Verily Veritas

The Internet is a funny, funny place.  Part information clearinghouse, part social hub, part criminal breeding ground, part miraculous source of all that is good and part colossal time-waster, there is something in the tubes of the Internet for everybody.  In fact, when Churchill was talking about riddles wrapped in mysteries inside enigmas, was he truly referring to Russia?  Or the web?  Best to check Wikipedia.

Ah, Wikipedia.  Wikipedia is either an all-knowing oracle, or a main reason for the decline of the entire educational system in our country, depending on whether you are the provider or receiver of said research.  In truth it's a bit of both.  It's fine if you need to check a concrete, established fact (Lincoln was the president of which country?) but the problem is, you have to know if the information you seek is factual, research-based, or speculative.  Odds are, if you knew all of that, you probably already knew which country elected Lincoln to be their president.

Wikipedia, like so many other things, is a handy stop in the quest for basic drive-through information, and there is nothing wrong with it, provided that additional stops are made to verify your information.  And that's the problem.  We're too often a one-stop-shopper, and assume that what we read is factually accurate, no matter the source.  And it isn't just Wikipedia.  From print media to televised media to electronic media, everything should be questioned, but often is not.  We're increasingly becoming a society all too willing to grab a pitchfork first and ask questions later.  Or never.  I used to joke that "if it's on the Internet, it MUST be true."  Nowadays it's not a joke, and it's really, really not funny.

It's one thing to be skeptical of factoids, news items and political ramblings.  In fact, I think it's healthy to ask questions and do your own research.  But what about literature?  It's disheartening to invest time and emotion and interest (not to mention money) into works that are peddled as true stories, and end up, months if not years later, to be nothing more than a million little pieces of half-truths served with three cups of tea.  I simply don't understand the logic.  A well-written story is a well-written story.  Why would a classification of  fiction make it second-rate?

The problem, I would guess, lies with the four horsemen money, power, greed and notoriety.  It's a powerful draw to be a superlative, whether it is being first, the most controversial, the most sentimental or the most prolific.  Somewhere in that race we're losing the most precious gift of all: we're losing ourselves.  The more we stretch the truth and embellish the facts, the more we become like everyone else: jockeying for position and attention, truth be damned.  And that's really too bad, because an honest slice-of-life piece can be just as compelling as a work of fiction.  But anymore, no matter what I read, I'm going to smile and nod and doubt.

And then run to Wikipedia to see if it's true.

Christmast Lost and Found

If you walked into my house, you would never know that Christmas is only 11 days away.  There is no tree, no presents (wrapped or unwrapped), no cards and no cookies.  There are some stockings, not hung by the chimney with care, but rather piled on the couch (CLEAN!) waited to be matched, folded and put away.  The only Christmas music you'll hear is from television commercials, but you won't even hear that because nobody is watching television either.  If we're home at all, we're either sleeping, practicing, or doing some form of school-related work.


Right now, there is no Christmas in our house.  There is December, but no Christmas.


December is a crazy month.  There have been rehearsals for something and usually more than one something every single day.  And I'm not cheating by counting classroom rehearsals.  There have been ten performances  with six more pending.  There have been auditions, applications and essays.  December has been late nights  early mornings blanketed with a thick coat of stress.


With stories of elves, holiday baking, parties, decorations, and other festivities, my lot in life sounds a bit sad and depressing.  Surprisingly though, it isn't.  I will freely admit that we are all stretched, and the word tired doesn't even come close.  But it is with the smallest amount of pride that I tell you we're all hanging in there.  Some days it's better than others, but we've circled the familial wagons.  We have pulled together to execute complex schedules and transports that would make the military weep.  We have made certain we have the correct music, instrument, book, assignment, supporting document, permission slip, fee, gift, clothing, performance attire, contributing money or snack that is required. 

But most important of all is that we, as a family have been there for each other.  If there is an event, we, and many of our wonderful friends, have attended to support whomever is performing and enjoy the offering.  If there was an obligation, we fulfilled it.  And when one of us is down, overwhelmed, or frazzled to the point of despair, someone else has been there to lend a hand, a sympathetic ear, or a well-needed hug.

There may be no tree or twinkling lights or decorations or presents in our house right now, but there is something even more valuable.  There is patience, support and love in the form of family and friends.
Truth be told, I can't think of a better Christmas present.

Journeys and Miracles

 

Long Winter's Night

It's nights like this
when I've put on another sweater
and my feet are cold even with socks
that I remember hot July evenings.
The fan humming steadily above me.
The windows open a bit in the hopes that a breeze
might lose its way in the dark summer night
and land in my bedroom
before it chases after something else.

