Category: Creative Writing

Same Sh!t, Different(?) Day

Unless you live under a rock, you heard that President Obama recently had three dictionary’s (Google, Merriam-Webster and Cambridge) add the following entry to the definition of literally:  “Used to acknowledge that something is not literally true but is used for emphasis or to express strong feeling.”

In typical fashion, that isn’t the only, or most impactful, word/definition that the president had modified.  While everyone was abuzz over the fact that a definition clearly in opposition to the word’s actual definition was added, nobody noticed the other word the president had changed: different.  (Of all the words for this to happen to, that he chose ‘literally’ to accomplish his ultimate goal is genius as it is so fundamental to a dictionary that it necessarily would draw attention.)

If you go to dictionary.com and look up different you’ll find, “not alike in character or quality” as the number one definition.  However, the same three dictionaries the president has in his pocket have caved to the pressure yet again.  Instead of just adding a definition to the number two spot, though, they actually erased all the previous definitions and instead put, “being the same.”

Now, we could discuss how, yet again, the president’s actions–always hiding bigger changes behind smaller changes–are disreputable, but let’s not.  We could discuss how, yet again, the president’s actions–endlessly overstepping the limited nature of his power–are illegal, but let’s not.  We could discuss how, yet again, the president’s actions–his surprisingly unsurprising changing definitions of words–are narcissistic and disrespectful to all mankind, but let’s not.  Instead, we will focus on how his most recent action, changing the definition of  different, clearly illustrates how he has a fundamental misunderstanding of his main campaign promise: change.

President Barack Obama promised to change this country, presumably for the better.  We turn again to dictionary.com and find that change is defined as, “to become different.”  Do you understand what has happened?  The nature of all the president’s flaws are revealed perfectly in this one seemingly minor action.  He wants to have it all.  He wants to “have his cake and eat it too”.  He wants to “have it both ways.”  However, as long as there is one other human–functional backbone included–in existence, he’s going to have a problem reconciling his ‘wants’ with reality.

His changing the definition of different doesn’t even make sense if he doesn’t have these ‘wants.’  How can a man who promises change fulfill his promise if everything is the same?

Some of us might be inclined to let this minor change be the straw that breaks the camel’s back.  Let’s turn to a dissenting opinion:  His entertainment value alone has been worth it.

For those of us who first learned how inept presidents were with Clinton, we were even more disappointed in Bush II.  And out of these three presidents that have done nothing but drop the ball, has President Obama not been easily the most enjoyable to watch.   Will you join me in admitting that rather than getting upset, you actually hope President Obama never leaves office?  Long Live King Obama!

The Third Most Important Day

Confused, this was the first time he could remember seeing anything other than milk in a one gallon jug.  He eyed the waitress suspiciously.  Licking his lips at the mention of homemade root beer, he believed the milk jug proved its homemade claim while simultaneously casting a shadow of doubt regarding the health code.  The root beer was fantastic.

Hannibal, MO is where he found himself.  Why?  Who can remember such things?  Besides the root beer, he remembered hearing about Mark Twain.  He has yet to meet a man who can forget about Mark Twain once they become aware of him.  He also remembered his parents being at the restaurant, so he knew it wasn’t a boy scout trip–the main reason he would’ve been in Missouri.

Ahh, boy scouts.  Some of the happiest moments of his childhood occurred because of the boy scouts.  Almost every boy scout event etched at least one memory into his mind.  Those green Eureka Alpine tents.  At first, his fourth grade hands had trouble setting them up, but the older boys gladly taught him to work smarter not harder.  Building fires, hiking, sleeping out under the stars, canoeing–all things he would’ve never done if it hadn’t been for troop 428.

