I have a tradition every year on this date. I stay up until 1:05 AM. Why 1:05 AM, you ask? It seems like a pretty random time to stay up until. Well, at 1:05 AM on May 27, 1984, I was born. I'm not sure how many people know the exact time of their birth, and I'm not even sure how accurate the time of birth is on your birth certificate, but I stay up until 1:05 AM just the same. I've been doing it for as long as I can remember, and this year was no different. I guess I'm lucky I wasn't born at some ungodly hour, like 4:30 AM. That would be a bitch to stay up for that.
Anyway, I have nothing else to say really. I'm going to my favorite restaurant, Outback Steakhouse, for my birthday. I've been there twice already this past week. I wish people would space out my birthday dinners a little more. I would prefer to go once every four months or so, instead of going three times in the span of seven days. I guess you can't look a gift cow in the mouth, or something. And it's also important to remember that people in glass houses sink ships. And a penny saved is worth two in the bush. And don't cross the road if you can't get out of the kitchen.
Okay, I would just like to leave you with a fun fact. Well, it's probably not that fun, but it is a fact! I was born on May 27, 1984. My sister was born on October 9, 1985. My brother was born on April 18, 1992. What do those three dates have in common? If you know your times tables, you will soon see the connection. The numbers 9, 18 and 27 are the first three multiples of nine. I wish I was better at math myself. If I was, I could figure out the odds of that happening to three siblings. Probably one out of a million (so you're telling me there's a chance). Ten internets goes to the first person who can tell me what movie that last line is from.
Well, that's all I have to say for now. You stay classy, San Diego!
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Phrases I Can't Stand: I Could Care Less
Yo Beyonce, I'm really happy for you, I'mma let you finish, but Freddie Mercury had one of the best usages of the phrase "I couldn't care less" of all-time.
Well, I'm pretty sure you have no idea what I'm talking about (do you ever?). Let me direct your attention to the following lyrics:
Single Ladies by Beyonce
Before I go on, I have just one question. What the hell is up with that glove Beyonce is wearing in the above video? Did Darth Vader cut off her hand or something? Okay, moving right along....
Killer Queen by Queen
If you still don't know what I'm talking about, notice the italicized words above. The phrase I can't stand here is "I could care less." The correct usage is "I couldn't care less," which is present in the lyrics sung by Freddie Mercury.
Okay, so why is saying "I could care less" incorrect? If Beyonce sung it, why isn't it good enough for me? Well, since a picture is worth a thousand words, I made one to help illustrate why it's so very very wrong (click the picture to make it larger):
I'll give you a moment to pick up your jaw off the ground as you marvel over my mad Paint skillz. Okay, so you're done marveling? Good! Make sure your jaw is in place before reading on. I wouldn't want a lawsuit or anything....
The line above represents your amount of caring. The two extremes denote the points at which you couldn't care less or more. At any point on the line, with expectations at the extremes, you could care less or more.
When you say "I could care less," you're leaving yourself open to interpretation. By saying "I could care less," you aren't exactly indicating how much you really care. After all, you could be near the couldn't care more extreme and still rightly say "I could care less." Likewise, you could be near the couldn't care less extreme and still rightly say "I could care less." The amount that you really care is dependent on which extreme you're closer to when saying "I could care less."
If you don't understand that, don't worry (I sometimes even question if I understand myself). What's coming next will be much easier to understand . When you say "I couldn't care less," there is no room for interpretation at all. You couldn't care less. By saying "I couldn't care less," you are leaving absolutely no doubt how much you really care. You couldn't care less. You're expressing yourself clearly and distinctly, which is very important to avoid confusion.
I'd like to now use another example to further illustrate my point. There is another phrase out there that is very similar to "I could care less." And just like the phrase "I could care less," people use it incorrectly all of the time. That phrase is "I could give two shits."
But why is it incorrect to use this phrase in that way? Well, let's just say, for the sake of argument, that you could give two shits. Maybe you had a lot of fiber in your diet today and could give three, four, five shits (am I the only one who thought of the Count from Sesame Street when I read that?). If you could give two shits, there's always the potential that you could give more shits. Or maybe you've been shitting while reading Dr. Seuss and you're seeing one shit, two shit, red shit, blue shit. I don't know, I'm not inside your bathroom, but you really should go see a doctor if you're experiencing red or blue shits.
Anyway, the point is, the more shits that you can give, the more that you care (I'm not going to torture you with another diagram here, you can thank me for that later). So, instead of saying "I could give two shits," you should say "I couldn't give two shits." By doing so, you are letting everyone know the actual amount that you care, not even two shits worth. You couldn't even be bothered to shit twice, that's how much you really care. And because you couldn't even shit twice, you're telling everybody that you couldn't care less. Isn't it great when everything comes full circle? Speaking of things coming full circle, excuse me while I go to the bathroom and take a...never mind.
Okay, I'm back. And since I don't want to come across as a snooty elitist semantical bastard, I'm going to end this post with the following caveat:
Disclaimer: When it comes to the English language, I am not always fastidious and precise (I'm also not dynamite with a laser beam, nor am I guaranteed to blow your mind). I am also not some Grammar Nazi, who looks down on people who don't use the proper grammar. I don't go around shouting "nein, nein, nein!" whenever I see or hear someone misusing the English language. I'm 100% certain that if a person with an English major ever read this blog or heard me talk, they would have a lot of correcting to do. I am by no means a cunning linguistic (in more ways than one), nor am I perfect in my usage of the English language, and I realize that I have a lot of room for improvement. I believe, however, that just about everyone has the potential to improve their linguistical skills (including me). But how else are you going to improve your skills if you don't even know that you're making an error? That was my main intention while writing this post (I also hope that it was somewhat entertaining to read). I just wanted to point out a common mistake among users of the English language, in hopes that at least one person reads this and realizes the error of their ways.
And even if you don't realize the error of your ways, well...that's fine too. Just don't be too terribly surprised if the Grammatical Gestapo pay you a visit tonight. What's that, you say? You thought that I said I wasn't a Grammar Nazi? Well, I did, but I never said that I wasn't a member of the Grammatical Gestapo. So, if you value your life, stop using the offending phrases above.