It's nights like this
when I crawl into bed
disturbing comforters and blankets alike.
Layer after layer like an archeological dig.
Until finally I reach the center and I am the core.
One by one I return the blankets and comforters.
Stretching and smoothing each layer.
Adding warmth and weight
to my feet still cold even with socks
and my sweater on top of sweater.


How long until warmth swaddles me like a baby?
How long until I open the window at night, wishing for a lost breeze?
How long until the fan lulls me to sleep
humm humm humming above me
welcoming me back from the cold of December.
From nights just like this.

All Is Calm?

Every year I feel like I'm doing it wrong.

The holidays are a festive time.
I'm cranky and stressed.

The holidays give us a reason to join together and celebrate.
I want nothing more than a very long uninterrupted sleep.

The holidays give us opportunities to play, sing and listen to special seasonal songs.
I crave a silent night of the non-musical variety.


The holiday season is beautiful with colorful Christmas lights that sparkle in the freshly fallen snow.
Snow is pretty, but not when you have to commute.  As for Christmas lights, a hearty bah-humbug to all.

I'm not anti-Christmas or Hannukah or Kwanzaa or any other festive holiday that happens around this time.
I like the thought of festive days, and celebrating and singing together, but when it comes to holidays, it seems I am always about sixteen months behind.  So let me take this moment to wish you a very happy Labor Day (2010)

Generally speaking, I try not to get too terribly upset at my lack of preparedness.  But every now and again I wish my life would align with a stereotypical greeting card filled with sleighs and horses and snow-covered picket fences and a small house in the distance where people are undoubtedly singing, dancing and enjoying their time spent together, right down to the last perfect chestnut roasting on an open fire.

Despite its appeal, I am not at all anxious to hurl myself into a mystical, magical landscape courtesy of Thomas Kinkade.  I'd miss that touch of crazy that whispers, "this is your life."  I'd miss sharing music, from a rousing chorus of O Come, All Ye Faithful, to an inspiring Oh, Holy Night, to a spin around the room with Rudolf, Frosty and Santa, Baby.  I'd even miss the struggle to find a calm, quiet peace in myself and my life because even that journey -- as difficult as it is -- is a part of who I am now and who I'd like to be.

Maybe it's not so much a matter of doing it wrong.
Maybe it's becoming aware of the many ways I can do it better.

Gigku

Singing and dancing

at seven in the morning

Suffer for your art.

Goats Goats Everywhere

In a box with a fox? No!

That would be easy.

I possess some skills

Night vision without goggles

Is not one of them.

Fast music is great

but not "HELP I'M BEING CHASED

BY A BIG BEAR" fast.

Dedication is

working to improve talent,

not spotlight ego. 

The arts: wonderful,

rewarding and uplifting.

But the journey? Hard.

Someday (I hope soon)

Bedtime comes before Stewart,

Colbert and Fallon.

Something Funny About Goats Here

I spent a lot of time tonight talking about goats.  It was that sort of day.  There were a large number of them and to say that they were unruly would have been an understatement of ginormous proportion.  But as it is with goats, it's best to learn their ways -- no, not become one -- but seemingly integrate into their society on an as-needs basis.  It's simply easier to go with the flow that way.  The goat flow. 

Word to the wise -- Do NOT Google flowing goats. 

I told you NOT TO.

In an effort to be thankful, I will admit that I am very thankful these goats don't appear to know or at least aren't sharing any traditional songs of December.  That isn't a case of thank goodness for small favors.  I think it was Elton John who sang Someone saved your life tonight....Toes Magotes!

As you can tell.  I'm delirious.  Let's pretend it's deliriously happy,or deliriously in love, or deliriously delirious.  Getting Tuesday out of the way was struggle enough.  Wednesday is looking like a formidable opponent.

Totes Magotes.

Toats Magoats

Totally.

Goats.

Monday, Monday

We made it through

School

Work

Rehearsal

Rehearsal

Rehearsal

Rehearsal

Concert

Dinner

Homework

Facebook/Email

Still snging after a very full day

Bed

   A successful day all the way around.

   Tomorrow?  More of the same.

Asleep in the ... HEY!

In Christmas nativity scenes, you see Mary, Joseph, some shepherds, three wise men and a variety of animals.  Last, but never least, is a sleeping baby Jesus.  Christmas, it seems, is a season of sleep and rest.  Even many Christmas Carols follow a similar theme:  Sleep in heavenly peace ... asleep in the hay ... Dormi Jesu ... O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie.  Why is it then, in this season of calm, quiet holiday slumbering, we are at our busiest?

