One Realization That Leads to Another

Today is the Feast of Epiphany, according to Western Christians. According to Wikipedia, the feast day commemorates not only the arrival of the Magi in Bethlehem, but the “revelation of God the Son as a human being in Jesus Christ.” I’ll buy the Magi’s arrival; it’s the manifestation of God part that stretches the date’s credibility. Not that there is anything wrong with it. It just isn’t for me.

The same Wikipedia page has a link to the page for “Epiphany (feeling).” Which credits James Joyce for possibly coining the usage of epiphany to mean “an experience of sudden and striking realization.” His stories in The Dubliners all involve characters coming to some realization that alters their view of themselves or the world around them. It is conceivable that large doses of beer and whiskey may have had something to do with those “striking realizations.” Interestingly, for me, anyway, the author of this particular page also equates William Burroughs’ Naked Lunch as a terminology of epiphany, as well. How do Christians feel about having a word so closely associated with the first big feast day of the year secularly implying “drug-influenced state(s)” and beer-soaked revelations? Then again, the Magi brought gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Frankincense and myrrh are both popular for use in incense, and we know who burns most of the incense, don’t we? Let’s just say many of us stop “burning incense” when we get out of college.

Perhaps, in a related vein, back in 1974, Tom Scholz was burning incense when he had an epiphany in his basement in 1974, and the song “More Than a Feeling” manifested itself in his mind. Boston, my favorite band EVER, released the song on their 1976 debut. I am certainly not trying to equate Tom Scholz with the Son of God. Nor am I implying that “More Than a Feeling” is a song of anything more than mild musical significance. It just happens to be where my mind took me on this particular intellectual exercise.

Maybe more significantly, today is also the birthday of Jeanne d’Arc, according to some sources. Being an inveterate skeptic, I suspect that her birthday is more than likely not on January 6. It just seems too coincidental that the day that the (arguably) second most famous Christian martyr (sorry John, the Baptist) was born on the same day as the manifestation of the first most famous martyr as a human being. Then again, if one negates the manifestation of the Son of God thing (see paragraph one), Joanie’s birthday is a bit easier to swallow. At any rate, Joan was a fascinating young woman--most likely delusional, but fascinating nonetheless. And without her inspiring and tragic tale, we would not have one of the most beautiful silent films ever (The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928)) nor one of the best-known Smiths songs (“Big Mouth Strikes Again”). Granted one might argue that the Smiths couldn’t have written that song without the invention of the Walkman, either. You might also argue that they might have written the song even without the allusion to Joan (or a Walkman), but that just wouldn’t be the same song, would it. At any rate, wouldn't it be sad if the Smiths were most well-known simply for "Girlfriend in a Coma." Seriously.

Most unfortunately, however, today is the final day of Winter Break for kiddos in this neck of the woods. Tomorrow, we will be back to shaping young minds. And I hope to find more time to keep up with this blog, albeit with a new focus. Instead of Central Standard's traditional, unfocused, hard to maintain ramble from random thought to random thought, I hope to focus on today's tone of edification and the loose division of fact and opinion to create a regular discussion of topical current and historical events.  If anyone has any ideas for topics, leave a shout in the comments.

Thanks for stopping by!

A Rose by Any Other Name

"Chiara," according to everyone's favorite fact checking site, Wikipedia, is an Italian word meaning "clear."  There are several people with this word as a first or last name, and "Chiara" even forms a morpheme of the Italian surname Chiaramonte, a noble Sicilian family who claim descent from Charlemagne.

I tell you all this because a pair of encounters with said word in this morning's Lincoln Journal Star sent me a-searching for some information on this word.  The two usages, both as proper nouns, referred to apparently different things, and, I was certain, different ideas, and, being the curious life-long learner that I am (and having the power of the Interwebs at my fingertips), I did a little researching.