Boy Scouts.  That was a long time ago.  As he grew to be an older teen, he wanted to own more gear himself.  Coincidentally, his family was on vacation in Wyoming, on a ranch, where he first laid eyes on a Cabela’s master catalog.  Not knowing the treasure he’d stumbled upon, he fumbled through the pages at first.  It was the tent section that caused him to slow down.  And slow down he did.  Reading the description of the 3-person, 4-season, dual door, dual vestibule Eureka Summit XT, he could hardly contain himself.  And for only $229!  Unfortunately, even though a second trip to Wyoming from Kansas required a drive through Sydney, Nebraska where the flagship showroom store was located, and even though they stopped and it was near his summer birthday, his mother wasn’t having it.  (Whether his father would’ve bought it is another issue.  Let’s just say he learned too late in life that the man had a harm time saying ‘no’.)  While crushed, the damage was temporary as he was at least happy to be heading back to the Cheyenne River Ranch.

The chance to regularly shop in a Cabela’s came into his life once again with the advent of the Kansas Speedway in 2001.  This brought Cabela’s, the #1 tourist attraction in Kansas, to his home town.  No more ordering from the catalog.  But at this point the trouble was that he was in college and college had landed him back in NE Missouri on the Mississippi, near Mark Twain’s ol’ stomping grounds.  Shopping in a Cabela’s was becoming a fantasy that was just too good to be true.

I’m happy to report the wait is over.  Today, August 15th, 2013, not one, but two Cabela’s locations are opening in the Denver Metro area at 10:30 am.  He moved to Denver on a whim, a decision rooted in passion.  Some might foolishly count this turn of events as coincidence.  He knows it to be fate.  Mark Twain said, “The two most important days in your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why.”  He now knows the third most important day in your life is the day you learn someone loves you enough to not give up on you.  For him, that day is today.  Long live Cabela’s!!

Before You Subtract…Abstract

What makes a person want to learn?

What makes a person want to teach?

What does it take to convince a 14-year old that knowing how to add/subtract/multiple/divide fractions is valuable?  Is knowing how to manipulate fractions valuable?

I spent some time reading a book about algebra recently, and noticed the author put special, but still less than I would have, emphasis on some major moments in the history of math.  The first being the invention/recognition of the number “0”.  Another being the move from numbers being practical to being abstract; that is, from counting 5 apples or 5 sheep to understanding that “5” can be a useful concept without the practical application.  Did you catch that?  Numbers began with practical application.  Afterwards, the giants of math discovered numbers and math in abstraction.  Because of these giants, we’ll be colonizing other planets in our lifetime.

In reviewing this chronology, I think I picked up on something.  The problem a high school teacher faces is not convincing several-grade-levels-behind teenagers of the practical application of fractions, but convincing them of the importance of abstract thought.  You might be thinking that reminding students that if Matt pays $3.75 and John $1.25, unless Matt is feeling nice, John should only get 2 slices of the Hot’n’Ready seems the better route at this juncture.  Don’t be foolish, it is not.  Really, who cares how many slices of pizza a couple of high teenagers eat?  The bigger problem is that there are four years left until these two knuckleheads will never again be members of a captive audience.  There are four years until they will officially become adults in the legal sense of the word, regardless of their not having achieved manhood in the abstract sense of the word.

How to proceed then?  How about heeding Thoreau?

“No wonder that Alexander carried the Iliad with him on his expeditions in a precious casket. A written word is the choicest of relics. It is something at once more intimate with us and more universal than any other work of art. It is the work of art nearest to life itself. It may be translated into every language, and not only be read but actually breathed from all human lips; — not be represented on canvas or in marble only, but be carved out of the breath of life itself. The symbol of an ancient man’s thought becomes a modern man’s speech. Two thousand summers have imparted to the monuments of Grecian literature, as to her marbles, only a maturer golden and autumnal tint, for they have carried their own serene and celestial atmosphere into all lands to protect them against the corrosion of time. Books are the treasured wealth of the world and the fit inheritance of generations and nations. Books, the oldest and the best, stand naturally and rightfully on the shelves of every cottage. They have no cause of their own to plead, but while they enlighten and sustain the reader his common sense will not refuse them. Their authors are a natural and irresistible aristocracy in every society, and, more than kings or emperors, exert an influence on mankind. When the illiterate and perhaps scornful trader has earned by enterprise and industry his coveted leisure and independence, and is admitted to the circles of wealth and fashion, he turns inevitably at last to those still higher but yet inaccessible circles of intellect and genius, and is sensible only of the imperfection of his culture and the vanity and insufficiency of all his riches, and further proves his good sense by the pains which be takes to secure for his children that intellectual culture whose want he so keenly feels; and thus it is that he becomes the founder of a family.”