During these precious few days between Thanksgiving and Christmas, everybody is bustling, which is the polite, somewhat antiquated word meaning RUNNING AROUND LIKE CRAZY PEOPLE TRYING TO FIND A PLACE TO PARK AND THEN ATTACKING YOUR FELLOW HOLIDAY SHOPPER WITH PEPPER SPRAY.  Bustling.  I lasted exactly 30 minutes in a mall yesterday before I had to leave or go insane.  I followed that with a trip to a bookstore, which is always my go-to activity when I'm overwhelmed.  Spending time in a bookstore is like being with my people.  That idea was short-lived as well, as my people were overrun by other people, and suddenly my haven of literature was overrun by a bin of angry birds, holiday mugs, Twilight figurines, and an entire 3-part wall of 2012 calendars.  Defeated, I slunk back to the car, which was parked a light-year away at a pizza joint.

The next seven days are so busy, our household has to map out a plan of attack every night to be sure everybody is where they need to be when they need to be there, and has the appropriate clothing, music, homework, costume, electronics, instrument, etc.  Usual household activities like doing the laundry, dishes, etc. are either postponed until they reach a reading of critical, or are abandoned all together.

I like the idea of a peaceful Christmas -- heck, I like the idea of a peaceful anything -- but I wonder if I'm just not cut out for it.  Generally speaking, I like to be busy, and I definitely prefer it to being bored.  What I wish for isn't so much rest, as a reasonable amount of time to do everything I would like to do.  I even wonder about the phrase Rest in Peace.  For many people who have spent a lifetime being doers, would rest in peace be appreciated or even wanted?

My goal for the Christmas season, and life for that matter, is to be peaceful and calm whenever possible within the parameters of my life.  But I'm mindful that baby Jee, like most people, didn't spend his life sleeping. He woke up, he made some noise, and he filled his life with activity.  And as for that sleeping in the hay stuff?  Best to leave that to nativity scenes.  I have things to do.

Let Us Review Lesson Eleven

Long day, long weekend.  Some observations and lessons learned:

1.  If you are shopping in a mall on a Saturday afternoon in December, you'll get exactly what you deserve.
2.  Even bookstores are not immune.  If the entire world is going to be out en masse, the bookstore is no longer safe and sacred territory.
3.  People asking if they can help you and/or if you are satisfied will never be content with your first affirmative answer.  Or your second.  Or third or fourth.
4.  It might, on first thought, be difficult to be annoyed with overly cheerful people.  But with the right attitude and a will to succeed, anything is possible.
5.  Loud is not always better.  Never quiet is never better.
6.  Practice makes prepared, and for that, there is no substitute.
7.  Sometimes even when you carefully read the instructions, you're still confused.
8.  There's always tomorrow.  For everything.
9.  It's possible to be proud of an accomplishment and gracious towards others at the same time.  They are not mutually exclusive.
10.  Going to bed before midnight is not a crime.  Neither is declining to watch the big game on TV.
11.  The best of all possible worlds is whatever you make it to be.  Never apologize.

Hail to the Chief

My high school and hometown are in an uproar.

The high school mascot and figurehead is a Chieftain, and this high school has been the "Chiefs" seemingly since time began.  It's not an unusual link -- Michigan has a rich Native American heritage, the town itself is named for the Indian Chief.  There is also a memorial rock dedicated to his memory.  The high school symbol of the chief is an Indian head in profile, wearing what seems to be full headdress regalia.  It isn't a satirical image, or a caricature.  I always felt it was a very dignified, proud and traditional image.

Now, in a very controversial decision, the school board has voted to eliminate all images of the chieftain.  The high school will still be known as the chiefs, but the name will be written rather than depicted in pictures.  Current high school students, alumni and people from the town are HOT over this decision, and not in a good way.

As usual, I'm of two minds of this whole thing.  I'm disappointed to lose what I always had considered a beautiful artistic rendering of our town's proud Native American heritage.  I never considered the image to be inappropriate or insensitive.  That being said, I'm NOT Native American, so would I really know?

A better way to handle this issue would have been to have a discussion in advance of the change.  If it's truly an insensitive image, explain why.  Let those who aren't of this lineage come to understand the pain it brings, or the stereotypes it portrays.  A little dialogue here would have gone a long, long way.

Instead the school board just announced it was effective immediately, and attempted to soften the blow by explaining this was to have been completed several years ago and seemed to have fallen by the wayside -- as if this was both an acceptable excuse and an ingenious way to lay the blame on The Ghost of School Boards Past.  This strategy did nothing to help their cause, and now everybody is mad at everybody else:  the students, the grads, the school, the school board, and, I might imagine, to some extent or another, those who might actually be pleased that they have chosen to phase out this image.  What could have been a teachable moment leading to greater understanding has turned into a big mess of hurt feelings and betrayal.

At the end of the day, it's important to remember that the school mascot is still The Chiefs.  We can be thankful that they didn't decide to rename the mascot entirely, because considering the fact that the "new" high school building (almost 20 years young) is built on swampland and is actually sinking, we just might have been the The Fighting Marsh Rats instead.