Oh, and in before the comment of "I could care less about this post." Hell, who am I kidding? Nobody will read or comment on this! Good day, sir!
Well, I'm pretty sure you have no idea what I'm talking about (do you ever?). Let me direct your attention to the following lyrics:
Single Ladies by Beyonce
I got gloss on my lips, a man on my hips
Got me tighter in my Dereon jeans
Acting up, drink in my cup
I can care less what you think
Before I go on, I have just one question. What the hell is up with that glove Beyonce is wearing in the above video? Did Darth Vader cut off her hand or something? Okay, moving right along....
Killer Queen by Queen
Perfume came naturally from Paris
For cars she couldn't care less
Fastidious and precise
She's a killer...
If you still don't know what I'm talking about, notice the italicized words above. The phrase I can't stand here is "I could care less." The correct usage is "I couldn't care less," which is present in the lyrics sung by Freddie Mercury.
Okay, so why is saying "I could care less" incorrect? If Beyonce sung it, why isn't it good enough for me? Well, since a picture is worth a thousand words, I made one to help illustrate why it's so very very wrong (click the picture to make it larger):
I'll give you a moment to pick up your jaw off the ground as you marvel over my mad Paint skillz. Okay, so you're done marveling? Good! Make sure your jaw is in place before reading on. I wouldn't want a lawsuit or anything....
The line above represents your amount of caring. The two extremes denote the points at which you couldn't care less or more. At any point on the line, with expectations at the extremes, you could care less or more.
When you say "I could care less," you're leaving yourself open to interpretation. By saying "I could care less," you aren't exactly indicating how much you really care. After all, you could be near the couldn't care more extreme and still rightly say "I could care less." Likewise, you could be near the couldn't care less extreme and still rightly say "I could care less." The amount that you really care is dependent on which extreme you're closer to when saying "I could care less."
If you don't understand that, don't worry (I sometimes even question if I understand myself). What's coming next will be much easier to understand . When you say "I couldn't care less," there is no room for interpretation at all. You couldn't care less. By saying "I couldn't care less," you are leaving absolutely no doubt how much you really care. You couldn't care less. You're expressing yourself clearly and distinctly, which is very important to avoid confusion.
I'd like to now use another example to further illustrate my point. There is another phrase out there that is very similar to "I could care less." And just like the phrase "I could care less," people use it incorrectly all of the time. That phrase is "I could give two shits."
But why is it incorrect to use this phrase in that way? Well, let's just say, for the sake of argument, that you could give two shits. Maybe you had a lot of fiber in your diet today and could give three, four, five shits (am I the only one who thought of the Count from Sesame Street when I read that?). If you could give two shits, there's always the potential that you could give more shits. Or maybe you've been shitting while reading Dr. Seuss and you're seeing one shit, two shit, red shit, blue shit. I don't know, I'm not inside your bathroom, but you really should go see a doctor if you're experiencing red or blue shits.
Anyway, the point is, the more shits that you can give, the more that you care (I'm not going to torture you with another diagram here, you can thank me for that later). So, instead of saying "I could give two shits," you should say "I couldn't give two shits." By doing so, you are letting everyone know the actual amount that you care, not even two shits worth. You couldn't even be bothered to shit twice, that's how much you really care. And because you couldn't even shit twice, you're telling everybody that you couldn't care less. Isn't it great when everything comes full circle? Speaking of things coming full circle, excuse me while I go to the bathroom and take a...never mind.
Okay, I'm back. And since I don't want to come across as a snooty elitist semantical bastard, I'm going to end this post with the following caveat:
Disclaimer: When it comes to the English language, I am not always fastidious and precise (I'm also not dynamite with a laser beam, nor am I guaranteed to blow your mind). I am also not some Grammar Nazi, who looks down on people who don't use the proper grammar. I don't go around shouting "nein, nein, nein!" whenever I see or hear someone misusing the English language. I'm 100% certain that if a person with an English major ever read this blog or heard me talk, they would have a lot of correcting to do. I am by no means a cunning linguistic (in more ways than one), nor am I perfect in my usage of the English language, and I realize that I have a lot of room for improvement. I believe, however, that just about everyone has the potential to improve their linguistical skills (including me). But how else are you going to improve your skills if you don't even know that you're making an error? That was my main intention while writing this post (I also hope that it was somewhat entertaining to read). I just wanted to point out a common mistake among users of the English language, in hopes that at least one person reads this and realizes the error of their ways.
And even if you don't realize the error of your ways, well...that's fine too. Just don't be too terribly surprised if the Grammatical Gestapo pay you a visit tonight. What's that, you say? You thought that I said I wasn't a Grammar Nazi? Well, I did, but I never said that I wasn't a member of the Grammatical Gestapo. So, if you value your life, stop using the offending phrases above.
Oh, and in before the comment of "I could care less about this post." Hell, who am I kidding? Nobody will read or comment on this! Good day, sir!
Friday, May 14, 2010
Spacebook
I wrote a post, about five months ago, describing a few of the funny things that my grandma has said and done over the past few years (if you care to read it, click here). In that post, I also said that I would type more when I had the time because that was just the tip of the iceberg. I'm here today to present more of those Gram-isms, as I call them, for your viewing pleasure. Well, you might not find them as funny as I do, but that's pretty much par for the course when it comes to my blog entries. Anyway, today's episode of "Seniors Say the Darndest Things" centers around the bane of senior existence, the arch nemesis of the modern day senior citizen, the most difficult topic for the elderly to understand: Technology!
Okay, the first one I'm going to talk about didn't happen recently to my grandma, so it didn't technically involve a senior. It's not really that funny either, but it does set the stage for all of my grandma's future dealings with technology. It's the Rosetta stone, if you will, that shows you the first known clash of my grandma and technology. It's your classic example of a misinterpretation of technology by an older individual. After this happened to my grandma, I wouldn't have been surprised if she gave up on technology altogether. She didn't though, which just goes to show you her determination and perseverance. On with the story!