Lock ‘Em Up – The Other Option Is Too Frightening

Windowless, the classroom was in a little known corner of the university library.  But that classroom was the place he first heard of the movement to abolish prisons.  Yep, that’s a movement among some circles in this world.  Just in passing, think how you felt as you read those words: abolish prison.

As if a starter’s gun, this concept set his mind racing.  He began to develop perfect reasoning explaining why it would be a big mistake.  First, it didn’t make sense logistically.  Where would all the prisoners go?  What would we do with the bad people?  Then, the abstract problems began to attract his attention.  He wondered what the point of prison actually was?  Why were there prisons?  To protect the un-imprisoned?  To punish?  To rehabilitate?  All three?  Were there other reasons?  Were prisons an illusion of safety, or did they actually facilitate a more safe and civilized world?

Passing the start-finish line which signaled the end of lap one, his mind continued on.  What was he to do with all that data that says American prisons are filled mostly with drug offenders?  This mention of “drugs” acted like a shot of adrenaline.  He couldn’t help but think about all the people he knew who had broken drug laws, yet never been caught.

As his mind rounded the turn marking the race’s midpoint, he lost focus and was unable to tell if it faltered or sped up.  You see, he wouldn’t ever turn in a family member for a drug offense.  He also wouldn’t enable a family member, that is to say he would cut off all contact with, and support of, any family member who he determined actually had a drug abuse problem.  Acknowledging this act of cutting off led him to ask myself why?  Why did he think that was the best solution?  Was it simply out-of-sight-out-of-mind?  And if so, is that what prison was?  Was prison simply the macro-level version of what he would do on a personal level?  Were all the relatives of the prison population happy they didn’t have to deal with their family member’s bullshit drama any more while simultaneously hoping they’ll get a clue and mature before they were released?  In his mind, he would use ‘tough love’ on a relative, because he believed the individual must recognize he has a problem before any progress could be made.  Integral to his theory working, of course, is that he’d help the minute he was asked.  Having never been tested, he had his doubts as to his ability to actually follow through, though.

Finding his mind alone on the home stretch, he was unsure whether this was because it was in last place or first place.  Himself selfish and vain beyond belief, he’d be the first to confess that he rarely admitted that he made mistakes.  He wondered what it would take for him to admit he needed help.  Certainly, he didn’t want any strangers to think he had flaws.

The race drawing to a close, he found his mind standing where the starting blocks were.  The big question of the day was still unanswered.  What would the world look like if we didn’t push our problems out of sight?  Or as he was first asked in that industrial windowless classroom, what do you think the world would look like if we abolished prison?

Virtue’s Secret Hiding Place

Like the sun dimmed by an Iraqi dust storm, virtue was never difficult to see.  He knew it existed even though he couldn’t always see it.  Like that sun, for him, virtue drew his attention before he even knew why.  And he desperately wanted to be counted among the virtuous men.

The trouble was that life kept taking up his time.  When he was young, he knew he wanted to give 10% to the church.  But if he gave 10%, he wouldn’t have enough money to live on.  Later, he recognized he told little-white-lies too much, and vowed to stop.  The next moment, he had to decide whether to tell his mom that he was watching a rated-R movie at his friend’s house.  He decided to lie.