First, my initial encounters.  Ironically, perhaps, both of my encounters with the word occurred in the "fluff" section of the paper, "The (402)."  I believe I have mentioned this section before, so I will spare you my rail on that particular section's ridiculous name.  However, in the "At a Glance" feature, on page F2, where some events are listed and written about briefly, a headline reads: "Walk to conquer Chiara is at Holmes Lake Park."  The article explains that a fundraiser walk will be held "in an effort to bring awareness and funds to Chiara malformation."

The article further states that Chiara is "a neurological condition in which the brain descends out of the  skull and puts pressure on the spine." Really?  That actually happens to people? Their brains fall out of their skulls.  Why?  How?  It sounds like an awful condition.  Of course, it is, I thought to myself. Why else would they need to raise funds or awareness? Nobody would be interested in a Stubbed Toe 5K, would they?  Who would pay $25 to race in a Pretty Bad Stomach Flu Fun Run?  We only tie up our Mizunos for big causes, like cancer, muscular dystrophy, or chiara, to name just a few.

As I turned the page, I found on F4 a review of a recent chamber music performance: "Chiara members open Sheldon Friends season."  I have heard of this Chiara Quartet, two men and two women, who are well-known in the chamber music circles.  They have made many appearances here in the Lincoln area, always to great acclaim.  But this review, published so close to and on the same day as the fundraiser walk, stoked my inquisitiveness.  I needed to make sure that these chamber players weren't being highly insensitive, naming themselves after a neurological condition suffered by "about 300,000 people in the United States."

And, so, I was led to the Wikipedia, where I find listings for celebrities named Chiara, saints and singers, physicists and attorneys. I find the names of churches and a "religious complex" (don't you mean a "church?").  And, I find links to the aforementioned "Chiaramonte" and a pair of words that are homophones of "chiara," itself.  What I don't find is any mention of any neurological condition.  I had to search the Google a bit more to find any discussion of dropped brain syndrome (an alternate, totally rad, name I have given to the condition, myself), but I did find some information about the condition that affects more people in the US than live in Barbados.

(Interestingly, the website Researching Virtual Initiatives in Education, on their page "All Countries by Population," divides countries using "'scientific' nomenclature." For instance, a country with at least 1000 million people is a "kilostate;" a country with at least 0.3 million but less than 1 million is a "tridecistate" (also known as a minicountry); a country with less than 0.01 million people, a picocountry, is a "millistate." There are also "centistates" and "hectostates," orthocountries, nanocountries, and gigacountries.  Another bit of information learned on this random research project.)

But, back to "chiara."  I learned a lot in the several minutes I spent researching this little mystery, but I was left with a few questions. First, I wondered where the quartet came upon their name?  Is it a tribute to a person, or a place (most likely a church)?  I also wondered if they were even aware of their close association with a leaking skull?  But, more importantly, I wondered how, if the Chiara fundraising initiative was sophisticated enough to organize multiple events such as this weekend's 5K walk, they were unable to draft as valuable a PR tool as a Wikipedia page? Because, when you think about it, not everybody is going to be as dogged a researcher as I have been today.  If people don't get their wiki-fix on the first search, right at the top, they'll go right back to looking for topless pictures of Ryan (Hey, girl) Gosling.  And, if you're trying to drum up support for a disease or a condition, you have to do one of two things: make sure a lot of people suffer from it (i.e., cancer) or that a lot of people know about it (i.e., muscular dystrophy).

Finally, if I were in a string quartet, and I found out it was named after a neurological condition that can lead to deafness, dizziness, double vision, eye pain, headaches, and spasticity (I did not make this word up), I might just change my name to Cancer.

   

Respectfully Submitted

I recently had a discussion with a colleague that touched on, of all things, politics.  I try to avoid talking about politics with most folks.  It makes me tired. It rarely leads to anything productive, I find, and, in the end, it usually leaves both parties frustrated, at best, and resentful, at worst.

This particular conversation was between two people that, on the surface, probably have similar views on the issues.  Each of us might be identified as liberal in outlook; however, I am probably the less liberal of the two.  And, the topic seemed relatively innocuous, the question being whether I was going to watch the President accept the Democratic nomination that evening.  I said I was not (although, in the end, I did), and I added that I was tiring of the election (which really was only just that evening about to officially get under way).  I lamented (which isn’t the same as complaining), that I was frustrated by the lack of real political discourse, and that I was troubled by the way everyone (candidates, PACs, voters) makes the candidate they are not for seem to be not only wrong on the issues, but something akin to the Antichrist.

