Quixotic Thoughts

Trekkin' on Halloween

2011-10-29T23:58:00.005-05:00

Since my pre-halloween plans lead me and my friend down a fantastic, fun, and eccentric road ultimately leading to me enjoying the whole of today--lounging, reading, lounging, watching House, lounging--I find myself home early and in deep thought...about Star Trek.

I know, this makes me a total geek. But I embrace my geek heritage and if I had a flag that somehow symbolized the country which me and my geeky sisters and brothers occupy, I would wave it, proudly, embracing all that our culture has to offer us and other cultures. Also, I'm sure in our Geekdom, if you will, it likely would be difficult what to place in the center of such flag. I mean, would we all agree with a lightsaber crossed with a phaser? Or the Rebel symbol overlapping the arc of the Federation? And, of course, we haven't even discussed the multiple inclusions of science fiction from cyborgs to zombies, and vampires to wizards.

Oh what to include in this great flag?

This got me to thinking about The Federation of Planets in the Star Trek universe. How difficult it must of been to work with all of those different aliens (which I assume after a while they stopped using that term) and how much deeper the identity pool go after multiple species started figuring out that they could mate with each other (or not). And even after creating such concepts as The Prime Directive (a guiding objective making sure that the federation is as anti-colonial as possible) I am certain there are still whole galaxies and space empires that want nothing to do with being a part of a unified organization.

Yes, my Netflix account has allowed me to go where no geek has gone before...or at least few geeks who have time (or make time they don't have...like I'm doing) and return to watching Star Trek series I've only been somewhat familiar with.

Beam Me Up A Quick Background

As a kid I struggled with watching the original series in syndication. I can't figure out why but I know the set felt/looked cold, and I was already a Star Wars kid so the cool sci-fi stuff looked fake. I struggled with the movies because the early ones had a lot of bugs crawling out of places. Not fun. I watched the animated series, and at the very least that enabled me to learn about the crew, but (like all cartoons so I don't entirely know why I'm picky about this) the repetition of watching them run everywhere got to me.

Gotta shoot someone...run.

Gotta get to a transporter...run.

Gotta get a burrito...run.

Seriously.

It wasn't until Star Trek: The Next Generation that I finally felt invested in the Star Trek universe (and many would say "for good reason") which is why I was heavily disappointed in the post TNG follow-ups: Deep Space Nine, Voyager, Enterprise. And the movies didn't help (and really other than the remake and Wrath of Kahn, I'm only invested in First Contact and The Undiscovered Country...mostly because those last two movies aren't extended episodes but critical events in the evolution of the Trekkie universe...this aside was way too long...someone order me a hot cup of Earl Grey tea...sorry, I mean: Tea, Earl Grey, Hot).

Thankfully, Netflix has allowed me to revisit these series. And I'm not all the way through them yet (have been watching Voyager and DS9 at pretty much the same time which is messin' with my head) but I have noticed something rather interesting. Here are crew pics of all five shows:

A couple of things here:

1. These are respective trademarks and copyright of blah, blah, blah, blah...

2. I put them in a timeline of where they would fit in the chronology of the Star Trek Narrative, not when they shows themselves came out. (Or tried to, it's a reverse timeline.)

Now, what do you notice?

For starters, hopefully you notice the diversity. Not just of varying earth cultures, but also of non-earth cultures as well. And there's two levels to consider: not just the chronology of the crews, but the show themselves. Sure, I understand that there were likely some strong intentions behind making captains not white and not male (although if you also watch a lot of TNG you'll notice how many women hold positions of high power within the Federation outside of the Enterprise). Yet it's interesting to note part of this science fiction vision was that there was less of a divide amongst our cultures and identities that there have been throughout history.

Maybe the millennial generation will start to fix, solve, prevent, avoid a lot of the diversity issues older generations experienced.

At the same time, and I say this knowing that each of these crews are technically considered part of a "space navy", look at the uniformity. The clothes, mostly, strike me because they display two aspects I'm amazed to see: 1. how color dictates power structure and profession; 2. how even the non-uniforms still don't seem to have that much variance in style.

Again, I know that they are all "military" and therefore must have some uniforms and easy way to show power structure. But this is the future where things are supposed to be more inclusive. This contradiction I do not necessarily find hypocritical or some neo-colonial-post-colonialism. And, yes, I've seen the show and seen different cultures still where their "traditional" garbs (although also noticed that these different cultures have little variance among their own dress).

However, as our world progresses, and, I would like to believe, becomes more inclusive and understanding of identity differences, does that mean that the power structure will become more uniform and we will lose other aspects of individualization? Is there some type of zen or karmic balance that always keeps conformity and diversity in check with each other? Will Worf continue to get plot lines that seem stereotypically suited for underrepresented identities?

No wait, that last question is for another day.

In short, I raise this because I wonder if the Star Trek series sort of has the whole agency and hegemony (big words that talk about authority and power) concepts figured out. I wonder if maybe Rodenberry and subsequent writers and producers had some notion that authority will still exist even in an ultra-progressive world. In a two-part episode from DS9 the crew travels back in time and essentially has to recreate a historical event to keep the timeline straight. The event mirrors what just happened in the Occupy Oakland situation. I'm not trying to say that soon I'm going to be able to order a Marco's pizza in a food replicator (but how awesome would that be!?!?!). But I do wonder what crappy events took place before these "utopias" were created. I am also wondering what structures had to be put into place to ease and/or erase a lot of other social tensions, problems, etc. that we still experience.

I think there's some hope to be had here, and some realization that a system will always exist. And the best way to handle this deep thought is to have a glass of milk and a cookie. So, for now, I'm going to live long, prosper, and wonder about how our future will change.

Happy Birthday Grandma!

2011-09-01T16:17:00.006-05:00

Bus Waiting Ritual

I am cold

so grandma digs past cinnamon candy

and tissues

and expired bus transfer slips

pushes aside a brown billfold

finds her cigarettes and lighter.

Now watch how quickly the bus arrives.

She steps away from the people

waiting with us: an older kid with spiked hair,

an Asian lady with grocery bags,

a tall dude in a suit.

I watch her inhale

and hear an engine wind up

and grind gears and soon see the bus

chug over the hilly street

exhale gray smoke

through empty treetops.

Like clockwork.

She drops a cigarette

steps on it

waits for others to go first

guides me one

pulls the billfold;

our white breath stays outside.

**The picture, clearly not a bus, is a clock that used to hang in my grandmother's kitchen and now hangs in my kitchen. My grandmother was a minimalist at best and had few items decorate each room of her house. The woman cooked for any and all occasion. The woman would make the simplest nosh for the fussiest eater (me) and the most complex dish for our varied family heritages. Either way, the aroma of her kitchen was as hearty as a Thanksgiving spread. I started a journal when I was in seventh grade and, sadly, rarely wrote about my grandmother. Since her passing a few years back, my family and I each have something from her that to the average person may not be much (her ceramic lemon cookie jar) but to us remind us of the simple-complexity of her life. I do miss chatting with her but find every way to carry on her legacy whether it's teaching others a new card game, or inviting friends over for a large meal.

I Know...It's Still Summer...

2011-08-18T17:16:00.004-05:00

Winter Dog

cold cold cold

*sniff*

cold cold cold

*sniff*

no robins

no cardinals

no crows

*sniff*

look left

look right

look left

look right

cold cold cold

no chipmunks

no squirrels

no skunks

*sniff*

walk?

did I hear walk?

walk?

did I hear walk?

*sniff*

cold cold cold

no dogs

no pups

no butts to sniff

*sniff*

cold cold cold

no fetch

no chase

no return

cold cold cold

no balls

no bones

no toys to bury

dinner?

need to be fed

dinner?

need to be fed

*lick chops*

please feed me

*lick chops*

please feed me

cold cold cold

no bush to sniff

no grass to roll

no dirt to dig

*sniff*

no hydrants

no scents to follow

no territory to mark

please walk me

need to see

another me

cold cold cold

Sometimes...Moving Sucks...

2011-07-21T20:25:00.007-05:00

Ballad of a Broken TV

Were you, Big Black Tele,

a gift of dorm days long?

Or severance from glee

filled nights once happy?

Left in a basement cold

you were rescued for me;

dusted, adjusted, behold

an off-green screen to see.

First move a simple four steps,

a half flight; but you trekked

cross country, to New Mex

shook n’ rocked but not cracked.

Ascended to floor two

through winding narrow stairs;

to descend again in June

friend complaints followed glares.

At Puerto del Sol we

lived celebrated days;

Favre’s INT, Boosh Mighty,

Roadhouse RIP Swayze.

Take you apart my friend?

See that one ton mirror?

Fix the bulb colored red?

Converge lines to make clear?

No, your bold brokenness

outlasted the burnt Daewoo;

you made gold the NES;

not all great things are new.

Alas, the POD wasn’t

a grand sized caravan;

and Seth’s threats to dent

my head caused me to plan.

Your demise would be sweet:

hauled down one last steel flight,

pushed one block down the street,

left for someone else’s delight.

Good to Be Back

2011-06-30T16:31:00.003-05:00

Green Confession

I cannot write about Wisconsin green

because I’m accustomed to it;

just like I cannot write

about life without my skin

because I’ve lived with it.

I can only write about green

through wide eyed, white eyed

reactions of tanned, groomed men

who I transported along I-94

from Mitchell International.

Me dressed in a monkey suit

trying to make polite to strangers,

trying to remember my brother’s advice:

people love talking about themselves;

tryin' to be like grandma

who we learned from

while riding the bus.

When other people ask:

how do things get so green here?

I can only answer:

based upon second grade lessons

water gets into the soil from frequent rains

and spring thaws, white snow seeps

into a porous brown ground,

pink worms push through dirt

shuffling minerals, shitting minerals,

asexually fornicating against tree roots

crookedly arcing toward hell

leeching every decay ancestors left behind;

it’s a trusted process practiced in the Midwest.

Super Bowl's Over...So, Now What?

2011-02-05T00:59:00.002-06:00

This Sunday will be an epic meeting of two icons, squaring off on national TV. And it's too bad there can be only one winner.

Oh, and there's a Super Bowl going on afterwards.

Confused? If so, then you haven't noticed in the past ten days of intense coverage and sudden announcement, that President Barack Obama will be interviewed by Bill O'Reilly. If you're wondering why this is occurring before a major sporting event then you haven't been watching CNN/MSNBC/Fox News over the past decade have you?

Of course you'll tell me that there are no winners interviews. It's an interview. O'Reilly is going to ask Obama tough and honest questions, get to the truth on some issues, possibly "call him out" on decisions he's made as leader of our country. Obama, likewise, will answer truthfully, be sincere and thoughtful. And, like all interviews, we will take him on his word.

Not likely? I was pretty sure that's what it means to interview someone. But I can understand your skepticism. So how about this instead: in the days leading up to this interview there is a high likelihood that pundits (on all sides) are predicting the outcome; furthermore, there is high likelihood that the Newz Big Three (see above) will pull out their expert panels and break down the interview telling us who they thought handled themselves better.

And that week, the debate will continue.

It will continue until the next large (or small, really...we've grown accustomed to even the slightest tweet building into national attention) soundbite falls out of the sky, only for it again to be scrutinized. My favorite part is that after the scrutiny of the quote, gaff, edited clip, full clip, contextual moment, non-contextual moment, speech transcript...then the Big Three will invariably turn on each other. Sometimes it's generally done, sometimes specifically done, rarely entirely ignored.

I kinda wish Sportscasters would adopt the same coverage. I'd love to see Terry Bradshaw call Dan Marino out on incorrectly predicting a game outcome. Or Shannon Sharpe mock Jimmie Johnson for analyzing a poorly designed play after the game. Chris Collinsworth get all mean on Ron Jaworski for talking about how much he likes Brett Favre.

I don't have a problem, ever, with Sportscasters "Expert Picks" for games. In fact, I'm frequently entertained by that concept. I podcast a Green Bay radio show were "Joe and Jane Six-Packs" call in all the time to prognosticate. Sometimes their rationale is based on stats, previous similar situations, and the occasional gut feeling. Every once in a while, they're based upon the fact that they saw the letter "G" appear fifteen times in a ten second span. Admittedly, it's also equally entertaining when there's a debate. One of their callers is a Chicago Bears fan. He's well respected, and needles when necessary, gets ribbed back when necessary as well, but at the end of the day, he knows, and the hosts know that there's only one outcome. Only one winner.

That's how it goes down in sports. It's final. No debate.

Sure, you can spend some discussing why such a team won, or what strategy might've proven effective, or who the impact player was. Even the close calls. Those moments where it took a mad genius with Superman's vision to make the correct all. Or even the debatable "What Ifs?" What if Steve Bartman didn't attempt to grab the ball? No matter what though...it's just talk...and the game is final.

One team got a W, one got an L. Even throughout a season where Ts can be given out, eventually, it comes down to one team. One champ. And they stay champs until some team becomes the new champs.

Then we have off-season. Thank the heavens for the off-season. A time when fans sort of sift out into three different groupings: The bandwagon, those folks who got swept up into the story lines of the post-season which have faded out because only one team can win; The average fan who may tune into a breaking story about some player getting traded or retiring (again) but who for the most part knows this is all speculation; The die-hard who can't wait until Draft Day, watching 48 hours sports news coverage, simultaneously checking online stats, sizing up the current roster, predicting that their team is going to win this season...THIS WILL BE THE ONE!

I have respect for all three.

A bandwagon fan, while slightly dubious in dedication, enjoys the moment, but has no problem detaching and realizing that sports is only one component of their life. The casual fan might feel a bit hurt, or sad, or down for a work week (or two) but on the whole can also let go of a loss. The die-hard fan may be draining as all get up when it comes to their over-analysis of what could have been, but you know what...they hold a lot of history, tell great stories of the experience (highs and lows).

They all watch sports news, but in varying capacities. Again, the bandwagon folks check-in when it's easier to keep track of the few teams (or individual players) left in a season. They buy into the storylines that are discovered/created/twisted/spun/sincere/exaggerated; no need to convince them of the real truth, they're just in it for the moment, let them have their fun. The casual fan who, again, will check-in on a breaking story, but otherwise disconnect. During the season they might be convinced to see the faults of their team, but they hope...HOPE...that another outcome prevails. And the die-hard...they're the person twittering you at 3am telling you that Derek Jeter has a hangnail. Convincing them is about as effective baking a potato in the sun...in Green Bay...in the winter time.

On a political level, I'm sure our country has the same styles of engagement.

The bandwagon people are likely your people who may or may not vote, are most informed around election time or when some large story breaks, and soon after their candidate wins (or doesn't) goes back to working the good work. The casual fan likely leans one way or the other; they probably read the news (which these days, according to the Big Three, there's not really one trusted news source out there...so I'm wondering who/what they listen to), they're going to vote, they'll do what they feel is best (don't we all?), and then may feel slightly triumphed or defeated depending on an election outcome. When a major bill gets passed or failed they're probably interested because it either directly effects them or effects a friend.

The die-hard political folks? You've seen a lot of them the past decade. And just like their Sports cousins, they're intense. And their minds are not likely to change on any given issue or political stance. Yet, also like their cousins, I give them credence because they're the ones likely to first start volunteering for a campaign. Or go to a caucus. Or practice the right to assemble.

They follow the ebb and flow the political season as well. But wait...political season? This isn't sports? This is our lives! Our country! Our way of life!

Of course it is, so shouldn't it be taken with a measure of respect and a measure sacrifice?

The sports season comes to an end. As I said earlier, a champion is eventually crowned. While I'd like to say that elections are similar concept (since there is only one winner), these days elections, at all points in time, are given a lot of attention. And in a way, that's great!

If it weren't for the fact that after the election, it seems that all sides are finding ways to explain why their side won or lost, in the constant tone of "hey this was a moral victory for us." I'm all for positive thinking but...your candidate lost.

Moreover, since we do have a 24 hour news cycle, every piece of legislation, and every national or international event (whether it has a political nudge or not) gets brought in to this huge conversation; and it's taken into context, out of context, edited, chopped, spun, reported fairly, reported unfairly, backed with research, backed with no research...and I get it...CNN/MSNBC/Fox News are cable networks. They've got to make money; or at least be focused on their ratings. So, shit, might as well cover...everything.

ESPN is also a 24 hour news network. But there are some differences. For starters, they have no competitors. This is why you don't see Chris Berman with a Pinheads and Patriots segment, or a Worst Person in the World listing. Second, they highlight the winners. They even have a top 5 (top 10) with highlights of...winners. Once in a while they do have a bottom five, yet we're talking the strangest aspects of human athletic error possible; and they don't focus a lot on why someone sucks. Third, did you ever watch the network for 24 hours? What do you see? Only two real different Sportscenters (their major news show, which they loop for hours afterward); a couple of debate shows (PTI, Around the Horn, Sportsnation); specialty shows (NFL Primetime, Baseball Tonight, NBA Midday...no the last one doesn't exist but it should); and games...actual real live games. No filters, just the games. And crappy commentary with those games. But you can turn down the volume.

CNN/MSNBC/Fox News have no live coverage of our leaders doing their work. None. They have election coverage (and strangely enough cover it in the same manner and tone that sporting news agencies do the Super Bowl...a lot of weeks of intense debate, constantly polling, and final thoughts...all which mean nothing, because one person's going to win anyway). Otherwise, all of their shows are news magazine shows. Not a bad concept if you think about it.

Started with Walter Cronkite, 60 Minutes, Edward R. Murrow, Barbara Walters. Investigative journalism. Interviewers and researchers and producers working to get the full story. Or the story that someone will tell them. But do you really watch those shows because you're hoping someone will get to the truth? Or do you watch them because they validate what you already believe? Or piss you off to the point of over-criticizing their methods?

The fourth and final and obvious difference with ESPN is that they cover sports. Sporting events are meant for our entertainment. For the athletes they're opportunities to showcase the best examples of tenacity, and spirit, and hard work (which we don't often see), and teamwork. People actually sacrificing themselves for the good of a group. Thankfully, a sports season comes to an end. And like each of those fan types, I appreciate their roller coaster ride getting pumped up during pre-season, the coquettish push/pull of hope/let down during the regular season, the dramatic resolution of post-season, but mostly...I love the fact that there's an off season.

Months...off...no contests...no matches...just peace.

Politics, not government...because government goes in and out of session to make policy, agencies are ongoing but don't make policy, and elections are only a couple times a year...but politics have no off season. Maybe it's always been that way...but we used to have the maxim to avoid politics, sex, and religion at social gatherings...nowadays with the Big Three and the internet with semi-professionals and professionals and amateurs writing and researching whatever they want, when don't we talk about politics?

Clearly not on Super Bowl Sunday.

I grew up in Wisconsin and I've seen those three sides of packer fans. I've been each of them at least once. I don't know how or where I cultivated this philosophy, but I promised myself that once I witnessed a Wisconsin sports team win, I would be satiated, and find another team to cheer, and have the Pack be a very fond second. And while I waited ten years for the Arizona Cardinals to make it, make it they did. They didn't win, but they played hard, and played against expectations.

No one wants to lose. But loss and sacrifice are a part of our life whether or not we choose to embrace that (or acknowledge it for that matter). And I'm all about a positive or optimistic outlook, and hope, but we can learn a lot from loss. We can blame, point fingers, be miserable and bitter, be crabby, feel slighted...those are natural responses. But give yourself an emotional Off Season with your politics. Or rather, with your government. And during your off season, as you plan for future, plan for a future that includes everyone (Democrats, Republicans, Independents, the Rando-Rando Association).

I know the truth is hard to seek these days, and sitting around watching C-Span isn't always the easiest thing (admittedly, I like it, I like listening to our leaders talk, but it is time consuming). Find ways to overcome outside filters. And when your candidate loses, or you policy fails, or a law changes, roll with it, find proactive ways to deal with it. And when your candidate wins, or policy passes, or law arcs your way, be gracious, humble, and a good sport. Find proactive ways to support your cause, follow your elected leader.

On a final note, since this post has become longer than I think any of them, and C-Span is currently airing British Parliament which is a complete trip, one last thought: leadership, like quarterbacking, or being an offensive lineman, is hard work. If you give yourself an emotional off season, give them one every once in a while.

Yes, I get the multiple invisible strands which connect leadership and role-modeling. It's true for athletes, it's true for celebrities, it's true for our leaders (who, in a weird way, are both of these categories according to my choice of sports metaphor). And no, I too would be disappointed in a leader who mishandled a decision or said something unintended. But at what point do we see that these folks are people? And at what point do we challenge them ourselves, not just in critical words, but elective actions?

And I don't mean rallying for Bill O'Reilly to stick it to Obama. Or cheering on Obama if he defensively responds well. I mean run for office yourself. Or volunteer for a government program or agency for a cause you believe in. Or having open dialogue (not discourse) about policies. Or simply saying "hey, I can't have everything the way I want it, so I'm gonna make do, and when things do turn my way, find a way to help out someone else."

Please, let's get to our emotional off season soon; our future awaits.

Hope

2010-09-25T04:06:00.002-05:00

I will not even claim to be an expert on this...