Here's to wondering what might be in store for The Vikings who live down the road....

Twelve Haikus of Christmas

Comedy Central

Home of Stewart and Colbert

Best dozing TV.

Sometimes I wonder

is the head-snap damaging?

Qwerty improvement.

December is here.

I don't have words to express

except standby, "Brrrrr!"

Made it to Friday

Sometimes it seems forever

Monday is long gone.

Collge aps bring some

heart-felt nostalgia for the

mundane things:  Homework!!

December schedule

so hectic.  Christmas cookies

might be Oreos.

Yearly they report

the Twelve Days of Christmas cost

Why? JUST A POEM!

Need to do laundry

"We're the ninety nine percent!"

Dirty socks do cry.

This weekend? Roadtrip

State High school choir audition

I'm just the roadie.

Keep falling asleep

It's a sign to turn it off.

Head-snap tomorrow.

I know I said twelve

but folks, it's Advent season.

You'll just have to wait.

That's a Wrap

Thirty days hath September, April, June, and November

all the rest have thirty one

except February blah blah blah I don't remember the end of this poem.

And so, it's day thirty of the month of November, and National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo) is drawing to an end.  I wondered at the beginning of the month if I'd be able to gut this out.  Certainly there are many people who write far more than I do: National NOVEL writing month (NaNoWriMo) also takes place during the month of November, and I know someone who actually completed the task!  Mad props to those folks, but for me, a sixty hour work weeks combined with a senior in high school is not a successful recipe for penning a novel.  In fact, I think it's the precise recipe for Mince Pie face.  My writing tends to start after 10pm, and usually after 11pm, and I'm not exaggerating when I tell you if November was also National Nodding Off At Your Desk Month (NaNodOffAtYoDeskMo) I'd win a shiny banner for that one as well.

But I'm glad I did several more laps at the Tuna News.  Part of me truly missed it.  Part of me felt guilty every time I fired up my web browser, because The Tuna News is my homepage, and I've been staring at last winter's socks for the past 11 months.  Part of me worried that with so much national and social conversation going on right now (a very polite way of saying everybody is talking and nobody is listening), I was offering nothing new or substantive, and was, in fact, only adding to the problem.  Part of me was (and is) plain old boring vanilla tired.  It happens.

Today took an interesting turn down the rabbit hole of YouTube.  You never know when these days are going to happen, but one interesting thing after another seemed to pop up.  I took it as a sign.  And when music starts and ends your day, it's a good sign indeed.



Verdi - Requiem
A colleague of mine shared this video first thing this morning. I don't necessarily think you should watch the entire thing, but if you want to check out a couple of amazing moments, the Lacrymosa (40:24) is a great place to start.  Soloists include a 36-year young Leontyne Price who sings with such control, beauty and sensitivity, I don't know if I should swoon or take notes.  Really, both are appropriate.  I love the very beautiful, formal and simplistic concert attire of the women, and I'm amazed that half the soloists and the conductor are performing this 90-minute work from memory.  For those who are familiar with this work, the tell-all moment comes right at the end (1:15:46) for the Soprano.  Will she or won't she (1:17:27)?  You know she will.  And it's glorious.



Eric Whitacre - Paradise Lost
Eric Whitacre, 20th Century composer, social media fan, and seemingly all-around nice guy, not to mention smart and encouraging to musicians of every age and skill is working on a somewhat unconventional Broadway Show that he hopes to open in London soon.  Why didn't I know about this before today?  I don't know, but I'm glad I know now.  For an even tastier treat,you MUST listen to this.  Posting it on Facebook this morning, he wrote:  "A little a cappella interlude I wrote for the concert version of Paradise Lost. Thinking of expanding it into a full piece..."



Elbow - Live from Manchester Cathedral
I stumbled across Elbow this spring, and this is easily the most excited I've been about contemporary popular music in a long time. Well-sung, well-written, lyrics that are smart and thought-provoking.  You could choose any part (or all of it..it's that good) to listen to, but my first suggestion would be Lippy Kids (34:30) from their latest album Build a Rocket, Boys!  The lyrics are astounding on their own ("Lippy kids on the corner again.  Lippy kids on the corner begin settling like crows.  Though I never perfected the simian stroll, the cigarette senate was everything then.  Do they know those days are golden?  Build a rocket boys!" ) but when you hear it presented, it's not angry.  In fact, it's respectful of youth and encouraging at the same time.  A fine line to walk, I think.

My second suggestion would be One Day Like This (54:12) which is the most wonderfully unabashed love song you'd ever want to hear ('Cause holy cow I love your eyes! And only now I see the light, lying with you half-awake, stumbling over what to say, Well, anyway it's looking like a beautiful day.  So throw those curtains wide, one day like this a year would see me right.)




