street only to ruin someone's manicured lawn and begin a lengthy and costly renovation project by rapidly installing a new, wide doorway directly into their living room.
I put the car in gear and pretty much let the idle carry me to the end of the short street. I signaled right and gave it some gas to make the turn. Being a V8, the engine accelerated more rapidly than I expected so I reacted by removing my foot almost completely from the gas pedal. The effect of this was to squish us gently into the seat backs then hurl us forward to be impeded by the shoulder straps.
I rounded the corner on inertia but had to correct our course when I almost drove it into the curb. Of course, I over-corrected slightly so immediately following the forward lunge was a lovely bi-lateral jolt.
I eventually managed to orient the giant, steel projectile I was strapped into relatively on course and on the correct side of the street but we were on a slight upward grade so idling to the corner wasn't going to happen. I pressed the gas pedal again and my brother and I were treated to a repeat performance of the squish-lunge maneuver. I wanted so bad to do this well but each time I tried to accelerate smoothly the vehicle informed me that I was seriously underestimating the power of its 305 engine.
I made it about half way up the street and decided to give up before I gave one or both of us whiplash. I pulled over, said "thank you" to my brother and let him take over from there. It wasn't until I took driver's education that I took control of a vehicle again. I wasn't afraid but it was nice to have someone next to me telling me to gently press down on the gas pedal.
-----------------------------------------------
Edit: I have been notified by my brother that it was a 1971 Camaro with a 350 V8. He doesn't remember the incident but he let me know that I got the car wrong.
Saturday, February 06, 2010
The Musical Stylings Of John Erling
I never really developed a musical preference until I was in high school. It wasn't that I had no interest in music, I simply didn't have much exposure to music.
When I was growing up in Tulsa, OK my father would always listen to radio station KRMG as we had breakfast. KRMG is a news/talk station that had a couple of different morning personalities that I recall. (I would later work at that same radio station but that's a different story) The first morning personality was a guy named Watson Jelks. In the grand scheme of my life, he was not there very long. The one I recall most was a guy named John Erling (as far as I know he might still be there).
John Erling was like a cross between Johnny Carson and Rush Limbaugh. He liked to have fun with things such as encouraging everyone to ski the Tulsa mountains and he handled phone calls (which were often part of the show) with courtesy and professionalism. But he also liked to push buttons (thus the Rush Limbaugh reference).
To give Mr. Erling an occasional break that was longer than commercials could provide, KRMG would play a song, maybe two from time to time. The music they played could best be described as adult contemporary. Keep in mind this was 1973 to about 1980 so I grew up listening to such greats as Neil Diamond, Chuck Mangione and James Taylor. Not a bad lot but a little weak for a young boy trying to formulate his musical style.
By the time I got to high school the opinions of my peers were beginning to matter more and more and I started mimicking their listening habits. As such, I am a true child of the 80's. My musical preferences at that time switched to artists like Duran Duran, Rick Springfield, Tommy Tutone and The Thompson Twins.
I got into the "alternative" scene during the late 80's while I was in college. I listened to The Cure, R.E.M. and The Smiths. This was mostly because of the influence of certain members of the opposite sex. I was also cultivating an affinity for Jazz thanks to my Father and started becoming familiar with true classic rock. As we moved into the 90's I pretty much lost touch with the contemporary music scene. I just couldn't get into bands like Nirvana and some of the others.
I think in the last 5 years I have really hit my stride and found a preferred musical genre. Remember that classic rock I talked about? That's it. I really enjoy The Who, Eric Clapton, Boston, and a little bit of AC/DC. It only took me 35 years or so but I think I finally settled in to what I really like in music.
When I was growing up in Tulsa, OK my father would always listen to radio station KRMG as we had breakfast. KRMG is a news/talk station that had a couple of different morning personalities that I recall. (I would later work at that same radio station but that's a different story) The first morning personality was a guy named Watson Jelks. In the grand scheme of my life, he was not there very long. The one I recall most was a guy named John Erling (as far as I know he might still be there).
John Erling was like a cross between Johnny Carson and Rush Limbaugh. He liked to have fun with things such as encouraging everyone to ski the Tulsa mountains and he handled phone calls (which were often part of the show) with courtesy and professionalism. But he also liked to push buttons (thus the Rush Limbaugh reference).
To give Mr. Erling an occasional break that was longer than commercials could provide, KRMG would play a song, maybe two from time to time. The music they played could best be described as adult contemporary. Keep in mind this was 1973 to about 1980 so I grew up listening to such greats as Neil Diamond, Chuck Mangione and James Taylor. Not a bad lot but a little weak for a young boy trying to formulate his musical style.
By the time I got to high school the opinions of my peers were beginning to matter more and more and I started mimicking their listening habits. As such, I am a true child of the 80's. My musical preferences at that time switched to artists like Duran Duran, Rick Springfield, Tommy Tutone and The Thompson Twins.
I got into the "alternative" scene during the late 80's while I was in college. I listened to The Cure, R.E.M. and The Smiths. This was mostly because of the influence of certain members of the opposite sex. I was also cultivating an affinity for Jazz thanks to my Father and started becoming familiar with true classic rock. As we moved into the 90's I pretty much lost touch with the contemporary music scene. I just couldn't get into bands like Nirvana and some of the others.