More than 15 years ago, I once tried to write about hope in a graduation speech. I had an easy motivator for this: I was recently broken up with and was hoping it was not truly ended. Well, it did, it was, I needed to deal. But I spoke on the topic anyway. My memory's hazy, and since it was pre-laptop I do not have a good archive of the speech; yet, I remember certainly I included two hope references.

First was the movie Shawshank Redemption. What's strange is that I barely remember seeing this movie at that time. I remember watching it years later in the Breese Hall lobby (a building that now does not exist...sad day). It was one of those rare dorm nights where a few folks started watching it casually, and slowly more people accrued. Eventually, there were about forty people in that cramped lobby. Dudes and ladies, frosh and seniors, all majors, differing backgrounds and viewpoints. Some tears, some not.

My friend Abby cried that night. The movie sparked something in her, a memory, of a tragedy that had happen a year before but was definitely shitty in scope and lingered awfully in her heart and brain. Abby found her hope in chance occurrences that happened later...and she was patient, and it paid off. But did she know that night it would? Was she certain?

The second is the great myth of Pandora. Having pissed off the gods, Pandora actually got a bit of a raw deal. Zeus decided to give her this great box (really a jar) filled with all the evils of the world, with a warning of "Don't open it." (Cause, you know, we have a whole human history of being told about what we should not be curious about only to have our curiosity to infest itself more so?) Tragically, it was opened and out spilled every vicious thing that we still know to this day. Only one thing was left inside: hope.

This metaphorical tale is one which is spun in many ways...well, it shows that hope is the last straw...well, it shows that we are inherently hopeful...well, it shows the fault of our lack faith. F that. You know what it really shows? That hope, all bottled up with every evil, was the only good thing in that jar...all by itself. If you've ever been ganged up before, you know this feeling. It sucks. And it's pitch dark in that jar. Hope can't see shit.

Hope is tough, hope is courageous, hope is patience.

I am fortunate enough in my life to be able to teach and currently teach Poetry. That's like getting up every day to talk about comics...except that it's poetry. Poetry is not something familiar to the masses. We still think of Shakespeare...or someone dressed in all black, smoking a cig, and pronouncing every syllable obnoxiously. That is poetry. But just like 31 flavors, that represents Elephant Tracks and Rocky Road...there's a shit ton of other flavors, styles, forms, perspectives, voices, approaches to poetry.

The class has recently had a discussion about political poetry. This is tricky. Poetry, is meant to be political. Or at least it's a great to deal so. Every slogan that you now see for every election is poetic. Or has poetic roots. "Yes we can." Three syllables, two consonant sounds that are easy going crescendoing into a hard "c" giving the listener a sense of concreteness and confidence? You're damn well right "Yes we can."

But most political poets who talk about the ills and atrocities, about the shit that's gone wrong in our country or our world most often end their poetry with hope. They don't end it with a standard line, but usually an image or metaphor showing the reader that after the poem's end, there's a reality, there's a hopeful reality, there's a hopeful reality we have the chance to make the most of.

And it ain't easy.

Of course it ain't easy. But you can sit around and whine about it, or get your ass up and do something about it. For yourself...for others...for family...for friends...for God/Allah/Yaweh/etc....for, well, just for shits and grins.

When you get up tomorrow, spread some hope.

And when you go to bed, imagine some hope.

And in the middle of the day, invite hope into your house, for a cup of coffee, talk with hope, fear not hope, and have hope be a part of your conversations with others.

True Grandma Tales

2010-07-16T15:13:00.002-05:00

Before Miller Park graced the tiny suburb of Milwaukee known simply as West Milwaukee (where the standard church, bar, and four houses construe an official Wisconsin municipality), there was County Stadium. In a recent conversation with my friend Gabe, there was a certain character to County Stadium. Indeed, I myself constantly refer to Miller Park as 'stadium' despite people's best efforts to correct me. And I love Miller Park. But Gabe's right, the large, rusted steel girders and hellishly lit dim walkways of County Stadium created an otherworldly feeling as baseball demi-gods Robin Yount and Paul Molitor gave those early Brewer teams some credence.

And at a game in the late 1970s, sat my grandmother, who was a grandmother to me at the time even if I was too young to remember and only cognizant of eating, sleeping, and expunging whatever food actually made it into my mouth. That day, my grandmother had fairly good seats in between home and third about ten rows back behind the visitors dugout. No matter where she sits though, my grandmother had no problem sharing her thoughts on the opposing team.

I've witnessed this once before. At the ripe age of mid-to-late teens, my grandmother was gifted a Diamond Seat at County Stadium. Before the powers that be Selig built Miller Park, they outfitted one short row of seats right on the field, less than five feet away from the on deck circle. My grandmother posses a tiny frame, Betty White hair, and Tootsie sized glasses. For an 8th grade education the woman was keen. And on deck was a young slugger for the Oakland A's named Mark McGwire.

My grandmother booed him the entire time. Even then I think she knew something was in the water...or at least his water...

This previous date, ten rows back, in a mildly warm Indian Summer in September, had the Brewers playing the New York Yankees (yes, in addition to switching parks, they've switched leagues). This is when the Yanks and Brew Crew shared the same division. My grandmother was relentless:

"This team is full of crooks."
"Come on ump, don't give them that call."
"The owner is so corrupt he outta be in jail."

Non-stop she yelled this, and as the gamed continued she involved the gentleman sitting next to her. At this time she concentrated her comments squarely on the Yankees owner (my grandmother had a strange love for Billy Martin and often took his side in his multiple firings). Clearly uncomfortable with her bravado, the man didn't nod but kind of harumphed a half agreement at her. She continued her rants, and the man simply stirred in his seat and not much else. Round about the 7th inning, as everyone stretched their legs, the man asked my grandmothers name. After she told him, he simply said to her:

"It was a true experience to share this game with you."

And he left. A few minutes later, a fan behind her tapped her shoulder and asked if she knew him. My grandmother shook her head. Then the man said:

"That was George Steinbrenner."

I'm sure Mr. Steinbrenner has a few thousand folks to see in Heaven (and possibly one or two in Hell...at least according to a couple of BoSox fans) yet I'm certain he's gonna sit down with Eleanore Fischer and have a brandy/water with her, toasting to passionate sports fans everywhere.

pb

Why I Still Believe...(15) Years Later

2010-02-06T21:11:00.002-06:00

Why I Still Believe...15 Years Later

I grew up on John Hughes’ comedies. Loved them. A common theme throughout most of Hughes’ movie was the unlikely hero falling in love with their crush; and then getting a chance to date them by the end of the movie. Obviously, since then that trope has been done a thousand times over, and even sublimated in many ways (thank you Swingers and (500) Days of Summer).

One of the more endearing features of this humorous, romantic troupe is the self doubting, self deprecating, self woe is me hero lamenting to all of his/her friends about why he/she is not worthy. It’s part of what’s amusing; the little comments and thoughts:

-My ears get red when I’m embarrassed.
-My car sucks.
-I’m not hot enough.
-I snort when I laugh.
-I snort, in general.

In the Fall of my senior year of High School, I was walking the streets of Wauwatosa with my friend Marc. Marc was the second person I had told of my crush on Mia Scampini. I recall the dialogue going something like this:

Me: Dude, she’s so beautiful, and funny, and elegant, and graceful, and down to earth, and I’m a toad...and not just any toad, I mean a toad who has to wear glasses, dresses in matching sweatpants/sweatshirts, and has a big afro.

Marc: Then give up.

Yep...just like a romantic comedy. Nothing like getting straightforward advice. Friends: do not let other friends drive on a crush. Good thing we weren’t driving.

Marc: Do you think there’s someone out there better than you?

Me: That’s a strange question. I mean, I know there are much better athletes, and smarter kids in our school, and I’m sure there’s funnier people. Jeff Gorzek for instance is all of those.

Marc: So you think he’s better than you?

Me: No, he’s a good friend. I think that we’re good friends and equals.

Marc: What have you got to lose then by being youself?

I was silent for the rest of the evening. This was the unheralded turning point in the story for me; a story I’ve told a thousand times publicly and privately, a story many people have enjoyed and been inspired from, a story where others have walked up to me and shared their own story of love and loss.

I was ready to give up, though, and would’ve lost all of that.

Aside from those creepy guys from The Game, it’s difficult to believe that we’re ‘worthy’. It’s easy to like someone else, or have a crush one someone else, or think that others around us are kick ass. How often have you said to a friend: no, no, you’re fantastic you’ll make a great boyfriend/girlfriend to someone...?

Why can’t we say that to ourselves?

That night I looked at what was most important to me, my friendship with Mia. I enjoyed talking to her and the fact that I had fun whenever we did hang out (especially if it was on the way to the Department of Motor Vehicles Emissions Testing Center). And it was amazing to hang out with one of the prettiest, smartest girls in school. I was honored and humbled by that.

Obviously, WE hung out. SHE hung out with me. There must’ve been something she liked about me. I hope it was the afro.

As it turns out, Marc’s advice (while not completely erasing any self deprecation...I still had issue with my entirely flat ass...hell, I still have issue with that today) was just the motivation I needed...if I didn’t feel I was worthy, than why would Mia?

Not too soon after that, and the Emissions Testing Center, and a short story called The Date, and the library incident and the Lion King, and Willy Porter’s Watercolor, good things happened...epic things happened. And I’m proud to have had Mia in my life during my senior year; those stories continue to have me believe in the John Hughes’ sense of romance, and believing in yourself; and no matter how stories begin and end, the up and down journey is what makes us more than worthy.

Happy Valentine’s day to all who leave notes on others’ cars; get into arguments about eye color; and bring McDonald’s to those in need.

pb

WTF (What the Fire!?)

2010-01-17T01:39:00.002-06:00

I highly doubt Prometheus was an enabler. Running down Mt. Olympus like a cross country banshee, determined, dodging lightning bolts from Zeus (who for some reason was upset that Prometheus stole it in the first place...more on him later). After stopping at some nearby villagers, he likely wanted to just go:

"Here, don't burn yourself."

Of course, had the fire went out, big problem. So I'm sure he sat down and talked about the many ways fired could be made. After confusing them with terms like "cigarette lighter", "blow torch", and "portable electronic bonfire" (he was a futurist after all), he showed them how to start one with flint and steel, and/or rubbing two sticks together.

Imagine the stress this kid was under. After running from gods and goddesses who could turn your insides into painful, chemical substances, he had to take whatever daylight he had left to teach a group of people (all with different learning styles) how to make fire. He had to gather the materials, plan a lesson (in his mind, for certain), answer questions, provide practice, give feedback, and repeat, until they (or he) was confident that they knew how to do it...or before he got arrested, chained to a mountain, and enjoyed having his insides eaten by vultures.

Who says teaching isn't rewarding?

At one point fire was a tool. It cooked things, lit things, scared things, warmed things, defend things, attacked things, and cleaned things (to some degree...cauterizing wounds come to mind...later sterilizing other tools...). These days, what do we use fire for? Think about that for a second while I talk about Zeus.

What was his beef? Why was fire so sacred to him and his fellow godlike folks that he gave Prometheus the ultimate punishment? Why didn't he want to share this extraordinarily useful tool?

I doubt it was a concern for safety, although we often hear that as a reason for things not taught or shared to the masses. It'll hurt someone. It'll cause more harm than good. While I'm all for not teaching a three year old fire, or what fire can do, I'm sure it's helpful for anyone to understand the power of fire later on their life (and indeed as my friend Seth would say...learning how to start a fire is one of the three things we need for the 2012 apocolypse...along with making a bow and arrow, and riding a horse).

Fire couldn't hurt the gods/goddesses. I mean, they're pretty powerful (case in point, ability to chain someone to a mountain and have vultures show up every day to eat his organs like a date at the Golden Corral). It couldn't make them weaker. Maybe there was a fear of humans being less dependant on the gods/goddesses for services (although, it seems to me that people still made offerings to them for things like farming, commerce, weather, art, and reproduction...is it possible to be that selfish that you don't want anyone to have cooked lamb or a warm cup o joe?).

And really, if you think about it, fire was something that was accessible for humans to make...they just needed to know how to make it. This means that Zeus didn't want people to be educated. I mean, once they had something to let them see at night, and cook out diseases from meat, and fend off from the occasional cyclops that wanted to destroy their house, humans seem to have gotten pretty creative on their own. So much in fact, that we only use fire, in its purest form, for two things these days:

Pleasure & Destruction.

Now back to my man on the mountain. As a teacher, do you think he's upset and disappointed to see people grilling out on Labor Day? I hope not. I hope he's like, "well that was my original intent, when it was harder to hunt down hamburgers and brats, but it's all good now."

Of course, what about when he sees flamethrowers used in combat? Does he shed a tear? Again, I'm sure he hoped that humans could see it could be used for defense; attacking...well, I think that's a topic for another day.

In the end, like all teachers, Prometheus saw knowledge as a possibility, for great success and great failure. As students of life, I think we need to strive for success, and be humbled by failure. I think we need to be proud of learning something new and putting it toward good use, something which can be shared, make life better. At the same time, we need to be cognizant that anything which can make life better, can also have potential for a negative consequence (destruction, laziness, harm to others).

We can all be burned by fire; but we can choose not to burn others with it. And hope that others, when we teach them and show them the gifts they have inside, will do the same.

pb

Two Years Later

2009-06-10T20:52:00.002-05:00

(NOTE: this post is a bit late...so just believe it's two weeks ago, thanks! emoticon: :) )

I returned to Cruces after a weekend in Tuscon in Arizona. I described the mirth and merriment of thousands of college students, dressed in garb which reflected either their school pride, their spirit, or their creativity to my friends who have not once ever attended such a gathering. Their first response to me was: how much drinking was going on? When I explained that this was an alcohol free conference, they all made twisted faces of confusion. I can't fault them. In an MTV-Collegiate world where movies twist the hell out of the college experience (and believe me, I'm not saying that college life is perfect either) it's not suprising that we would contemplate:

Is it possible to gather that many college students for a weekend and keep them occupied without drugs or alcohol?

Two years ago, at the University of Wisconsin Oshkosh, I was a part of something I never thought I would experience, especially as a team player of planning that experience. But even years before that, as I've written previously, I never thought I myself would be so invested in the spirited, crazy, hopefulness that is the National Association of College and University Residence Halls (NACURH...NAH-kur).

While I did not drink in my early collegiate career, I too sat in a room full of costumed collegians and thought: W...T...F?! How can all these people be so excited and jacked about leadership? Or living in the dorms? Or being a part of Hall Councils (which are barely attended)?

I think the answers to those questions can be helpful to us at large, and, to be honest, attending my first Res Hall conference after retiring from Res Hall Life gave me a new perspective, and once again reinforced the mythical nature of this very real experience that takes place once a year. And while I'm still certain--based upon the looks that local shopkeepers and summer students gave the NACURH delegates--that it will be sometime before something like NACURH becomes mainstream or popular enough, it will never become MTV's saturation of 1984-like societal numbness.

Quick Refresher: NACURH is a non-profit organization dedicated to hosting conferences which discuss a myraid of topics related and focused on college students, especially dorm living, while simultaenously providing programming and oppurtunities for students to nominate their best practices or reverred team leaders for acknowledgement of service and contributions.

Oh yeah, and there's a lot of cheering and playfullness going on as well.

The national conference was at the University of Arizona this year. My friend, Ryan Bronkema, was recently elected as Regional Advisor to GLACURH (Great Lakes Affiliate of College and University Residence Halls...aka the region that Wisconsin resides in...where he currently works). Upon hearing that he and several of my former colleagues would be there, I decided to attend as an Alumni (a funny story all to itself, which I will muse about some other time).

The last NACURH I was at, I was a bit busy. As conference advisor, while I did get a fair amount of sleep, I was working with a large group of students and professionals to make sure things were running as smooth as possible. Again, more stories for another time, but it was a great experience which I can only sum up by saying: you should've seen the look in my friend Nicole's eyes during the last night of the conference...it was a calm cheerfulness of excitment.

Thus, it was a joy to still attend, and present, and cheer, and hang out, and attend the major events, yet have the view of an "oustide" observer at times. While many things swam in my head throughout the weekend, three stick out.

1. Community is important. Keynote speakers and presenters and professionals alike have continuously commented on the positive energy that encompasses the conference. The energy alone could be bottled up and sold as some magical elixer that makes you feel groovy forever. I noticed, though, that the even inside the larger community of crazy kids running around and meeting each other, and sharing stories, and teaching/learning, were smaller communities. For instance, the individual school communities.

I've talked before about the Spirit Award (good job Arizona State for winning it!!!) being an oppurtunity for team building, yet I see that part of what inspires confidence and gives a chance for self-identity is to be a part of a small community where you get to see your teammates take positive risks. From there, I think those few students who have attended enough to see friends from other schools, or regions, create another small community. That familiarity makes you realize, even without saying it, that there are others who understand what you do. These communities bring about the best of unity and diversity.

2. Taking Positive Risks. While I did not get a chance to attend some of the student programming, from having read through the program descriptions and talking to some advisors, I forget what a great chance these conferences are for students to try out new information. In education, I know the struggle it is for students to A. work together and B. present a topic in class. It seems that at these conferences, the work is effortless, or at least met with enough enthusiasm that people have a chance to share something they are proud of.

Comparatively to some professional approaches toward conference presentations, the student approach is pure, and innocent. It's a passion that has not yet faced the burden of cynicism through experience. Yet, and there are those professionals who embrace this notion (thanks Phil!!!) I think this a reminder that not everything has to be a 'chore' like we tend to make it. I challenge those professional presenters at ACPA, NASPA, ACUHO-I...even AWP, to veer away from the "chore-dom" that comes from presenting and embrace the rare moments we have to share and learn from each other.

3. The Importance of the No Alcohol Rule. Well after we hosted at Oshkosh, I was told that some delegations drank. I know from my first conference that it happened to another delegation. And while I'm not advocating a police state (but do advocate the you do it and you get booted rule) NACURH 2009 really caused me to realize the importance of such a rule. I was reminiscing with a professional colleague who had attended NACURH back in the day when the legal drinking age was 18. Booze was present. From what it sounded like (and I imagine there was a much different approach to all things collegiate/res life/alcohol at that time) it wasn't a riotous, destructive environment. Yet, as we imagined it nowadays, I think there's a certain empowerment which goes with not having alcohol present.

For starters, as a profession, all of student affairs constantly discusses and advocates healthy lifestyles when it comes to alcohol. The irony of professional conferences immediately hosting cash bar socials right after a key note speaker talking about the mortality rate of students who drink is not lost on the minds of many. To have one weekend a year where students (and professionals) take an oath not to drink is admirable and reinforces the seriousness of alcohol's presence on college campuses.

Second of all, consider the previous two positives. How different are those knowing that students are not high or drunk before they present or socialize with others? Not that I've seen too many professionals wasted during sessions at a professional conference, but those are seasoned folks, who are highly encouraged to present, not students who are just naturally excited to be peer teachers.

Finally, I do think the lack of alcohol has a huge impact on the positive outlook many NACURH attendees have. I've been at a student conference where alcohol was allowed (where the conference staff literally said "don't drink underage, but we won't stop you"). It was different. While students still cared, the late nights and mid afternoons where that extended community building took place had a much different vibe. And not one that built lasting friendships.

NACURH's atmosphere is such a rare occurence inside and outside of Res Life. One that needs to be experienced no matter how WTFed one is upon seeing some dude from Canada dressed in red and gold, with face paint, and cheering in the middle of campus by himself. Whether you work in student affairs, academic affairs, or elsewhere, these are concepts which can be upheld and practiced.

And, I imagine with some regularity of doing so, duplicate the hopeful atmosphere that our student leaders construct with a passionate howl.

pb

Summer Reading: The No Asshole Rule

2009-05-19T23:20:00.002-05:00

My apologies for the title...while I've always attempted to maintain a relatively swear free blog, this book is difficult to ignore, and to embrace ignorance through avoiding usage helps no one. Moreover, this is the first of many books I hope to review over the summer, with, of course, some musings and reactions.

Dr. Robert Sutton one day wondered why he was feeling crappy at work. He started looking at his job performance, the attitudes of those around him, and those that he served. After a while, he started realizing that there were assholes at his workplace; it's like discovering ants in your kitchen...except ants that are doing more than chewing away at your Little Debbie's.

After conducting research, lots and lots of research, Dr. Sutton decided to write about the experience of identifying, confronting, and dealing with assholes. Of course he focused on many professional areas, well-known or unfamiliar, public and private, all of which confirmed: assholes are more prevalent then we realize. Moreover, the actions and atitudes of assholes are contagious...not just your everyday Successories poster mantra, but a contagion realization which would make for a great zombie film.

The book not only includes a very academic approach to defining assholes and their influences (which are, surprise, mostly negative) but contains a very humbling chapter about identifying if you yourself are an asshole. It includes a self quiz, which can also be adapted to be given to your employees, or team, etc. to have them fill it out about you. This is where I hear you say:

"What? Are you mad!?! Why would I want to know what people around me think about me?"