Bonjour, Girl!  - Disney's "Beauty and the Beast"
Oh, I love a good parody, and this one is fabulous. Please, please please warning -- language alert and definite Disney lampooning. If either of these are sacred cows, then you should move on.
As for me... IT'S MY FAVORITE!!




Faust - Metropolitan Opera
Directed by Des McAnuff
My buddy Des is EVERYWHERE these days. His musical "Jersey Boys" is still touring all over the United States.  He is the BCMOC (Big Canadian Man on Campus) at the Stratford Festival in Canada, writing all the original music for this past season's production of "Twelfth Night", he has a hit revival of "Jesus Christ Superstar" that will open on Broadway next March and now, because, maybe he's bored or something, he's directed AN OPERA AT THE MET.  Seriously.  All the clips are fun, and it's in a very different and usual setting from the original concept. 


So, there you have it.  If you asked me how my day went, these videos sum it up.  It was a very good day indeed.  Thanks November.  Bring it, December.  I think I'm on a roll.

Sometimes

 

Sometimes

After a 14 hour workday
After 12 singers
After 10 performances
After a 2 hour night commute that usually takes 50 minutes
After 8 inches of snow
After too many accidents to count

When you finally get home
With all four wheels on the ground
With a bumper unkissed by the guard rail or an impatient car
With dinner waiting
And with family relieved that you are home safe and sound

It's enough for one night.

Everybody Says Don't

It seems there should be a dos and don'ts subject list -- much like a fashion hits and misses --  when it comes to blogs.  Or maybe it should just be a huge don't list, and anything leftover is fair game.  To name just a few:



1.  Weather
A definite don't when the weather isn't unusual for the time of year and/or geographic location.  This includes summertime heat in Arizona and sleet, snow, arctic freeze, rain, floods, tornadoes, hail, heat and/or humidity in Michigan from January through December.  By the way, we are supposed to experience approximately 80% of all those options in the next 24 hours.  In Michigan. SIGH.

So you better make sure you have a pair of these
when you live in the state that looks like this.
















2.  Cats

 If you write about cats, well, don't say I didn't warn you.  Writing about cats makes you the cat lady.  Writing about two cats makes you the single cat lady.  Writing about 65 cats makes you the crazy single cat lady.  My friends Gabby and Mila inform me I am not crazy.

Gabby says "Not crazy!" 

Mila says "Not crazy, but I really don't care."

3.  Politics
Yes, it's all the craze at the moment.  And by craze I mean crazy.  And by crazy I mean WHAT ON EARTH ARE THOSE REPUBLICANS DOING NOW?  Now before all the Republicans get upset with me for going all Caps-Lock on their ass, the Democrats aren't flaunting their crazy at the moment because they've all agreed to let the guy at the top take the heat.  Thanks, Jesus.



4.  Food
Blogging about food is a double-edged sword.  It's sort of like watching it on TV.  It's great for awhile, and then you're hungry, and then you're angry because you're hungry, and then you're angry because you're hungry and you're torturing yourself watching the secrets to making the perfect Ho-Ho and you don't have any perfect Ho-Hos.  You don't even have any imperfect Ho-Hos.








5.  Twilight

The movie. Not the time of day.  Blogs, like vampires don't sparkle.












6.  Holiday peeves

Oh, what an enormous category THIS is.  This includes Black Friday, Cyber Monday, Dead people that stepped on in Target, shoppers that got pepper-sprayed in Walmart and anything that includes the phrase Tickle Me, Elmo.  This also includes real or perceived injustices for or against Christmas Trees, Nativities, Carols, Holiday greetings, the Happy Holidays vs. Merry Christmas Smackdown, too many Christmas lights, not enough Christmas lights, wasteful spending, not enough spending, drunken debauchery at the office
Christmas party, A Charlie Brown Christmas, Rudolph,
Frosty and Herbie, who doesn't want to make toys. 


If you can make it past this gauntlet without any infractions, you're well on your way to creating a real blog DO instead of a blog don't.  Next up... Collegiate sports!

Twenty Questions

Me:  Hello. May I ask you a question?

Oracle:  Thank you for asking if you may ask a question.  We welcome your asking.

Me:  OK, here is my question.  May I...

Oracle:  Thank you for asking if you may ask a question. We are so pleased you chose us when you wanted to ask a question.

Me:  So is that a yes?

Oracle:  Thank you for asking if you may ask a question.  Please answer the following 10 pages of questions.

Me:  But I just wanted to ask one question, not ten pages.

Oracle:  Thank you for asking if you may ask a question.  Asking to ask a question is a complex procedure. 

Me:  I'm confused.  I just want to ask...