When my grandma got her first ever computer, about 15 years ago, she performed an illegal operation on it and freaked out. If you don't already know, a box pops up whenever you perform an illegal operation on a computer, which can be easily closed out of (just click close or the X). So, an illegal operation is nothing to worry about, it's just the computer's way of telling you that you performed an error. To use the technical term, it's just something that you did that doesn't feng with the shui of the computer. To my grandma, however, it meant something much much worse. To her, it was as if she robbed a bank or something else against the law. She called up my dad immediately, and told him to take the computer, because she thought that they were going to take away her nursing license. Luckily for her, and for us, my dad calmed her down and talked her into keeping the computer. Otherwise, the rest of this post probably would never have happened.
Which brings me to my next story. About a year ago, my grandma got her first ever cellphone with texting capabilities. Soon after that, my grandma texted my teenage cousin, Sara, the following message: "be sure to have Jim show you how to shit." For those of you wondering, Jim is Sara's brother (they are twins). And even though they're twins, they don't shit together, so why would my grandma text that to Sara? Well, my grandma loaned Sara her laptop, and she was trying to make sure Jim showed Sara how to shut it off. She meant to text this: "be sure to have Jim show you how to shut off the laptop." If you look at your keyboard right now, or if you know the keyboard really well, you can see how she made that mistake. She hit the i key, when she really meant to hit the u key. Now, a typo normally isn't a problem for those of us with younger eyes. When you're a senior, however, you sometimes hit the send key, when you actually mean to hit the backspace key and correct your error. That's what happened to my grandma. Little did she know, the texting world is fraught with typos, but none as hilarious as that one.
The next story also involves cellphones. My grandma once left the following message on my sister's voice mail: "be sure to come over tomorrow and pick up some hobo stool" (I'm paraphrasing here, I don't remember the exact wording of the message). If you're unsure of what hobo stool could possibly mean, let me clarify it for you. My grandma actually meant to say hobo stew. It's something that my grandma makes after she cooks a roast. I'm not exactly sure what's in it, other than beef/pork, potatoes and carrots, but both my sister and grandma love it. Personally, I don't like it because I like to eat my foods separately, not all mixed together (I'm weird like that, sue me). Oh, and before you say, "maybe she really did say hobo stew, it just got cut off in the voice message and sounded like hobo stool." Well, I'm here to tell you that that wasn't the case. I was in listening distance when she left that message, so I heard her say hobo stool as clear as a bell. And I know that those kind of things happen to everyone, but not as frequently as they happen to my grandma.
Okay, the next one has to do with the Comcast cable company. Recently, my grandma has been having a lot of problems with her cable service, especially her television. So, she called up the phone number, 1-800-Comcast, expecting to talk to a customer service representative. Well, her expectations were not met. Ben Stein answered her call by saying, "Hello, this is Ben Stein..." (or something to that effect). She then hung up the phone, thinking that she dialed the wrong number (and she did this multiple times). For those of you who don't know, Comcast currently promotes their service with Shaq and Ben in their commercials, so I guess they used to play a recording of Ben Stein whenever you called their number. I called the above number, just now, and they no longer have that recording (probably because it confused the hell out of people). So, while I do agree that this is something that could happen to anyone, those kind of things seem to happen to my grandma all of the time.
Okay, this last one is how I got the title of this post. When talking to my friend Joe and me last week, my grandma referred to Facebook as Spacebook. She must have overheard us talking about it and thought that we said Spacebook instead of Facebook. Well, I told my brother this today, and he pointed out to me that it is a combination of MySpace and Facebook, which is something I didn't think of. I just figured that since space and face rhyme, that's probably how she got it. Now that my brother pointed that out to me though, I think that my grandma might be on to something. This could be the next billion dollar idea for a social networking site. Just think of the possibilities. Spacebook: Step into the future of social networking! It sounds so hip and futuristic, which is what the kids go for these days. I hope nobody reads this and steals my idea....
I'm going to end this post the same way that I ended my previous post about my grandma. I know that it sort of sounds like I'm making fun of my grandma, but I'm not. I love her to death. She is one of the few people that can make me laugh on a consistent basis. She even says to me that she's glad she can bring so much joy into my life by saying and doing these things. She won't be around forever, but the memories she has given me will last for as long as I live.
Okay, the first one I'm going to talk about didn't happen recently to my grandma, so it didn't technically involve a senior. It's not really that funny either, but it does set the stage for all of my grandma's future dealings with technology. It's the Rosetta stone, if you will, that shows you the first known clash of my grandma and technology. It's your classic example of a misinterpretation of technology by an older individual. After this happened to my grandma, I wouldn't have been surprised if she gave up on technology altogether. She didn't though, which just goes to show you her determination and perseverance. On with the story!
When my grandma got her first ever computer, about 15 years ago, she performed an illegal operation on it and freaked out. If you don't already know, a box pops up whenever you perform an illegal operation on a computer, which can be easily closed out of (just click close or the X). So, an illegal operation is nothing to worry about, it's just the computer's way of telling you that you performed an error. To use the technical term, it's just something that you did that doesn't feng with the shui of the computer. To my grandma, however, it meant something much much worse. To her, it was as if she robbed a bank or something else against the law. She called up my dad immediately, and told him to take the computer, because she thought that they were going to take away her nursing license. Luckily for her, and for us, my dad calmed her down and talked her into keeping the computer. Otherwise, the rest of this post probably would never have happened.
Which brings me to my next story. About a year ago, my grandma got her first ever cellphone with texting capabilities. Soon after that, my grandma texted my teenage cousin, Sara, the following message: "be sure to have Jim show you how to shit." For those of you wondering, Jim is Sara's brother (they are twins). And even though they're twins, they don't shit together, so why would my grandma text that to Sara? Well, my grandma loaned Sara her laptop, and she was trying to make sure Jim showed Sara how to shut it off. She meant to text this: "be sure to have Jim show you how to shut off the laptop." If you look at your keyboard right now, or if you know the keyboard really well, you can see how she made that mistake. She hit the i key, when she really meant to hit the u key. Now, a typo normally isn't a problem for those of us with younger eyes. When you're a senior, however, you sometimes hit the send key, when you actually mean to hit the backspace key and correct your error. That's what happened to my grandma. Little did she know, the texting world is fraught with typos, but none as hilarious as that one.