You know, good point. I don't know what would motivate anyone to learn about themselves. It is a world full of larger problems like global warming and a failing economy. For the life of me I cannot fathom why one would want to waste their precious time to consider what others have to say. After all, how can others be right about who you are as a person?

Sadly, having now worked in two different professions, albeit in the same general area, this is a highly customary train of thought. Moreover, the tactics which address actively and passively dealing with any assholes mirror basic self-motivational theory. Which means: you have very little control of the world around you, but a lot of control over yourself. This reminds me of a quote the great philosopher Malvin from "War Games" once said "Go directly to the source..."

I have worked with assholes. And I'm certain that others have believed I to be an asshole. More on that later. I agree with the book, even at the best corporations and organizations across the planet, assholes will still exist. I also agree, begrudgingly sometimes, that assholes are people too. That they were not always assholes and it's likely that someone or something influenced them to be that way.

That sucks. Yet, there is hope.

I was picked on fiendishly as a child. I'm certain that it would be difficult to label kids as assholes since, well, they're kids. To be judicious let's call them bullies. Some of these bullies were active bullies: consistently engaging the victims (me, my friends Garrett, Matt, AJ, the other Peter) by verbally or physically harassing us. Some were passive, and when I saw passive, I mean as passive as a Klingon warrior could possibly be. The passive folks were rarely initiators but often joined in once the ball got rolling.

For me, school sucked for six years, mostly because of the guys that picked on me. Even after I left my elementary school for greener pastures, I was haunted and became sensitive in moments when I didn't need to be. It took a couple of years, and continuing support from my family, to move through that pain, and take situations as they come. Of course, I, like others, still encountered moments where people shot me a snide comment or mean spirited quip. Remember, assholes, are a constant factor.

I'm reminded of the episode of 21 Jump Street where Peter Deluise found the man who was his high school bully. The man was in a shabby house, smoking, unshaven, and sounded/looked generally unpleasant. Deluise's character felt closure, and the moral of the storys is "bad guys lose eventually." Since we've broken the swearing barrier, I have one response to this: bullshit.

What if the bully was rich, well off, even had a family? What then? What if the bully was recognized to be the greatest person in the world, through awards and accolades by those unknowing to how genuinely mean she or he was to people around her or him? Bullies do not automatically evolve into assholes. Just like assholes aren't always grown from being a bully.

I think karma can be an effective tool in coping, but I don't think it should ever be relied on. This leads me to three quck stories where people dealt with assholes, and what has become of them since.

The first is my friend Kat (not her real name at all, to protect the innocent). Kat and I were Community Advisors (or CAs...Resident Assistants or RAs to the non-res lifer) together for two years. Both of us had floors of assholes...in truth, like all community situations, both of us had like four to six dudes who were assholes, but when you're getting harrassed, it always seems like more. After one year, Kat and I were having coffee and talking about next year. Thankful it was over, I mused to her: "the most important thing for us is how we change." I knew that this would both affect us no matter what, but how made a huge deal.

I will never say that confronting people gets any easier despite the experience, but you do learn a lot of tricks along the way. You also learn something important: that no matter how crappy assholes are, they cannot take away your memories or your personality. That alone is up to you. I was saddened that next year to see Kat, who was still a fine CA, to be very neutral around residents. A stark change from her normally cheerful self. While she never reacted negatively toward residents or fellow CAs, the experience had hardened her enough that she lost an important aspect of her identity.

The second person is a former colleague who worked with a professional that was absolute poison to everyone around her. Even after the woman had left, many people, including her former supervisor, acknowledged how oppressive, mean, and condesending this lady was. My colleague who worked directly under her was, when we first met, a very inspired and powered woman. I remember her and I talking a lot about the potential of our work and what she'd hoped to accomplish. I was excited for her when she was hired into her own position, and removed from her awful work situation (sadly, it would be another year before Ms. Poison left).

Much of my former colleague's first year was spent trying to vent to all the emotional baggage she must've collected from the two years she worked under said asshole. It was both sad and frustrating to see. Sad because you could feel her angst, frustrating because many of us wanted her to be happy she was away from her abuser. Years have past, and while I'd like to say that the venting helped, it didn't. She has taken on many of the characteristics of her former supervisor and enacts many of the behaviors described in Asshole Self-Test presented in the book. Like Kat, it saddens me to see someone who was once positive become that which they despised.

The last story is about a man named Viktor Frankl. He, and his brethren, were surrounded by the largest assholes in human history: the Nazis. Frankl, whom I'm certain I've talked about before, was Jewish and spent many years in a concentration camp. His experiences were quite awful and he one day decided that he would survive in order to discover his reason for experiencing this nightmare. One of the most striking things that I remember from his book (and there are many) is when he described the comraderie built up by him and his friends.

This tactic is also one Dr. Sutton reccomends as well. What clandestine items can we do to keep ourselves in check so that we don't A. spread the contagion amongst those we care about and/or serve? B. become so deeply effected that even when the problem is gone we choose to continue it? Both men described tactics such as laughter (and not laughing at the person who is the asshole, but laughing at the situations themselves...you laugh at the Office don't you?), engaging in activities to empower oneself (writing, hobbies, exercise, prayer, etc.), and finding small ways to be assertive and stand up for oneself when appropriate.

As I look back on the days I was picked on, I am most upset with myself, not the bullies who picked on me. For, after a while, I began to pick on the other victims, in obvious hope that I would either be accepted or have the flack deflected from myself. I wish I knew about the No Asshole Rule, and I wish I would've chatted with those who were picked on in order at least build a community where we could process and be kind to each other. But I didn't.

As I said there is hope.

I have another friend who has experienced a trying time in her first professional experience. When I met her, she was bright, positive, and cheerful. She faced many of the same things the two other women I mentioned. Except that she chooses to sing (one of her hobbies), she is constantly supportive of her friends and those she serves and she remembers how to laugh. She has taught me that no matter what dark days there are, not only is there light at the end of the tunnel, but your inner light will shine no matter how long that tunnel can feel.

And so, to all the parties involved:
1. If you think you're a victim, read The No Asshole Rule; you will find validation and some helpful tips to deal with your situation. Beyond that, please remember to never lose yourself, or cause someone else to lose themselves.

2. If you think you're a recovering bully/asshole, you should also read the book; as I said, there's a small asshole in each of us, and it's humbling to see how we can continue to grow.

3. If you think you're an asshole (or you don't think you are, or don't want to realize it) I reccomend reading this book, knowing full well you likely won't, but as I said to one of my bullies almost six years since he picked on me:

"It's ok, you probably weren't aware of the pain you were causing; I'm not mad at you, I only hope now your life is in a much better place."

pb

Oh, I Know It...

2009-04-08T00:13:00.003-05:00

Ladies & gentlemen, my top 5 favorite responses I get as an MFA student studying poetry:

5. I once wrote a poem; it was for a girl (or guy); it sucked; she (he) dumped me.
4. Isn’t poetry that crap my 11th grade English teacher taught me and kept asking how it made me feel?
3. What’s that thing Shakespeare did? Amniotic Pentagram?
2. Do poets make any money?
1. Doesn’t poetry have to rhyme?

Of course, I always have answers to those folks.

5. It must’ve sucked if she (he) broke up with you. Did it rhyme?
4. Yep. I find therapy is more cost effective to get that question answered myself.
3. Shakespeare was indeed a satanic obstetrician. Oh, you mean Iambic Pentameter. Sorry, I get William Shakespeare confused with Lord Shaitan Shakespeare.
2. Only Maya Angelou and Billy Collins. Oh, and any rapper.
1. You bet. Don’t fret. Rhyme is neat. Take a seat. Open an eye. And learn why.

April, if you didn’t know or couldn’t guess, is National Poetry Month. I find this ironic and inspirational since the month begins with the most humorous holiday ever and poetry is intrinsically unfunny. Moreover, I was told by one of my students that April is also Traumatic Mental Disorder Month. This would also fit as most of us who write poetry can relate.

I think in the end, all the questions people ask about poetry really sum up to: why would anyone write poetry at all? And I agree. It’s outdated. It’s complicated as hell to figure out. It sounds like some dude is just standing there yelling about:

THE MOON...
drips...
on my heart...
colored in melancholy.

In fact, aside from Billy Collins and Maya Angelou, why would anyone want to write poetry?

Love. No not romantic love, I mean that tiny fleeting moment when you develop a crush on someone. That’s how I got into poetry. In fact my first few poems throughout my life were about women. First, I wrote a poem about a field of daisies and how it made me miss her when she went away on Spring Break. I gave her the poem, she broke up with me two weeks later. A year later, I wrote a poem about how my friend (who I had a crush on) reminded me of sunsets. I gave it to her. She laughed. And we never dated.

Then I met a girl at a coffee shop who had tattoos on her wrists. We chatted. I thought it was cool. She thought it was cool. I got my coffee, sat down, and started writing this really mopy, self-depricating, moody, sad, longing, rhyming poem.

It sucked.

I went home and revised the hell out of the thing. It still sucked. Moreover, I was in a poetry workshop and it was due the next day. At about eleven o’clock at night, I was freaking out (again insert the multitude of questions about how writing a poem should be simple; and why would anyone freak out over it).

Then I stared at a picture my friend drew for me of that tattoo that I wanted. I thought, why wouldn’t I get that tattoo? Why did that tattoo girl intimidate me? Why would I write a poem about a guy who was intimidated by a girl with cool tattoos? In fact, why wouldn’t that guy just go out and get a tattoo, and be like...wait...how about this for a poem instead...

Foreign Policy

I want a tattoo...

There’s something
about indelible ink
identifying you, uniquely
artificial thumbprints
painted with surgical precision
by some dude named Steve,
not Rico, or Chaz, or Dali
just Steve, his needle,
and operating room fluorescence
bathing my already albino
flesh with light so dull
every pock, scab, and scar
erupt from my back
to celebrate their cancerous
enslavement of my epidermis.

I want a tattoo...

Pass the primaries,
skip the secondaries;
no simple palette
can honor a symbol
grafted by a gruff,
tar black lunged,
bald, B.O.ed
sensei (his mother
calls him Steven)
who sketches dreams
below an invisible dermis;
these dreams are smooth
to the touch, glossy
to the eye, and,
intriguing to the intellect,
so, when the last follicles
fall off my scalp,
other octogenarians
will gaze, through coke
bottled specs,
at crimson, maroon,
and cinnamon hues,
dancing with navy, ocean,
and regal blues
choreographed on a dance
floor of thin black lines.

I want a tattoo...

Colorful, curvy
bar codes, sought
by collegians
before sweltering
September school days,
after intoxicated interludes,
or during long gaps
of loss (Dr. Steve will
see you now) result
in the hot pink butterfly
fluttering on the underside
of a smooth belly;
the serrated shark
swimming on the wave
of a muscled shoulder;
or the cracked, ripped,
and dripped-blood
tear of a heart
bemoaning a lost love.

I want a fucking tattoo...

Time to enter
the smoky sacred den,
so my skin can begin
its vision quest;
Steve, the silent
shaman, scans
my shell, surveying
the barren landscape,
purifying the pink territory
a dozen cells north
of a purple surgical scar,
where a dark red demon,
and bold blue seraph,
will meet, waging
a silent, painted war.

I want that tattoo...

As soon as its affixed,
I’ll walk through wafting
clouds of vanilla lattes,
mocha macchiatos,
and robust black decaf
up to the navy blue counter,
where she works;
we’ll exchange currency,
simple salutations,
a cinnamon glazed smile;
and discuss
the emerald calligraphy
etched on her wrists:

right
the Chinese symbol of Hope;

left
the Celtic symbol of Prosperity;

her
foreign policy;

then my own:
the dualistic nature of man.

We’ll share
the story of our skin signs;

both bestowed
by a surgical spirit named Steve.

Like you (and by you I mean the six people who read this blog, their six friends, those who like to play six degrees of Kevin Bacon, and those who don’t get poetry) I too thought and asked those same questions. As student poetry I still ask those questions. I still question why anyone would spend any amount of time writing something which criticizes themselves then twists that criticism into a powerful, fast paced, humorous speech about getting a tattoo, paying hard earned money, all in an effort to strike up a conversation with some rando girl.

Throughout history, all poets (and poetry was the first writing we had, poetic performance was a very common and admirable tribute, and, as I stated earlier, rap is heavily influenced by...well, you get it) have written poetry to discover that voice. That inherently powerful, immediate, and individually owned music that doesn’t really aim to charm, but is meant to help all of us find out who we are. What causes us to dream. What causes us to be afraid. And how to combine those two to overcome fears to get to dreams.

The above poem isn’t a love poem. It’s an understanding of insecurities through humor and sound. And strangely, it gets laughs, praises, and applause when read. Inevitably I do get asked: who is the tattoo girl?

Sadly, she doesn’t know how popular she is.

pb

Peace Without Justice

2008-12-17T03:17:00.003-06:00

When I was four, I remember fondly heading to the toy or electronics section of Kohl's department store. I remember watching kids play video games. I remember staring at Lego's boxes and dreaming inside two dimensional space. I wondered off frequently when my parents went shopping. I got lost once...and remember being very scared. Thankfully, some nice people helped me talk to store workers and eventually they called for my parents over the loud speaker.

Adam Walsh was not as fortunate. Some decripid person abducted Adam when he too was playing in a department store. His parents never saw him again.

While some might say the parents were at fault or that even my own parents took quite a risk, I say back, no, I ask back, why? Why are there people who see children as targets? Why do we let other adults kidnap, abuse, murder young children? Why can't we, as a society, despite all our regular conflicts and quarrels at the very least, come together and protect our children; ensure that those who attempt to hurt or harm our children are thwarted?

Fox was a young network and was known for two types of television: outside the box, outrageous sitcoms and the early beginnings of reality TV. While the hit show, Cops, enraptured many with seeing folks arrested and confronted, there was a show that was literally making a difference, empowering viewers to help take action.

America's Most Wanted showcased real criminal activity, documented and presented timelines of major criminals. The show's popularity sparked practicality when viewers called in with tips and information regarding the perpetrators they saw on TV. According to the show's website 1049 criminals have been caught. The man responsible for creating the show was John Walsh, Adam's father.

I grew up watching this show, my mom an avid fan of it. I remember watching this stern silver haired man, week after week, go over criminal dossiers constantly encouraging folks to call in. I had no idea, as a child, that his child was missing. As I reflect now, even if I had I known, I would've been shocked at how he kept in all that pain, confusion, saddness over not knowing what happened to Adam.

It wasn't until college when I knew the real story. When I discovered that this serious guy had been doing this for most of my life. That he'd been meeting with goverment officials and police organizations to do whatever he could to prevent further children from being abducted. And all the while, not getting any closer to finding out what happened to his son. I reccomend reading the bio on his website, as the details of his sacrifice and hard work need no additional poetry...this is an admirable and humbling tale.

Thankfully for John and his wife, today that tale is over. Investigators have finally closed the case on Adam's disappearance, naming the man responsible, and providing approximate dates of Adam's death. Closure. That is all the Walsh's ever wanted. I watched his press conference through tears. Not once did John lash back, or feel satisfied that Adam's abducter had died years ago. Nor did he say that his crusade for children was over.

He simply cried relief.

This column goes out to all of those, like John, who gave up their comfort to fight for a larger cause. Who dedicated themselves to helping solve larger problems, making others lives eaiser. We're likely never to meet those people, but the next you get a chance, send a empathetic note to John or anyone who you know is fighting for something. Tell them thank you.

And for ourselves, this paints a beautiful lesson. Justice is not simply having the 'bad guy' get theirs in the end. It's not about someone paying for what they did. Justice is about patience, and determination, and passion to help others. John will continue to help ensure that our cities and towns are safe from those who would harm our children. John will continue to push for tougher laws and coordinated efforts.

John will remain a reminder to all of us, that internal peace can be achieved through selfless perseverance.

pb

Grin It, Bear It, Keep It Going...

2008-11-04T00:31:00.005-06:00

In less than 24 hours, the United States will make a dramatic shift. The leadership of this country will change hands and either a young senator who inspires the best out of people or a proven statesman who has bled for his country, will lead our future. This election season has seen a lot of memorable firsts. The two major political parties have enjoyed their spot in the limelight. Most of America has learned a lot about itself, has seen itself register record number of voters. What will follow next will be the largest voter turn out ever.

Are you ready to make history?

No...I said...

(in honor of the greatest tag team ever, D-Generation X):

ARE YOU READY?

When this election ends, you’re either gonna celebrate or cry. You’re either gonna hug the person next to you, thank them for helping out, or be ready to point fingers, make excuses. You’re gonna believe that the future is certain, and hope will abound, or you’re gonna classically ‘threaten’ to move to Canada. It’s human. Winning, losing, and all the bizarre side effect emotions that come with either, feel what you’re going to...celebrate, mope, raise a glass, cry in your beer...take Wednesday off...

...come Thursday America, you better damn well be ready to get to back to work...

I don’t mean your job at the factory. I don’t mean being a barista at Starbucks. I don’t mean educating our youth. Trading stocks across the globe. Caring for the elderly. Preaching to the choir. I don’t mean your 9 to 5. I don’t mean what gives you a paycheck...

I mean what makes this country great, and what Americans proved during this heated election...you bring your passion for this country to the table, and you go out, and continue volunteering, continue watching the news, reading the news, writing your congressperson, senator, local public officials, meeting within your community to gather and plan for change...

REACHING ACROSS THE AISLE!

I think most folks, on either side of the spread, can agree that our country is not what it was, or could be. I think most folks are tired of fighting. Tired of seeing their leaders bicker back and forth. And I’m not talking about healthy debate, I’m talking about endlessly driving home the McCain voted with Bush, or Obama knows William Ayers...dammit people...is this what we want in our country?

I know your pain America, I know you want a hero desperately, I know you see this election as do or die, but no matter how it ends, it’s not over. You’re still alive, I’m still alive, and the energy and enthusiasm we’ve all shown for this election does not end on November 4th. It carries on forever. It carries in how we help each other out, how we volunteer, how we donate money, how hard we work, how we make sacrifices for today, to have a stronger future.

Gloating that your candidate won will not heal this country. Moping that your candidate lost will not heal this country.

Look to fellow brothers and sisters, and see that we are united because we all hope for a better future, and act on it...do something about it; move past believing that one person can change your fate, your future...

be your own future, be a leader for your country, now is the time.

I’m Peter Brooks, and I approve this message.

Numeric Thoughts

2008-08-28T00:23:00.002-05:00

366 reasons...that's all we need and yet we'll have more than enough when we actually sit down to do it.

366 reasons...a lot like a daily walk; a lot like a solid breakfast; a lot like slow, patient sunrise.

366 reasons...they should make us smile; they should tether us to the essential belief that no matter what happens in life, we are always we.

366 reasons...for some, it's the small stuff, the giggle of a child, the smile a grandma, the hug of a parent.

366 reasons...for some, it's the grandiose, a completed doctoral dissertation, an academy award, a completed building designed by your hands.

366 reasons...it seems like one too many, but you never know when another 2008 (or 2004, or 2000) will ever come around, leap out at ya, like deer from the forest.

366 reasons...it's a task; it's diving through years, and decades of gray matter, swimming through liquid television dreams or sifting tiny precious gold flakes from a river of anxieties, stressors, and nightmares.

366 reasons...they are your own. And no one, can take them away.

366 reasons...when one burns down, or closes down, or shuts down, in life, in reality, in the mental terra firma that all politicians use for rhetorical platform...they are rebuilt, and grow larger, in your heart.

366 reasons...like an apple, they'll keep the witch doctors of doom and despair away; keep your happiness regular; shine red (or green) at the thought of a new reason...for the tree will always grow, and a future physicist will always feel the weight of a memory strike the noggin' and roll down a hill.

366 reasons...to get up and stretch.

366 reasons...to say thank you, to those which carry names, first, last, middle, sur, nick, titles, misters, misses, aunts, uncles, grammas, grampas, and of course, even the cute little goldens who bark, wag, and nuzzle when we come home from a hard day of work.

366 reasons...how do you measure the moments of life; easy, write them down, see them sprawled out on the floor before, or packed into wooden green box, or hung like tinsel around your favorite plant.

366 reasons...six more than a circle, yet you come round, back to square one, the tip of emotional triangle, or better yett, the food pyramid, for this food can never be consumed enough, and while it doesn't replace the great taste of a cheeseburger (or lasgna, or soufle), it will bring tastes back to you through a time machine.

366 reasons...to laugh again. Heh...he he...ha...he...snicker.

366 reasons...to reclaim, cause for a moment they are lost, not stolen, WHO STOLE IT...no one...they fall quietly, and can melt easily, if we don't take time to pack them in, roll them up, and build a Frosty with a corncob pipe, who smiles, in the cold, cause inside his warmth are the reasons you've created.

Months ago, I tripped, fell, was probably even shoved a bit. Or a lot. When you don't see it coming, when you're left to feel Frosty's cold, and no scarf to warm you, or even a top hat to keep your mind from freezing in pain...when you feel like you've lost it all, and who you are melts away from a spring thaw...you start to wonder...how did I do this before? What did I have?