Oracle:  Thank you for asking if you may ask a question.  If you need to come back later to ask to ask your question later, be sure to click save.

Me:  WAIT

Oracle:  Thank you for asking if you may ask a question.  Please remember there is a time limit to ask to ask your question.

Me : Time limit...?

Oracle:  Thank you for asking if you may ask a question.

Me:  OK, fine.  I've filled out the pages of questions and I'm ready to...

Oracle:  Thank you for asking if you may ask a question.  You need to send outside confirmation that you are fit to ask to ask a question.

Me:  Fit to ask to ask?

Oracle:  Thank you for asking if you may ask a question.  Please write a thorough analysis in 250 words or less on the topic of diversity and its importance to your existence.  Include examples of how you handle group dynamics, and then tell two stories about profound life experiences that left you permanently changed which include a championship football game, a lost puppy and that unfortunate episode at the mall.  You know the one I mean.

Me:  But I...oh, alright.  This seems like a lot of work just to ask a question.

Oracle:  Thank you for asking if you may ask a question.  Before we can answer this question, you need to pay the oracle.

Me:  Pay the oracle?

Oracle:  Thank you for asking if you may ask a question.  There is a small processing fee to best serve you in asking to ask your question.

Me:  I have to pay you to ask a question?

Oracle:  Thank you for asking if you may ask a question.  Payment is required to allow you to ask to ask a question.

Me:  Seriously?  OK, fine.  It's an important question, so I guess I have no choice but to pay you to ask a question.

Oracle:  Thank you for asking if you may ask a question.  Payment has been received.  Please click continue.

Me:  OK, I'm all ready.  Are you ready?

Oracle:  Thank you for asking if you may ask a question.  Please proceed.

Me:  OK.  Starting over.  May I ask you a question?

Oracle:  No.

Take a Number

Three pies
One cheesecake
Two jello salads
Eight family members
Six bags of yard wasteThirty-two hours and counting (down)
One half of one front bed, and one entire backyard still to go.
Seven swans a-swimmingSix geese a-laying
Twenty-nine days until Christmas
Two applications finished
Three applications in process
Five hundred words or less.
First!


These days it seems all we do is quantify life.  How many more until....?  How many left until.... ?  How many completed?  Unfinished?  Standings.  Rankings.  Ratings.  Take a number, because you are one. And once you are a number, you are a measurable, comparative entity: higher than some, lower than others.  You've lost all traces of personality and your identity is now calculated and exact. 

Being a number ... it's not a very nice thought.  But not only do we allow ourselves to be defined and compared numerically, we do the same to everybody else.   After all, how can we know where we stand in the ranks if we don't know the scores of others as well.?  And, for better or worse, once we know, we are consumed with moving up and being better than the person ahead of us.

Now, there's  nothing wrong with self-improvement.  It's important to continually stretch and grow.  But moving up in the ranks merely for the sake of being ahead has nothing to do with self-improvement.  It's positioning and posturing for bragging rights and that feeling of superiority.

What if we could be content with ourselves and others, celebrating who and what we are and ignoring where we are in the greater hierarchy?  Would we be able to enjoy our individual gifts and those of other?  Would we be able to be content without comparison?  Are our own merits enough, or do we need to be better than others before we can feel good about ourselves?

I don't think it's possible to change the world. We are by nature a highly competitive, comparative society. But during this season of Advent -- this season of waiting for events far greater and grander than we could ever hope to be  -- it's the perfect time to set aside the numbers and rankings and examine who and what we are.  We all possess gifts as individual as we are, and these gifts of the spirit -- of our spirit -- are perfect on their own merits.  There is no comparison.

A Postcard

I'm sitting up, more than half-asleep, sometimes watching, always listening to a contemporary opera.  The opera, Il Postino, is based on the movie by the same name.  A movie that celebrates life, love, and the written and spoken word.  One of the characters in this story is the real-life poet, Pablo Neruda, and another equally important character is his poems that dip, swirl and conjure up wonderfully luscious, evocative images.

In a world where importance is measured by volume, originality is obscured by the outrageous, and truth is an antiquated notion best left for philosophers, the poems of Neruda are easily ignored for something flashier, something edgier, and something with clever, ear-tickling rhymes.  But to appreciate Neruda is to allow yourself to enjoy the simplest and most profound themes of life -- love, longing, nature, beauty. 

A small sampling of Neruda's poems.  Check out:

If You Forget Me

Sonnet XVII

Sonnet LXXXI

 No other words needed.

About Face

 Tradition is what you make of it.

We started the day somewhat traditionally -- watching a bit of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.  Two thumbs way, way up for the Tim Burton balloon and its wonderful backstory.  Two thumbs down for corporate mascot balloons and some extremely poor attempts at lip-synching.