The next story also involves cellphones. My grandma once left the following message on my sister's voice mail: "be sure to come over tomorrow and pick up some hobo stool" (I'm paraphrasing here, I don't remember the exact wording of the message). If you're unsure of what hobo stool could possibly mean, let me clarify it for you. My grandma actually meant to say hobo stew. It's something that my grandma makes after she cooks a roast. I'm not exactly sure what's in it, other than beef/pork, potatoes and carrots, but both my sister and grandma love it. Personally, I don't like it because I like to eat my foods separately, not all mixed together (I'm weird like that, sue me). Oh, and before you say, "maybe she really did say hobo stew, it just got cut off in the voice message and sounded like hobo stool." Well, I'm here to tell you that that wasn't the case. I was in listening distance when she left that message, so I heard her say hobo stool as clear as a bell. And I know that those kind of things happen to everyone, but not as frequently as they happen to my grandma.
Okay, the next one has to do with the Comcast cable company. Recently, my grandma has been having a lot of problems with her cable service, especially her television. So, she called up the phone number, 1-800-Comcast, expecting to talk to a customer service representative. Well, her expectations were not met. Ben Stein answered her call by saying, "Hello, this is Ben Stein..." (or something to that effect). She then hung up the phone, thinking that she dialed the wrong number (and she did this multiple times). For those of you who don't know, Comcast currently promotes their service with Shaq and Ben in their commercials, so I guess they used to play a recording of Ben Stein whenever you called their number. I called the above number, just now, and they no longer have that recording (probably because it confused the hell out of people). So, while I do agree that this is something that could happen to anyone, those kind of things seem to happen to my grandma all of the time.
Okay, this last one is how I got the title of this post. When talking to my friend Joe and me last week, my grandma referred to Facebook as Spacebook. She must have overheard us talking about it and thought that we said Spacebook instead of Facebook. Well, I told my brother this today, and he pointed out to me that it is a combination of MySpace and Facebook, which is something I didn't think of. I just figured that since space and face rhyme, that's probably how she got it. Now that my brother pointed that out to me though, I think that my grandma might be on to something. This could be the next billion dollar idea for a social networking site. Just think of the possibilities. Spacebook: Step into the future of social networking! It sounds so hip and futuristic, which is what the kids go for these days. I hope nobody reads this and steals my idea....
I'm going to end this post the same way that I ended my previous post about my grandma. I know that it sort of sounds like I'm making fun of my grandma, but I'm not. I love her to death. She is one of the few people that can make me laugh on a consistent basis. She even says to me that she's glad she can bring so much joy into my life by saying and doing these things. She won't be around forever, but the memories she has given me will last for as long as I live.
Friday, May 07, 2010
The man, the myth, the legend...
Ernie Harwell.
Some people wear Superman pajamas. Superman wears Ernie Harwell pajamas.
Ernie Harwell, the legendary Detroit Tigers broadcaster, died on Tuesday. He will be deeply missed by many many people from the sate of Michigan. Personally, I'm not sad that he died (although I will miss him). He died at the age of 92, so he lived a long and fulfilling life. And I'm sure he was in a lot of pain because of the cancer. I'm glad that his suffering is at an end and he is finally at peace.
I'm sorry to say that I don't have any vivid memories of listening to Ernie Harwell as a kid. I am only 25 years old, so my window with Ernie as the Detroit Tigers' radio broadcaster was very short. In addition to that, I never really listened to the baseball games on the radio. I usually watched them on television, so my first introduction to Ernie Harwell was in 1994. I don't exactly remember when I started getting into baseball, but it was in 1994 that I started paying attention to it somewhat. What a year to start liking baseball, the year in which there was a strike! I remembered being really disappointed about that, and I also remember my excitement when play finally resumed the following year. And I like to think that Ernie Harwell was a big part of fostering that excitement for baseball.
Anyway, this post isn't about me, it's about Ernie Harwell. Mr. Harwell was truly a great man. I never had the privilege to meet him, but I've heard many great stories on the radio these past few days from those who did. From what I gathered from these stories, Ernie Harwell was the kind of guy that never had a bad day and never had a bad thing to say about anyone. He was the kind of guy that could and would talk to anyone. He invited numerous strangers into his house, just to chat about baseball and the many interesting stories of his life. Not only that, and I don't know this for a fact or anything, but he probably answered all the fan mail he ever received. There was this one story in which a lady wrote to Ernie and asked him to autograph some pictures. The problem was, she forgot to send the pictures along with the note! Ernie, being the stand-up guy that he was, personally called this woman and told her of her mistake. He could have just said, "screw it, this woman didn't enclose any pictures, I'm just going to forget about it." He didn't though, he actually called her and told her to send another letter with the pictures enclosed and that he would be happy to send them back autographed. What kind of guy does that? I'll tell you what kind of guy does that, a man of the people.
Ernie Harwell was a man of the people and he will be missed by more people than most of us can comprehend. That is why it saddened me to hear about what some of those people, people who claim to have loved him, did to him and his family yesterday at his public viewing in Comerica Park. Some people were actually taking pictures of him in his open casket. Some people even stood next to his open casket and had their picture taken by someone else. To me, that is one of the most disrespectful things you could ever do to the man and his family. Why would someone do such a thing? Just to say that you were there? Well, I'm sorry to tell you this, but it isn't about you. You being there has no significance whatsoever. The viewing was about Ernie Harwell, not you, and you people desecrated it by acting like a bunch of fool asses.
And I know that if the family didn't want pictures taken, they would have had the cameras confiscated or banned from the viewing. It isn't about that though, it's about respect for the deceased. I don't care how famous the person was, you don't take a picture of a dead person in a casket. Unless that dead person is a close relative of yours, you have no right to take a picture of the person. Even then, I would never do it, but I don't begrudge the people who have done it. Ernie Harwell was not a close relative of any of you. And don't hand me the bullshit excuse that you took the picture to remember him by. There are plenty of pictures, especially on the Internet, to remember him by. Go to fucking Google images and search Ernie Harwell. See all those pictures that popped up? Those are great pictures to remember him by, not some lame ass picture of you standing next to his casket. And I pray to Zeus that you weren't smiling in those pictures. Valhalla help you, if you were. That's not what I call living the high life, not at all. You people need to be served a big old platter of common sense. You should all be ashamed of yourselves.