Later in life his struggle continued.  Once he knew he was neglecting his friends and family by working so much, but he just had to put in a few more weeks of over-time to help finish the big office project.  He knew he was a kind person at heart, but he never took the time to display that kindness to others.  When he learned that love was an action word, he really believed he would start really showing the people he loved how much he loved them by his actions.  He was going to spend more time with them; he was going to give them small gifts; he was going to listen better; he was going to pay them more compliments; he was going to give them more hugs.  But then a new project started at work.  And the church–that he still wasn’t tithing to–softball team had a big tournament this weekend, so he had to put loving off.

Forever frustrated, daily he noticed more and more men living more virtuously than he.  Moreover, they seemed to do it effortlessly.  He didn’t want to believe it, but he couldn’t deny what he witnessed.  These other men seemed to actually thrive on their actions.  When they spoke honestly and from the heart, people listened and reciprocated.  When they were with their friends and family, he could see a real joy existed in the interaction.  When they spent a little extra time being kind to everyone they met throughout the day, the earnest thanks they received became the envy of his eye.  Taking time to learn and speak the love languages of their loved ones, he noticed these men were no less productive at work; furthermore, rumors of their deeds preceded their presence everywhere.

Looking everyday until he died, he never did figure out where they found the time.

Shhh!

He did it.  He was so proud of himself.  Well, that’s not saying much, but the point is the first day of school had come and gone.   What’s that?  You’d like to know what high school is like these days?  …if he has time?  Let me ask him.  He said he’s on his way out the door, but for you “anything.”

Oh okay, I get it.  He wants me to let you know he’s mumbling inaudibly.  Forgive him, he was just attempting to demonstrate what he experienced all day today.  He’s telling me that no kids speak loud enough to hear.  Yeah, it’s a joke that just doesn’t work so well in writing, but trust me, it was effective in person.

He apologizes for the lame joke, and thinks you’d be interested to know that today’s 9th graders were born in 1999.  Shocking.  Actually, that year is super familiar to me.  Oh, I know.  That’s the year The Matrix came out!  Now he wants me to let you know that he’s not joking about the mumbling.  He says “literally, only 2 out of 99” 9th graders spoke loud enough for him to hear.  And with this new touchy-feely way of teaching and thinking about them, he says he actually felt like it was inappropriate for him to ask them to speak up–like it was too harsh and might hurt their feelings.  Crazy.

Besides the fact that they need a class on confidence before they proceed, he doesn’t think that you’d be surprised by much else.  For example, the school has a dress code.  One rule is no blue jeans or dark blue jeans.  He’s telling me that he mentioned to a student that her jeans today seemed to be dark blue.  But then he confessed that they might be okay because they were so dark they might be black.  He says his wavering prompted a young man to tell the class his dark blue jeans were black.  Sheesh, give ’em an inch….

Okay, he’s telling me that he has to get going now.  He really would like to share more, but he literally couldn’t hear anything.  You should see this, he cares so much for you that as he’s getting further away he’s raising his voice so I can still hear him.  He’s yelling from a distance now.  Okay, I think he just said it was just seven 50-minute periods of low-talking.  At least he doesn’t look stressed.

An August Horror

A shudder rippled through his body.  It felt visible, but no one seemed to notice.

He did his best to maintain his composure.  He had only just turned away from it when “SNAP!”  Without warning he had actually broken the pen he was holding.  Exhausted, he realized he was tense beyond belief.  His vision wasn’t focused as he sat contemplating everything, but the noise caused him to see that he was staring at it again.  Why?

Symmetrical, he knew the round objects could be beautiful in other settings, if they weren’t paired together.  Hanging on the wall just a few inches below the ceiling, they were menacing.  The one on the right measured time.  He wondered how many times it had tormented him before, only to transform as soon as the halfway point was reached.  After that, he was always relieved.  After that, it became a source of hope.