I think in the last 5 years I have really hit my stride and found a preferred musical genre. Remember that classic rock I talked about? That's it. I really enjoy The Who, Eric Clapton, Boston, and a little bit of AC/DC. It only took me 35 years or so but I think I finally settled in to what I really like in music.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
How I Met My Wife
With the original Hallmark Holiday that is the celebration of all that is mushy, sappy and romantic just around the corner I thought I would share the story of how my wife and I met and how our relationship unfolded (like the pedals of a rose).
Alright, enough of the melodrama.
It was 1988. I was living in a sterile, high-rise dormitory in college and had the hots for a rather lovely young co-ed (not my to-be wife) I met in one of my classes whom I had taken to a couple of dorm parties and who I went out clubbing with a few times. She lived in a different dorm. An older building with a lot of character and close-knit residents. It was an upperclassman dorm so the people there were, allegedly, more mature but were at least better behaved than the freshmen and sophomores I was encountering in my dorm. Like a puppy dog, I moved to the other dorm to be closer to her, using the excuse of a couple of people I knew living there.
On the first night I ran into one of those friends who I had gone to high school with. Being the new kid on the block I was planning to just chill in my room but he asked if I wanted to go to a birthday party. I was a little hesitant to invite myself but he assured me it would not be a problem. I would later find out that he was 100% right. The environment and fellowship in that place was like no other. Everybody knew everybody else and those who caused turmoil were shunned so, overall, it was friendly.
We got to the party, which turned out to be for the roommate of the person who I would marry, and I started to meet some of the other residents. I was mildly smitten with one of them (again, not my to-be wife) and tried to get to know her a little better than the others. She was, surprise, another friend of my to-be wife. We talked, had cake, and the evening ended up being rather pleasurable. As for the girl I was drooling over, I learned she had a boyfriend that also lived in the dorm so, while I was still drooling I was doing it from a distance albeit closer than before.
The next day I ran into the girl from the party and her friend, my to-be wife (MTBW), and they asked if I wanted to go watch a movie with them. MTBW had a VCR of her own in her room - a rarity in those days - and they had rented a tape. I had nothing better to do and wanted to spend some time getting to know other girl better so I went with them and watched a movie.
From that point MTBW and I would run into each other from time to time and in very short order we left a gathering (I think it was Sunday night Star Trek) at a similar time and she was climbing the stairs in front of me as I was exchanging smalltalk with another friend. I had gotten to know her a bit better so, trying to compliment her, I called her a stud muffin. She took offense. I was surprised. Where I come from that was a compliment. To this day she still says I insulted her.
Do you remember that I said everybody knew everybody? This also meant that the social circles intersected a lot and I often saw MTBW around the dorm and at dorm functions. Every once in a while I would run into her and she and others were going to a movie or making a run to the store or something similar and she would ask if I wanted to join them. She didn't care either way, she was just being nice because she knew I didn't have a car and she did.
We got to know each other a little better and would often sit with each other in the cafeteria at lunch. This was nothing special either since the residents often stuck together. Of course, one of her friends saw something between us and made every effort to get us both in the same place at the same time as often as possible.
As even more time went on we moved ever closer to the major dorm party of the year, The Luau. At the Luau, a big, off-campus beer bash/dance (there was a beer truck with built-in taps), I spent a lot of time trying to get closer to the girl for whom I had originally relocated (hot co-ed). I danced (and drank) with her most of the evening but she ended up leaving the party with some other friends a little while before I did. Shortly after that, MTBW came up and said to me, "I don't think it's fair that you've spent the whole night dancing with [her]." So she and I danced, including a slow dance at the end of which I kissed her. It wasn't anything deep and romantic, it just happened.
The next evening, I attended another, private party with hot co-ed. Like with many young females I had drooled over at the time, the party fizzled since we were not there as a couple but I was only invited as a friend. It was still fun but I bailed relatively early in the evening.
As I was walking back to the dorm I heard the honk of a horn and MTBW and her friend (girl from the birthday party) pulled into a nearby parking lot. They motioned me over and asked if I wanted a ride back to the dorm. I hopped in and we went on our way. After a short time, MTBW said, "Do you realize you kissed me last night?" To which I replied, "Do you realize I fully intended to kiss you last night?"
From there we started hanging around each other a lot more and doing things together a lot more. We hadn't ever gone out on a "date" so it was fun when people would ask how long we'd been dating and we could actually say we weren't dating. We had such an active circle of friends that we just never ended up going anywhere by ourselves on a "date." (our first "date" is a story for another time)
I remember going to the airport with MTBW to drop off a friend (the one who was trying to get us together) who was flying out to go somewhere. I went along because it was something to do and that kept MTBW from having to drive back by herself. Somewhere in between the time the friend left and the friend came back (we picked her up, too), our relationship changed. As we were walking through the airport to meet our friend we were holding hands. Our friend was happy to see this. She had been working on each of us moving one toward the other for months. She said something like, "this is new," followed shortly, I think, by, "it's about time."
I can't say we lived happily ever after. I broke up with her a while later because A) I was stupid, B) I was confused by a couple of sirens who had entered into my life and C) I was scared of the commitment. The breakup didn't last long and I decided she was the one. She didn't have any plans of ever getting married so I spent some time working on her. On April 15, 1989 I proposed to her. I got down on one knee and everything. On May 12, 1990 we were married.