And when your friends send, and family lends hearts, ears, shoulders...you start to remember...that at one point in your life, there were 366 reasons, to get up, and see that with each passing reason, a new one emerges...for, in all liklihood, we have more than a thousand...and for our remaining years, until a force greater than those who do us wrong, welcomes us with open arms, and a warm smile, and polite chuckle (at the time you locked yourself out of your dorm room after heading to the shower)....we will look back, and see the multiplicity of 366 grow.

And we will smile, once, 366 times...

While I haven't had the official chance to say it, to many of you, to my friends, or family, to those who saw the hurt, and helped through the pain, I want to say thank you.

And if you get a call, or a text message from me, in the next 275 days, you'll know, that your name, your spirit, your memory, or our memories, good times, funny moments, made it, and help me do better than make it, better than survive...

you remind me I'm alive...
day...
by...
day...

pb

Form & Function Exist Not Without Feeling

2008-07-30T01:08:00.001-05:00

Independent Study is awesome. I almost want to call it a Sabbatical Light except that I, humbly, have not experienced a Sabbatical and, respectfully, understand that many professors use that time to get published without which they’d perish.

The work to be accepted and earn admission for an Independent Study is not easy. It’s like making toast, except that you have to bake the bread and engineer a toaster yourself, then write out the instructions for the whole process of toasting. You’re creating a syllabus for a class which already exists but doesn’t exist at that exact moment, incorporating the basics: Assignments, Grading, Reading, Deadlines, and Objectives. And, because the schedule is a tad more loose than your average class, you are left with no regular reminders to do your work/research/writing.

It took me about two weeks of brainstorming with professors and fellow classmates to garner a general idea for what I wanted my I.S. to be. Another week of meeting, formally, with professors to get the proper signatures and paperwork filled out. Close to four drafts of the syllabus (yep, just the syllabus needed that many drafts!). And another week to finalize everything including making sure the bookstore had the books (or I could find them online).

So after close to 2 months of running around, talking, planning, writing, and some hoop jumping my I.S. known as Form & Function was born. I could bore you with the distinct details or present the syllabus but since I know my friend Greggles has probably given up reading this post I’ll cut to the quick.

Prose (short stories, novels, etc.) and Poetry (sonnets, free verse, etc.) each have distinctive forms and characteristics. While Prose is generally written in block paragraphs, it must adhere to strong narrative rules. Poetry can be written in any physical form (four lines, three lines, cascade, etc.) and also has lyrical characteristics which must be maintained. The questions I tried to answer in my I.S. were:

If the same story was told in different Prose and Poetry forms, how would the differences characterize the specific forms used? Would those varying characteristics show that each form has a different function? And are those functions pretty strict or can they be manipulated and played with?

Or...

Does a sonnet have to be about something romantic, tragic, or sad because of the strict meter and rhyme scheme it has?

Does a villanelle have to sound lyrical if telling a stronger narrative moment?

Can a 250 word Micro Fiction contain enough detail to convey the emotion of the story?

If you were expanding a story from poem to short story what would you add?

If you were contracting a story from short story to poem what would you take out?

What is up with the Brewers?

My final portfolio consisted of three short stories, three traditional poetic forms, and an environmentally unfriendly hybrid (cause it took a zillion drafts to write) called a Prose Poem. Yes, sounds clear, but boy was it the hardest to write. The seven pieces all contained the same story (as a further challenge I could not add characters, scenes, or change POV...I could cheat and give greater attention to certain times in the overall story and write in any tense).

And so I learned stuff...

-Poetry, while it looks easier to write, takes about the same time to revise as Prose does.

-No one can agree on the basic elements of a Prose Poem.

-Rigid Rule Poetry (MUST rhyme, STRICT meter) sounds poetic no matter the subject matter.

-Short Stories, while they have less rules, need more internal focus of the writer.

-Poems can tell stories; stories can be poetic.

-The Brewers need to send the Cubs a goat in order to win the World Series.

I once sent a verbose e-mail about form & function to my former supervisors/advisors while I was attending Arizona State. I realized that in our daily life when a consistent group of caretakers maintain a form (workplace, home, classroom, theater, etc.) it is likely that it will be more functional to new members. The firmness of that form can allow neophytes to build upon the foundation while dreaming because they don’t have to concern themselves with reinventing the wheel.

I’ve seen some great writing happen when the Professor gives a word limit to his/her students.

Likewise the caretakers or leaders must make sure that the guidelines of the form are not too strict lest they suffocate the good ideas of those they serve or manage.

Try writing a poem where each word can only be 2 syllables long, and every fourth word must rhyme in seven lines of four metrical feet.

My e-mail very much praised the traditional approach to form the department took, and, how, after the daily work was done, there was still time for dreaming, macro-project scheming, and even a little outside the box preening for those looking to invest themselves in new ideas.

And that was the last but most important lesson learned in my I.S...without passion FOR something, without passion to tell a story or detail a dream, the forms are just empty husks, still with function, yet pretty unfunky. I spent weeks alone toiling over what story to tell. But I couldn’t just throw a basic GIRL MEETS BOY, or GOOD GUYS vs. BAD GUYS plot in there.

I needed to put my heart into it. Own my writing. Own my voice.

I once heard the adage “fake it, ‘till ya make it.” Great adage...for Poker. Or Improv. I ‘spose that some people are great at that concept, and invest themselves little, or follow the basics for the sake of following the basics.

But there’s a reason why we don’t only write Shakespearean Sonnets...its because John Milton wanted to write them his way; Walt Whitman, his way; Langston Hughes, his way; Maya Angelou, her way.

I believe individuals can exist inside any focused collective, just as I believe that a consistent collective can create individuals. But those things can only happen when you live your life with heart. When you stop putting on the Beetle Bailey façade that you’re making it work; when you stop cueing in fate’s line waiting for something big to happen to you...when you start taking those creative changes, championing causes for others, or challenging change through small steps...that’s when the beauty of Form & Function starts to sing once more with feeling.

So, for your next independent study in life...the career you always wanted to pursue, the hobby you wanted to take up, the relationship you wanted to start...here’s an anonymously written mantra for you I discovered in my high school weight room, a place where it’s pretty hard to fake it:

All I had, I gave;

all I saved, I lost forever.

Pix-Elated!

2008-07-16T00:31:00.000-05:00

As I exhumed the contents of several mid-move boxes last week, looking for some George Carlin CDs, I found a lost piece of my childhood: a tiny, LCD, hand-held He-Man ‘video’ game. High tech gadgetry years before Atari and a half decade before Nintendo/Sega.

Simplicity at its finest...only five buttons:

Move:

Moves He-Man in a manly pixilated stride down Castle Grayskull’s maze like corridors.

Cursor:

Rotates the giganto arrow which tells He-Man which way to move.

Hurl:

Tosses He-Man’s sword at Skeletor who has one pose, a triumphant “Skeletor up in this MoFo!!!” (I should say triumphant until he gets a sword lodged in his face).

Sound Off:

A switch which sorta tells you what is off, but not what is on.

ACL:

One of those tiny, recessed jobbers where you need a pen or pencil to press it...much like the members of Lost stuck in the hatch, I refuse to press it out of fear that something bad will happen.

The plot just as simple:

Our boy, rough and tough with his puffed out chest, and, like always, mostly naked, bolts through the downtown-Phoenix designed hallways of Castle Grayskull, looking for his sword, avoiding trapdoors that lead to jail cells, and frequently being carried off by some ‘roided up bat/pterodactyl with poor direction sense. Again, the culmination is to chuck a sword at Skeletor’s face.

Cue the 1-bit music which accompanies a victory. Of course, with all this intricately simple planning there are some other unique aspects.

He-Man can only travel NSEW, yet has a spider-sense which tells him when his sword, a spare jail key, a cell, and/or Skeletor are in an adjoining room. Upon sensing Skeletor, you then guess which room he’s in and ‘hurl’ the sword down the appropriate hallway. If it hits, then it’s party time at Man-at-Arms’ crib while Skeletor calls LifeAlert from the LCD ground. If it misses, both his sword and Skeletor magically teleport to another part of the castle.

There are three levels of difficulty, but I have yet to determine what separates them since I die pretty frequently no matter what the level. I’m also baffled by the supposed time limit the only indicators being the “da DA da DA” sound every 11-16 seconds and the fact that I left it on and lost. This then leads to the more confusing scoring. If the time limit runs out, you get a 99. But if you win the game, you get a 14.

The game is fantastic! I’ve spent a Final Fantasy amount of time on the game.

A few plot inconsistencies between the game and He-Man mythos:

1. Skeletor spends pretty much every TV episode (and comic) trying to break into Grayskull to begin with...in the game he’s hanging out like Rocky...I suppose this somewhat fits why He-Man searches for him (and ultimately impales his face).

2. Why Skeletor sits still (and how he magically teleports at a He-Man misfire) is beyond me. Why not make it harder and jog around the corridors?

3. I know the MTV Cribs “Castle Grayskull” episode doesn’t exist, but I don’t recall The Sorceress having a metaphysically implausible maze.

4. Speaking of which, where is she?

5. Moreover, He-man’s got no idea where the heck he is, yet has a key for the cells. And, much like the sword...

6. ...the key mysteriously vanishes after use.

7. Speaking of which, how did he lose his sword to begin with? Last I checked the Jaw Bridge could only be opened by that.

After playing this game about fourteen dozen times, I found myself empathizing with He-Man’s LCD world.

How often do we feel like we walk an endless maze--avoiding obstacles, looking for our strengths, facing our fears, and, randomly, getting off carried track, literally, by a crazy, misguided bat--all in an attempt to get some closure or ‘win the game?’

In the great abstract world of time, while it constantly moves forward, our ability to move in a finite space seems limitless. And not just in traveling from place to place, but what activities, hobbies, interests, career moves, job fires, social moments, and basic survival needs (eat, sleep, bathroom) do we fill our space with? These two concepts cause us to feel like our life is linear; being stuck a car stuck in car wash, getting pelted with Fruity Pebble wax and royal blue brushes.

Tweak that view for one second and learn a lesson He-Man’s travels. What if the muscle-bound man made a map? What if he sat down and plotted out where all the traps were, eliminating rooms where his sword could be, and plotting, as best he can, where the crazy bat will carry him off to in relation to where he was?

Now, what if you did the same?

If you got out a big sheet of white construction paper and started scrawling: where would you start; what is the journey like so far; what symbols would represent positive moments, negative times, and other important events in your history? There’s no right or wrong how you do it (if in the end you draw a straight line, perfect, but you still have to fill out stuff that’s happened along the way).

Eventually, I did make a map for my monochrome main man. I started thinking/feeling a sense of relief, a sense of focus. While this venture only helped my game a bit (scoring a few more sword to skull victories) the most significant idea behind my upbeat feeling was the one necessary element of map making.

The last marker I put down was a “You Are Here;” I soon realized I wasn’t too far off course in the first place.

The Loss of a Class Act Class Clown

2008-06-24T00:45:00.004-05:00

If you've heard me speak before, or read my poetry, you probably wouldn't notice that my style, performance, and to some degree, subject matter hails from a man whose language is legendary...or at least legally legendary.

George Carlin is the reason why you can't say seven specific words on TV or the Radio. He also passed away today from heart failure. Tragic for a man who had lotsa passion for his work.

While this may shock some (although not surprise many) I first saw a George Carlin special in HBO when I was three. Admittedly, I understood like 60% of his stuff then. I thought him swearing was funny. And I laughed at the sports and driving things. Of course, watching Carlin is what made it for me then.

When I got older, I started to realize a lot of the brilliance with what he said, and how he said it. A friend of mine once said that in the public speaking business it is always wise to watch those whose style you can appreciate it. Much like writers read. Much like artists peruse other art. From Carlin, much of how he said things, and a little of what he said, has impacted my own performance.

He lists, and not just the famous Incomplete List of Impolite words. He's a frequent user of anaphora (repeating an opening line...like what Walt Whitman did). His alliteration and internal rhyme is phenomenal. Most importantly, he wasn't afraid to say anything either.

Many forget that Carlin started out as a straight man in comedy. Something in him one day made him switch. An internal desire to push the envelope, but not force it open. He soon became part of the 60's and 70's counter culture. But during this time, his act wasn't all about swearing for swearing's sake.

It's all about his sense of irony.

He's receiving the Mark Twain award for humor. Only ten others have thus far received it. Mark Twain is one of America's greatest satirists. Only fitting that Carlin will be recognized.

In a CD compilation I have from Carlin, he talks about cigarette advertising in the 60's. Talked about how all the subliminal messages were focused toward men being manly man. Then he did a fake commercial where he mocks the "cool" lifestyle of smoking (and this was when smoking was considered a chic habit).

The first person to receive the award, by the way, Carlin's compatriot, Richard Pryor. Both are known by scores of comedians and comediennes as the founders. They were the ones who brought stand up comedy out of the basic routine of set up, joke, punch line. Most importantly both brought laughter to millions.

While I haven't watched or listen to Carlin as religiously as I used to, I did pop in a tape casette today, and laughed, and cried. Regardless of your views, we lost a class clown today, someone who had a keen view of the world and wasn't afraid to speak his mind. And while I remember him once saying "God and I have an understanding...I don't understand Him and He doesn't understand me" I'm certain that he was met at the pearly gates with a standing ovation.

In honor of George Carlin, one of my influences, and whom I thankful for his style and substance, here is my favorite prayer (read when Red Buttons died):

The Clown's Prayer

As I stumble through this life,
help me to create more laughter than tears,
dispense more cheer than gloom,
spread more cheer than despair.

Never let me become so indifferent,
that I will fail to see the wonders in the eyes of a child,
or the twinkle in the eyes of the aged.

Never let me forget that my total effort is to cheer people,
make them happy, and forget momentarily,
all the unpleasantness in their lives.

And in my final moment,
may I hear You whisper:
“When you made My people smile,
you made Me smile.”

Shoelaces...

2008-05-11T01:01:00.001-05:00

A fantastic thing happened today which hasn’t happened in a quite a while...my shoelaces became untied, an occurrence which used to happen regularly.

Before I left for London last year I bought a pair of low cut hiking shoes. Meant to hold the dualistic purpose of ‘style’ and practicality, I wore those puppies down to their sole and hushed them into my closet.

There’s a great 45 degree slice on the heel.

Comfy, sure. Stylish, maybe. Worn out, definitely.

So I bought a new pair. Stark white, fresh heeled, walking shoes.

My previous pair of shoes came untied once in a while (apparently I can’t tie a knot...prolly why I had Velcro shoes for eleven...cough...seven years of my life). Yet, the tiny grayish dark yellow laces did not sprawl like the long lanky stark white laces which found the cool floor of freedom, spreading out in any direction they chose.

Previous white “tennies” (as my grandmother would say) had the same occurrence. So I have years of responses, varied by personality type, the most common being:

“Your shoe’s untied.”

To which, I’d reply:

“I know.”

And went about my day. Some folks, of course, provided an instant follow up:

“Aren’t you gonna tie them?”

To which, I’d reply:

“No, it’s cool, the laces like it this way.”

Some, would offer helpful advice:

“Aren’t you worried about tripping?”

Or a dire warning:

“Dude, you’re gonna trip!”

To which, I’d reply:

“Thanks for your thoughts, I’m gonna buy a coke!”

For those who care enough, I really do appreciate it, especially Janet, who for three and half years prolly told me almost every day...and better than the time she told me to stop wearing sandals with socks. Really, if I didn’t retie them...please do not take it personally...I figure if they want to be free, why not let them go?

Sadly, there are a few...very, very, very few....who find concern in that logic and, without warning, these people raise their size 6, 9, 12, etc. and...

step on my laces as I’m walking...

Aside from the extremely mild annoyance of having to either tape the frayed ends, or buy a new pair, this provides the most confusion:

How can untied, free-flowing laces bother you so much you feel the need to step on them, causing harm, either by tripping the walker, or ripping their laces?

Butterfly Effect

2008-04-25T23:35:00.003-05:00

Windy day. Kinda day where garbage bins, recycle bins, and other such plastic containers fly up and down suburban blocks, mysteriously moving houses, hiding in bushes, winding up in the street. Good times.

On a walk today I found one of these free roaming friends in the street. I moved it. Continued. Drove past it, and it was back. Moved it. Drove on. Returned from writing, saw it had moved back, moved it, put a rock in it, and went about my day. Hour later, passed it again. Damn thing was in the street...lying next to the rock.

We all have days like this. Do our best to help out. Make a difference. Small stuff, you know? While you hope that your tiny good deed pays dividends for others, sometimes it's windy. Sometimes it's about diligence, perseverance, even if it means doing the same thing again and again and again.

pb

Church

2008-03-09T11:48:00.002-05:00

No doubt from the moment your eyes scanned the solo syllable title your brain immediately throw up rows of iron gates and stone walls bracings yourself for the impact of what may be an article focused on making you feel uncomfortable.

As this is a natural tendency keep your guard up. Station your brain sentry front and center giving him (or her) the comfort that if anything crazy does come up she (or he) will be well utilized.

I am a part-time Catholic.

Nope, that line will be saved for later. Let’s talk about my mother instead.

My mother is a gracious women who appreciates the love she has for community. Like the rest of the world he early years were spent dealing with childhood problems and obstacles. Like other Baby-Boomer/Silent Generation cuspers she sought freedom from the bonds of a black and white social society which repressed color out of fear that the structure would one day crumble. Yet, she does long for that sense of tradition to keep her grounded and focused.

My mother’s identity for many years of her life was simple. Family, work, and community. All extra time, and in some cases extra money, was donated to the community which she belonged. To some degree this is how I learned of the social world. As a child in my family you heard the Polkrups, Corstens, Ericksons talked about as if you needed to know their names.

And yet I barely interacted with any of these folks.

My mother’s community consisted of these names and more. She volunteered to set up wedding receptions, funeral wakes, family homecomings, sock hops, spaghetti dinners, and the weekly Lenten Friday Fish Fry where I developed a strange addiction to the bighting bitter taste of rye bread. Then there were the dinner parties she hosted. Even our birthday parties and religious rites of passage had guests whom I’d only see on those occasions.

My mother sang in a folk group really a fancy name for a choir. We, as a family, attended folk group camp, with other families (as a great tangential note that is where I met my first best imaginary friend, Zork). I used to pilfer through my mother’s purse and played with anything I could find while she practiced singing with the other adults who all knew my name or at least knew me as Lynn’s little boy.

Those were the days my mother was happiest.

Those are the days we are all the happiest. When we’re surrounding by like minded, only slightly differing folks who share in the same activities and reflect the best of who we are. Those are the group activities that we look forward when work and (sadly yet truthfully) family seem to pull us away from our inner “oh!”

When my parents moved out of Wauwatosa to further west suburb my mother was smart enough and resourceful enough to find a new anchor. A new center. A new church.

That last one was not metaphorical.

I am a part-time catholic.

This is title bestowed to me by others. In short I must be seen with a name tag which reads ‘Catholic’ and instead of waking up in the morning and punching in for a 16 hour shift, I punch in yearly at Easter and Christmas. I don’t punch in during lent as I’m often sinking my teeth deep into the flesh of a beast who chews cud, or who wallows in shit, or runs around the yard with no head. And it’s been a while since I’ve punched in on a weekly basis.

Other than that I do not know what it means to be part-time catholic since I don’t feel as if I stray to far away from the things I learned from attending catholic school for six years; and what I dug up from intense self-reflection from my confirmation retreat; and even what I learned from a brilliant formerly catholic priest who ‘retired’ from his religion because it wouldn’t let him marry.

I may not understand much about my religion and its ways, or other religions including the non-Christian ones which those of us who grow up in Wisconsin tragically do not have much exposure to. And I will admit some amount of cynicism and skepticism. But, upon a fantastic conversation with my friend and colleague Greg over a steaming cup of coffee, I realized that there is one very important concept I do understand related to all of this: church.

Church is not just a physical structure we go to on a regular basis to receive fulfillment. It can be a weekly dinner with friends. Routinely volunteering at an abuse shelter. Walking daily while listening to your iPod. Participating in ongoing poetry readings. Singing in a choir. Playing games with your kids. Celebrating family successes. And of course, attending mass (or whatever your nomenclature bestows).

The concept of church is what my mother cultivated for herself in Wauwatosa. Upon moving and starting fresh my mother was distraught and thought she too was a part-time catholic. Whether or not she is/was (and whatever ethereal umpire makes that call) isn’t as relevant to the fact that my mother’s church was community. Any community. My mother soon found that community in other aspects of her life. It eventually lead her to India, to see other communities.

Your church is a similar concept. Something where whatever resources your using (mental, emotional, physical, time, money) ends up having a much greater and longer lasting return on life. There are two types and two styles (focused into four tightly wrapped and beautiful enchiladas of mirth) that you should be aware of. The types denote the regularity of your church and the style describes the personal participation of such. And yes because I started this article with religious verbiage I will continue as such.

Mass: This is the concept most associated with what your church is. It is an activity or hobby or event which you share with a group of people on a regular (weekly to bi-weekly to monthly) basis. The strength of the mass centers around what the activity means to all the people involved and that it will be a staple part of your identity diet.