It’s disheartening to watch and listen to this happen.  It makes me sad to hear some sheriff in Texas tell people that if the President is re-elected there will be a civil war, or to hear Newt Gingrich call him a “pretender.” On the other hand, I feel like Democrats do the same thing to Romney and Ryan, making them seem evil due to their economic policy ideas and their adherence to cutting social programs.

I am not trying to defend either side. I am not arguing that no one involved in this election is hypocritical or even wrong-headed. Nor am I suggesting that anyone simply give up and not pay attention to the issues and the candidates’ stances on those issues.  The thing I am bothered by is the same thing a lot of people are bothered by, I am sure, and that is the tone of the debate. We seem to have descended into a constant cycle of character assassination, and the real points of debate are completely ignored.

(Then, again, have we descended?  Have things really changed?  Or has it always been this way, but the ubiquitous media, our blogs and Twitters and news channels, have simply put it on display all day everyday?  More likely the latter.)

It just seems to me that everybody involved in this (and, really, in America, that includes everyone over the age of eighteen) is so angry and desperate to be heard that we reach for the easiest hook to hang our hat on.  And instead of discussing the merits of a person's stance, we argue the merits of the person.  A candidate is not hypocritical, but, rather, he is a hypocrite.  It is a subtle, but important difference.  A candidate is not employing extremely liberal solutions to a problem, but, rather, the man is a Socialist. A candidate is not making decisions based on self-serving end results, but, rather, he is an asshole.  It changes the game.

I get it: we want someone that we like; we want someone we can trust. We want someone who seems to think and feel and respond to problems and issues like we do.  And we want that passionately. But, don’t we do ourselves and everyone else a disservice when, in our zeal to get our candidate elected, we almost automatically cast the other side as thoughtless, clueless, senseless, heartless, and fundamentally evil?  Because, you know, what happens when your candidate doesn’t get elected?  You have to live with someone (or several someone’s) whom you find to be the embodiment of Old Scratch.  No wonder we’re so screwed up.

Maybe I am miles off base with this.  My judgment is just as clouded as the next person’s, I am sure.  I do see the issues that concern me, and I do my best to find a candidate that addresses those issues in a way that most closely hews to my own philosophy. However, I, too, can recall more than one instance where the candidate I voted for did not win, and, as a result, I was angry, depressed, and despairing for the future. It is a terrible feeling. Do we have to continue setting up a huge portion of the voting populace for this kind of post-election psychological malady? (Who hasn't heard someone say in the last twelve years, "If So and so is elected, I am moving to Canada/Bolivia/Iceland/Mars"?)

Ultimately, what we probably need to keep in mind is that, regardless of who wins this next presidential election, that man is going to be our leader.  He will be the President of the United States of America. Regardless of how we might feel about that person’s political philosophy, he will deserve some modicum of respect.

And, maybe that is what I feel is lacking, not just in politics, but in our society, today: a general lack of respect for each other.  This could lead me off on a tangent that might stretch for another thousand words, or so, so I will spare you that jeremiad.  After all, just thinking it makes me a little depressed, since it paints me, in my own mind, as some wrinkly old geezer, pants up around my arm pits, grumbling about “kids these days,” and “back in my day.” I’ll spare you the story of walking to school in a snowstorm or eating all my dinner whether I liked it or not.  I respect you all too much to subject you to that.

Okay, Then

Again, it's been a long time. How is it that so much water passes under the bridge?  No matter.  It's passed.  It's gone. Eyes front.

A lot has changed since last I was here.  First, it appears that Blogger has been sucked up by the Google monster.  It took me several minutes just to figure out how to get into my blog.  It might look the same on the outside, but it is much changed in the innards.  I'll figure it out.  I suppose most of the changes have been for the better (although, I suspect that more bugs and surveillance-type widgets are floating around in there, now, keeping track of me and you and everyone we know).