In closing, I would just like to say a final goodbye to Mr. Harwell (even though he would much rather say hello). I hope to become half the man you were and I hope to live a life a tenth as fulfilling as the life you lead. And even though you're long gone, you'll never be far from my heart.
I started this post with his name. I'm going to end it with his words. This is a quote from the man himself, closing his final broadcast in 2002:
Some people wear Superman pajamas. Superman wears Ernie Harwell pajamas.
Ernie Harwell, the legendary Detroit Tigers broadcaster, died on Tuesday. He will be deeply missed by many many people from the sate of Michigan. Personally, I'm not sad that he died (although I will miss him). He died at the age of 92, so he lived a long and fulfilling life. And I'm sure he was in a lot of pain because of the cancer. I'm glad that his suffering is at an end and he is finally at peace.
I'm sorry to say that I don't have any vivid memories of listening to Ernie Harwell as a kid. I am only 25 years old, so my window with Ernie as the Detroit Tigers' radio broadcaster was very short. In addition to that, I never really listened to the baseball games on the radio. I usually watched them on television, so my first introduction to Ernie Harwell was in 1994. I don't exactly remember when I started getting into baseball, but it was in 1994 that I started paying attention to it somewhat. What a year to start liking baseball, the year in which there was a strike! I remembered being really disappointed about that, and I also remember my excitement when play finally resumed the following year. And I like to think that Ernie Harwell was a big part of fostering that excitement for baseball.
Anyway, this post isn't about me, it's about Ernie Harwell. Mr. Harwell was truly a great man. I never had the privilege to meet him, but I've heard many great stories on the radio these past few days from those who did. From what I gathered from these stories, Ernie Harwell was the kind of guy that never had a bad day and never had a bad thing to say about anyone. He was the kind of guy that could and would talk to anyone. He invited numerous strangers into his house, just to chat about baseball and the many interesting stories of his life. Not only that, and I don't know this for a fact or anything, but he probably answered all the fan mail he ever received. There was this one story in which a lady wrote to Ernie and asked him to autograph some pictures. The problem was, she forgot to send the pictures along with the note! Ernie, being the stand-up guy that he was, personally called this woman and told her of her mistake. He could have just said, "screw it, this woman didn't enclose any pictures, I'm just going to forget about it." He didn't though, he actually called her and told her to send another letter with the pictures enclosed and that he would be happy to send them back autographed. What kind of guy does that? I'll tell you what kind of guy does that, a man of the people.
Ernie Harwell was a man of the people and he will be missed by more people than most of us can comprehend. That is why it saddened me to hear about what some of those people, people who claim to have loved him, did to him and his family yesterday at his public viewing in Comerica Park. Some people were actually taking pictures of him in his open casket. Some people even stood next to his open casket and had their picture taken by someone else. To me, that is one of the most disrespectful things you could ever do to the man and his family. Why would someone do such a thing? Just to say that you were there? Well, I'm sorry to tell you this, but it isn't about you. You being there has no significance whatsoever. The viewing was about Ernie Harwell, not you, and you people desecrated it by acting like a bunch of fool asses.
And I know that if the family didn't want pictures taken, they would have had the cameras confiscated or banned from the viewing. It isn't about that though, it's about respect for the deceased. I don't care how famous the person was, you don't take a picture of a dead person in a casket. Unless that dead person is a close relative of yours, you have no right to take a picture of the person. Even then, I would never do it, but I don't begrudge the people who have done it. Ernie Harwell was not a close relative of any of you. And don't hand me the bullshit excuse that you took the picture to remember him by. There are plenty of pictures, especially on the Internet, to remember him by. Go to fucking Google images and search Ernie Harwell. See all those pictures that popped up? Those are great pictures to remember him by, not some lame ass picture of you standing next to his casket. And I pray to Zeus that you weren't smiling in those pictures. Valhalla help you, if you were. That's not what I call living the high life, not at all. You people need to be served a big old platter of common sense. You should all be ashamed of yourselves.
In closing, I would just like to say a final goodbye to Mr. Harwell (even though he would much rather say hello). I hope to become half the man you were and I hope to live a life a tenth as fulfilling as the life you lead. And even though you're long gone, you'll never be far from my heart.
I started this post with his name. I'm going to end it with his words. This is a quote from the man himself, closing his final broadcast in 2002:
"It's time to say goodbye, but I think goodbyes are sad and I'd much rather say hello. Hello to a new adventure. I'm not leaving, folks. I'll still be with you, living my life in Michigan, my home state, surrounded by family and friends. And rather than goodbye, please allow me to say thank you. Thank you for letting me be part of your family. Thank you for taking me with you to that cottage up north, to the beach, the picnic, your work place and your backyard. Thank you for sneaking your transistor under the pillow as you grew up loving the Tigers. Now, I might have been a small part of your life, but you've been a very large part of mine. And it's my privilege and honor to share with you the greatest game of all."
Wednesday, May 05, 2010
The Smoking Ban
On May 1st, at 6 AM, Michigan became the 38th state to ban smoking in public places, such as bars and restaurants. The following is a reenactment of how it went down. This is from the perspective of an army of smokers outside of the bar, Buzzkillington's, in Michigan (a bar in which Governor Granholm overlooks, unseen, from a turret):
That's pretty much how it happened on May 1st. True story. You...you don't believe me? Well, why don't you check out this footage and then tell me I'm lying. Oh, that's from a movie, you say? I guess there's no denying that, you've got me there. It is a scene, featuring William Wallace, from the movie Braveheart.
And like William Wallace, smokers in present day Michigan feel like they are being oppressed. They feel like they are being unjustly treated and they are mad about it. Well, if you're mad about the smoking ban, I can understand your anger. You had something and somebody took it away from you. It's like that time, when you were a little kid, and a friend got really mad at you and took his ball and went home. I can see how that would be frustrating. I really can.