We've had some bumps in the road. We almost divorced once - odd story, that. And life has taken its toll from time to time. But through it all we've celebrated our highs and seen each other at our most vulnerable and didn't get scared away. Sometimes it feels like our marriage is a comfort zone but it's not the kind that you try to move out of.
Alright, enough of the melodrama.
It was 1988. I was living in a sterile, high-rise dormitory in college and had the hots for a rather lovely young co-ed (not my to-be wife) I met in one of my classes whom I had taken to a couple of dorm parties and who I went out clubbing with a few times. She lived in a different dorm. An older building with a lot of character and close-knit residents. It was an upperclassman dorm so the people there were, allegedly, more mature but were at least better behaved than the freshmen and sophomores I was encountering in my dorm. Like a puppy dog, I moved to the other dorm to be closer to her, using the excuse of a couple of people I knew living there.
On the first night I ran into one of those friends who I had gone to high school with. Being the new kid on the block I was planning to just chill in my room but he asked if I wanted to go to a birthday party. I was a little hesitant to invite myself but he assured me it would not be a problem. I would later find out that he was 100% right. The environment and fellowship in that place was like no other. Everybody knew everybody else and those who caused turmoil were shunned so, overall, it was friendly.
We got to the party, which turned out to be for the roommate of the person who I would marry, and I started to meet some of the other residents. I was mildly smitten with one of them (again, not my to-be wife) and tried to get to know her a little better than the others. She was, surprise, another friend of my to-be wife. We talked, had cake, and the evening ended up being rather pleasurable. As for the girl I was drooling over, I learned she had a boyfriend that also lived in the dorm so, while I was still drooling I was doing it from a distance albeit closer than before.
The next day I ran into the girl from the party and her friend, my to-be wife (MTBW), and they asked if I wanted to go watch a movie with them. MTBW had a VCR of her own in her room - a rarity in those days - and they had rented a tape. I had nothing better to do and wanted to spend some time getting to know other girl better so I went with them and watched a movie.
From that point MTBW and I would run into each other from time to time and in very short order we left a gathering (I think it was Sunday night Star Trek) at a similar time and she was climbing the stairs in front of me as I was exchanging smalltalk with another friend. I had gotten to know her a bit better so, trying to compliment her, I called her a stud muffin. She took offense. I was surprised. Where I come from that was a compliment. To this day she still says I insulted her.
Do you remember that I said everybody knew everybody? This also meant that the social circles intersected a lot and I often saw MTBW around the dorm and at dorm functions. Every once in a while I would run into her and she and others were going to a movie or making a run to the store or something similar and she would ask if I wanted to join them. She didn't care either way, she was just being nice because she knew I didn't have a car and she did.
We got to know each other a little better and would often sit with each other in the cafeteria at lunch. This was nothing special either since the residents often stuck together. Of course, one of her friends saw something between us and made every effort to get us both in the same place at the same time as often as possible.
As even more time went on we moved ever closer to the major dorm party of the year, The Luau. At the Luau, a big, off-campus beer bash/dance (there was a beer truck with built-in taps), I spent a lot of time trying to get closer to the girl for whom I had originally relocated (hot co-ed). I danced (and drank) with her most of the evening but she ended up leaving the party with some other friends a little while before I did. Shortly after that, MTBW came up and said to me, "I don't think it's fair that you've spent the whole night dancing with [her]." So she and I danced, including a slow dance at the end of which I kissed her. It wasn't anything deep and romantic, it just happened.
The next evening, I attended another, private party with hot co-ed. Like with many young females I had drooled over at the time, the party fizzled since we were not there as a couple but I was only invited as a friend. It was still fun but I bailed relatively early in the evening.
As I was walking back to the dorm I heard the honk of a horn and MTBW and her friend (girl from the birthday party) pulled into a nearby parking lot. They motioned me over and asked if I wanted a ride back to the dorm. I hopped in and we went on our way. After a short time, MTBW said, "Do you realize you kissed me last night?" To which I replied, "Do you realize I fully intended to kiss you last night?"
From there we started hanging around each other a lot more and doing things together a lot more. We hadn't ever gone out on a "date" so it was fun when people would ask how long we'd been dating and we could actually say we weren't dating. We had such an active circle of friends that we just never ended up going anywhere by ourselves on a "date." (our first "date" is a story for another time)
I remember going to the airport with MTBW to drop off a friend (the one who was trying to get us together) who was flying out to go somewhere. I went along because it was something to do and that kept MTBW from having to drive back by herself. Somewhere in between the time the friend left and the friend came back (we picked her up, too), our relationship changed. As we were walking through the airport to meet our friend we were holding hands. Our friend was happy to see this. She had been working on each of us moving one toward the other for months. She said something like, "this is new," followed shortly, I think, by, "it's about time."
I can't say we lived happily ever after. I broke up with her a while later because A) I was stupid, B) I was confused by a couple of sirens who had entered into my life and C) I was scared of the commitment. The breakup didn't last long and I decided she was the one. She didn't have any plans of ever getting married so I spent some time working on her. On April 15, 1989 I proposed to her. I got down on one knee and everything. On May 12, 1990 we were married.