It wasn’t the clock, but what was left of the it that really gave him nightmares.  When he was younger, all the time; these days only while he slept did it cause these nightmares.  He felt a paralyzing fear.  Who would invent such a dreadful device?  Torturous, its design irritated him to this very day.  An impenetrable grid of metal covering who knew what–for who knew what reason.  He was curious if there had ever been an attack, or if the designers knew precisely the evil they were creating and preemptively bolstered its defensive systems.

He realized everyone was staring at him, just as he stared at the object.  He would never know for how long he had been shouting profanities.  Luckily, this time around, he was the teacher.  This time around the speaker, that formless voice dictating orders as if by divine right, had no hold over him.  This time he had no concern for, nor did he need to know, anything it issued forth.  This time, he told himself, he wouldn’t be disturbed by it.

He feigned a calm, collected exterior as he and his students waited together.  Everyone heard the familiar peremptory crackle of the P.A.  They were only moments away now.  He thought he could do it.  He thought he was bigger.  He thought he was more mature.  He thought he was grown.

“Good morning school,” the speaker spewed.  “This is your principal speaking.  Welcome to the first day of the 2013-14 school year.”

Running as fast as he could, he arrived at his car out of breath.  Keys in the ignition, the DJ’s giving away concert tickets, he was determined to leave.  But he couldn’t.  He started this journey, and he could never forgive himself for quitting.

Huge Requirements-Part 3

After several iterations of exercising and adding weight, the two have settled into their routine.  This routine involves a most serious approach to lifting weight, sprinkled with endearing bits of jocularity as the men rest–endearing from the outside, terrifying from the inside.  Between these two men the topics of conversation are limited indeed.  Listening closely, we hear discussion about diets, discussion about the rest of the week’s workouts, and discussion about physical ailments (the more acutely described, the better).  We’re terrified to learn that most of the conversation is about sex.  Not real sex of course—fantasy sex.  Over the course of an hour or so, a good three-quarter’s of the conversation revolves around the women present in the gym, and what these men would do with them.  As if Petey Pablo’s hit “Freak-a-leek” was accidentally placed on endless repeat, they reveal themselves to be animals.  Or do they?  Here we leave the scene to explore this a bit further.

Reflection, based on time spent in the community, reveals that among the base, the paltry, the pornographic language, something more is happening.  Remember, we are talking about men who take things to the extremes.  Bodybuilders put massive amounts of effort into achieving their size and strength.  They need a way to know they aren’t wasting their expertise, and that’s how their discourse community is built.  It is about filtering.  It is about learning who can to stay and who must go.  If you don’t get it, can’t handle it, or just don’t approve, then these men don’t want to be around you anyhow.  Men like these are endlessly pestered with attention, questions, and potential protégés seeking tutelage.  They simply don’t have the time to address everyone.  So they create a set of filters.  Where did they learn to use filters?  Their mentors.  Each bodybuilder decided to put up with the immature crassness if he wanted to learn the art.  Along the way, they determine that it is a necessary evil.  Do you really want to know their secret?  Stick around.  Deal with the language.  Deal with everyone in the gym knowing that you’re objectifying women, engaging in self-love at its highest level, and making jokes about everything once thought sacred.  Do that long enough, and maybe, just maybe, they’ll accept you as a student.

Sure, there is something maladjusted within these men, but that is irrelevant to this discussion.  We’re talking about why men whose physical appearance alone clearly communicates their physical superiority over other men still need to have their own language, still need to use paltry and base arts and entrenchments.  At first, it is easy to think that of all groups of people, bodybuilders wouldn’t need to use these uncouth methods to distinguish themselves.  Upon further inspection, they do.  They do because their mentors required it in order to prove that these students weren’t going to waste their time.  Before becoming a bodybuilder, these men have a goal.  They do what is necessary to achieve it.  Then they become the mentor.