I'm here to tell you, however, that you don't have the right to smoke wherever you want to. Think of your right to smoke like your right to freedom of speech. You have the right to say whatever you want to whomever you want, unless you infringe upon other people's rights. For example, you can't yell fire in a movie theater (unless there's a fire, of course). If you do that, you are posing a risk to all those other people in the movie theater. You are endangering not only your own life, but the life's of those other people. Your right to smoke is analogous to that. You can smoke wherever you want, whenever you want to, unless you infringe upon other people's rights. When you smoke around other people, you are posing a health risk to them. You are endangering not only your own life, but the lives of those around you. So, you see, you're infringing on other people's rights when you smoke around them.
I know it's hard sometimes to realize that other people have rights too, especially when you feel like you're being wronged. Just remember, non-smokers have rights too and smokers' rights are not more important than non-smokers' rights. Now, you may be asking why non-smokers' rights trump smokers' rights in the case of the smoking ban. That is a fair question to ask. What we have here is a conflict of rights, so whose rights are more important then? The side that is willingly pumping toxic fumes into their body, or the side that is unwillingly breathing in those fumes? Well, when you are dealing with a severe health risk like we are here, I think most rational people would agree that the side that is subjected to those fumes is being treated unfairly. Their rights are being infringed upon the most. It's not fair for non-smokers to be subjected to smoke, which is why Michigan has the smoking ban in bars and restaurants now. And remember, Michigan is the 38th state to do this. We're way behind the curve here. Other states have had the smoking ban for years, and most of those states have found that it doesn't have an adverse effect on the businesses of bars and restaurants (in fact, business improves in some cases).
And even if business stays the same or slightly decreases, the health of the bar and restaurant employees is just as important a reason for the smoking ban. Think of the employees of those establishments like you would the technician who X-rays your teeth when you go to the dentist. Don't you sometimes wonder why the technician goes behind a wall, and leaves you with just a lead vest for protection? It's like, gee thanks, you're behind a wall of solid concrete, and you're leaving me with what amounts to a sweater vest? If the god damn sweater vest is good enough to protect me, why isn't it good enough to protect you? When you come back in the room to put another X-ray strip in my mouth, I hope you bring protection for your fingers because I'm going to bite those fuckers off! I'm kidding, of course. The reason the technician does what they do is a simple matter of numbers. The technician doing your X-rays doesn't just do your X-rays, they probably do hundreds of X-rays a week (and thousands a year). If they stayed in the same room with you, wearing the same lead vest you do, they would be exposed to that radiation 100+ times a week. You're only exposed to it one day out of the year, so that amount of radiation isn't dangerous to you. That amount of radiation could be lethal if you were exposed to it as often as the X-ray technician would be if they didn't have that wall though. By the same token, the employees of bars and restaurants aren't just exposed to your smoke. They are exposed to your smoke, and everyone else who smokes, for all of the hours that they work. The amount of smoke that they breath in from you probably isn't dangerous, but it becomes dangerous when you consider the amount of smoke from each person who smokes throughout the day. So, the smoking ban is like the wall that protects the X-ray technician. It's there to protect the employees of bars and restaurants from the dangers of continuous second hand smoke exposure.
If I haven't convinced you of the merits of the smoking ban by now, I'll never convince you. And I know that most of you smokers out there are still mad, even after reading the above. Some of you are even pissed off to the point where you think that one of your fundamental freedoms is being taken away from you. You probably see the smoking ban as a "slippery slope" towards more freedoms being taken away by the government. I'm not here to change your mind if you think that, but I have a suggestion for you. Take a deep breathe and relax. I know it's hard to relax, especially when you haven't had a cigarette within the last five minutes because of the smoking ban, but just take a deep breathe and relax for me. Are you relaxed yet? Okay, good. Now take off that silly ass tin foil hat. Oh, and just to be safe, better remove all of your fillings too. We wouldn't want the CIA picking up anything I'm about to say, after all. Alright, are you ready to level with me now? Great, grand, wonderful! The government isn't out to get you. Your sky isn't falling. The world isn't ending. You won't wake up tomorrow, living in Soviet Russia, where cigarettes smoke you! It will all be okay. And if it makes you feel any better, go write a strongly worded letter to your congressperson. Or failing that, go have another cigarette, just make sure it isn't in a bar or restaurant in Michigan!
Thank you, Detroit, and good night!
Sons of Michigan! I am William Wallace.
William Wallace is seven feet tall!
Yes, I've heard. Smokes cigarettes by the hundreds. And if he were here, he'd consume Governor Granholm with fireballs from his eyes, and bolts of lightning from his arse.
*The group of smokers laugh...and cough, while continuing to chuckle*
No, that's Ben Wallace you're thinking of. I am William Wallace! And I see a whole army of my statesmen, here in defiance of tyranny. You've come to smoke as free men...and free men you are. What will you do with that freedom? Will you fight?
*A chorus of no's erupt from the crowd of smokers, clearly fearful for their lives*
Fight? Against that? No! We will run home. And we will smoke there.
Aye, fight and you may die. Run home, and you'll smoke...at least a while. And dying from cancer, many months from now, would you be willing to trade all the days, from this day to that, for one chance, just one chance, to come back here and tell Governor Granholm that she may take our smokes, but she'll never take our freedom!
Smokers Forever!
That's pretty much how it happened on May 1st. True story. You...you don't believe me? Well, why don't you check out this footage and then tell me I'm lying. Oh, that's from a movie, you say? I guess there's no denying that, you've got me there. It is a scene, featuring William Wallace, from the movie Braveheart.
And like William Wallace, smokers in present day Michigan feel like they are being oppressed. They feel like they are being unjustly treated and they are mad about it. Well, if you're mad about the smoking ban, I can understand your anger. You had something and somebody took it away from you. It's like that time, when you were a little kid, and a friend got really mad at you and took his ball and went home. I can see how that would be frustrating. I really can.