Meditation: The difference, like the next, is that only you are participating in something you do routinely, but which exists outside of what you MUST do in this world to survive. Not that it isn’t an essential concept for you to cope with and enhance your survival but if you didn’t do it, you wouldn’t keel over. This again can be anything from walking, silent reflection, listening to music, writing, drawing, etc.

Pilgrimage: Something which you do by yourself and which brings you the same joy/personal fulfillment but only done about once a year (or no more than twice a year). Sometimes it involves a trip outside of your comfort and familiarity. This could be a concert or an event only held in a specific city. This could even be simply a day trip to visit a place which has great significance to you.

Festival: In the immortal words of Blue Falcone from Harvey Birdman: Attorney at Law, “Now we make PARTY!” The festival is of course the rare celebration among a group of people who all share in the essence of a particular event or activity or hobby. Much like the summer festivals (including Summerfest itself) in the city of Milwaukee, it is time organized by others (or you and your friends/family) to bring many people together to rejuvenate themselves all at one time.

I do not necessarily believe you need to have something for all four categories but I do believe that each of us should have at least one solo activity and one group activity we participate in on a regular basis. The group activity reminds us that there are always a community outside who appreciate the things we do. Whereas the solo activity strengthens the positive characteristic we have inside ourselves.

Either way, find your church and believe that your spirituality comes from a place deep inside and is tied to things and people which make you smile.

That Crazy VD

2008-02-14T17:30:00.002-06:00

It’s valentine’s day and I’m single.

This is not an admission seeking pity. It is not a rebel yell to all those at dinner, or dancing, or peacefully cuddling on the couch. It is not a mopy moment meant to drain the brains of those who may think “why?” It is mere fact. A fact that carries certain social connotations and internal insecurities which I’m sure others have thought about over the course of the past week or final hours leading up to today.

In our culture, this is a moment of unstoppable force meets immovable object.

It is an inevitability. Like the first day of school. Like New Year’s Eve. Like whatever religious holiday you celebrate. Or national holiday you appreciate. Or your birthday whether it’s the excitement of turning 21 or the dread of 40. It is a construct and reminder that time is always moving.

Thus, our unstoppable force.

This day is somewhat different. Regardless of your thoughts: “it’s just another day on the calendar,” “it’s just a Hallmark holiday,” “it’s the bestest day of the year!” the day ties into one of the largest ongoing thoughts that most of us have about life: will I be alone?

It is an odd question asked at odd moments of our life. For instance, have you ever asked yourself that when you’re in a relationship? Knee deep in the honeymoon phase where even the grass seems more green and your favorite bar seems less smoky, do you pause and question that atmospheric goodness? Unlikely. Sometimes, sadly, it acts as a stubborn lynch pin when our relationships aren’t going well and we try to hang on because we think “being alone is far worst than what I have now.”

The question is most certain to arise when things are not well. Even after decades of marriage that question pops up, unexpectedly, an emotional abscess on our heart when our loved one comes down with a potentially lethal ailment. “What happens when they’re gone? What will I do?” No matter what the question is always there; only its placement between the forefront and subconscious of our minds vacillates.

And so we have our immovable object.

I’m not saying that the clash of these two titans automatically results in an undertaking of epic proportion, mental, romantic, or otherwise. It may be a small thought, a fleeting consideration, or quick shrug of the shoulder. If you aren’t single, today either sets off bells and alarms or is pleasantly greeted like a long lost friend. In couplehood, it can be a day to appreciate where you’re at and how you got there:

“I met her at the rodeo. I was flung from a bull into a pile of cowshit and she was the clown trying to distract the bull from gouging me.” Too cute.

Or it can be a day of reckoning for those unsettled issues the two of you may feel resulting in an unconscious double-blind taste-test of potential disaster.

“Will he remember that I don’t like roses?”

“Will she expect me to do something?”

“Oh my god, he (or she) got me a stuffed animal (or tie) for the 3rd (or 4th, or 5th) year in a row.”

When you’re single, you comparably do have a vast more amount of choices. Maybe this is the day you head out with your single friends and celebrate that freedom. Maybe this is the day you flip off the calendar and rally against the status quo and watch Mallrats while playing Call of Duty 3. Maybe this is the day when you take that small leap and give someone a piece of your heart, hoping they return the favor, or at least hoping they don’t jab a steak fork through it.

What do you make of today?

You could mope. You could celebrate. You could be as happily immune to the thought of alone as that Walt Disneyish couple I saw walk into a restaurant minutes before I wrote this. Single or not consider the following, easy, three step advice:

1. Cut a hole in the box.

2. Put your junk in the...

...whoops, sorry, that my sweetest day advice. Here’s the Valentine’s Day advice:

Whether you’re floating on cloud nine, canoodling with your lover, dancing the night away with friends, or quietly sitting at home, I want you to pause. Close your eyes. Think about being alone. Not to make you appreciate what you have (or long for what you don’t) but think about your solitary existence throughout your own life. I want you to think about simple facts:

By yourself, you once overcame a great fear.

By yourself, you once achieved a great dream.

By yourself, you once looked at yourself in the mirror and said “damn I’m hot.”

By yourself, you once tripped, and fell, and got up, and laughed for being human.

By yourself, you once heard your favorite band for the first time and smiled.

By yourself, you once created something in your way, in your style, and was proud of it.

By yourself, you once made someone else smile, in a good way, and they’ll never forget it.

Now open your eyes. See the world around you. Realize that today is Valentine’s Day and, as my friend Andrew West so eloquently put it, “was a day founded on orgies.” Orgies of course is the Greek word for “fantastic party and a day to celebrate the richness the of life because no matter who you’re with, or what bad befalls you, you always have yourself.”

I hope you enjoy today and appreciate all the good that you have done for yourself and others.

Waking Up

2008-02-06T22:45:00.000-06:00

In the mid 1990's, when I was young and naive...or just young really...I was writing probably as much as I do now. I was surrounded by inspiration. I am thankful for this time because much of what I am as a writer today in my poetry and prose comes from elements which these artists opened for others.

Pulp Fiction and Clerks were just released in the movie theaters. The dialogue of both films was different, sinister, yet down to earth. A little discomforting at times yet mixed with humor (think Vincent and Jules' dialogue on foot massages). I'll admit, my own movies ideas at the time were simple and 'neat.' Like a nice kitchen with white curtains and a window open to let the sun come in. Boy meets girl, boy falls in love, boy tries some clever scheme to get to know girl, etc. I kinda needed a kick in the hoo-hahs and those movies delivered.

Alanis Morisette comes to mind for music. While I thoroughly, and with slightly colored cheeks, admit that I was a big Hootie fan (again, I was writing stories about a romance so hopeless any music which could support the "I'm not worthy" thoughts was awesome). Then Alanis comes along with an album dedicated to hating on Dave Coulier. Like the movies, I was kind of disconcerted to hear lines like "did she go down on you in a theater." Her "hey Dave...go f*** yourself!" themes jarred some stuff loose for me.

I am blessed to say that growing up in Milwaukee around that time yielded two more experiences which profoundly changed the way I thought about my writing. My friends and I would go see The Dead Alewives which was an experimental comedy troupe containing members of ComedySportz. I was so used to the non-swearing and quite constricting rules of ComedySportz that watching these seven men (Mondy, Rob, Dan, Sean, Kurt, Bo, and Peter) butcher them like a sort of serial comedian really woke me from a small world. It was hard not to be offended but it was more hard not to laugh.

I've mentioned him before, but one of the members of the Dead Alewives, Rob Schrab, also wrote and illustrated a comic book called Scud: The Disposeable Assassin. Even though it had been a while since I'd read comics, reading a black and white comic, with art which was as gritty as Frank Miller but as simple as Phil Hester really coldcocked any preconceived notions I had about superheroes. It was violent, but thought provoking. Scud was a free spirit as a character, but he was also a killer with no remorse.

All of these influences definitely played into my first short story, which soon became part of another larger story of my life. I wrote The Date when I was head over heels for Mia Scampini. The story, like most of my stories, started out with this very analytical, kinda Woody Allenish character worried about whether or not the girl of his dreams likes him. In a serendipitous turn of events, she calls him, and soon they're headed to the most romantic place on earth: a vehicle emissions inspection center.

As the date (more to him, less to her) goes along, the story gets kinda dull. And since most of the story was autobiographical, I reached a horrible moment where I had no idea where to go next. The characters in the story (written as 'him' and 'her' to protect the innocent) were at the center, and the date seemed over. That was until they get into a high speed gun battle where the 'her' just happens to be an expert markswoman. It was the first time in a story I had violence, extremely graphic descriptions of head's exploding, and lots and lots of swearing.

Of course I took the biggest risk by giving it to Mia, who read it and loved it, mostly proven by the fact that she gave it to a slew of her friends to read. Nothing like being insecure and in high school reading a fictional short story about some slightly geeky kid who likes a character so close to your friend, who in the story just happens to blow people away with a .38 (yielding one of my favorite moments from her when she corrected me that her eyes were green not brown).

Kevin Smith, Quentin Tarantino, Alanis, Rob, and the Alewives all broke ground for me. It was kind of like giving a kid access to Big Foot at an antique car show/kitty cat convention. Dead kittens and smashed Hudsons everywhere.

Of course we all grow up and while we find our voice and one that makes us most comfortable we also adapt to our changing times. We also learn new lessons and sometimes use our old ways to illustrate life's changes. Smith did Clerks 2 which was not in grainy black and white but definitely had those "did he really just say that" lines of dialogue still quoted today. Tarantino did Grind House, and although it had the benefit of new movie tech (and more money) it was still classic Tarantino chaos. Alanis is dating Ryan Reynolds, but she's found new ways to shock audiences (if you've never heard/seen her version of 'My Humps' check out YouTube stat!). And although the original Alewives are no more, many of them are successful doing other things.

Like Rob, who just released Scud #21 after a 10 year hiatus. It is the first of four and did not disappoint, not just because it was refreshing to see Scud return as the hero but because it still manages to kick you in the teeth with new themes (for more please see the review in Comic Smack) . And so, I leave you Rob's opening thoughts to #21, in honor of the great artists who woke me up with their creativity, and the fact that they took a risk themselves with their own original voices:

"Learn from the pain of an old nerd. And take this bit of wisdom: If there's something that you are procrastinating on, writing a book, making a movie or asking a girl out. Do it. Today. Be scared, be stupid but there is one thing you are not allowed to do: Give up. Empty your head. Empty it of all the ideas, stories, jokes, philosophies and inventions. Put it down on paper and share it. We are on this planet for such a short time; don't hog the magic by dying with it all in your head. Make your life extraordinary."

pb

I have a dream...

2008-01-25T00:46:00.000-06:00

Langston Hughes and Walt Whitman are outstanding poets. However, at the time they published their first series of poems many people did not care for their style of poetry or subject matter. Whitman was accused of focusing too much on the body. Hughes was accused of focusing too much of his attention on lower class african-americans. Whitman dealt with being poor. Hughes was discriminated against. Both of them wrote during times when the country was in heavy strife: Civil War and segregation. But no matter what they wrote about it, what they said, what pain they felt, they maintained one important concept:

Their Voice.

They wrote about what they wanted. And wrote how they wanted. They found their place in poetic history. They fought for what they believed in through their words. They were strong in their voice. And each with their own style. While Whitman was not afraid to write at length, Hughes chose his words like a linguistic connoisseur. They used repetition. A powerful poetic technique. Used to emphasize, and remind.

Dr. King too used repetition.

At a time when many people dreamed of a different world, and others wanted their world to stay the same. At a time when folks wanted to be equal while others thought equality existed because they had their rights and others didn't. At a time when the country was divided again, not on a battlefield, not in the subtle hurt of segregation, but in the minds of those who wanted an even playing field vs. those who wanted distance. Dr. King stood firm and used his voice.

In addition to the power of his words and the timelessness of his message, I noticed something while looking over his speech...he references a future while making a selfless sacrifice for the present.

"I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character."

He wanted the world to be accessible for his kids...for the future.

Langston and Walt wanted the same. They wanted accessibility. To moods and emotions and thoughts and dreams that many thought were inaccessible. So they wrote. They wrote themselves into their voices. Wrote thier passion. Wrote their fears. Wrote their hopes. And through writing they triumphed. Just as Dr. King, decades later, did the same.

I thank all of them for standing up, standing out, and voicing their passion to the world. I cannot claim their ability but in honor of them I wrote the following:

To Dr. King, Langston, and Walt

As a child I dreamed myself into existence

away from the cutting words of classmates

away from their glaring eyes on my scared face.

As a child I wrote myself into existence

in simple stories about roses and daises

in simple reflection to laugh and learn.

As a child I spoke myself into existence

stood in front of my enemy and forgave

stood in front of friends and opened doors.

And before you today, on King’s day,

I honor Langston’s language of living

I honor Walt’s writing of wonderment.

I am me, I am that child who speaks,

writes, and dreams, I be not afraid

to be the first but hope that I am not the last.

One Peice at a Time

2007-12-28T23:26:00.000-06:00

DNA is the building block of life. And Legos are the building blocks of life's lessons. I'm sure if putting together DNA was as simple and accessible as putting together a Lego set we'd solve all manner of world problems and health problems. Yet, there are still few things we'd learn along the way about ourselves.

Admittedly, I am a kid at heart and am not ashamed when it comes to doing anything which revisits my youth no matter how peculiar it may be to another adult. Thus, while Christmas shopping with my friend Colleen last week I decided to buy a Lego set. And not just a simple 30 piece car or truck, but the 200 some piece Arkham Asylum set from the Batman collection.

I ripped open all the clear cellophane bags and let all the pieces large and small clutter my coffee table. I wondered how big, how intricate, and how challenging it would be to build the different parts of the prison, vehicles, etc. I pondered and laughed at how Lego has stayed true to their simple Lego people (you're either sitting or standing; arms are always bent at a 45 degree angle; hands are also formed to grip things) and marveled at some of the new accessories and different designs they've been upgraded with (the heads of the legos are not bright yellow any more, they all have different and respectable skin tone colors). And as I started following the step by step instructions I started seeing the parallels between building toward something and building toward something in your life.

Separating the Pieces
Despite my J tendencies when it comes to Legos I'm all about throwing everything in one pile. As long as I don't lose a piece (see below) I'm ok with there being no flow to what I'm building. What I noticed haphazardly was that the big pieces easily blocked many of the smaller pieces you need to initially build with (in fact most of the things built either began or ended with a big piece leaving all the little ones to be at the core of the structure). I started thinking about how when our larger problems start to consume us in life it's real easy to miss the small things which allow us to focus back on our life and where we're headed. Not that you can ignore the 'big pieces' but there's a time and place to deal with them and if you're constantly keeping them in your view you start to miss out on the day to day smaller tasks and joys which life brings.

Taking Shape
I'm still amazed how Lego creators come up with these designs. As I'm putting together two pieces to start a truck my first thought is, this doesn't look anything like a truck. Even as I'm getting a few steps in, even after adding wheel wells, it doesn't quite start taking shape until the end. There's something magical in those early moments because you're focused on those small steps, on those building blocks and not in a rush to just get it done. Moreover, as you're finishing up you start to appreciate the work you've put yourself through.

Oh, They're All There
When my grandmother was still alive she'd put together jigsaw puzzles. I can't begin to describe to you the let down feeling about finishing a 500 piece puzzle only to see that one piece is missing. The cool with Legos is that rarely (if ever since I cannot say I've experienced it) are pieces missing. Yet, rarely do you have more than 1 or 2 extra pieces and these are usually unimportant to the overall build. When you get down to the last structure or even the last few pieces you start to get a little worried that you're missing some. But somehow, and each time, it magically works out. Life is a lot like that. It's not that you're always gonna have good times but really as things play out in life the pieces start to fall into place. Something which one day you thought was bad, turns out to be great or at least not as bad, a couple days later.

Oh, They're All There pt. 2
The other beauty to this phenomena is that as you're looking for the piece that you need in the large pile of Tetris like blocks you get frustrated when you don't spot it right away. You think "how can it be missing?" or "how am I that dumb that I can't spot a right angle piece which is the only blue brick in the whole batch?" Then you find it. Patience is never the easiest lesson to learn or relearn if you've forgotten it. But it's something which is always good to revisit through activities which may not have specific deadlines (ie building a Lego set) since you have the ability to step away from it for an hour or a day and resume it when your head is more clear. Practicing patience in that arena strengthens us to practice it elsewhere.

Breaking 'em Down
Truthfully with some of the bigger ships, buildings, sets, etc. I didn't take them apart as much as I did with the smaller things (although the Lego police headquarters I had as a kid went through a little Trading Spaces renovation without the eclectic interior designer barking orders at you every three minutes). But the beauty of Legos vs. a model kit is that you can either tear it all apart and rebuild or make something new (or reuse a piece or two in another set). Back in the day Lego used to actually show you what other things you could build and it was always humorous because you'd buy the Viking Death Ship 3000 only to see that one of the things you could use the pieces for was a makeshift tanning salon. Memories and our strengths are a lot like that. My friend Kristin reminded me of that in an e-mail she sent me the other day. She recalled how an earlier memory of our friendship still gives her food for thought to this day. If you don't keep a journal, take some time to write out several good memories, or things you've succeeded at, accomplished, overcome, etc. and keep them in a jar. On a bad day, or in any random moment open up the jar and check one of them out. Remind yourself that no one can take those memories away from you.

I finished Arkham Asylum and it sits atop my entertainment center for now. The four plus hours it took me to put it together was enjoyable and very therapeutic. More reason to invest time (and sometimes money) into a hobby and how hobbies contribute positively to our daily grind.

pb

DC vs. Marvel vs. Scud

2007-12-22T02:27:00.000-06:00

Warning: The following is a heavy dose of comic book rambling on the current state of the two major labels and a much anticipated release within next two months...we will return to your regularly scheduled blog soon after. Enjoy!

My history with comics is a bit erratic. My brother collected and I know I only read a sample of his collection when I was less than 10. I remember the Marvel storyline 'Fatal Attractions' which essentially sets the stage for Wolverine (big harry claw guy from the X-men movies) to find his admantium (indestructible metal which lases his bones) and for Magneto (old guy who controls metal, actor also plays Gandalf in the LOTR) to eventually become Onslaught, which was another well written series I remember reading. Thus, for most of my life, I was a Marvel kid. At the time the characters seemed deeper than the DC ones.

Halfway through graduate school I got hooked on DC mostly through the writing of Peter David (http://peterdavid.malibulist.com/). He wrote Young Justice (Robin, Superboy, Impulse, Wondergirl, The Secret) and Supergirl (this would be Linda Danvers not the current Supergirl). They were very funny and David has a great command of dialog. This got me back into comics full time, collecting those titles and JSA, JLA, Green Arrow (when Kevin Smith started to write), and Impulse. After about five years, as some of those titles died or were reinvented, I'll admit that my interest started to wane and I noticed Marvel had some pretty cool story lines starting up.

For you non-comic book type people allow me to explain the concept of crossovers. Superman (guy with the red cape from Krypton) decides he can't fight Luthor (bald villain who hates Superman) alone so he calls Batman (I'm not even gonna explain this one). For the next two months these two titles could have a couple of issues where storyline follows between the two titles. Really, this is a great financial ploy from the publisher to get you to either buy more comics, read a comic you wouldn't normally read, or both. I won't lie, to me, the only real creative genius behind crossovers are the continuity editors who make sure the whole universe stays form.

Each label has had two major crossover events: in Marvel it was the Secret Wars (buncha good guys and bad guys get whisked away to an alien planet, they fight, neither side really wins, but it's cool to see them battle a la WWE style); in DC it was Crisis on Infinite Earths (DC bought a bunch of smaller publishing houses and needed to find a way to fit ALL characters into their continuity...this was probably the MOST creative way to do so).

Recently both comic labels have also had some pretty cool and interesting crossovers which unfortunately are unraveling into complete crossover duds. This is where I get bitter and start to hate comics...which is like an accountant refusing to use his calculator during tax season.

For the record, for the same reason I hated many of Dreamworks first few movies, it's all about the writing...once you sacrifice a strong plot for something unique you start to suck...see Anaconda for a good reference.

Marvel Comics
About three years ago, or so, Marvel had a great crossover with their X-Men (mutants lead by Patrick Stewart) series called House of M. In short, the Scarlet Witch, who happens to be a tad crazy, decides to create a utopia where mutants rule over sapes (slang for homosapien...ie us). This works out for pretty much every hero involved since they get a life they wanted to lead. However, Wolverine wakes up to realize it's a dream, and wakes up the rest of the crew to make things go back to normal.

Why it was good: It's a great philosophical piece. If everything is ok, do you keep it, or do you return it back to where it was supposed to be? Almost all of the heroes had BOTH sets of memories after everything was changed back. And at the end, the scarlet witch gets rid of all the mutants (which leads to multiple story lines and offshoots like...

Civil War
Again great concept. The government wants all heroes to register their secret identities. This is all fine and dandy for some, but Captain America (blond guy who took the super solider formula and has a star spangled shield) doesn't care for it; spider-man (Tobey Maguire) unmasks himself and a lot of superhero in-fighting breaks out. GREAT concept because in this day and age of government possibly being more big brother, it makes you think. BUT....the ending was really quick and sudden...Cap kinda realizes that it's not worth it, gives up, gets arrested, gets shot. Snooze. AND...this has lead to...