We've had some bumps in the road. We almost divorced once - odd story, that. And life has taken its toll from time to time. But through it all we've celebrated our highs and seen each other at our most vulnerable and didn't get scared away. Sometimes it feels like our marriage is a comfort zone but it's not the kind that you try to move out of.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Milestones (Post Number 1,000)
I've been journaling, off and on, for a large portion of my life. Sometimes it has been an assignment for school, but mostly it has been for myself. To put my thoughts down in some sort of permanent fashion. The assignment books ended when the classes ended but I also have several journals with only a few pages filled and large gaps between the entry dates. For some reason, I never could consistently stick with it.
One theme that permeates my journal entries is that I write as if I am speaking to someone - telling a story. I want the words I write to be read and not just to myself. I want an audience for my writing. For classes, the audiences were the teachers and sometimes the other students. For the personal journals, it was no one in particular. My audience was some future person or persons with whom I would share my words or who might read them after I was gone to find out who I was.
I started this experiment that is The Internet Ate My Homework six and a half years ago after hearing Wil Wheaton speak about blogging at a Star Trek convention. He even read excerpts from a book published mostly from entries in his blog. He had an audience and it had just grown by one. (I no longer read his blog. It took a direction I didn't want to follow.)
When I got home I Googled blogging (there's a sentence we never could have said ten years ago) and stumbled upon Blogger. I typed up a mildly eloquent entry about how much it had surprised me that Wil Wheaton was so entertaining and how he and his blog had inspired me to start a blog myself. And because I didn't understand the interface well enough, and because the interface basically sucked 6.5 years ago, that wonderful entry went to that great bit bucket in the sky. Thus was born the title.
I have never kept a paper journal for this long (often because I've lost track of the actual journal). I think TIAMH has lasted this long because I finally have an audience. My audience is actual people named Mary and Ron and Brent and Carl and several others I don't know the names of but the audience is no longer a nameless, faceless future person who may or may not ever read my words.
Recent events in my life make me glad that I have done this. I have looked at photographs and heard stories from other people and I simply don't recall those events. With my blog I can go back and read about the things that were important in my life and understand the things that stood out to me as important at that time. I become my own audience. I can see how I've grown and I can see what I've learned.
For instance, with that "first" post, I learned not to judge public figures based on what you see on TV. I discovered I had some good stories in me and started to find a voice. Then, because of some stressful times (that ultimately ended in epic failure), I realized I'd lost that voice.
I have shared joy and sorrow and random thoughts and inner thoughts and fun stories from my childhood and things that are just weird. And I have found my voice again.
This experiment that is The Internet Ate My Homework has taken me places I never thought I would go. It has been part of my life longer than I thought it would be. It is an outlet. It is a comfort. It is a reflection. It is a catharsis. It is not something I will abandon for social networking. This is me.
I have thought about moving my blog to my own hosting service but I have been with blogger so long it's just so much easier to stay. And I hope you will stay with me (and recommend me to your friends) for the next 1,000 posts.
One theme that permeates my journal entries is that I write as if I am speaking to someone - telling a story. I want the words I write to be read and not just to myself. I want an audience for my writing. For classes, the audiences were the teachers and sometimes the other students. For the personal journals, it was no one in particular. My audience was some future person or persons with whom I would share my words or who might read them after I was gone to find out who I was.
I started this experiment that is The Internet Ate My Homework six and a half years ago after hearing Wil Wheaton speak about blogging at a Star Trek convention. He even read excerpts from a book published mostly from entries in his blog. He had an audience and it had just grown by one. (I no longer read his blog. It took a direction I didn't want to follow.)
When I got home I Googled blogging (there's a sentence we never could have said ten years ago) and stumbled upon Blogger. I typed up a mildly eloquent entry about how much it had surprised me that Wil Wheaton was so entertaining and how he and his blog had inspired me to start a blog myself. And because I didn't understand the interface well enough, and because the interface basically sucked 6.5 years ago, that wonderful entry went to that great bit bucket in the sky. Thus was born the title.
I have never kept a paper journal for this long (often because I've lost track of the actual journal). I think TIAMH has lasted this long because I finally have an audience. My audience is actual people named Mary and Ron and Brent and Carl and several others I don't know the names of but the audience is no longer a nameless, faceless future person who may or may not ever read my words.
Recent events in my life make me glad that I have done this. I have looked at photographs and heard stories from other people and I simply don't recall those events. With my blog I can go back and read about the things that were important in my life and understand the things that stood out to me as important at that time. I become my own audience. I can see how I've grown and I can see what I've learned.
For instance, with that "first" post, I learned not to judge public figures based on what you see on TV. I discovered I had some good stories in me and started to find a voice. Then, because of some stressful times (that ultimately ended in epic failure), I realized I'd lost that voice.
I have shared joy and sorrow and random thoughts and inner thoughts and fun stories from my childhood and things that are just weird. And I have found my voice again.
This experiment that is The Internet Ate My Homework has taken me places I never thought I would go. It has been part of my life longer than I thought it would be. It is an outlet. It is a comfort. It is a reflection. It is a catharsis. It is not something I will abandon for social networking. This is me.