A friend of mine, the new author of the new blog Charlie and His Human, emailed me recently asking to link to my blogs.  I said yes, but I warned him that it had been a long time since last I posted.  And, just like a year ago, when outside voices plucked my writerly heart strings and stirred me to resurrect Central Standard, I was moved to consider this neglected aspect of my former habitry. (I am fully aware that "writerly" and "habitry" are not actual words, but I like how they sound, so I am keeping them.  After all, if the writer can not coin a word, who can?)

So, here I am again.  I might give you a summarized version of the last year, but, like I said earlier: eyes front.  Let me tell you about what I like to call my new philosophy for the new school year.  I call it the "Okay" philosophy.  What it basically entails is a concerted effort to limit my carping, complaining, and other unhealthy behaviors.  I have never been much of a negative person.  I don't complain much, but I do it enough that I am aware that it is a drain on my energy and my attitude.

It started over the summer when I read a tweet (Yes, I am a Twitter-er.  Follow me (I hate even typing that.) @Reda_AT.) from a fellow teacher that read something to the effect of: complaining at work steals from time you could be dedicating to your kids.  To a mildly cynical person such as myself, my first reaction was: shut up.  But, the more I though about it, the more sense it made to me.  After all, why am I in this business of teaching anyway?  The money? No. The short hours? Ha ha...no. I'm in it because it makes me feel good to know that I am trying my best to make the world a better place by trying my best to teach kids to be better communicators, thinkers, citizens, and human beings. It's important work, and I should dedicate as much of my self as I can to doing that job to the best of my ability (my predilection for making up words like "habitry" notwithstanding).

With that in mind, I have decided that where work is concerned, when I am asked to do something by administrators, department heads, etc., my reaction will be "okay."  And, then, I will do it to the best of my ability.  When asked how things are going, my response will be "okay." And I will try to develop that response with something positive that has happened on that day.  Now, I understand that not everything we are asked to do by administrators and others has a direct positive effect on students, but the genesis of the idea that they are trying to put in place most likely came from that "what's best for kids" place.  And I know that just saying I'm okay doesn't have a direct effect on my students.  However, if I can maintain an attitude of positivity, how might that affect my classes?  And, more importantly, how much better might be the quality of all of my work, if it is being accomplished by a content, positive person?  I have to think that the effect of that might be pretty powerful.

And, of course, I know that I can't be something I am not.  I will not be some sort of Pollyanna, happy doofus, walking around with rainbows coming out of every orifice. I have never been that kind of person.  As a matter of fact, ironically, that sort of person kind of makes me ill.  I will have a bad day or two, and I will let slip a negative word to someone, somewhere at work.  I am sure I already have.  But, I have, thus far, been able to keep this sort of positive, peaceful attitude going for three weeks, already.  As a result, I am still tired, still working ten hours a day, still behind with grading and planning.  But, this year more than any other, that's okay.

Being What You Are

What are you? Are you more prone to identify yourself by some familial relationship (mother, father, brother, sister, aunt), or are you more likely to identify yourself by your profession (teacher, chef, truck driver, manager)? Are you the thing you practice (writer, musician, quilter), or the thing you have nearly perfected (scrap booker, reader, gardener)? Are you all of these things?

Well, of course, you are. That's probably the easiest set of related questions you might ponder today. We all identify ourselves in multiple ways. One of the earliest activities I do with my kiddos is to have them self-identify. They can find it hard, at first, to discover the words to describe themselves. Many use simple adjectives, but, more often, they use labels that correspond to sports, hobbies, and familial connections. It can sometimes be very telling how a person chooses to describe him/her self.

