Tagged: poetry

On NASCAR Drivers Getting Suspended for Social Meeja Activities

A NASCAR driver was suspended the other day for “liking” a post which changed the word “sea” to “knee” in the Little Mermaid song “Under the Sea” and overlayed these lyrics to the infamous picture of the one and only, and murdered, Mr. George Floyd.

Here’s the apology as recorded by the young man.

“I am disappointed in myself for my lack of attention and actions on social media,” Gragson posted Saturday. “I understand the severity of this situation. I love and appreciate everyone. I try to treat everyone equally no matter who they are. I messed up plain and simple.”

I enjoy a challenge. So I’m challenging myself to apologize/react better. Not just to coach him as he was clearly coached here, (despite the tone sounding kinda genuine), but to actually step into his shoes and tell the truth. (I say his reaction was clearly coached as it contains the self-flagellation bit: “disappointed in myself”, the particular sin: socially unacceptably unaware of “severity”, and irrefutable defense of general character: “I love everyone”, and restatement of remorse: “messed up”. In short, authentic talking doesn’t sound like that. Nor does that “apology” actually mean anything. So I want to see if I can walk in his shoes and react to his suspension in a way that both gets his job back and is bounded by the truth.)

Here goes.

****

“I am not going to change the way I live because of this suspension. You want me to explain? Here it is.

“If you took a moment to look at my life, you’d have to conclude I am living my dream. There are hard days, sure. But mostly, I just go by instinct and it has proven successful. To be clear, you all would be gravely mistaken if you took me for a thinker. Hell, I barely ever read. I just ‘do’. And this happens to make me good at racing cars.

“In any case, I don’t want to be a thinker. So I’m not going to change. Someone will pay me to race.

“Oh, and, if you think my having thoughtlessly ‘liked’ a post on Insta reveals some sort of character flaw, that it is evidence of some deep, dark, shameful belief system that is bad for me and is yet another black cloud for NASCAR on the topic of Dee-Eee-Ayye, then you should know that, again, I think you are the one in error.

“That’s the end of my thoughts on the suspension. All this thinking is starting to make my head hurt.”

****

Whaddya tink? Scale of 1-10, ten being tops, how’s my effort hit ya?

My Review of Oppenheimer, by Christopher Nolan

I’ve always heard that the newspaper USA Today was written at a third grade reading level. A reading level is an interesting concept. Try this sentence from USA Today’s The Weather Book by Jack Williams, “A fusion reaction fuses atoms together, creating other kinds of atoms and giving off energy.”

No third grader on earth could understand whatever that means. A few savants may sound smart trying, but keep in mind that they would never actually be explaining that sentence to us.

I also remember that in the 1950s children encyclopedia, so-called The Book of Knowledge, the author of the chapter on “atoms” began by having a child imagine cutting up a candle into smaller parts. And then smaller parts. And then smaller parts. Even then, you could still reform the candle parts back into shape. But, the author went on, there are even smaller parts, which when the candle is cut down to these teeny sizes, it wouldn’t matter what happened, they could not reassemble to build a candle.

Can anyone explain that concept? I feel like I get it. But it’s basically saying that there is something besides the obvious ingredients comprising the obvious objects. And that fact is something I can repeat, but I do not understand it.

The problem, so far as I can tell, is essentially one of “barrier to entry”. Atoms and Fusion Reactions require knowledge of such things as very few of us will ever think it worthwhile to learn and master.

Therefore, allow me to state the obvious: if you leave the theater believing that you now know something about atom bombs, you’re fooling yourself.

Mr. Nolan doesn’t abstain from attempting a layman’s explanation, but he also doesn’t belabor the point. Perhaps he doesn’t get it either.

The reason I open the review with this lengthy aside is because I, as I suspect you, had nursed the idea that maybe Nolan could succeed where others failed when I first heard he was making this movie. But he didn’t really even try. And I was a fool for thinking he might. The film is called, “Oppenheimer,” not, “Atom Bomb.”

Moving to my next hope for the movie.

Does Mr. Nolan satisfy my curiosity about the man Oppenheimer, which is bracketed by the following two questions:

1. What exactly was his role in the “invention”?

2. How would some nerdy academic handle being responsible for such death then and forevermore?

Yes. And no.

The way he accomplishes this paradox is by sticking to purely emotional storytelling where paradox is not forbidden. While there are many moments which caused me to wonder, “Did that really happen?,” there were many more which unexpectedly evoked near tears and kept me deep in contemplation about implications of what Nolan seemed to be trying to say rather than poised to fact check every seeming “they must have a record of this” moment.

On the whole, everything about the movie works. The chosen vessel for storytelling works. The casting works. The psycho-sapio sex scene works. The conveyance of palpable stress works. And, most importantly, the a-bomb test works.