Secret Invasion
The premise is that all the cool stuff you liked about Civil War could have been manipulated by Skrulls (really kick ass aliens with a lot of powers who hate earth...and the Kree, which is another race of aliens). This means that really Tony Stark (Ironman, recovering alcoholic who flies around in a metal suit all day) and Cap fought for no reason and no one is really at fault because they may have been a skrull in disguise. BORING.

Why I'm Pissed: There's no reason to erase the civil war. Let the heroes figure their shit out and bring a DIFFERENT cataclysmic event to their doorstop which will unite them...like the beyonder...after reading some of the crossovers I'm only thinking..."Really, you're gonna be like that, just let iron man and everyone else off the hook...have speedball die for nothing and turn into the humorless punk known as Penance?"

DC Comics
Not that they're any better. A couple years back, they didn't have a big cataclysmic event which had a zillion crossovers. But they did have one of the best written series (by Brad Meltzer) of all time:

Identity Crisis
Someone knows all the heroes' secret identity and goes after their loves ones. Tim Drake 's (Robin) dad dies, Sue Dibney (married to elongated man, the more uncool version of plastic man) dies as well, Lois almost dies...the heroes band together and find out that the killer is...yeah you have to read it.

Why it was good: HUGE repercussions throughout the DC Universe. Batman now distrusts the JLA (kind of a switch there), the atom disappears, Deathstroke goes billy bonkers on Green Arrow trying to kill him...and all of this comes from only a few well written issues by Brad Meltzer (anything Meltzer writes is gold by the way). The events of Identity Crisis leads to:

OMAC, Day of Vengeance, Rann-Thanagar War, Villains United, Infinite Crisis
Yep...that's right, FIVE different titles, with a bazillion crossovers with each other and other titles in the DC Universe (IC only had two other comics it crossed over with...2...that's it...). In all fairness Villains and Day were pretty solid; I'd rather take a bath in acid than have to read OMAC and Rann again...ever...and infinite crisis was ok...mostly because this attempt to recreate history lead to...

52
Decent concept, where some minor characters were highlighted, and DC had the chance to explain and re-explain the history of the DC Universe, and it was a good risk which paid off, except they had to justify why Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman were all gone, so this lead to...

One Year Later
Mildly ok in theory, which means that YOU SHOULDN'T do it!!! So DC releases a bunch of comics which take place one year after the 2nd crisis and all the titles SUCK! Moreover this leads to an interesting problem because as your building one timeline, and connecting another timeline, that means that all continuing series are technically one year later. Huh? Then in order to explain some missing plot lines (like where the hell did Martian Manhunter go?) they decided to launch...

World War III
Have you ever seen the SNL sketch the Anal Retentive Chef...that's what a certain Executive Editor did with DC (not mentioning any initials but I'm sure this won't land me a comic book writing gig any time soon...Dan Didio). This, and the wrapping up of 52 (which was mildly intriguing) leads to...

Countdown
I don't even know how to really describe this because there are so many smaller crossovers and one shots that all I know is in a couple of months DC is gonna have ANOTHER crisis, and it somehow involves the multiverse.

Why I'm Pissed:
You can't tell? Look at how many comics you have to buy from DC in order to understand anything...plus, while this is a mildly creative way to weave every elseworld comic (and Wildstorm comic) into the DC Universe, it's also totally EXCESSIVE. My conspiracy theory is that DD hates Peter David and wanted to find a way to erase every David storyline (congrats because Aquaman has his hand back, Linda Danvers hasn't been heard from in forever, and over 50% of young justice is either dead or obsolete).

Now where does this leave us...why, it leaves us with this notion if you're looking to buy comics and not spending your entire life savings:

Marvel
First, read House of M. Then read the first 15 issues of New Avengers. Finally go find the New Avengers Illuminati collection, and read.

DC
First, read Identity Crisis, then Infinite Crisis (no spinoffs), then the first five and last five of 52.

No moral of the story, no lesson, just wanted to vent about comics.

pb

PS Head to www.robschrab.com and see that Scud: The Disposable Assassin is being released in February! Hooray!

MBTI, A&P

2007-11-27T23:48:00.000-06:00

The Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI, as mentioned in the title, or Myers-Briggs as the common nomenclature follows) is a tool for assessing different aspects of your personality. It is not, by far, a catch all, so do not plan to take the damn think that someone has invented a perfect reflection of every personality trait you have. But, it is a good start.

There are four categories, each with two ends of the spectrum. When you answer the questions (and there are only two answers per question, except the weird one which has three) and turn it into whomever is scoring the test, they ship it to New Jersey where a bunch of magical elves throw darts at the little ovals which you filled out, and, in turn, they send back the results.

All of that is true...except for the part about New Jersey.

When you get your scores it's not as simple as "YOU ARE EXTROVERTED CONGRATULATIONS YOU CAN TALK TO OTHERS WITHOUT GETTING NERVOUS." You score somewhere on a conitum where it is very clear or in conflict. You cannot score an even score. Somewhere those magical elves constructed the scoring in such a way that you HAVE TO HAVE a dominate trait.

This is a good thing though. Like all personality assessments, the Myers-Briggs (and even those silly little e-mail assessments like "How you eat an Oreo is how you view intimacy") is meant to allow you to say two things about yourself:
1. "Yes I agree that I eat my Oreo by screwing off the top, and eating the rest ferociously."
OR
2. "No I do not agree that by not eating the part I screwed off that means I hate introverted people."

I love this test more so than the rest of the official ones. I like all the unofficial ones as well because they end up covering some extra ground. But I enjoy the Myers-Briggs the most because it literally tells you "your score was a INTJ at the moment you took this test." This means that it can change in the future or has changed from previous times you took it. It sort of moves with you.

At the same time, a quality facilitator of the scores will also let you in on the 'Dominate Hand Theory' which is to say that you probably have a dominate Myers-Briggs type, but at this moment it has shifted mostly due to how you have shifted.

I first took the Myers-Briggs in High School the same year I read a short story which fundamentally changed my life. John Updike, celebrated American author, wrote a fictional short about a young boy who works at a grocery store during the summer. It is a snapshot of one particular hour (half hour?) of his shift where he is distracted by three young ladies who have strolled in right off the beach. The boss reminds the young boy of the "No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service" policy and the young boy must decide whether or not to confront the ladies.

It is an entertaining read if you've ever had an average summer job, ever had a conflict with a boss, or ever daydreamed at work.

For me it was the first short story I read where I connected not just with the character but also with how it was written. For lack of better phrasing, I thought the story was quite juvenile. Perfect for someone who, at the time, was quite juvenile. I have read that story several times throughout my life. And each time, despite learning more about Updike's style, despite having read his other stories, despite critically analyzing the story...each time, I absolutely loved it.

There are times I've thought the young boy was dumb. There are times I hated the notion of having to work a summer job. There are times I thought he was brave; times I thought about how much I love the summer job. And like the rest of this article, it taught me two important lessons:

1. That changing who we are is ok. Sometimes we flip, flop, switch, slide, vacillate, vacate, abandon, abdicate, validate, embrace, face, and flat out ignore characteristics of who we are. But that's ok, because different circumstances, age, employment, hobbies, relationships will cause that in us.

2. There is always an essential nugget, or gist, of who we are. That never goes away. No matter how much we fight against it. No matter how much we explore and go through the 'experimental' phase of our life (of which mine was growing my hair out....not fun days for someone who has naturally curly hair).

I am happy to know that I have embraced the introverted and extroverted sides of who I am. Likewise, I am psyched to know that the one MBTI area which has not changed for me is the Intuitive characteristic. This article should show that easily. I am happy to know that no matter how many times I read A&P, it will make me smile, and inspire me, and challenge me.

These personality assessors are everywhere in your life. Look for them. Learn from them. Reflect and choose your traits. The ether which makes you earthly. The humor in your veins. Whatever your passion, embrace it, be who you are, and love that aspect of life, which is the chance to be, and then be again.

pb

Angels: Custer

2007-11-16T02:47:00.000-06:00

In my first year at Arizona State, when I was friends with 'Papa' John (a friend I've mentioned before) I also met a close friend of his, Custer. Now, Custer wasn't your standard residence life. No slight to him, but he was not charismatic, gregarious, or stern. He was not a standout leader, he did not necessarily do big things. He was an RA. He was involved in Hall Council. But other than that, he was not what many would expect a typical standout Reslifer to be.

He did bring two of the most important characteristics to the table: humor and compassion.

On the compassion end, Custer was the best person to talk to about anything. He would hear you out. He would be there for you in a pinch. He would ride shotgun when you needed a friend. He would drive you if you needed a ride. These sound like simple things. These may even sound borderline co-dependent. But his heart was so big, there's no way to refute the natural kindness he had for those around him.

Then there was his sense of humor. This has been a recent high point in an otherwise stressful life for me. As I've been bogged down in the administrative jumble which is applying to graduate school, I have been fortunate enough to be engaged in a series of e-mails regarding superheroes, fictional cartoon characters, and toys. Essentially, Custer, my friend Cole (another great leader and friend), and myself have started this e-mail chain which consists of us asking the important questions like:
-If you could have Castle Greyskull or Boulder Mountain as a HQ which would you pick?
-Second in command: Soundwave or Destro?
-Which of the GI Joes would you road trip with?

Do any of these questions have any bearing on real life? Of course not. That's the beauty of the humor which Custer shares with his friends. Cole, Custer and myself have been enjoying these e-mails ridiculously.

On a personal Custer note, I will never forget the time we had mid year training at ASU. We had an optional bowling night. Custer and I were determined to go dressed up. He had on a pair of old man warm up pants, ugly shirt, and he frosted and gelled his hair (imagine Frank N. Further from Rocky Horror without the lingerie but with tacky clothes). A perfect compliment to my camp skirt, purple/yellow bowling shirt, and 1/2 cut soccer ball. The picture, which I still have and display proudly, is priceless.

Custer teaches us two important lessons: Life is never too hard for yourself, where you can't spend five minutes listening to a friend, to hear what they're up to, to hear what's troubling them. And life's never too difficult where you can't find the humor in something. A good laugh gets you far.

pb

PS Quick shout out to two of my not oft seen "posse" of friends: the Tosa Crew is looking for a triumphant reunion in the near future and the e-mail conversations have been priceless. The ASU Crew, likewise, started a perfect e-mail chain regarding logic puzzles and games. Thanks guys for the smiles!!!

Camp Reflection

2007-09-30T23:58:00.001-05:00

For five years as an undergrad, and for five years as a professional, I have had the pleasure to attend Fall Leadership Camp at Camp Onaway. Camp Onaway is located on the chain of lakes in Waupaca, Wisconsin. The first time I went, I was a freshman, and I knew no one else who attended. Not even realizing that I would soon become a leader myself, and eventually a CA, I soon discovered the true power of the island.

For each of the 18 visits, I have always learned something about myself; about life. I want to first of all say thanks to Jess and Rene for letting me speak this year at camp. For the purpose of being the keynote speaker at this year's camp, which also happened to be my last one, I wrote three poems to help describe what I feel camp can be for someone.

The first poem represent what my initial anxieties were when I attended as a freshman:

Why am I here?

Seven AM.

A seven AM alarm
screeches me awake.
My roommate softly snores
in an enchilada of blankets
warm, toasty, still.

Outside the wind moves
through the grooves
of glass panes;
clouds creep lower
graying all color
to dull hues.

It’s Saturday.
I could sleep in.
I could snooze the alarm
then match snoozes
with my roommate;
dueling nasal cavities
sawing, wheezing, breathing
like windy banjos.

Instead, I’m going to camp.

I zombie walk through
a scalding shower
a lukewarm latte
a bouncy bus ride
and arrive
only to stand
on a creaky pier
watch the creepy fog
roll off a sleepy river.

I am one
of a set
of 100
collegiate bodies
who carry bags of sleep
in their arms
and under
their eyes

Nameless faces
and I
am nameless
among those same faces.

We arrive
hustle off the boat
hustle up stony steps
to empty cabins
with cardboard beds
and a solitary light
defiantly warm
against the chilling
wind, which chills
the bony branches
of the trees
creaking arthritically.

The 100 circle up
closely
padded against
the paralytic wind,
insides winding up
from the ironically
named icebreaker
a short standing
long haired leader
is introducing.

The sharing handshakes
spoken namesakes
all for the sake
easing the uneasy
feeling of wondering
why:

why am I not sleeping
why am I in college
why am I here

Next, I wrote a poem to read while the audience reflected on what they wanted to get out of the weekend. What aspects of their life they wanted to learn more about.

The Sound of a Whisper

Tiny invisible specs of thoughts, ideas, memories from chilling childhood days, agonizing adolescent afternoons, and unaware unknowing undergraduate nights, fall from the brain like gentle rain, pooling in the dark ground, forming puddles of worries, fears, and doubts; they are the tears of broken hearted break ups, soul hallowing losses of friendly souls, and final failures felt from heartfelt hard work.

The storm is relentless.
until the wind;
the wind
moves westerly
through leaves
clinging hopefully
to stable branches
from a bracing trunk
rooted in the earth.

the wind whispers
to a little leaf
let go of fear
let go of worry
let go of doubt
dare to dream
and
learn to leave
behind your ties
to the ground
and soar,
to fly freely.

the wind
flows through
the pained rain
turning the downpour
down to droplets
to sprinkles
to mist
until the thundering
drumming beads
of rain
become silent
and remain
only as whispers
of conquered fears
vanquished worries
defeated doubts.

Clouds clear;
the sun beams
her smile upon us
as we remember
the whispers of the wind

let go,
let go,
let go.

Finally I ended with this poem. Something for folks to think about.

Pier to Pier Learning

I am alive today.

I feel the sturdy, weathered lumber, subtly bend
beneath my back;
I feel the stealthy, lukewarm water, slowly flow
through my toes;
I feel the steady, whispering wind, smoothly glide
over my face.

I am alive today.

Underneath my eyelids I paint the still life sounds
which surround the island:
water folds into waves, trees yield to creaks
wind whispers wisdom.
The icy fears which freeze my heart, melt away;
doubts drop into the water.

I am alive today.

Earlier, I faced east, remembering the funny banter
of friends old and new;
Then north, where I sat in the thicket, in moonlight
sharing hopes and dreams;
Moved to the west, and watched Orion and Cassieopiea
dance in the night sky.

I am alive today.

Southward I face now, recanting the tragedies and triumphs
of 10 years, and 18 visits;
Reflecting on my first landing here, backpack on, dark blue
sleeping bag in hand;
I knew not why I was here that Saturday; but my heart
whispers to me:

“I chose to be here, to be alive, today, and forever.”

I hope that all who attended camp this weekend not only had a good time, but also learned something about themselves. I hope that those who attend camp in the future learn something new each time. And I hope that those who have attended camp, look back fondly, and take a little bit of camp with them.

pb

Goin' Way Back, Ep. 1

2007-09-16T00:39:00.000-05:00

Dear Readers,

As this semester has begun for me, and now that I am extremely busy with applying to graduate school, I have not had as much time to blog. Thus, I am going back in the 'archives' finding some of my original articles, reading through, and adding some additional reflective material. The weeks where I don't do a previous critique, I will be submitting some of my poetry. So I thank you for the loyalty and after the semester I will return with fresh material. Otherwise please enjoy some reflections and some poetic misadventures.

Imaginable Immeasurable

This past weekend I was at home with my family. At one point my two nieces, ages 6 and 4 1/2 respectively, started an argument over their pretend jewelry. My mother does a very good job of getting the kids to use their imagination and provided them with some old, slightly tacky clothes for the girls to get dressed up as if they were going to a social. At one point my mother asked:

"Girls, how much do your rings cost?" To which my nieces replied:

"Mine's worth 1000."
"Well, then mine's worth more...it's worth a million hundred."
"I have a ring that's more than 50 hundred."

This got me to reflect on two things, both natural. First is the sense of oneupmanship. To have something that is more than what someone else has. Some may say that this unhealthy for kids, but I don't know if I agree. You figure that my two nieces spend a lot of time together, and not too much time with other children right now (although they're both enrolled in different schools, I think they are just starting to form their societal connections). So part of their contrasting each other is a way for them to establish identity separate from the other. Yes, I'm sure there are more positive ways to do so, but there will have to come a time when they don't get the same presents out of 'fairness'.

More importantly is the concept of measurement. Even though their nomenclature is unorthodox (and probably inaccurate) without fully understanding the numeric system they seem to understand each other and that they are increasing amounts. I'm sure a lot of this would play into the fact that their brain is developing and trying to understand and link concepts. But it was fascinating to see how easy it was for them to create their own system without really knowing it. All because of their imagination.

I think for those of us 'older children' we need to be aware that we probably do the same thing. I'm sure that where ever you work there is some protocol for something. Someone had to create that. Someone had to imagine a group of people working through a system. A coach does the same thing. He/she draws up plays for the team for the players to act out.

So the next time you feel like you're not as creative as a friend or a coworker, just remember my nieces, and their invented numeric system.

Way Back Thoughts:
What do you do when your creativity is 'upended' by reality? Meaning, when you start to learn the numeric system or you uncover that santa claus is not real, is there an element of innocent faith that is somehow destroyed? I do see that when I've done programs where I ask the audience to draw. Many of them are quick to point out their inability to do so, yet I remind them that at one point they drew something as a kid (which probably was not easy to translate into 'adult') and were really proud of it. I think to regain that is not always the easiest, and one must find ways to first cultivate that same dreamer confidence then step forward.

Which brings me to the oneupmanship thought. I realize, sadly, that if this ability is as natural as creation, this may be one of the killers of innocent creation. If kids easily access this in life, and in any comparison something or someone has to be less, what happens to the children who always feel less? Likewise, I think that there's a strong change that if you were one-upped as a kid you may be unconsciously oneupping someone else, feeling the ability to be more vocal in different settings. We all have idiosyncratic security measures for our insecurities, yet I think the goal is to reconnect with our creativity, our imagination, and find ways to reinspire ourselves without trying to out do someone else.

It is easy to fall into a cycle of behavior, but I think it's powerful person who can be the one to stop it for themselves and eventually others.

pb

Go Brew Crew!

2007-08-26T23:23:00.000-05:00

I know at this point the Brewers are in the worst slump they've had all season. I realize that many experts are saying that the NL Central is competitively weak (true), and that most think the organization got lucky with a really easy first month schedule (probably also true). But regardless of the season you're about to finish, I want to thank Milwaukee Brewers and their fans for a great season.

For the past couple of months I've never been more excited to follow the Brewers regularly. It's nice to hear Uecker truly excited over what this team can accomplish. It's amazing to know that Milwaukee fielded a handful of all stars with one voted in by the general public. Even as the Brewers have fallen from a 9 game lead in the Central, they're still in the thick of it.

Moreover, and this really happened before this season, I would like to applaud the young generation of Brewers Fan for shrugging off years of futility, and feeling proud to wear Brewer gear (and in many cases retro brewer gear). It's hard, because as a child who grew up threw the eighties when the Brewers were really good at the beginning of the end, when the brewers made the world series, when they started the season 13-0, when they were in a pennant race with Toronto (who eventually won the world series).

It was uncool to be a Brewer's fan growing up. Despite the respect that Paul Molitor, and Robin Yount had in the Major Leagues, there was a huge negative fan reaction (probably blanked by football frenzy which often happens in Wisconsin regardless of whether or not the Badgers/Packers are doing well). But now, it's neat to travel around wisconsin and see people wearing brewer gear, with recognizable names.

They're fun to watch. And frustrating to watch. But that's the joy of having a major league baseball team. You stay true, you watch the games, keep up with scores, and have hope. That's all anyone can ask. Cubs fans have been doing it for more than a century, and they've had worst luck than any other team in baseball. It's nice to see the Brewers share some of the spotlight and find their own identity.

pb

Can't Spoil the Dream

2007-08-13T23:07:00.001-05:00

(DISCLAIMER: despite the sort of catchy clever title, there are some spoilers concerning Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, so if you haven't read it yet, don't read this article, unless you're not planning on reading it, which really you should...enough of the run-on sentence.)

Dear JK Rowling,

Thank you. Thank you for everything. Thank you for sharing with us your world. Your struggles. Your dreams. Thank you for inspiring a new generation of writers, and storytellers, and kinds who love to use their imagination. Thank you for getting folks to read again. Thank you for showing that fantasy is not a threat to religion since many fables have their own fantasy, their own lore, and that's how we learn, religious roots or not. Thank you for bringing about this dream when you were merely riding the train to work and decided to be diligent enough to write it out, and go through the pain to publish it. Thank you for bringing all generations together for a book release...a simple book release.

Your last book, and in fact, the whole series, has left many great thoughts and inspirational jumping off points for a large number of readers, and for me, as a writer.