Huge Requirements-Part 2

He returns his bag to his shoulder, exits the locker room and heads to the bench press.  Free weight bench press of course.  As he places his bag under the bench he looks around, a smile quickly forming.  He recognizes a friend.  This friend isn’t necessarily a giant, but there is something respectable about his physical prowess.  As they banter, our bodybuilder tips back his water bottle—a full gallon jug—and takes a drink.  Placing the cap back on, the conversation concludes with a handshake.  With a hint of interest, he directs his attention to the reception desk.  His hand nonchalantly rises to shoulder level as his lifting partner smiles and returns the gesture.  Noticing he nearly ignored the receptionist, the partner stops and charmingly offers his sincerest of apologies.  The receptionist appears to want to tell him he needs to sign in, but quickly reconsiders.  Skipping the locker room, the partner (also carrying a giant duffel bag) heads straight for the bench press.  The heartiest of handshakes completes the greeting and signals to all that they are about to begin

And begin they do.  Our man grabs a ten pound plate, and begins warming up his shoulder and rotator cuff.  One arm making deliberate movements, the other hand feeling the concerned area.  Switching hands he repeats the process.  His friend then takes the weight and does the same.  During this ritual—which dates back to the first time they, not wanting to irritate their mentor, skipped warming-up as a consequence of being late to a work-out and then tweaked their shoulder—they discuss briefly how their shoulders aren’t quite 100%, but that they feel good enough.  This minor chit-chat serves as a vocal warm-up, as much as a health conscious discussion.  It is their way of talking about the weather.  Finally, our man grabs a 45lb plate from the rack and loads it on the bar.  The warm-up has officially commenced.

Huge Requirements-Part 1

In the classic Moby Dick Herman Melville writes, “For be a man’s intellectual superiority what it will, it can never assume the practical, available supremacy over other men, without the aid of some sort of external arts and entrenchments, always, in themselves, more or less paltry and base.”  Substitute “physical” for “intellectual” and you have a perfect description of a bodybuilder circa late 1990s-early 2000s.  The paltry and base aids that bodybuilders call upon, however, have a specific noble purpose unlike those Melville references.  At the turn of the 21st century, bodybuilder mentors used paltry and base external arts as a filter to weed out men who were weak in discipline and drive–to cull the heard as it were.  As a matter of course, the student later becomes the teacher and the entire group ends up with its own way of communicating.

Quite unlike intellectual superiority, measuring physical superiority is easy.  Whether in size or strength or body fat, the human body is quantifiable.  Nonetheless, bodybuilders, these giants of our time, still create their own discourse communities.  Join me as we enter the once secret world of bodybuilding.

Immediately, we recognize the man walking toward the gym’s receptionist as a bodybuilder due to his sheer size.  He is a giant.  Giant also is the duffle bag he has over his shoulder.  It is oversized–as is everything in it.  A 5lb container of protein power, the sturdiest weight belt on the market, wrist wraps and straps, medium sized notebook and pen, and a Tupperware container of chalk fill the bag.  This bag wasn’t always packed this way.  Initially, it likely had a change of clothes, or a towel.  Over the years, one-by-one each item made its way, as if called, into the bag.  Today, this bag softly whispers to the uninitiated, “You and I are very different.  Do not expect to understand.  That you stare only proves my point.”

Blushing, the young lady receptionist takes his flirtatious greeting to heart.  If she is allowed any leniency with requiring members to sign in, this man gets the pass.  “Have a good workout!” she adds, displaying a little too much interest as he turns towards the locker room.

Once in the locker room, he becomes king.  Locker use is doubtful (who would dare touch his gear?), so he drops his bag wherever he pleases and heads to the restroom.  Next, he returns to the designated sitting area and settles into his seat with an air of gravity.  He hasn’t yet conversed with any other men in the locker room.  Using their silence as a currency, the other members pay their respects.  One last glimpse around the room ensuring he hasn’t missed anyone important, he bends over to tie his shoes properly.  These shoes being a very unique, almost wrestler looking boot.  Sturdy and serious, these shoes and the manner in which he ties them tell us he isn’t here for fun.