Great Comebacks, Too Late

I sometimes come up with amazing comebacks, too late to use. Oh well.

The first that comes to mind was once a scammer left a voicemail about legal action blah blah blah. Since I was divorced and always fearing some new bullshit from my ex, I called the number back. The dude proceeded to deliver the scam flawlessly but something just wasn’t right. Again, since I was divorced, I knew legal things didn’t happen quickly, or need to. So I finally just told him that I didn’t believe him. He seemed to have enjoyed being called out, just concluding, “Okay, Mr. Smart Guy, take your chances,” or some such thing.

Only later did I wish I said, “You sound black.” (He did. And I’m certain he was. But even if I’m wrong, it would’ve been hilarious.)

Tonight, another zinger came to mind only too late.

I have been sharing with folks at work (healthcare) that I am enjoying, if three years after the trend, cold showers. Well, this elicits all sorts of responses, mostly enjoyable to engage. One such response was, “I bet it opens your pores.”

My too little, too late response is, “‘Pores open?’ I was only aware of five senses.”

So funny. Or would’ve been.

The Reunion Will Be Beautiful

Back in college, over twenty years ago now, in a Political Science class, we read a book called The Origins of Major War. As usual in college courses, we had to write a paper afterward. My paper had a killer thesis.

You see, one of the defining traits of “major war” is that the countries which are labeled “hegemonic” (essentially a synonym of “major”) are involved. That, of course, is circular, but not weakening. America was/is hegemonic. So my thesis, still startlingly profound, was, “The United States will be in the next Major War.”

Can you feel it? Wow. Just amazing. So true, and so provocative.

What role will we play? Defender of all that is good? Do we begin it? Do we end it? Read on, we must, the reader surely concludes.

Well, I am back to more reading on this Sunday and have similarly struck another mega-epic-super-provocative-wow-factor-bursting-standard-breaking thesis. Ready?

The reunion will be beautiful.

Life right now is not beautiful. We do not like life.

There are too many indicators to list. It will suffice to say you don’t like me. And I don’t particularly like you. This is funny because you don’t know me and I don’t know you. But it’s true nonetheless. Life is a mess. Life is not beautiful. Anyone who says otherwise is just plain lying.

But, but! The reunion? Maybe not soon enough, but any reunion will be beautiful.

How do I know? And how can you, likewise, be certain?

Because union is a defining quality of beauty. No different than major wars are fought by major countries, the re-union will be be-autiful—otherwise, it ain’t either. No beauty, no union. No (re)union, no beauty. Feel me?

Hold on a little longer, folks. No need to languish in uncertainty over the question of the future, ie, “Am I really going to have to withdraw from our BS society to be happy?” Just do what you have to do for now.

The reunion will be beautiful.

PS – Thanks, Percy Bysshe Shelley.

With Great Books, It Happens Every Time

February 2, 2023 CE I began the fourth reading from the third volume of The Great Ideas Program, which, as longtime readers know, is intended to be used alongside the voluminous Great Books of the Western World sets. This fourth reading was the introductory salvo of Nichomachus of Gerasa’s Introduction to Arithmetic, written sometime around 100 AD.

Today, just now, after four long months and many fits and starts—not to mention giving serious consideration to giving up the reading of such dry and pointless prose in favor of books that align with my intellectual habits—I concluded the reading.

And I feel great. I feel like I have a new lease on life.

Before we address whether it is the coffee, which I confess I am running high on or not, I want to clarify that I actually have a new understanding of early math and this new understanding is actually useful to me. (As it would be to anyone.)

The understanding and its usefulness goes like this, “Life is huge.” Followed immediately by, “It cannot be exhausted, used up, depleted, drained, found out, solved, or emptied.”

But you, the driver, have to challenge yourself. You have to read books. And I say, “Start with good books. No, start with the Great Books of the Western World. You will not be disappointed.”

I have lived with the rule-of-thumb that I’m “not gonna read any book that’s newer than 100 years old until I have caught up” for nearly 20 years. I haven’t adhered to it perfectly, but it has served me well and I heartily recommend it.

Best wishes.

Seeing A Bald Eagle From Above

After hurriedly grilling hamburgers for the fam and eating, I loaded them up in our Expedition, which sports a bald eagle license plate. My stepson, A-, had a “spring sing”, or some such nonsense, and as these events are rare, he wanted me to wear the t-shirt he had given me a few years back. The image on the shirt is George Washington flying on the back of a bald eagle.

Get the picture?

No, no you don’t. Because I haven’t told you the best part.

Earlier in the day—same day!—I had flown a training flight where we soared at higher altitudes than typical for a helicopter, I’m talking two and three thousand feet above the ground.