I had an opportunity to describe myself, this weekend. Meeting new people is always a chance to refine how you identify yourself, isn't it? (Or as James would say, "Init?") So, in meeting new people, the chance to define myself as a "musician" and a "writer" came up. In both instances, I was hesitant to do so. My first tag for myself is definitely, "teacher." It is no surprise that I define myself primarily through my work. It is either nature or nurture, but I get that from family...it goes way back. Following that would be "husband." Third might be "dog owner," since that is a pretty big part of my life right now. Maybe I throw in "baseball fan," or "coffee drinker," or "closet Libertarian," at this point, but "writer" and "musician" come way down the list, if they make it at all.

My reticence to self-identify as a writer led to a discussion of what defines a writer. After all, here I am, right now, writing. Thus, I am a writer, right? Well, yes. What is a writer? A person who writes. Do I write? Yes. So, what's the problem? Right.

Same for musician (but, if I had to only choose a label between "writer" and "musician," I am going "writer" every time...I at least feel like a competent writer...I am not a very competent musician). I play music, therefore I am a musician.

But, is there some other aspect of it that causes me this pause when I have to claim a membership in the writer's club? I suppose it is a need to have some one else lend legitimacy to what I am doing. Here I sit at a desk full of folders of my own products. But very few of those creations have been seen by anyone. A few poems sent out (years ago), some even published. A play that was given a public reading. But, most of it is here with me, and, most likely, here it will stay. Writing isn't my means of making a living, and, as I mentioned earlier, that is the primary way that I identify myself. Until I am regularly (or sufficiently) paid to write, I will not be a writer. The more I think about it, the less I like how that sounds.

In a review of Daniel Johnston's newest release, Douglas Wolk said, "There is no valid excuse for not making your art in a world where Daniel Johnston managed to do what he did." I am really taking that to heart. Surely, however, it begs the question of whether art without an audience is art, at all. Which, in a way, is the same thing as the tree falling in the forest. And, again, presupposes that others legitimize you. And I want to get away from that. So, for the sake of my own argument (and personal growth, perhaps), I am going to say that art without an audience, while denying the world an experience, is still art. David is still David when the lights go out at the Academy.

So, yes, I am a writer. I mean, in a way, this whole self-doubt thing is silly, considering that I spend 190 days a year telling kids who hate to write that they ARE writers. And I believe it, but, I wonder if I might be saying the word in a different way. Yes, they are writers, but David Mitchell, he's a WRITER. I don't know. But, if I am, I am doing them a disservice. Because Johnny Grumplepants in the third row and John Irving both do it the same way. One might be better at it. One might be more experienced. But, the act of writing is the act of writing, and when I write, I am a writer, dammit.

Ratcheting Up the Nerd Factor

I know you all think I am the epitome of cool. The general consensus is that I am as trendy as they come, as hip as hip can be, as cool as the inside of Prince Pucklers in August. But, really, I am not.

Case in point: I love doing crossword puzzles. Honestly, give me a whole day with nothing to do and a stack o' crosswords and I am a happy man. I will ignore food, sleep, and bodily functions if I get into the right crossword mind frame. Nothing makes me happier than ripping through an NYT Friday puzzle. I don't always succeed, but I enjoy the challenge. (And, I can finish more than half of them.) Clearly, I am no championship caliber crossworder, but I am pretty good at filling them in.

Lately, however, I may have taken it to another level. Not only am I filling in at least one crossword a day (sometimes more, if I can find the time), but I have taken to reading Rex Parker's Crossword Blog (after I finish a puzzle).

So, as you can see, I am the opposite of cool. I am a total nerd. But, maybe you already knew that?

It doesn't matter. I'm cool with it.

Central Standard Guide to What's In for 2009 (The Second in a Multi-part Series)

Sorry to leave you hanging for so long. Monkey and I were entertaining some Southern boys for the weekend. They left for Dixie on Sunday morning, firmly convinced that there is no place like Nebraska.

Here's some more up-to-the-second style tips for the coming year.

IN: Cambodian
OUT: Thai

At least, that's what I heard.

IN: Stermps
OUT: Stamps

Well, unless you want the terrorists to destroy your mail.

IN: The Wishbone
OUT: The Spread

Because, everything runs in cycles.

IN: Cool
OUT: Nucular

Need I say more (and George say less)?