"B. was created, Frankenstein’s monster-style, from the leftover balloons used in children’s parties at the Great Ormond Street Hospital in London. Forbidden from playing with other children because of his jagged teeth and crazy-quilt stitching, B. retreated to a basement lair, where he obsesses over Albert Lamorisse’s film The Red Balloon and dreams that he, too, will be able to fly someday."

Our day continued in a decidedly non-traditional manner.  We went in search of the face.  And we found it. Technically we found them.  And for the record, let me say that I'm so very happy that the face is on a billboard and not on a wanted poster.  Once we found them, pictures were in order.

  Face number one.

Face number two.

Then it was home and time for cooking, cleaning, practice, and homework.  The traditional portion of the afternoon was covered by the Detroit Lions losing in spectacular fashion to the Green Bay Packers.  Dinner was delivered first and eaten second, which seemed to be very appropriate.  When we got home it was anything but turkey and stuffing.  Instead it was leek soup, lamb shanks, spinach noodles, fresh green beans (CASSEROLE-FREE) and an apple-cranberry pie.  The teenager declared it was the best non-turkey meal EVER and frankly, I agreed.  We'll do the whole turkey-ma-gig on Saturday, but today it was a little bit of familiar mixed in with a whole lot of you did WHAT?  In other words, it was tradition.  Tuna-style.

And that's something to be thankful for.

Good Things

 'Tis the season to make a laundry list of grateful things.  Much like a what I did last summer essay, an annotated list of gratitude is only meaningful to the list maker, while everybody else wishes for a swift and painless ending.  Somehow it doesn't seem right to itemize all the things I have and apportion my gratitude accordingly.  Instead I'll leave you with a simple wish for Thanksgiving:  I wish you all good things.  And these things don't have to be things at all.  Good things are as universal as love, happiness, acceptance, humor.  Good things are as simple as a smile, a hug, a sympathetic ear and a helping hand.  Good things don't have an expiration date, and you don't have to replace them over time.  Good things are self-sustaining.


May your life be filled with good things. 
May you wake up each morning and recognize the opportunity it brings.
May you never tire of finding good things in your life and then sharing it with others.
May you appreciate its simplicity and marvel at its power.
May you be comforted and sustained by the good you are given and the good you give to others.
May you lay down each night, not beating yourself up for what you didn't do,
but rejoicing in the fact that tomorrow brings a fresh opportunity.

There are times where it seems nearly impossible to find the good.
But it's always there.

I strongly believe our lives should be filled with good things.
I believe our lives are filled with good things.
And for that I'm grateful,
always and always and always.

Letters from the Editor

Dear Beans:

This is not the poem I learned.

Dear Creative Design Team:

This piece is a cautionary tale for using

a clear and unambiguous font.  

Intellectually, I KNOW the saying is 

and your little dog too,

but this does NOT look like the word "little"

What on earth is a "tittie" dog?

Dear Canada -- I know I tease you a lot, but you can't blame this on me.

I'm sorry the Canadian Santa has a drunk nose and

is currently steering the sleigh off a steep cliff.

Maybe once we get past the spring thaw, super-cool

Australian Surfing Santa dude can come rescue you.

Dear Google -- I wish you put up doodles more often, even

when they are celebrating people and events from other countries.

The doodles are super creative, and who knows...

maybe someone will learn something.

Dear Twitter:  I love you.

Michele Bachmann just referred to the founder of Apple as "Steve Gates". 

She is a dumb stupid person who's an idiot.

if you missed #CNNDebate, impress people tomorrow with these facts from the stage: 

Africa is a country and Steve Gates founded Apple

Steve Gates, the founder of Applesoft. I can not wait for the iZune. #CNNdebate

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Tuna readers

It was a very long day.

Oops. It's tomorrow.

 

 

Common Sense, Aisle One

Hang onto your drumsticks, it's just about that time once again.

There has been a lot of hullabaloo in the past week or so  because some major department stores are planning to open even earlier on Black Friday.  Thanksgiving evening, it seems, is turning into dark gray Thursday night.  Because Store A wants a jump on Store B, now they are going to open at midnight, meaning employees for Store A have to show up while Cinderella is finishing up her last piece of pie.  Or in other words, at 11pm.

Some people are HOT (as in angry) about this development.  Some people are HOT (as in excited) about Christmas shopping at midnight.  And then, some people are like me.

The angry-hot people have petitions available for digital signing. "How dare they!" They cry.  "Is no holiday sacred?" They ask.  "It's a slippery slope!!" They warn.  I understand all the arguments.  I agree with them.

The excited-hot people honestly don't care. "At least they have a job!" they counter.  "Stores have the right to open when they want" they claim.  I understand all these arguments too.  And, I agree with them as well.