“Whoa!” I thought to myself as we maneuvered to miss a large feathered friend.

Then I saw white. Not at the front, but the tail feathers. Or I thought I did. It was turning away and down. So I kept looking.

Sure enough, white tail feathers. Then finally I saw the unmistakable white head with the yellow beak.

A bald eagle from above.

Have words been invented to describe the feeling?

“Unnatural” comes to mind. But that carries too much negativity.

There is nothing negative about soaring with bald eagles. I’ll keep thinking about it. We need a word to describe it.

And on the positive side, I finally heard one speak.

“Pete? I thought that was you.”

I guess for a pilot, the feeling is “natural.” It’s why pilots fly.

Two More Bald Eagle Encounters

The first one was nearly one month ago, but I haven’t found time to record it.

Here’s what I know. Of late I have been struggling with consistency. I know giving 100% really sets me apart, but I also have come to believe it is exhausting. So I don’t. I turn on and turn off at my choosing. I don’t know why I do this. It has been a long time since I have given 100% all day long and I think I have built up an unnatural fear that I will tire out. And I don’t like being tired.

But the bald eagle has got me rethinking my stance.

I saw this particular creature soaring over the roadway on a drive back from Wisconsin to Minnesota, as usual. But the singular thing I noticed this time was how, while riding the wind in what first appeared as a leisurely, effortless manner, the eagle’s neck was in fact strained forward and down as it hunted.

As a fellow rider of the wind, I have special insight into the three dimensional abilities of flight. The eagle and I can just descend a few inches and get a closer look, no neck strain. No effort. (If we wanted to.)

But no. This raptor isn’t looking for leisure. He was looking for food. And all creation knew it. Think of it. Neck strain instead of descending. Wow. What a lesson.

The second encounter was just last night. It had similar traits to one a few months back. Remember the headless eagle? Yep, that’s what happened again to me. I saw what looked like a brown box in the middle of the divided highway. With the new Metallica album blasting from the car speakers, I was already in a good mood.

\m/ Smile as it burnz to the grounnn-dah/The perfeck don’ wann chuu arounnn-dah! \m/

And then it happened. Surely before I would’ve suspected the blessed bird could’ve heard and singled out the music coming from my car stereo as I approached speedily, this apparent brown box’s head(!) popped up and look towards me. I say “looked towards me”, not “looked at me”. No, he wasn’t offering interest to me. He just recognized good music. The look in his eye as I passed was, “Rock on, Good Citizen.”

Biblically Informed School Shooting Reaction

Apparently one mom who spoke to the news has said, “We praise God in all situations, good and bad.”

I get it. Believe me, I get it. Many evangelicals are told to use these moments to point people to God, to tell people about Jesus.

And then there is the whole worry, “I said something publicly—will I have sounded churchy enough??” that many Christians live with.

We also can’t deny the idea that many folks are genuinely dumbstruck when evil hits close to home—especially when all along they thought they were supernaturally protected, either.

And let us not forget that communication is hard. Some big hearts and repentant worms are genuinely befuddled when the microphone comes their way. So this mother of apparently healthy kids (just talking to investigators still) rattles off something as stupid and trite sounding as, “We praise God in all situations, good and bad.”

Finally, this is a news story, a story meant to provoke and add hype—no matter the situation. It has obviously worked on me because here I am typing away. So I concede it is possible this mom is a terrible sample of modern Christian reaction to school shootings.

However, she is actually right in line with what I have all be hearing and reading after mass shootings for the last several years even from folks I know. So I think we can count her reaction as typical.

Here’s the thing. It isn’t honest.

Pop! Pop! Pop pop pop!! Blood. Screams.

“We praise God in all situations, good and bad.”

Speak from the heart, people! Pray!!

David, in recorded scripture that you all cherish soooo much, said, “Look and answer me, O Yahweh my God; Give light to my eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death…”

Now we can debate whether suicide is the threat (“Answer or I do it!”), or just plainly stating that the enemy is about to kill him (You gonna do something here?), but the point remains, David had no issue speaking from the heart.

That was Psalm 13. Psalm 94 has, “O Yahweh, God of vengeance, God of vengeance, shine forth!”

Or “Kill ‘em all!” as Metallica might phrase it.

I don’t mind sharing here that my “prayer” since Sandy Hook got my attention has pretty much been—with surprising consistency—“My god! Where is it safe for my kids?”

In 2012, I didn’t know “my god” by name. After conversion to Christianity, I now specifically call to mind the god of the Bible, whether Yahweh/Jesus as the antecedent to “my god”. But in every case, the sequence is 1. School shooting. 2. “My god! Where is it safe for my kids?”

And that’s enough. Enough for me. And enough for Him.

Praising God for a school shooting? Gimme a break. No one believes that shit.