IN: College Basketball
OUT: College Football

After January 8, all thoughts turn to March.

Why So Glum, Chum?

Wow, am I in a foul mood today.

Why?

Well, it could be because tomorrow is officially Back-to-work Day. But, more than that, are the following:

Why isn't Obama crushing McCain?

Why Russia really invaded Georgia.

The French hold us responsible for everything.

More evidence that Fearless Leader is either in league with or is the Devil himself.

In the Footsteps of John Paul II and Killer Hamsters (A Very Long Italian Story, Part Nine)

Our next Tuscan destination, Cortona, took us about as far west as we would go in Italy, and introduced us to many Etruscan wonders. But first, we met a couple of Jayhawks at breakfast. Imagine, travelling halfway around the world to meet people that live about a hundred miles away from you. Strange, really.

But enough of our domestic neighbors. On to Cortona, a town much larger than any we visited the day before, and, it seemed to us, much steeper and higher. We parked on the street at the foot of the Public Gardens, which was really just a shaded park with gravel on the ground and walked a short distance to the Piazza Garibaldi, trying to use one of our guides to walk us through the town. It was a relative success.

The view from Piazza Garibaldi was big, but nothing compared to later views we would get from a higher vantage point. Frances Mayes, the writer of Under the Tuscan Sun lives in the area of Cortona. If you're ever in Cortona, and you're interested, according to our guide, her villa is behind a hill to the left of the view from Piazza Garibaldi. For me, not the most fascinating tidbit of info. I liked the hill, regardless of whose villa is behind it.

The one thing you notice during the first half of your visit to Cortona: you are always walking up. Steeply. From the main piazza, we found some level ground within the walls of the Etruscan Museum. We spent a couple hours in here, looking at clay pots, jewelry, helmets, weapons, rocks, mosaics, and various interpretive videos whose effectiveness was diminished due to our own ignorance of Italian. In addition, this museum also had some works by Severini, a son of Cortona, who gained some fame in the early 20th century as an artist and critic. The coolest thing in the museum, however, was a heavily decorated oil lamp from the 4th century BCE.

Our next stop was Santa Margherita, which is at the penultimate point of the town. As we made our way higher and higher, climbing along switchback steps that seemed to wind through neighborhoods and nowheres, we came across a marker that stated that Pope John Paul II had made this trek in the 1990s. I was impressed. I'm pretty sure they didn't roll the Popemobile up there, and, unless he was ported up in a rickshaw or on a pillow-laden platform, then, he was one fit old pontifus maximus. Of course, in my mind, it is more than likely that he reached the church on the back of some poor, yet infinitely grateful local, huffing his way up the rocky stairway, bearing his heavy-robed burden, and imagining himself on the white-lighted stairway to Paradise, a beaming Saint Peter standing next to an overcome-by-pride Saint Margaret waiting to punch his ticket and welcome him aboard. But, that's just my speculation. The church is not the town's cathedral, but the residents spend most of their time and money on the beautification and decoration of this church, because Margherita is a home girl. It is a very beautiful church, and choc-a-block full of Margherita relics.

From here, we did some backtracking (mercifully downhill), had some pizza, and visited the cathedral (not very impressive next to Margherita's final resting place) and the Diocesan Museum (you know, these church folk got some damn nice art). The museum is mostly the structure of another church (Chiesa di Gesu), reconstructed and with additional pieces from the diocese. Highlights included an Annunciation by Fra Angelico, an elaborate baptismal font, some stations of the cross by Severini, and a wonderfully frescoed lower chapel.

In Cortona, we did the same thing as the day before in Montepulciano, buying some local stuff to eat with the remainder of our pasta and cheese. We brought home a bottle of Cortona Sangiovese, but, we didn't like that quite as much as the previous night's wine.