I have thought about moving my blog to my own hosting service but I have been with blogger so long it's just so much easier to stay. And I hope you will stay with me (and recommend me to your friends) for the next 1,000 posts.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Simple Gifts
I don't have any clue how old I was but I was relatively young, maybe eight years old. We had gone to the state fair and my sister and I had won matching, cheesy teddy bears. Mine was blue, hers was pink (that's how I know it had to be the state fair).
I don't recall how it happened but my bear got lost or destroyed. Whatever happened, it upset me. I recall laying in my bed crying one night. My sister's bedroom shared a wall with mine so she couldn't help but hear me.
I annoyed her quite a bit during that time so, obviously, I was annoying her by crying. She came into my room and asked me, in that tone of voice of hers, just exactly what I was crying about. "I want my bear." Thinking I was being a baby she rolled her eyes (I wasn't looking at her but she must have - she did that a lot in regards to me back then) and she left.
I kept crying.
For several minutes.
I was really devastated.
Look, this isn't a story about me being upset. Stop focusing on it. It's embarrassing enough as it is but I do have a point and it relates to my sister, not me.
I mean it - stop it. Stop imagining me as a blubbering child missing his teddy bear. It's not cute, it's... it's... disconcerting to even remember it but it's important to the story. So stop it.
Anyway, my crying obviously continued to annoy her because she eventually opened the door to my room, threw her pink bear at me and said, "Here. Now shutup."
I did. I curled up and went to sleep. I was very grateful to my sister for sacrificing her possession so I could be happy. She told me it was just to get me to shut up so she could get some sleep. That probably was her motivation but I really appreciated it.
And now... my point. Ever since then my sister has had this knack for getting me presents that I absolutely love but didn't even know I wanted. (okay, there was the "sweater incident" but even George Lucas had the Ewoks Christmas)
I don't recall how it happened but my bear got lost or destroyed. Whatever happened, it upset me. I recall laying in my bed crying one night. My sister's bedroom shared a wall with mine so she couldn't help but hear me.
I annoyed her quite a bit during that time so, obviously, I was annoying her by crying. She came into my room and asked me, in that tone of voice of hers, just exactly what I was crying about. "I want my bear." Thinking I was being a baby she rolled her eyes (I wasn't looking at her but she must have - she did that a lot in regards to me back then) and she left.
I kept crying.
For several minutes.
I was really devastated.
Look, this isn't a story about me being upset. Stop focusing on it. It's embarrassing enough as it is but I do have a point and it relates to my sister, not me.
I mean it - stop it. Stop imagining me as a blubbering child missing his teddy bear. It's not cute, it's... it's... disconcerting to even remember it but it's important to the story. So stop it.
Anyway, my crying obviously continued to annoy her because she eventually opened the door to my room, threw her pink bear at me and said, "Here. Now shutup."
I did. I curled up and went to sleep. I was very grateful to my sister for sacrificing her possession so I could be happy. She told me it was just to get me to shut up so she could get some sleep. That probably was her motivation but I really appreciated it.
And now... my point. Ever since then my sister has had this knack for getting me presents that I absolutely love but didn't even know I wanted. (okay, there was the "sweater incident" but even George Lucas had the Ewoks Christmas)
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
Fear Of The Unknown
I am really scared that decisions are being made that will significantly impact my future and not necessarily for the better. I cannot speak out for or against health care reform, financial reform, military actions and the like because I just don't have the necessary information. The information is hard enough to find and gather and understand but I simply can't spend time thinking about these things.
I'm having enough trouble keeping my sanity balanced just trying to move through the day from when I wake up to when I go to sleep. Now on top of all that I have a president and a group of "leaders" who are making decisions on my behalf that live in their ivory towers where the rules don't apply to them and who have no clue what it's like to live like the people they represent. It scares me that they will make those decisions and there ain't a damn thing I can do about it. I cast my vote (and will continue to do so) but it just seems to get deeper and deeper.
I must stop now or my fear will turn to insanity.
I'm having enough trouble keeping my sanity balanced just trying to move through the day from when I wake up to when I go to sleep. Now on top of all that I have a president and a group of "leaders" who are making decisions on my behalf that live in their ivory towers where the rules don't apply to them and who have no clue what it's like to live like the people they represent. It scares me that they will make those decisions and there ain't a damn thing I can do about it. I cast my vote (and will continue to do so) but it just seems to get deeper and deeper.
I must stop now or my fear will turn to insanity.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
The Blog Of ME
Not too long ago I said that I wanted to start using my blog to record my memories. That way, I might actually create a memoir like it says in the title.
I have written a few of these memories and I have a couple more in the queue but, as I'm sure you know, sometimes it's hard to know what to actually record (and sometimes it's hard to find time). With that in mind, I picked up a copy of The Book of ME. It is designed to be a guided memoir with questions grouped into different categories designed to help you write your story.
I'm sure I won't be answering every question here in this public forum. As I skimmed through the book there seemed to be a couple of questions that didn't seem to apply. Plus, some other questions I saw prompted such simple answers, at the time, that they wouldn't make good stories.
Stay tuned as we go through this journey together.
I have written a few of these memories and I have a couple more in the queue but, as I'm sure you know, sometimes it's hard to know what to actually record (and sometimes it's hard to find time). With that in mind, I picked up a copy of The Book of ME. It is designed to be a guided memoir with questions grouped into different categories designed to help you write your story.