Yes, I understand, sympathize and agree with both sides of this issue, which for me isn't tricky at all.  Money is tight and shoppers are desperate for savings however they can get them.  But Black Friday shopping has gotten more out of control with each passing year.  Nowadays it's not unusual to hear reports of who got trampled in the same news story that describes the best sales.

For many, many years both in high school and college I worked in the movie theater business.  My first holiday season (two screens Kramer vs. Kramer and two screens Electric Horseman -- yes, I'm that old) was a total shock.  In the 17 years I had been alive it had never once occurred to me that anybody would go to the movies on a holiday.  I didn't even realize they were open on days like Thanksgiving and Christmas.  I learned quickly that Thanksgiving and Christmas were big BIG movie days, and for twelve years I sucked it up and worked.  It might not have been my favorite thing to do, but as is usually the case, the thought was much worse than the deed, and in the end it always ended up being not as bad as I thought it would be.  Besides, I learned that although holidays movies might not have been my personal choice of activities, they were exactly what was needed for others. After all, lots of people don't even celebrate Christmas, and for some families, a movie on Christmas day was a special outing for the family -- something they could enjoy together.  Who was I to tell people their choice of entertainment was wrong?

And then there is the shopping.  Personally, I find Black Friday shopping ridiculous.  Intellectually, I understand why people plan strategies and make a real event out of shopping the early bird sales, or early-early bird sales, or the it's-so-early-the-bird-hasn't-hatched-yet sales.  But would I tent out on the old parking lot campground, clothed in pajamas and armed only with cell phone, credit card and brass knuckles (in case the crowd gets unruly) and compete for shopping supremacy?  Not on your life.  It's not that I'm staying home to sing the 57th verse of Kum-bah-Yah or "Wahoo-Doray" with my family. I'm not staying home to fulfill some sort of Norman Rockwell picturesque family fantasy.  I'm staying home because I don't like the crowds, I'm not a big fan of the crazy pants holiday sales, and frankly, I do not need a television for a nickel.

If you ask me (which you did not), it seems that the best answer with the least amount of argument and confrontation is do what works best for you.   If you work at a place that is asking you to come in early to accommodate late-night and/or early morning shoppers, then you better do it, or be prepared to battle the crowds in the unemployment line.  You might not like it, and it might not be fair.  But work first, complain later, and if need be, find a different job.  But lots of people work holidays for lots of different reasons, and you can choose to celebrate any time of any day you would like.  There are options.    If, on the other hand, Black Friday is an insult to your every last breath, then by all means, stay home.  Vote with your feet, your car and your wallet.  Nothing speaks louder to a retailer than a wallet full of money walking away.  Stores won't open early if the demand isn't there.

The point is, do what works best for you and your life.  And no matter what, remember the other guy.  If you're shopping as soon as you hear the opening bell at midnight, remember that others may have sacrificed a little or a lot of their precious family time to accommodate your consumerism.  Be polite, be grateful, say please and thank you and SMILE.  If, on the other hand, you wish to protest the latest insult to common sense, holidays, and traditional family gatherings, then by all means, stay home.  Consider yourself lucky that you have the time to spend time and the family to spend it with.  Keep your wallet closed and your mind open because someone, somewhere, will do the exact opposite of what you choose to do, and shocker -- it's okay.  It means we all have a choice.  And that is something to be thankful for.

Lights Out

It's probably not fair for me to complain if I haven't read any of the books.  Or seen any of the movies all the way through.  But the movie (the first one, I guess) is on TV now practically all the time, so it's been impossible to ignore its existance.

But still, I simply have to say:  I don't get Twilight.

What little I've seen of the movie has been so excruciatingly dull, that I can't seem to stay awake more than 10 minutes, 9 of which are spent being annoyed.  The vampire guy spends his time looking moody, and speaking in boring hushed tones.  The only thing I can think of when I see him is, "Hey!  There's the guy who DIED in Harry Potter."  Other than that?  *Yawn*

The non-vampire girl spends her time staring at people, looking moody and speaking in boring hushed tones.  There's also a wolf-guy and I cannot quite figure out his ultimate purpose in these films.  And guess what?  He spends his time looking moody and speaking in boring hushed tones.  No wonder vampire guy decided to be a vampire.  There is nothing else to do.

Somehow readers young and not so young decided that this story was cutting edge and exciting.  I just don't see it.  Maybe I'm too old, or maybe I missed the vampire bus -- sparkly, at that -- but the only thing this film speaks to is a royal hazing courtesy of MST3K (Mystery Science Theater 3000).  In the meantime, I will be grateful for the existence of this cinematic pile of shlock.  After all, a girl has to sleep sometime, and a sure-fire sparkly cure for insomnia is a terrible thing to waste.