I'm here to tell you, however, that you don't have the right to smoke wherever you want to. Think of your right to smoke like your right to freedom of speech. You have the right to say whatever you want to whomever you want, unless you infringe upon other people's rights. For example, you can't yell fire in a movie theater (unless there's a fire, of course). If you do that, you are posing a risk to all those other people in the movie theater. You are endangering not only your own life, but the life's of those other people. Your right to smoke is analogous to that. You can smoke wherever you want, whenever you want to, unless you infringe upon other people's rights. When you smoke around other people, you are posing a health risk to them. You are endangering not only your own life, but the lives of those around you. So, you see, you're infringing on other people's rights when you smoke around them.
I know it's hard sometimes to realize that other people have rights too, especially when you feel like you're being wronged. Just remember, non-smokers have rights too and smokers' rights are not more important than non-smokers' rights. Now, you may be asking why non-smokers' rights trump smokers' rights in the case of the smoking ban. That is a fair question to ask. What we have here is a conflict of rights, so whose rights are more important then? The side that is willingly pumping toxic fumes into their body, or the side that is unwillingly breathing in those fumes? Well, when you are dealing with a severe health risk like we are here, I think most rational people would agree that the side that is subjected to those fumes is being treated unfairly. Their rights are being infringed upon the most. It's not fair for non-smokers to be subjected to smoke, which is why Michigan has the smoking ban in bars and restaurants now. And remember, Michigan is the 38th state to do this. We're way behind the curve here. Other states have had the smoking ban for years, and most of those states have found that it doesn't have an adverse effect on the businesses of bars and restaurants (in fact, business improves in some cases).
And even if business stays the same or slightly decreases, the health of the bar and restaurant employees is just as important a reason for the smoking ban. Think of the employees of those establishments like you would the technician who X-rays your teeth when you go to the dentist. Don't you sometimes wonder why the technician goes behind a wall, and leaves you with just a lead vest for protection? It's like, gee thanks, you're behind a wall of solid concrete, and you're leaving me with what amounts to a sweater vest? If the god damn sweater vest is good enough to protect me, why isn't it good enough to protect you? When you come back in the room to put another X-ray strip in my mouth, I hope you bring protection for your fingers because I'm going to bite those fuckers off! I'm kidding, of course. The reason the technician does what they do is a simple matter of numbers. The technician doing your X-rays doesn't just do your X-rays, they probably do hundreds of X-rays a week (and thousands a year). If they stayed in the same room with you, wearing the same lead vest you do, they would be exposed to that radiation 100+ times a week. You're only exposed to it one day out of the year, so that amount of radiation isn't dangerous to you. That amount of radiation could be lethal if you were exposed to it as often as the X-ray technician would be if they didn't have that wall though. By the same token, the employees of bars and restaurants aren't just exposed to your smoke. They are exposed to your smoke, and everyone else who smokes, for all of the hours that they work. The amount of smoke that they breath in from you probably isn't dangerous, but it becomes dangerous when you consider the amount of smoke from each person who smokes throughout the day. So, the smoking ban is like the wall that protects the X-ray technician. It's there to protect the employees of bars and restaurants from the dangers of continuous second hand smoke exposure.
If I haven't convinced you of the merits of the smoking ban by now, I'll never convince you. And I know that most of you smokers out there are still mad, even after reading the above. Some of you are even pissed off to the point where you think that one of your fundamental freedoms is being taken away from you. You probably see the smoking ban as a "slippery slope" towards more freedoms being taken away by the government. I'm not here to change your mind if you think that, but I have a suggestion for you. Take a deep breathe and relax. I know it's hard to relax, especially when you haven't had a cigarette within the last five minutes because of the smoking ban, but just take a deep breathe and relax for me. Are you relaxed yet? Okay, good. Now take off that silly ass tin foil hat. Oh, and just to be safe, better remove all of your fillings too. We wouldn't want the CIA picking up anything I'm about to say, after all. Alright, are you ready to level with me now? Great, grand, wonderful! The government isn't out to get you. Your sky isn't falling. The world isn't ending. You won't wake up tomorrow, living in Soviet Russia, where cigarettes smoke you! It will all be okay. And if it makes you feel any better, go write a strongly worded letter to your congressperson. Or failing that, go have another cigarette, just make sure it isn't in a bar or restaurant in Michigan!
Thank you, Detroit, and good night!
Sunday, May 02, 2010
You bastard...who is fat
I experienced something this weekend that I never want to go through again. Before I talk about that though, I need to provide a backstory. Here it is, for your reading pleasure (or displeasure, I'm not here to tell you how to feel as you read).
Just about all my life, I've been the proper weight. Not skinny or anything, but the right weight for my height (I'm about 5' 6"). However, within the last three years, a certain life circumstance has caused me to gain quite a bit of weight. I don't want to get too personal here, mostly because I don't think other people care about my problems (they have their own to worry about after all) and partly because it would take a little while to explain, but I had (and still have, to a certain degree) a severe case of depression, along with a few other problems. I've always had these problems, off and on, for as far back as I can remember. A work related stress escalated these problems into full gear though, about three years ago, and that's when the weight gain began.
When I was skinnier, I weighed about 150 pounds. I never really paid much attention to my weight back then, so I don't know for sure, but it was around 150 pounds or so. About six months ago, I weighted as much as 195 pounds. In less than a three year period, I gained 45 pounds (that's roughly 15 pounds a year, for those of you who are mathematically challenged). Part of the reason I gained so much weight was a certain depression medication I was on (it caused me to feel hungry all of the time). I don't blame the medication solely, it was mostly my fault. I didn't show any self restraint and I didn't exercise at all, so I was more to blame than the medication.
It doesn't really matter how I got fat though. What matters is, I was a fat bastard, and there was someone I had to get in touch with and forgive...myself. I had to stop feeling sorry for myself and start doing something about it. So, last December, I decided to run on the treadmill once a day. I started off slow and worked my way up. I missed four of five days of the treadmill around Christmas, but I didn't let that discourage me (like I normally would). In January, I gave up drinking pop and kept running on the treadmill, even though I missed a week of it because I was sick. In February, I started to run on the treadmill twice a day. In March, I started weightlifting with my dad, along with running on the treadmill twice a day on most of the days I didn't lift weights. In April, I got one of those exercise balls and I do that on occasion. May just started and I plan on swimming in the pool once it gets nicer. On most days, I feel like nothing will stop me from getting back to a more proper weight (I still have plenty of self doubting days though).