I'm sure I won't be answering every question here in this public forum. As I skimmed through the book there seemed to be a couple of questions that didn't seem to apply. Plus, some other questions I saw prompted such simple answers, at the time, that they wouldn't make good stories.
Stay tuned as we go through this journey together.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Mick Jagger Had It Right
I have been having problems with muscle spasms in my neck for several months now. Mostly I can deal with it being a little stiff but sometimes I have to go see the doctor to get some chemical assistance in loosening it up. One of those times was about 3 or 4 weeks ago when I spent an entire Saturday sorting through pictures on my computer.
I went out and bought a new pillow. It helps. Some.
I noticed that, as I sat at my computer, I would hunch over and tilt my head way back so I adjusted my desk chair at home, lowering it a bit and locking the tilt into a comfortable but mostly upright angle. It helps. Some.
I was reviewing my email this morning and noticed myself still hunching over and then it hit me. I was leaning in to see the teeny tiny text on my 19" CRT monitor set at 1600 x 1200 resolution then tilting my head back to view the screen through the correct part of my bifocals.
CRAP!
I lowered the resolution at home and increased the text size at work. I think that's going to help most of all. What a drag it is getting old.
I went out and bought a new pillow. It helps. Some.
I noticed that, as I sat at my computer, I would hunch over and tilt my head way back so I adjusted my desk chair at home, lowering it a bit and locking the tilt into a comfortable but mostly upright angle. It helps. Some.
I was reviewing my email this morning and noticed myself still hunching over and then it hit me. I was leaning in to see the teeny tiny text on my 19" CRT monitor set at 1600 x 1200 resolution then tilting my head back to view the screen through the correct part of my bifocals.
CRAP!
I lowered the resolution at home and increased the text size at work. I think that's going to help most of all. What a drag it is getting old.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Wrestling With Sports
The room was oppressively hot. The air was thick and heavy. The stench of adolescent sweat permeated the thick, vinyl mats lining the floors. The coach said he made the room hot to reduce the chance that someone would pull a muscle. It made sense but it was still somewhat of a hostile environment. Actually, it wasn't just the temperature that made it hostile.
I've never been one much for sports. I had played T-ball in second or third grade. I only had a basic knowledge of how the game was played. Hit ball, run bases, don't get tagged, score point. My brother had played a couple of years before me and was now playing real baseball. I figured it was the thing to do so I joined up.
I figured it was like any other game. There were some rules somewhere that we would go over then we'd take the field and all play by the rules. Nobody told me that the rules and strategies were supposed to be encoded in my DNA by that age. I'd never watched a real baseball game, my dad and I never played catch in the front yard, and basically, even at T-ball, I sucked. The coach was no real help being as he wasn't really a coach but more of a baby sitter. I can't think of any direction he really gave.
As time went on, I continued to suck and get more confused by what I was supposed to be doing. I thought my coach and my teammates were supposed to help me understand what I was supposed to be doing but they just shoved me out in left field and left me there in my confusion. Actually, much of my life has been like that but that's an entirely different story.
Our team was one of the worst in the league. I attribute it to most of my teammates concentrating on watching me screw up and laughing at me instead of paying attention to the game. I say this because the next year, when I didn't play, the team was one of the best in the league and the roster hadn't really changed.
I let it go and went on with my life. When I got to high school, the mistaken notion that I had to involve myself in some sort of sports activity entered my head again. Having been previously involved in baseball, I headed for familiar territory. That's where this story began.
The baseball coach at my high school was also the wrestling coach. Baseball doesn't play during the Fall semester so all the baseball players were subjected to working out with the wrestlers. Presumably, the wrestlers would work out with the baseball team in the Spring semester but I never made it that far.
I spent many of my afternoons in that hot, sweaty wrestling room learning about opening moves and wrestling tactics. I pretty much sucked at that, too. There was one guy I hated being paired with. He got some sadistic pleasure out of pinning me, placing his arm across my throat and laughing as I lay there and turned blue. I really wish I'd had the fortitude to make some sort of "don't f--- with me" move but it never even crossed my mind. His actions were only one part of the torture I had to endure from many of my compatriots.
When the weather was warm enough, we would go out to the field and concentrate on baseball for a while. I wasn't as confused as I was in the second grade but there was still something I didn't get. The coach did try to help but he couldn't spend the amount of time with me that I needed. The more we played baseball instead of rolling around with each other on the mat, the more I saw a familiar pattern. Everybody was so busy watching me screw up that they weren't concentrating on what they were supposed to be doing. For the good of the team, I quit.
I don't remember how the team did that season or any subsequent season. I don't care for sports and my definition of baseball, and I may have acquired it from another source, is fifteen minutes of pure excitement crammed into two hours.
I tried again with the golf team but just landed with a coach who's idea of coaching was to let you keep trying and you would eventually get it on your own. So, thus ended my foray into sports. I don't regret anything I did or didn't do in relation to sports but it's one of those things I look back on when I think, "I wonder what my life would have been like if..."
I've never been one much for sports. I had played T-ball in second or third grade. I only had a basic knowledge of how the game was played. Hit ball, run bases, don't get tagged, score point. My brother had played a couple of years before me and was now playing real baseball. I figured it was the thing to do so I joined up.