That night, as I sat on the veranda, a fox walked right past me. I thought that was a nice sight. However, a few moments later, I spied the tiny head of an unidentified animal poke out of the bushes around my chair and seem to look up at me. I looked down at him, and he seemed to be unfazed by my presence. I decided to take that as a hint that it was time for me to go inside and go to bed. This unidentified mammal was dubbed, "The Wild Hamster of Pienza." This later became, after time and the predictable hyperbole that accompanies an unidentified anything, "The Killer Hamster of Pienza." So, future travellers of the Pienza area: beware the killer hamster!

The Company My Dad and Grandfather Worked For Used To Spell "Quality" With a "W"

Sometimes I wonder what makes a thing popular.

Let's assume that the majority of the world equates popular with good. Keep in mind that I am not stipulating that popular equals good. I am not implying that that which is popular is good. If put to it, I would probably prefer to lump everything popular into the category of "not good," knowing full well that in doing so, some things will be erroneous labeled "not good" (e.g., Earth, Wind and Fire: once popular, always good; Superman: really popular, mind-numbingly good). Granted, that last parenthetical might lead to a etymological discussion of "good," but, after this statement, I am going to skip right over that.

Alright, so, things that are good can be made popular, but not all things that are popular are good. So...how do they become popular? Why like something that is not good? And here, I am beginning to see that this argument will go nowhere without a discussion of what it means to be good. Fine. Let's go there.

I, of course, am not talking about "Superman" good. This good is not the sense of "obedient, moral, virtuous." However, the sense I am talking about might have something to do with virtue. I am talking about "good" in the sense of competence, skill, cleverness, validity, genuineness. Yes, good has myriad meanings: unspoiled, pleasant, proper, large, favorable. But, in the sense of, music, movies, books, individuals, products, TV, what have you, let's go with a general sense of quality, shall we?

Yes, yes, before I even begin, I hear the contrarians out there quashing my argument: good is relative, you say. Of course, it is. But, what is not? Quality is an individual determination, right? But, each individual has to exercise his/her right to judge the quality of something for that argument to be valid. I am proposing that very few folks do that.

I'll begin by admitting I don't always do it. I have indulged in things because it was the thing to do, rather than individually assessing anything to decide whether I really liked it or wanted to do it. A bad evening of laser tag circa 1983 comes to mind, among other episodes. We all swallow the line every now and then. But, it seems, and this is not an earth-shattering revelation, at all, that the mass of humanity just takes what they are given without thinking about it.

Whatever is on TV. Whatever is on the radio. Whatever the hot song is. I would extrapolate this out to books, but we already know that a minority of the population reads anything (is my job becoming obsolete?). That being said, I am sure that the majority of that minority buys whatever everybody else is reading.

Ah, I love this train of thought writing. Here is an example of the power of the mass popularity monster: twenty five percent of the US population claims to have read a book last year. That is about 75 million people. Let's assume we have that many "readers" in the US. Harry Potter's latest adventure unleashed itself on the US to the tune of about 5 million copies on the first day. Let's assume the less motivated bought an additional 3 million more (okay?). That's about ten percent of the "readers" buying a book that was media-fied into this thing that EVERYONE was buying. Now, how many people went and bought that book because of the media buzz, and how many bought it because they find the Rowling series to be "good"? Yes, the overwhelming majority of the purchasers of that book would call it good. But is it?

An interesting thing I am discovering as I investigate the phenomenon of popularity, is that it doesn't take much to make something popular. I mean, okay, just about one Bible has been sold for every living breathing person on Earth--that's pretty popular. But, Britney Spears, who at one time was supposedly hotter than Mercury (now she's more like toxic), has sold four million records, according to some, possibly unreliable, figures. That's practically nobody, really. It's not even half the population of Manhattan. Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon has sold about 40 million copies, alone. But still, that still leaves about 260 million people who don't have it. And even if half of them are really old or really young, that's still 130 million for the "not purchased" side, against the 40 on the "purchased" side.

I'm sure that someone with a much bigger brain than me could explain the nuances of these sales figures, but, in the long run, popularity is perception. Quality is perception, too. And, at this point, you can perceive that what you have just read is neither popular, nor quality!