Good vs. Evil
You have never shied away. Evil does exist. But it doesn't exist for the sake of good, or always to be vanguished. Evil is not the sinister snarl of a top hatted villain who tied the helpless lady to the track. Evil is innocence. All of the characters who are considered bad still have human characteristics whether its loyalty, compassion, or sacrifice. Voldermort, Lucius, Draco, Snape, even Kreacher, were all characters who showed their weakness whether it was in the earlier stories (the history of Tom Riddle) or the later ones (why Snape has always looked out for Harry). More importantly, through Harry's realization that many of his idols were not perfect, pure beings, you've taught us that we all struggle with some internal 'evil' whether that's a struggle with a vice or compulsion, with stubbornness or short sightedness. The truth is that we have a choice, we can either fight against that which keeps us down, or rally against it, overcome it, and show the potential we have inside.

Spin Me a Yarn
Other than Harry being a horcrux (sorry, I saw this one the second you wrote in one book that Voldermort imprinted himself on Harry) this last book was perfect with the proper amount of shock and twists you peppered in the book. Kreacher becoming an ally, Dobby a martyr, one of the Weasley twins first getting maimed then dying, Snape's true intentions toward the Potter family...I mean that was only a handful of things I would have never seen coming. And the attack on the ministry! Brilliant! Thank you again for being, first and foremost, a storytelling. Knowing the craft of the basic elements of storytelling and bringing them forth in your own voice, style, and most importantly, your own universe.

Death, Rebirth, Love
When I say I like the fact that in your stories no one truly dies (pictures, paintings alone show that in the Potter world, the images of our memories are always animated, something we tend to forget) I don't mean that in a fear of death vein. I don't mean that in a pollyannaish love always transcends death. I mean that in the realistic terms of learning to let go. Any time a character died, there was sadness. There was grief. But there were people moving on. You created characters who realized that life is about living. And when you've passed, you're immortalized in the hearts of those still alive. Most importantly, by ending this series, you taught all of us that while we enjoyed playing in your world, we too need to let go. We too need to move on, and start dreaming (if we haven't already) larger than the world you created.

I wish you a long happy life. I wish you a happy life for your family. I hope that one day the canon of literature recognizes your contribution to pop culture AND culture. And I hope that many young boys and girls who grew up with Harry, find their own Hogwarts, their own Ron, their own Hermione, their own Dumbledore, their own Snape, and unlock the magic in their heart.

With much respect,

Peter Brooks

Cold War Kid

2007-07-27T14:08:00.000-05:00

Growing up in the 80's I never realized what kind of TV I was used to watching. Or I should say I never realized the themes which were typically present. Being that we, as a country, had been stuck in a Cold Ward with other non-Democratic nations (must subversively Russia, then known as the USSR) that had apparently affected all the entertainment brought to us children. This was something I had never considered until my brother, years later in the 'groovy 90's' told me that watching shows like GI Joe and Transformers were all about pushing the Cold War propaganda of Us vs. Them.

Being a different kind of kid throughout those later years I do remember reading the Communist Mannifesto to understand what all the hoopla was about over Communism. Even the phrase "What are you a communist" is used, not as much, but used nonetheless to describe someone who doesn't conform to a certain standard or ideal. Regardless of what my parents were thinking at the time or what the Prez was talking about (although the Berlin Wall being torn down is one of my favorite moments not in the mode of democracy winning out, but that families and a divided country were finally reunited) I never realized how much that theme of 'Good Guys vs. Bad Guys' has affected my creative writing so much.

I started writing in 3rd grade and most of my stories were similar themed but more so in a romantic comedy vein. Although I'm still a big fan of the romantic comedy I really start to jones for a quality Good vs. Evil tale. Upon seeing Transformers (which in my mind was clearly superior to the 80's feature length cartoon) I was reminded of those characters growing up and even got a little misty-eyed over the whole concept of the good guys winning in the end.

I never realized how embedded it was watching Duke from GI Joe work with his fellow good guys to vanquish guys who were out to cause strife in the rest of the world. Or even the slightly more lighthearted Danger Mouse try to take foil Baron Greenback's plans every week. Reading Harry Potter, which often blurs the line between good and bad, still sparks a strong emotional hope for the good guys to win.

That's probably why I still watch wrestling and get excited when a good wrestler (often known as a 'face') comes in to save another wrestler who's getting ganged up on. Or feel a sense of triumph when a bad wrestler (known as a 'heel') turns good unexpectedly. Likewise, the disappointment and heartbreak of seeing a good wrestler turn on his friend in a tag match.

How much of that also affects leadership. You get so hopeful when you see a leader with Optimus Prime like qualities. Someone who practices self sacrifice, compassion, and even a sense of humor (our most humanistic trait). As I got older and started to fully understand the concepts of storytelling including the exaggeration which often follows a tale of heroism, I thankfully not too ignorant to know that all leaders aren't perfect. But I'm also happy to still look at a leader, or even a friend, and say "that person's a good person, I'd follow them anywhere."

pb

PS I do find it interesting that despite the obvious good vs. evil struggle in those cartoons there was also never death. For some reason the Joes and Cobra were really good at missing each other directly but being able to blow up a tank with one laser shot. In Transformers, they did get shot a lot but they were robots who could be fixed. Amazing that my generation had the good vs. bad struggle but not concern over heroes/villains passing away.

PPS I know that the last column was England Thoughts Part 1, suggesting a part 2 coming soon. It will, I needed to share this thought while it was on my head.

England Thoughts Part 1

2007-07-20T00:34:00.001-05:00

Much apologies for this not being more in a daily blog form, but we had limited internet access in England. The trip was one of the best learning experiences of my life and I'm happy to be able to share these thoughts:

Pathfinding
Getting your bearings in a new city or place is never easy. And it's a fearful experience. What happens if you get lost? What happens if you walk into a potentially scary situation? All of that is answered by just going out and hitting the trail. There is always risk, there is always a chance of something bad coming along your path. There is always the unknown.

I give a lot of credit to Jen who found out about the original bus company, which is one of those topless double decker busses you often seen in movies when a superhero or rando crashes surprisingly into a group of tourists. It was a great deal where the bus toured us around most of London and then we had the oppurtunity to get on and off at certain stops. This certainly added to our experience of expanding our path, and eventually we felt very comfortable with our surroundings despite even a slow going in our morning.

Learning a New Skill
The joy of learning something new is always a comforting feeling reinforced when you get a chance to show what you know and have it pay off. Again, trying to learn it for the first time is equally scary. There's that fear that you're going to screw up. There's that chance that you'll give up learning more if something goes wrong after you've started. For us, leanring the Underground in London was exactly like this.

If you've ever traveled the subway in Washington DC it is a similar experience. Of course, you'd have to travel back in time a few decades as the Tube has been around for a while and is much larger. A convenience way to travel, our first experience on the tube was a shotgun, 1 way trip from Heathrow Airport to St. James Park near where we were staying. After that, and with some friendly assistance by the gent at the ticket booth, we soon became 'masters' of the underground, feeling confident to travel to and fro. We did have our missteps but soon figured out our mistakes and moved on.

Sense of History
Have you ever scrapbooked or kept a journal? Have you ever looked back over it and thought "wow that really happened in my life..." and felt a sense of depth to everything? Even as you get older, wiser, and add the new experience of life, you start to appreciate the perspectives of your current history with your older one.

One of the things I loved about London was its history. Modern buildings, new age archictecture, even funky ferris wheel like contraptions (British Airways' Eye) dance beautifully with historic, gothic, traditional cathedrals, buildings, bridges. It's like walking through a history book while enjoying a cosmopolitan feel. I do wonder if being a Londoner, you grow up thinking "hey, we've been around for a long time, through a lot of historical highs and lows."

With the first blog, a lot of the themes which tie together for this trip really is that of exploration. Striking out and doing something you've never done before. I'm happy for the oppurtunity to have done something like this. My grandmother always said if you do one thing in life, travel, the world opens up to you, as does your eyes.

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England Blog Day 1: Packing & Travel

2007-07-07T19:21:00.000-05:00

For the first time in my life I'm headed off to jolly old England (heavy cliche, I apologize). This will be my first overseas travel, my first trip in a foreign country (not counting Mexico or Canada), and, I'm sure, my first few times heavily out of my comfort zone. More about that later.

As Jen and I have started this journey, I realized a couple of correlations (natch) between traveling and life.

Packing
It takes me the better part of four hours to pack. I'm not lying. I have a system. First I will make a short list of everything I need to bring +1, for emergencies (like getting attacked by a mountain lion on the underground). Then I start the process of putting everything together: undershirts, underwear, t-shirts, button downs, collars, shorts, khaki shorts, pants, jeans, jean shorts, nice shoes, sandals, decent belt, fancy belt, white socks, colored socks, nice socks, and of course, stuff to sleep in.

If you ever played the videogame "blue print," it's lot like that...I move from room to room in my apartment gathering items and putting them altogether in an overly large suitcase (which I will inevitably drag around London at 12am). I wish I could be as dilligent as when I leave. That mess is just throwing it all the suitcase, and somehow it doesn't fit as nicely.

In sort, you're preparing for a trip. Short, long, whatever, you're preparing to do what you can to enjoy a vacation, or business trip. We do that in life, for both short term and long term moments. For those short term moments it's exactly like this. Gathering the needed items to aid you in your journey. For longer term events, it's a slow gathering, taking tools here and there from shorter experiences.

Travel
And, as for slow goings, there's definitely something to be said for traveling. Traveling is the most amount of motion in a short confined spice with the least amount of motion on your part. Kinda like if a hamster figured out how to make his little hamster ball motorized. He's just sittin' back, and moving, but sittin' there nonetheless. When you get done traveling you don't know if you should walk some more or if you should just pass out in bed.

The traveling is all about patience. You know you're stuck in your plane or car or rickshaw. You know you have to make the most of it (doing some more packing at that point obviously).

Between being patient and being prepared, it's lot to learn. If you over prepare yourself you can run yourself ragged and end up carrying around a lot of extra worry you don't want (kinda like my carry on bag today). If you under prepare then when you're waiting for something to happen the time goes on forever. The goal is to find a zen calm to your packing...feeling confident you brought what you needed and then realizing that stuff's gonna come up no matter what, waiting out the storm to make sure things turn out.

Aside from the lessons learned, here are some shorties about the trip:
-Airport security, not bad. Flying out of Chicago, not bad. Flight itself, not bad. Traveling on the underground with about 40lbs. of crap...yeah, that gets tiresome.
-The underground reminds me a lot of the DC Metro. Just as clean, just as simple to understand.
-Nice to know that no matter what the country, kids still go out and enjoy themselves, parents still get dolled up and enjoy themselves, and some folks still work late at night.
-I love the accents here. I grew up loving British TV and always tyring to mimic the accent. Not as easy or practical when you're jetlagged.
-I love the streets here too. We haven't had time to walk, and poor Jen has had to put up with my current physical annoyances (stuffed eardrum, headache, stuffed nose). But I'm looking forward to walking around and just getting lost.

So that's all we got for now, more later. I'll do what I can to update this but if my brain is too tired from taking it all in, it may come in shorter chunks!

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NACURH Blog, Final Thoughts

2007-06-25T13:01:00.000-05:00

One score ago, one of the most monumental experiences of my life culminated. I previously wrote about the closing moments of the evening, in a sort of happy daze. Realize that throughout all of this there was a lot of hard work put into the conference. Monday and a little bit of Tuesday was just that: work. Not bad work. It's weird to be dedicated to a dream for over three years and see it all get packed up, consolidated, stored, and put away in a day or two (also considering that it took three different office spaces, in three weeks to get everything ready to go for three days).

When the dust settled...there was a sigh of relief, and a little bit of withdrawal. Twenty days have passed, and truly, my brain both remembers the sensation and feels as if it was eons ago.

As an aside, and my apologies if this seems a little braggadocios, but I am very honored and grateful for receiving a gold pin. I believe I explained previously that each region gets 8 silver pins, and schools get 8 bronze pins to hand out to whomever every year. For NACURH, the National Chair hands out 8 gold pins as well. I was fortunate enough to receive one of the first bronze pins years ago when our campus started to do it, and thought they were pretty cool. I know that the gold pin is a huge thing for those who know about it. It's one of those odd awards because they are mostly given out to folks whom the chair knows really well, often leaving the audience thinking "what did this person do? who is this guy?"

I mean no disrespect to Mike Marshall for awarding me a gold pin, but I'm sure that a few thousand folks in the room, after my friends read a great blurb about me, were going "ok dude, get off stage, we're hot." So for those who read this, and know that I got one, I'd like to share what it means to me, in addition the kinds words Ben, Allyson, & Jacque shared:

All my life, I've dreamed of attending the academy awards (I still do). The chance to be recognized for creating something: a film, a script, etc. I've been nominated for several awards during my time as a student conference goer, NCC, Advisor, etc. All of those nominations have been near and dear to me. And I've always felt honored to be in the same category as the others who received those awards.

Receiving a gold pin is very much like receiving an Oscar...it's like when Steven Spielberg got his first Oscar...you look back and think "it's not just for this one thing that I did, but many things, many things which I'm proud of, and passionate about." It was an unexpected joy. As was the experience of working with everyone here at Oshkosh on NACURH, and seeing everyone come together, and seeing everyone make it through all obstacles, and knowing that somewhere, out there, some kid was at NACURH 2007 and thought "hey, this looks like fun, I want to see how many of these I can go to."

For me, this journey didn't just started when Kate Saletri and Cullen Rude approached me, it started in the Fall of 1996. I've mentioned it before; sitting at the closing ceremonies of GLACURH '96 thinking and dreaming. Wondering what it would take for me to be a part of this. Throughout 25 conferences I've learned many things which inspired me to write this list poem:

Steps
First step in a broken sandal, feet sweating, silent in a roaring crowd.
Second step in a polished shoe, brow sweating, spoke to a glaring gallery.
Third step on a grassy field, back sweating, thrust a pelvis in sync with hundreds.

Fourth step in a dirty cleat, felt cleansed.
Fifth step in the Big City, felt small.
Sixth step in a cowboy boot, felt gambler lucky.

Seventh step as a pirate, band together for the common 'arrrr'!
Eighth step as a dentist, smiled together in as friends held plaques.
Ninth step as a leader, learned from a together group of rookies.

Tenth step returned home, teared among costumed celebrants.
Eleventh step returned home, years of success recognized in one moment.
Twelfth step said goodbye, a mountainous passing of the torch.

Thirteenth step was spirited, as the proudest monkey.
Fourteenth step as the proudest monkey was a sincere applause.
Fifteenth step as the proudest monkey, was a spirited thank you to sun devils.

Sixteenth step as an alumni.
Seventeenth step as an advisor.
Eighteenth step as a guest. Each step closer to a dream.

Nineteenth, stepped on stage in striped socks, stepped off stage consoling a crew of dreamers.
Twentieth, stepped on stage, shared tales of curly haired kids & singing in the shower.
Twenty-first, stepped off stage, welcomed younger dreamers home.

Twenty-second: watched the tech guy step up; watched a team step up in unity and success.
Twenty-third: watched the gray hair step up; reminisced about a decade burned away.
Twenty-fourth: reminisced with a friend; watched the crowd roar by.

Twenty-fifth step, one last one, one small one, just one more, one more tear, one more cheer, one more story, one more smile, one more step, on stage, one more thanks, one more pin, one more tear, one final step off stage, saying good bye.

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NACURH Blog, Day 7: The Moment

2007-06-04T02:48:00.001-05:00

Let me talk about the spirit award for a second. The spirit award for a conference, to me, is really the ultimate recognition. Depending on the conference the criteria can include:

-Unification of delegation: are they dressing the same, or have same costumes, etc. This can also include unified cheering.

-Including other delegations: in things like cheers, or greeting folks.

-Being helpful: helping with volunteer staff or other delegations, the more your delegation gives support the better it is.

-Participation in events: things like roll call, banner, display, etc. where you can show off your creative talents.

-Bidding: submitting a conference bid shows that you're looking to recognize others in your region.

-Philanthropy: there's always some type of project or service opportunity for delegations to be involved in.

-Programming: you can get points for submitting programs and get points if your program reaches the top 10/15/40.

-Random Events: there are some moments where a delegation just does something super unique and cool that it's difficult not to give them credit.

-Refraining from Rudeness: whether it's not swearing or doing an inappropriate cheer.

So, a lot of criteria. And, here's the kicker...regardless of the skill or ability or experience of your delegation, everyone's eligible. It's kinda like, everyone's on fair ground for this award. You don't need to be a fantastic bid writer, or know some cosmic secrets for what gets the best display.

You need to show up, be positive, have fun, work together, and be nice to others.

It's the ultimate teamwork award. It's the ultimate school spirit and pride award. To me it shows the conference staff that you're trying to make the most of all they have to offer.

I've always been impressed (and envious) of the schools that win the award. They're always happy. They're always excited. And they always have a really cool delegation theme that seems to beautifully tie in the conference theme as well as cause everyone to go: "what do I need to trade for that?"

In the 12 conferences I attended at UW Oshkosh as a student, we never won the spirit award. And each time, I swear we got closer. I do remember once I think there was a committee to vote on the award and my friend Scott was on it...the announced that we 'lost' by one and Scott tried to argue it...I think we lost more points.

So then I head to Arizona State. And as the RHA Advisor I bored to death the NCC Justin Davenport. The poor kid. Our meeting was a three hour meeting. I think he stopped taking notes after the first hour.

For my first conference at Arizona State, IACURH at BYU, I talked up the spirit award ridiculously. And shared war stories of previous conference where we were close but not close enough. The delegates really got into it. The apparrel was nuts. We had all these cheers planned. We got striped socks. It was non-stop.

I'm appreciative of what these delegates tried. They didn't do it for me, they did it for themselves. Only 6 of them had ever been to a conference before. But they were excited. And when we arrived, we had one of the best times ever!

I remember thinking, the night before the last day, that even if we didn't win the spirit award, we did something pretty cool. We brought a bunch of inexperienced people together, from a fairly large campus, and learned to respect the rules of the university and the conference, trying to bring out the best in others and ourselves.

There's that moment of contentedness which freezes in time. It's not that you don't want life to continue. It's not that the rest of life is not the best. It's that you're really happy with what's been done. You just want to take it in, soak it in, appreciate it all for just the space and atmosphere.

Tonight was a lot like that. So was Friday and Saturday. You just wanted to take a snapshot of over 2000 students hanging out in your home gym and cheering. You just wanted to listen to the noise. Watch the costumes. The bulk of this conference is over...we're all kind of lingering around in this strange afterglow of 360 days of work compacted into 5 days of craziness.

It's like an Oscars post-party.

I remember sitting at the IACURH 2000 awards ceremony. They decided to present the spirit award first. All of a sudden, ASU won it. They earned it. I cried. The elusive spirit award. Being recognized for being a good team involved with all that you can do with the conference. And it was there for the students who tried so hard.

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NACURH Blog, Day 6: Full Circle

2007-06-03T01:22:00.000-05:00

As a writer of fiction, I really love stories with multiple plot lines, with all the lines being tied up at the end. Today, a long day, with a lot of surprises, but things that made me realize how quirky life works.

The past conference moment ties in perfectly: a couple years back, I was invited to be the keynote for GLACURH 2005 at UW La Crosse. Here's how mysteriously life works:

-I started doing programs at conferences because I loved speaking in front of students, being both entertaining and inspirational.

-Paul Wesselmann came to speak at UW Oshkosh for a mid year training.

-A student from UWM invited me to be a speaker for a motivational night.

-Knowing that Paul was someone I looked up to for speaking, I contacted him for some speaking advice.

-Paul was a keynote at two other conferences. One of which he graciously plugged one of my programs at the conference.

-I left the region but continued to do programs. While that happened, myself, my friends, and other students I went to conferences with all became student affairs professionals.

-When I returned, many of these professionals remembered my programs, asked to see if I could speak at some leadership conferences.

-I contacted Paul, again, for advice.

-This helped me set up the Kick Butt Productions website.

-We got the bid for NACURH 2007.

-I suggested Paul to be our morning speaker and contacted him.

-Paul got on board, rocked the house today with his speech. During his speech I realized something important:

Life is about persistence and has a wacky way of working out. Speaking at GLACURH 05, in my home region, for a conference which helped me grow, was a huge dream come true. I could never imagine that it could happen. I could never imagine that something that unique and rare to me would happen upon my door step. It wasn't about focusing on that big thing, and trying to find a way to get there. It was about focusing on doing programs. By the time I was asked, I had programs and stories ready. I had ideas ready. Because I was always practicing.

Getting the opportunity to host this conference was the same way. I remember we talked about it as students. I remember what the challenges were. As I became an advisor, it wasn't that my dreams changed, it's that other things changed, and an opportunity arose. First Kate and Cullen asked me to help out. Then Ben and Allyson stepped up.

All of this came from two simple goals:
-Attend as many conferences as I can.
-Present programs at as many conferences as I can.

Today Paul achieved something he hadn't before. And the staff took time to recognize him. I feel honored I was there to witness both events.

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PS: Today was bit of a blur, again. I'm sure I'll wake up one day and go: yep, I remember that. I want to say thanks though for all the support that colleagues and friends have given me today. I want to say thanks to some advisors: Chris, Paul, Andrea, Nicole, Eric, Jason, Dr. Nick. I want to say thanks to the UW Eau Claire crew who stopped by conference HQ to say hi.