I figured it was like any other game. There were some rules somewhere that we would go over then we'd take the field and all play by the rules. Nobody told me that the rules and strategies were supposed to be encoded in my DNA by that age. I'd never watched a real baseball game, my dad and I never played catch in the front yard, and basically, even at T-ball, I sucked. The coach was no real help being as he wasn't really a coach but more of a baby sitter. I can't think of any direction he really gave.
As time went on, I continued to suck and get more confused by what I was supposed to be doing. I thought my coach and my teammates were supposed to help me understand what I was supposed to be doing but they just shoved me out in left field and left me there in my confusion. Actually, much of my life has been like that but that's an entirely different story.
Our team was one of the worst in the league. I attribute it to most of my teammates concentrating on watching me screw up and laughing at me instead of paying attention to the game. I say this because the next year, when I didn't play, the team was one of the best in the league and the roster hadn't really changed.
I let it go and went on with my life. When I got to high school, the mistaken notion that I had to involve myself in some sort of sports activity entered my head again. Having been previously involved in baseball, I headed for familiar territory. That's where this story began.
The baseball coach at my high school was also the wrestling coach. Baseball doesn't play during the Fall semester so all the baseball players were subjected to working out with the wrestlers. Presumably, the wrestlers would work out with the baseball team in the Spring semester but I never made it that far.
I spent many of my afternoons in that hot, sweaty wrestling room learning about opening moves and wrestling tactics. I pretty much sucked at that, too. There was one guy I hated being paired with. He got some sadistic pleasure out of pinning me, placing his arm across my throat and laughing as I lay there and turned blue. I really wish I'd had the fortitude to make some sort of "don't f--- with me" move but it never even crossed my mind. His actions were only one part of the torture I had to endure from many of my compatriots.
When the weather was warm enough, we would go out to the field and concentrate on baseball for a while. I wasn't as confused as I was in the second grade but there was still something I didn't get. The coach did try to help but he couldn't spend the amount of time with me that I needed. The more we played baseball instead of rolling around with each other on the mat, the more I saw a familiar pattern. Everybody was so busy watching me screw up that they weren't concentrating on what they were supposed to be doing. For the good of the team, I quit.
I don't remember how the team did that season or any subsequent season. I don't care for sports and my definition of baseball, and I may have acquired it from another source, is fifteen minutes of pure excitement crammed into two hours.
I tried again with the golf team but just landed with a coach who's idea of coaching was to let you keep trying and you would eventually get it on your own. So, thus ended my foray into sports. I don't regret anything I did or didn't do in relation to sports but it's one of those things I look back on when I think, "I wonder what my life would have been like if..."
Sunday, July 05, 2009
Billy
Growing up on 57th place in Tulsa, OK, we had many friends. There were Kendall and Scotty, Jeff and BJ, Ronny and Jeff, Chandra, Carl... the list goes on but there was one friend we all shared and, for some reason, revered: Billy. Billy was older. He was in college, I think, so he wasn't around much but it was a big event when he came home. When Billy was in town, the word would be passed up and down the street, "Billy's home," and we would wait excitedly for him to make an appearance.
Don't ask me why we all got so excited when he came around. Maybe it was because he was older and actually paid attention to us. I don't know. Come to think of it, I don't remember him actually doing much of anything with us. I think one of the other kids thought he was the coolest thing since dry ice, told all of us so, and we went along with it (hey, what else was there to do?).
One thing I remember about Billy was his silly singing. We never went into his house but there was a piano somewhere near a window. He would gather us all up (or we would gather ourselves), go inside, slide open the window, then start playing Christmas Time Is Here from A Charlie Brown Christmas.
As we stood listening to him tickle the ivories, he would suddenly break out in a falsetto voice and make fun of us to the tune of the song. "Joey is, a big turkey," he would begin, "he falls down a lot," or something to that effect. We'd point and laugh at the subject of the current refrain as he went down the line and sang about each of us standing there in his yard. When he was finished, he'd come outside and we'd laugh some more and eventually disperse so he could get some grown-up things done.
Every time I hear that song, especially done on piano, I think of Billy. Simple times. Good times.
Don't ask me why we all got so excited when he came around. Maybe it was because he was older and actually paid attention to us. I don't know. Come to think of it, I don't remember him actually doing much of anything with us. I think one of the other kids thought he was the coolest thing since dry ice, told all of us so, and we went along with it (hey, what else was there to do?).
One thing I remember about Billy was his silly singing. We never went into his house but there was a piano somewhere near a window. He would gather us all up (or we would gather ourselves), go inside, slide open the window, then start playing Christmas Time Is Here from A Charlie Brown Christmas.
As we stood listening to him tickle the ivories, he would suddenly break out in a falsetto voice and make fun of us to the tune of the song. "Joey is, a big turkey," he would begin, "he falls down a lot," or something to that effect. We'd point and laugh at the subject of the current refrain as he went down the line and sang about each of us standing there in his yard. When he was finished, he'd come outside and we'd laugh some more and eventually disperse so he could get some grown-up things done.
Every time I hear that song, especially done on piano, I think of Billy. Simple times. Good times.
Monday, June 08, 2009
Remembrances
One of the friends I was with this weekend had a book that her grandfather had written. It looked like something he'd put together then had copied and wirebound down at the local copy shop for distribution to family and friends. It looked very nice but it was obviously not meant for wide distribution. Her grandfather had recently died so she was going through it and rereading the stories.