You can blame this entire entry on Geggy Tah (who was once popular...for about ten minutes...in 1996):

Being a Discussion of Baby Birds, Order Statuses, and Things Left Undone

Open house went well enough. It was poorly attended by my students, with a total sign in of five students and three parents for three blocks. It seems that open house here is mainly for your garden variety freshman (should I say "freshperson"?). Maybe we should call them "hatchlings." Thus making the sophomores "fledglings," the juniors "juveniles," and the seniors "hawks." Such a suggestion, however, goes to the heart, perhaps of school culture and should probably be discussed by some sort of institutional committee or such. Let me take a preemptive moment to refuse the nomination as chairman of said committee, thank you.

The fuel tank assembly is on its way! I never received a reply to my email to customer service, but, after sending it, I noticed the status of my order changed to: BACK ORDERED, a status tagged with the note: "We don't know when you are going to get this, man." Today, the status is listed as: SHIPPED, and is again stating that I shall receive my parts in 4-7 business days (or was that 47 business days?). It looks like the edges will be ragged at Monkey House Nebraska for at least another week.

I still have a bit to do to prepare for Tuesday. I will most likely spend some time at school this weekend. I feel like I did not work very effeciently this week (smarter, not harder!), but, I got enough done to feel like I am in a position to be as ready as I can be when the curtain goes up.

A Pop in the Sack

The clever among may have already noticed that things are not as they used to be here at Central Standard. It's time for a change. Plus, Blogger is popping out all these neat little gadgets that one can only use if one has a new-fangled template, so, again, it's time for a change.

Please note the sad demise of the "Dramatis Personae." That may return, but it was in need of an overhaul. The list of characters was growing and I was not adding them on. Shame on me. For now, those of you who need a score card will just have to make your own. Check this out for tips on creating one's own home-made scorecard.

Also note that we've added some decorative elements, as well as a few new and improved links and such.

Now, on to the matter at hand. I was lying in bed last night, tossing and turning, when an idea for a great post struck me; however, just as with Samuel Taylor Coleridge, I was interrupted during the composition of my work. (In the spirit of full disclosure, the following differences between my story and Coleridge's can be noted; to wit: a) I was not actually writing anything...I was more in the pre-pre-writing stage...it was dark, and I was in bed...I had no paper or pen, no laptop, no quill and scroll, no etch-a-sketch, nor even that grayish plastic with the dark wax under it that makes the writing magically disappear when you pull the plastic off of the wax; b) I was not in the throes of an opium hallucination...I was not in the throes of any hallucination, at all...I don't think...I did have a beer with dinner; c) I was not interrupted by a knock at the door, I was interrupted by (cue Metallica riff) the entrance of the sandman. Now that we have that straight....) I can't really recall the gist of the idea I had, except that it had something to do with the fact that Monkey and I are firmly entrenched in a "pop" and "sack" area. Yeah, you all know what I'm talking about.

Well, for those of you who don't: Up here they are surely in the habit of calling any carbonated beverage "pop." And, they offer to put your purchases in a "sack." And, they sure don't say, "Sure don't," as far as I can tell at this early point in my research.

Also, when I am putting my street on, saying things like, "E'rbody better watch out in her, 'cause I sure don't want y'all to get upset when I start Vince Carterin' all up in her," they look at me like they can't understand a word I am saying. They also look at me like they think that there is no possible way I could even begin to "start Vince Carterin' all up in her." And, of course, they would be right. (Again, in the spirit of full disclosure, I have never said anything remotely like what I just typed, for several reasons: a) I am not that talented a ball player that I can talk smack to anyone but eight year olds (short eight year olds); b) that sort of talk is disrespectful to people who talk like that. It's akin to making fun of Asians by pulling your eyes half closed and yelling, "I rike-a flied lice, puh-rease!" Or maybe it's not, I don't know. But I like to make a habit of saying things before I have actually thought them through. That way, I always have something to say...and someone to talk to (or argue with, depending on how you see that particular reality).)

I feel like I am rambling big time, so I am going to cut it short. Jesus, maybe I was in an opium dream last night...maybe it still is last night. What's goin' on up in her?