NACURH Blog, Day 5: Small Steps

2007-06-02T02:17:00.001-05:00

It is difficult to pinpoint a highlight or one significant moment during the time I was a National Communications Coordinator (NCC). There's so many fun, personal, sentimental, and empowering moments. I learned that one conference, one meeting, one delegation does not make an NCC. An NCC (like any position in life) must be comfortable with their style. There's not right or wrong, or better ability over any other. It's a journey, and even a year is enough to help learn a lot about what who you are as a leader.

First NACURH as NCC: UW La Crosse, NACURH 1999
-There was this really weird NCC social where I didn't really know what to do. When I tried to converse with someone I remember them asking me if I had any regional pins to sell (I was unaware that regions typically sold pins as a philanthropy project). I said no. Then she turned to her friend and said "I can't believe he doesn't have pins to sell."
-I didn't pick this delegation, I know that in a business (housing) where we typically inherit staffs this is a common occurrence. But I've been on delegations where the NCC hasn't picked the people and they've been familiar. The delegation was actually really fun to be around despite my initial dread.

First Brining Leaders Together as an NCC: Lions Camp September 99
-I was scared to attend this business meeting. Many folks had built up business meetings to be this very intense, must be alert at all times, kinda moment. I thought I'd be lost or really frustrated. I arrived, met Ryan Madison, and soon realized that just by being yourself, and contributing honestly, business meetings can be fun.
-We did a great activity where we picked up pennies and shared thoughts about the weekend. My friends Collin and Joe were there, and I felt a small sense of inspiration watching some of the older leaders share wisdom while younger leaders shared hope. This was the first moment I realized that our WURHA NCCs would be close.

First GLACURH as NCC: GLACURH 99, UW Oshkosh
-Hosting GLACURH at your own school, while being an NCC, while being on the RBD as an emergency RCC, is pretty overwhelming but really cool. The whole weekend was a blur.
-Many NCCs had come up to me and mentioned they respected some of the things that I did. It was nice to hear because I really enjoyed trying to get some new students involved with conferences (and it's a challenge when there's only a small group because everyone else is volunteering or a committee chair).
-Just like Ryan Madison helped transition me into being comfortable in the board room, so did my friend Ken Patricio transition me into the RBD.

First No Frills as NCC: Brock University, January 2000
-There was this hilarious moment where I was making a statement about a new award that GLACURH wanted to introduce. Halfway through my little spiel, I see Tom Nyman and Ryan Madison wave lighters in the air as if it was a hair band concert.
-Again, it was cool to see Jacque and Shane be on the RBD and see the fruits of Jason and Jim's opening conference information to new perspectives.

First WURHA as NCC: UW Milwaukee, February 2000
-This conference had a lot of surprises. Again little things where folks kinda said "thanks, just for being you, and making us laugh."
-UWO got school of the year that year...to me it was an honor of all the hard work that other leaders had done at Oshkosh previously.

First French Dip as NCC: UW Oshkosh, March 2000
-Truth be told, French Dip was a wacky idea which came about because Heather Krull and I were talking and it sounded like we could use a spring meeting.
-That weekend meant more to me because the NCC group from Wisconsin really grew as a family. It was a nice, non-busy moment to say good bye to each other, and help bring in the new leaders. I was sad from not getting into a grad school I wanted, and the group was there for support.

Last NACURH as NCC and a student: UC Boulder, May 2000
-This was a great 'after party' to graduating and wrapping up a year in USRH at UW Oshkosh. It was great to see my friends (Ryan, Ken, Wisc. NCCs) and share in a few last laughs.
-I walked into an NCC social, and someone had thanked me for the time I spent as an NCC.

I realized today, a mixture of busyness and exciting moments, that planing this NACURH is similar. It has peaks and valleys. It has moments where you worry if you're doing enough. Then you see over 2000 cheering delegates, in front of your friends (old and new), in front of your parents...and you hear the national anthems being sung, and you realize...this is what it's about, you just go day to day, week to week, work on all the things you can, then you watch others enjoy the hard work and time you spent.

Thanks NACURH for selecting us this year.

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PS I wanted to give another thanks to all the former leaders and staff who showed up tonight whom I worked with over the years. I'm excited to see you all get a chance to share in the dreams of these fantastic leaders.

PPS And thanks mom and dad for supporting me through 10 years and 25 conferences. Even though trying to learn every acronym can be a pain, you always were there for me.

NACURH Blog, Day 4: The Spark

2007-06-01T02:28:00.000-05:00

This was a long day, and I definitely appreciated the help folks gave me. Additionally, many friends whom I haven't seen in a while arrived today. But it's late, and I'm getting up soon, so this will be short.

While my first two conferences were definitely building blocks to get me familiar and used to all the facets of conferencing, I believe the 3rd, NACURH 1997, Ball State University, Setting the Pace, was the spark that kept me going.

At this conference I was at a crossroads in my life. I think I was figuring out who I was and what I wanted to do with my next step. Here comes NACURH, my first NACURH, didn't know what to expect, and all of a sudden everything got flipped upside down. In a good way.

Between a campus walk I had the night we arrived, getting to hang out with the UW Madison Delegation, sharing some funny stories (and times) with Jim Droste, listening to Jim Cowee's ridiculous cheers, watching Mark Victor Hansen (Chicken Soup for the Soul) speak, and the great van ride there and back, this conference opened my eyes to what was next.

We always hope for that spark in our lives, but never know when it will come. I'm thankful for that conference and the time we had. Even today, as the dust was starting to settle, I realized that in ten years, the spark is still there, even through the work, even through the different life lens I have now.

Interesting Rando Tidbits:
-During our Roll Call practice, there was a move called the 'pelvic thrust.' Might have been taken from Rocky Horror, not sure, but several delegates (used to protect the innocent) turned it into a very funny cheer. So in a weird way, this is the 10th anniversary of the pelvic thrust cheer.

-Megan Link and I actually talked about hosting a UWO NACURH while at Ball State. It was then we realized the big obstacle we had: finding a space large enough for everyone. Ten years later, we're hosting and trying something new with the regional banquets. I hope it works it out, but strange to to think that we were talking about this at that time.

-The phrase, which I use for most programs and speeches, "There's a lot of love in this room" was first written on a black board by Droste while I was about to do my improv and leadership program. Another 10 year anniversary apparently.

Thanks again all to the support, and massive appreciation for anyone who is reading this blog daily.

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NACURH Blog, Day 3: Jitters

2007-05-31T01:41:00.000-05:00

This is not the first time I've been up late before a conference starts. This has probably happened a lot actually. You think about all the stuff that's gonna happen, all the surprises, both good and bad, the things you should've gotten done. My former RHD and friend LT commented to us that in the end, hosting NACURH is like having a baby...you know it's coming, you know it's gonna be a lot work, you just prepare what you can and go with it.

By GLACURH 98 hosted at Michigan State University, things here at Oshkosh were growing pretty steadily when it came to our conference experience. We had been averaging a high number of delegates. We had been continually trying to bid for awards and present programs. We had two great NCCs carry us through those early years (Jim Droste and Jason McKean). But an idea arose...many of the same students who started attending conferences since WURHA 97 (at UWO) now wanted to try their hand at hosting a conference.

Although no offense meant to my former colleagues or to our current home region, GLACURH, but at the time, our region was notorious for scrutinizing Conference Bids. Not all NCCs at the time participated in heavy critiques, and I think many of them asked fair questions. But there was a short period where the bidding schools did not receive the bid at GLACURH (this meant that they or others had to rebid at No Frills in January).

But here we were, ready to host, writing the bid, getting together the largest delegation we ever had (32 I believe) and it was hard not to think about it. I helped write the bid, and know that putting it together is not always the easiest. We thought of everything as a group. We so wanted to host, but we so didn't want to go through the ringer.

I believe that one of the key elements to getting us through this process was how we approached the conference theme. The theme was Leadership Luau, a slightly common leadership conference theme, so we knew that folks were going to go Hawaiian, literally, or do something tropical, etc. We thought: well, Hawaii, tropics, Caribbean, pirates. Before Pirates were made chic by Johnny Depp, here was our Oshkosh delegation shopping for black clothes, vests, stripped shirts, and eye patches.

But we didn't want to just show up all decked out like we walked off the poop deck. So we got creative and on a sweltering afternoon in the USRH office, Jim and I created the 'got pirates?' themed t-shirts, with the Top 5 Things A Pirate Would Never Say on the back. I do believe one of them was "Arrr, do ye ever get that not so fresh feeling?" and my favorite "That Angela Lansbury is a delightfully whimsical lady."

(side note, as I've grown older I'm surprised how we got 'away' with certain things...although nothing offensive was on this shirt, it was funny to see that in the corner of the shirt we were 'sponsored' by SEPCAO (the Society to Enhance Pirate Culture Across Oshkosh)...those were the days)

We were the 'got pirates?' shirts on Friday, created a bit of whimsy ourselves, then busted out as pirates the next day. It was fantastic. The bid team did a great job, everyone had fun, and I think in the end, regardless of how things would've turned out we went in with the attitude of "we know this is going to be work, stressful, and give us the jitters, but let's just have fun."

It's easy when you start off and there's no expectations. As you start to meet those expectations and set the bar higher, things get a little scary. What if you fail? What if you lose credibility? I think in the end, you're destined to fail once or twice. You're destined not get what you wanted. But I think you swing into it like a pirate boarding a ship.

There are a lot of schools, and individuals, bidding for things at this conference (and other conferences throughout the year). I wish them the best of luck. I wish them the best rest they can get. Cause the jitters of anticipation can get to you. In the end, just as LT suggests, just go with it. It's the journey that pushes you forward, helps you learn, causes you to grow, and challenges us to keep trying, even if we failed.

Last Rando Thoughts:
-We did the get the conference that year and it felt good, but we didn't get NACURH the first time we tried. We also bid for a GLACURH back before WURHA 97 and didn't get that either. The embers of those conference ideas were re-sparked for future leaders to pick up where they left off, and forge ahead.

-We actually were this close to having a Star Wars themed conference for GLACURH 99. I have to mention this because I think back constantly to what that would've been like. Stormtroopers as Security, Darth Vader leading Roll Call, and Chewbacca reading the Top 10 awards...yeah that would've been cool.

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NACURH Blog, Day 2: Firsts

2007-05-30T02:04:00.000-05:00

Firsts are really difficult for most everyone on this planet. Oddly enough, there have been a few moments in my life where I've jumped in head first, kersploosh, and learned to tread water or swim. As we were working on stuff today I realized that every year, no matter what kind of wrap up report you get, or how much support you have from many folks, NACURH hosting is something you don't grasp fully until you do it.

Like all first time experiences there are some common themes. Of course, a lot of this dates back, for me, to my next Conference Memory: WURHA 97, Soaring to New Heights at UW Oshkosh.

It was weird for my second conference to be here at home. There were some strangeness with having to move some belongings only a couple of blocks (the travel to conferences is easily one of my favorite aspects no matter how good or bad the travel is). And it was weird to know where everything was on campus to some degree (I've always liked exploring new campuses). But, there's that sort of 'home court advantage' you feel as a delegate knowing that many of your friends and colleagues are around you.

That was most helpful since that conference had two firsts for me.

It was the first time I presented a program. I remember that after GLACURH 96 I was constantly thinking of programs to put on at the next conference. I came up with a leadership program combining improv games and leadership basics. It's funny because I think back to my original hand out...it was this poorly proofread six page packet of block writing and stick figure comics.

5 people showed up to my first program. I remember feeling a little disappointed at first. Since then I've realized that in your first time out with any new initiative, activity, or hobby, you take what you get, and build on it. I must've done something right, because I also received my first Top programming award. Which was cool, but what was cooler was the chance to present the program again. But that would have to wait.

The second first I had conflicted with the Top 5 program session. I was a part of a three person bid team soon after my roommate and then NCC, Jason McKean, handed me a written bid and said "you're presenting...in about three hours." Admittedly, he asked me the day before, but I was going to do it myself (a little over cocky, I thought how hard would it be to go in there and speak about this report). But Jason told me three hours before hand that it would be a lot easier to go in with at least two others.

My friends Art and Latham joined me. It was a quick cram session, some freaking out in a hallway and then we were 'thrown to the wolves' as we presented then got hit with a volley of questions we weren't expecting. I've helped write and plan presentations for close to a dozen bids in my life. But I wouldn't have changed what we did that day.

You see part of what's great about first time experiences is that you DON'T know any better. There's no overanalyzation of what you do, or second guessing. You go from the gut and speak from the heart. That day the three of us had fun. And I'm happy that I got through that bid in my second conference because it taught me so much about conferences, bid writing, and taking risks.

Along the way there's many small things I've looked back at NACURH planning and thought, I wish I would've done that differently. In the end, it's the joy of doing something for the first time. You get the good and the bad. You learn to trust your instincts as much as you trust a process. And you find ways to have fun with it. I'm more than 99% sure I will not be advising another NACURH...but if I did or if I helped plan any future conference, it would not the same. The thrill of taking a risk and having it pay off is huge.

Lastly, we're working with a lot of volunteers, staff members, regular conference staff, many other departments on campus, outside business, schools, delegations, advisors, and I want to say thanks for being patient and understanding at times with what we're going through. We want to put on the best conference for you, and I'm proud of the work the staff has done. But it helps to hear support and empathy from colleagues, schools, and conference partnerships. And it helps to have volunteers who will stick through even through the awkward down times.

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NACURH Blog Day 1: Introduction

2007-05-29T00:00:00.000-05:00

Since I was a sophomore in college I have had the privilege to attend NACURH related conferences. These conferences will easily be the top thing I will miss most about working in Residence Life, since they encapsulate so much of the other areas I enjoy. These conferences have also helped me learn a lot about who I am and inspired/created so many opportunities for me. For the next week (as I've also lagged as a writer recently) I am going to do a blog a night, writing both about the experience of this conference in its final stage and the Top 8 Memories I've had from conferences (traditionally each conference has Top Program Session # and it usually changes...for the purposes of the week and in honor of that wacky tradition I chose 8 despite there being well over that number).

Before I begin to reminisce a bit, allow me to explain some basics and give a little history of how we as a conference staff got here.

NACURH stands for the National Association of College and University Residence Halls. NACURH Inc. is actually a non-profit leadership organization which does three main things: 1. holds these fantastic conferences which provide leadership opportunities to those students and advisors who work in the residence halls, 2. supports and sponsors the National Residence Hall Honorary (NRHH) a group that recognizes the hard work students do in residence life, 3. maintains a bevy of information called the National Information Center (NIC) where student leaders can request reports from other students about any topic or any student activity.

NACURH is made up of a National Board of Directors (NBD) whom are all students and vote and manage the policy and structure of the organization. They break down into Regional Board of Directors (RBDs) for each of the 8 regions (each region is based upon a geographical section of the U.S., Canada, Mexico, and Australia). Each school gets a representative to NACURH known as a National Communications Coordinator (NCC). The NCC is also in charge of getting together delegations to attend the conference.

NACURH also corners the market on acronyms if you couldn't tell.

Conferences are usually 3-4 days long, include programming sessions, keynote speakers, roundtable discussions, philanthropy events, entertainment, delegation activities, and an awards ceremony recognizing those schools that have went above and beyond.

Some states/provinces or combination of states/provinces have Sub-Regions. These organizations are not recognized by NACURH but serve in the same function (they have a board, NCCs bring delegations, there are awards, etc.). There are also conferences which just serve as business meetings, thus no delegations are taken, but the NCC attends to represent their school. Sometimes these conferences are referred to as No Frills, but also have other names.

For the sake of reference, as a student/advisor here at UW Oshkosh, we are in GLACURH (Great Lakes Affiliate of College and University Residence Halls), and WURHA (Wisconsin United Residence Hall Association). GLACURH has a No Frills business meeting and WURHA has two business meetings called BLT (Bringing Leaders Together) and French Dip. When I was an advisor at Arizona State, we were in the IACURH (Intermountain Affiliate) and at Mizzou we were in MACURH (Midwest Affiliate).

Lastly, in order to host any of these conferences, a school has to bid for them. This is a two step process. A school writes a bid which contains a mock up, so to say, of what the school would do if they hosted the conference (usually contains a tentative schedule, theme, general idea of how to run things, and a budget). The school also provides a bid team of anywhere from 2 to 25 students who present the written bid, allowing a board, or group of NCCs, to ask questions to help determine if that school will receive the bid.

Over three years ago, some students were interested in bidding for NACURH to come to UW Oshkosh. After working on a bid for two years, an initial bid team traveled to Syracuse to present the bid. At the time three other schools bid as well. That year, UC Berkeley was chosen to host. Last year, some of those same students with many new ones bid again, and received the bid. Since then, those students, many advisors, and other constituents in and outside our university have helped plan this four day event (starting Friday the 1st, ending Monday the 4th).

Phew! There will be a quiz on this starting tomorrow.

My own involvement in NACURH has been as a delegate, NCC, RBD Member, Advisor, Alumni, and now Conference Advisor. NACURH 2007 marks my 25th conference overall (not including business conferences). I've been blessed to experience many different aspects of the conference and NACURH. And I've met a number of great people along the way. Coming up with 8 great memories (in no particular order) is tough but also fun to look back on a wild and exciting journey.

#8: GLACURH 1996
With so many great conferences and memories, it's difficult to choose which have had the most impact on my life and are the fondest memories. Also noticing that I've written a lot, my first favorite moment was attending my first conference GLACURH 1997. The theme was Makin' Waves and the University of Evansville (Indiana) was the host.

From the start of our delegation meetings I had no idea what I was getting into. I know that I was learning cheers, and we were trying to do a lot of coordinating. I know that we had to leave at 4 in the morning. I know that the van ride there and back was ridiculously long. I know that when we got there, there was miscommunication with the hotel staff, and we didn't have our rooms ready. The hospitality rooms (places where delegates can get free food) ran out of food before 9pm. I know that during breakfast every other delegation was cheering REALLY LOUDLY and it was kinda annoying. I know that I was tired from getting little sleep and not eating the best.

I know that when I left the conference I was so excited to attend another one, because the spirit and mood of those who attended the conference, was so positive (no matter what the obstacles), that I wanted to share in that experience again. I understand now, as a conference advisor, that you plan for things you hope will work out. And sometimes they don't. But the joy of these conferences is that students are happy to support each other and recognize each other, that as long as you have place for them to sleep, eat, present programs, and have some fun, the bad stuff is not as big to them.

That conference, perfect or not, got me hooked on attending more. Got me thinking about how I could get more involved. And got me to believe in the power of people who think positively and believe they can help the world. Thank you Evansville staff for a lasting experience!

I know were not going to have everything covered for NACURH 2007. It would be nice not to have one thing go wrong. But as we've planned this conference, stuff has not worked out. Some things have been last minute. And people do get stressed. I want us to put our best foot forward. And I know that the conference staff, advisors, and volunteers are ready.

I'm content if a delegate walks away from NACURH 2007 and considers it their GLACURH 1996. Because that means that the conference spark is still alive and well. And that means that another delegate will be inspired to return.

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Small Thoughts

2007-05-11T19:44:00.000-05:00

My grandmother passed away recently. I've written about her before. She's been a great inspiration in my life. Her funeral was Thursday, I had a chance to see many relatives and friends whom I haven't seen in ages. My mother and uncle both had great speeches at the service. Their words inspired this posting.

Somewhere, at one point, someone decided to sculpt a lemon into a cookie jar. They must have caught on, and were purchased by many. They also must have been an item which some folks decided would be better placed at a rummage sale. According to my father, that is where this lemon cookie jar was found. Cost: less than one dollar.

Every morning, a huge group of people rise, get dressed and go to work at the Chips Ahoy cookie factory. They make a zillion cookies. They get shipped all over the world. They're just cookies. You've seen them at the store. Probably even bought them.

Just a cookie jar.
Just some cookies.

A whole group of people who mass produced cookies and one cookie jar have probably never met this one woman who somehow made a jar full of cookies a symbol of love and caring. In addition to my grandmother having lived through every major tragedy and triumph of the 20th century, and lived through her own tragedies and triumphs, she had the ability to make a simple cookie jar magical.

Ask any one of her grandchildren. Or any guest to her house.

I've talked before about the power of small, doing small things that can have a huge impact on people. My grandmother was really good with that. In fact many of the folks at her funeral reminisced about playing cards, doing a jigsaw puzzle, going on walks, cooking dinner...a whole range of activities, all fairly simple. My grandmother didn't make tasks complicated, or make a big deal about life. If something bad happened, it happened, and she rolled with it. Even her waning days, she rolled with it.

To my family, cousins, aunts, uncles, extended family I used to see at Christmas Eve, the up North relatives I used to see almost every summer as a kid, and the friends of my grandmother I say to you, look at the small things that reminds us of the joy of life, look at how to do small things for people, for yourself that bring them the joy of life.

Find that lemon cookie jar, fill it with cookies, and let the world share in your kindness.

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