I mentioned how I would love to do something like that but that my life seemed so mundane that I didn't feel I had any really good stories. That's when she pointed out to me that the stories were just stories - seemingly mundane recollections. They were mostly about two brothers getting into trouble together but what made them interesting was they were from a perspective over 50 years ago. That's when I decided I could do the same.
Stay tuned and I'll start telling you about some of my experiences. Maybe you'll find them interesting, maybe you won't. Maybe my grand nieces and nephews will find them interesting in 30 or 40 years.
I mentioned how I would love to do something like that but that my life seemed so mundane that I didn't feel I had any really good stories. That's when she pointed out to me that the stories were just stories - seemingly mundane recollections. They were mostly about two brothers getting into trouble together but what made them interesting was they were from a perspective over 50 years ago. That's when I decided I could do the same.
Stay tuned and I'll start telling you about some of my experiences. Maybe you'll find them interesting, maybe you won't. Maybe my grand nieces and nephews will find them interesting in 30 or 40 years.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
It Finally Happened
It always does. I don't know why but it always does. It happens at work. It happens among friends. It happens with people I just met. But it always happens eventually.
One of my coworkers just called me "Joe Joe"
One of my coworkers just called me "Joe Joe"
Friday, April 24, 2009
There Goes The Neighborhood
Before Google. Before MSN. When Yahoo was just getting started. When Alta Vista was the king of the search engines. When I first got into this world wide web thing back in nineteen ninety whatever with a copy of HTML For Dummies on my knee and notepad on the screen, my first public web site was posted at Geocities. At the time, Geocities offered something like 5 or 10 Megabytes of space and was organized into categories that were accessed as "neighborhoods." For instance, my site was going to be related to entertainment (specifically movies) so I moved into Hollywood. All of the 'addresses' in Hollywood were full so I moved into the Hollywood Hills. The site is long gone (it disappeared a few years ago) but the address was www.geocities.com/hollywood/hills/2766.
I envisioned a site where peolpe could come to get various types of information about movies: release dates, video release dates, reviews, etc. I called it "Uncle Bubby's Weird World of Wacky Entertainment" (yeah, I know, title lameness and stupidity factor: 9.5). What I envisioned my site would become eventually materialized on the web as The Internet Movie Database (IMDB). Can you imagine little old me and my basic HTML skills putting together something like that? It turned out that it was a lot of work that took a lot of time that I didn't have so I dropped the concept after less than six months (and a few years before IMDB). But I kept the site.
What I did with the site after that still lives on. I still utilize the original concept but the site has taken many forms. It has been edited using Netscape, a couple of different free WYSIWYG editors, MS Frontpage, and is now utilizing a Content Management System. The site has been hosted at many different providers: Some free, some not and sometimes two at a time to have enough storage to accomdate it (I can't name them all). But Bubby's Wav Archive had its humble beginnings at Geocities.
Why am I telling you all of this? Well, it seems that Yahoo is quietly shutting down Geocities some time later this year. It's not surprising, really. Beyond the fact that Yahoo, as they often seem to do these days, let it wither away with a lack of promotion, I think times have changed. Like the transition from open-air shopping malls, to enclosed super-malls, to now independent stores connected to each other, the web has changed. With Geocities, you could actually go to a portal and search all of the different neighborhoods. With the strength of modern search engines and the numerous cross-site portals, who needs a portal like Geocities? Plus with the dynamic nature of web sites sometimes, who wants to be locked into a subject matter?
Geocities was good to me and it was there when I needed it. I am sad but not surprised to hear it will soon be no more. Goodbye, old friend.
I envisioned a site where peolpe could come to get various types of information about movies: release dates, video release dates, reviews, etc. I called it "Uncle Bubby's Weird World of Wacky Entertainment" (yeah, I know, title lameness and stupidity factor: 9.5). What I envisioned my site would become eventually materialized on the web as The Internet Movie Database (IMDB). Can you imagine little old me and my basic HTML skills putting together something like that? It turned out that it was a lot of work that took a lot of time that I didn't have so I dropped the concept after less than six months (and a few years before IMDB). But I kept the site.
What I did with the site after that still lives on. I still utilize the original concept but the site has taken many forms. It has been edited using Netscape, a couple of different free WYSIWYG editors, MS Frontpage, and is now utilizing a Content Management System. The site has been hosted at many different providers: Some free, some not and sometimes two at a time to have enough storage to accomdate it (I can't name them all). But Bubby's Wav Archive had its humble beginnings at Geocities.
Why am I telling you all of this? Well, it seems that Yahoo is quietly shutting down Geocities some time later this year. It's not surprising, really. Beyond the fact that Yahoo, as they often seem to do these days, let it wither away with a lack of promotion, I think times have changed. Like the transition from open-air shopping malls, to enclosed super-malls, to now independent stores connected to each other, the web has changed. With Geocities, you could actually go to a portal and search all of the different neighborhoods. With the strength of modern search engines and the numerous cross-site portals, who needs a portal like Geocities? Plus with the dynamic nature of web sites sometimes, who wants to be locked into a subject matter?
Geocities was good to me and it was there when I needed it. I am sad but not surprised to hear it will soon be no more. Goodbye, old friend.
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