As of right now, I am down to 172 pounds. Somehow, I fit into most of my old pants, even though I'm probably 20 pounds heavier than when I last wore them. Everyone tells me that muscle weighs more than fat, but that sounds like one of those cliches to me. It's like that trick question, what weighs more, a pound of feathers or a pound of steel? The answer is, of course, they both weigh the same. In any event, I still have a bit of a gut, so I still want to lose more weight. My goal is to get down to 155 by the end of the summer. I don't know if it's realistic or not, but I'll be happy if I can get close.
Anyway, enough of the backstory. What I really wanted to talk about is this. On Saturday (yesterday), my mom and dad celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary. We threw a party for them, at a hall, and about 70 people showed up. I knew most of the people who came and they knew me. Not all of them knew me in both weight classes of my life, but some of them did. Most of the ones who did commented on how much weight I've lost. The first few who made these comments didn't bother me that much, but as the night went on, I got more and more annoyed. It became awkward for me. It was kind of like that Big Boy commercial, where the fat guy tickles Big Boy, and then Big Boy tells him he's not ticklish, but the guy keeps tickling him anyway. That's what it was like for me, I was tired of people pointing out my weight loss, even though most of them weren't rude about it (although some were). And I'm sure most of the people were just trying to make conversation, not trying to annoy me. By the end of the night though, I was tired of being tickled.
After last night, I've come to the realization that I never want to go through that again. I'm going to turn that negative experience into a positive and use it to motivate me to lose more weight. When I was younger, I never had to work at staying the proper weight. I ate whatever I wanted and rarely exercised. Now, I have to work at it, so I need all the motivation I can get. I'm going to think back to that night every day and use it to keep me going. When I wake up in the morning, and don't feel like exercising, I'm going to think back to that night. When I get a craving for something I shouldn't eat, I'm going to remember that night. Any time that I feel like I can't do it anymore, I'm going to recall that night. That night will be my rallying cry, from now until forevermore (I always wanted to use forevermore in a sentence).
Well, that's all I've got to say about that. If you made it this far, thanks for reading. And until next time, you stay classy, San Diego.
Just about all my life, I've been the proper weight. Not skinny or anything, but the right weight for my height (I'm about 5' 6"). However, within the last three years, a certain life circumstance has caused me to gain quite a bit of weight. I don't want to get too personal here, mostly because I don't think other people care about my problems (they have their own to worry about after all) and partly because it would take a little while to explain, but I had (and still have, to a certain degree) a severe case of depression, along with a few other problems. I've always had these problems, off and on, for as far back as I can remember. A work related stress escalated these problems into full gear though, about three years ago, and that's when the weight gain began.
When I was skinnier, I weighed about 150 pounds. I never really paid much attention to my weight back then, so I don't know for sure, but it was around 150 pounds or so. About six months ago, I weighted as much as 195 pounds. In less than a three year period, I gained 45 pounds (that's roughly 15 pounds a year, for those of you who are mathematically challenged). Part of the reason I gained so much weight was a certain depression medication I was on (it caused me to feel hungry all of the time). I don't blame the medication solely, it was mostly my fault. I didn't show any self restraint and I didn't exercise at all, so I was more to blame than the medication.
It doesn't really matter how I got fat though. What matters is, I was a fat bastard, and there was someone I had to get in touch with and forgive...myself. I had to stop feeling sorry for myself and start doing something about it. So, last December, I decided to run on the treadmill once a day. I started off slow and worked my way up. I missed four of five days of the treadmill around Christmas, but I didn't let that discourage me (like I normally would). In January, I gave up drinking pop and kept running on the treadmill, even though I missed a week of it because I was sick. In February, I started to run on the treadmill twice a day. In March, I started weightlifting with my dad, along with running on the treadmill twice a day on most of the days I didn't lift weights. In April, I got one of those exercise balls and I do that on occasion. May just started and I plan on swimming in the pool once it gets nicer. On most days, I feel like nothing will stop me from getting back to a more proper weight (I still have plenty of self doubting days though).
As of right now, I am down to 172 pounds. Somehow, I fit into most of my old pants, even though I'm probably 20 pounds heavier than when I last wore them. Everyone tells me that muscle weighs more than fat, but that sounds like one of those cliches to me. It's like that trick question, what weighs more, a pound of feathers or a pound of steel? The answer is, of course, they both weigh the same. In any event, I still have a bit of a gut, so I still want to lose more weight. My goal is to get down to 155 by the end of the summer. I don't know if it's realistic or not, but I'll be happy if I can get close.
Anyway, enough of the backstory. What I really wanted to talk about is this. On Saturday (yesterday), my mom and dad celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary. We threw a party for them, at a hall, and about 70 people showed up. I knew most of the people who came and they knew me. Not all of them knew me in both weight classes of my life, but some of them did. Most of the ones who did commented on how much weight I've lost. The first few who made these comments didn't bother me that much, but as the night went on, I got more and more annoyed. It became awkward for me. It was kind of like that Big Boy commercial, where the fat guy tickles Big Boy, and then Big Boy tells him he's not ticklish, but the guy keeps tickling him anyway. That's what it was like for me, I was tired of people pointing out my weight loss, even though most of them weren't rude about it (although some were). And I'm sure most of the people were just trying to make conversation, not trying to annoy me. By the end of the night though, I was tired of being tickled.
After last night, I've come to the realization that I never want to go through that again. I'm going to turn that negative experience into a positive and use it to motivate me to lose more weight. When I was younger, I never had to work at staying the proper weight. I ate whatever I wanted and rarely exercised. Now, I have to work at it, so I need all the motivation I can get. I'm going to think back to that night every day and use it to keep me going. When I wake up in the morning, and don't feel like exercising, I'm going to think back to that night. When I get a craving for something I shouldn't eat, I'm going to remember that night. Any time that I feel like I can't do it anymore, I'm going to recall that night. That night will be my rallying cry, from now until forevermore (I always wanted to use forevermore in a sentence).
Well, that's all I've got to say about that. If you made it this far, thanks for reading. And until next time, you stay classy, San Diego.
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