The Greatest American Hero

Unless you've been under a rock for the past week, you already know the story of Jason McElwain. If you don't know the story, go read it.

Yes, we will all see it in theaters by next summer, but there's something about reality that's more compelling. And if you haven't seen the CBS News report on it, go to cbsnews.com and watch "Autistic Teen's Hoop Dreams Come True" (it's also listed as "High School Hero"). It's the first story since 1980 that rivals the US Olympic hockey team's gold medal at Lake Placid for miraculous status. Both stories, of course, come from upstate New York, which is the birthplace of two of the hombres.

Rain.

It's raining in San Diego today - possibly the first measurable precipitation in three or four months as best I recall. The interesting thing about rain in SoCal is that it happens so infrequently that we don't know what to do when it happens. Pretty much the only thing we know to do is to get out on the freeways and drive our cars into each other.

Hit

Sir Paul has a pretty spectacular PBS Storytellers show going right now. Sir Paul has traveled the fine line between sometimes brilliant, sometimes terrible, and mostly average for a long time. But some of these tunes I'm hearing tonight? The man has hit a high point. It's pretty great to see that the well continues to run deep and wide. Some unfreakinbelievable new songs, some unfreakinbelievable playing.

I've been known to say it's a young man's game as a way to make myself feel better about not playing these days. Sir Paul has dispelled the myth. Maybe it's mostly a young man's game, but, apparently, not always.

Just back.

So I'm just back in from a short vaca - and I'm digging out of e-mail. So I take a break from it to read the Hombres. All you can hear is air struggling to flow to and from my gaping mouth from post laughter reinhalation. What is a sport. Olympic Zambonie. Admissions. Kevlar's one word supername. Joe Manzana. Teo's expressway style points.


Had to recap - sorry and thanks.

I'm officially back now.

Look up at the stars, Simba

I'm driving home from a Little League game at 4:30pm on a beautiful southern California Sunday. The sun, which has been shining uninterrupted for days, is slowly making its way to the western horizon and my two boys are in the back of the car. I've just popped a mix CD in the car stereo - one that was given to me, as many are for reasons that aren't important here - and "Words" by Missing Persons blares out of the speakers. I look in the rearview mirror and my boys both have their eyes closed as they play air guitar.

It's the circle of life.

TiVo. American Idol. My friends.

I have TiVo. I love TiVo. TiVo is my friend.

TiVo has allowed me to get hooked on certain shows that I didn't really get into before. See, I don't actually watch a whole lot of TV. And there are a few shows that I never really got into until I had TiVo. One such show is American Idol.

I am, only somewhat ashamedly, an American Idol fan. Now, please understand, the typical one hour episode of Idol has about twelve minutes of good TV and the rest is filler. That's where TiVo shines - see, TiVo lets me fast forward past the commercials, lousy stuff, and boring moments.

But now, here's the thing: Every male singer on the show is either compared with Clay Aiken or Bo Bice. Mostly Clay Aiken. And I don't get that. Clay seems pretty much destined to a career singing in Branson and we're all supposed to be excited that someone is the "next Clay Aiken"? Isn't it pretty clear that none of us care about the first Clay Aiken, let alone the "next" one?

Anyway, I dig Idol. Mostly, I think that Simon is a bit mean spirited but mostly right. Dude has good ears.

This is why I don't post much. I have so very little to say.

Olympic Zamboni

Coupla things here, no particular order.

My last post was about the Golden Girls because, well, the Olympics are boring, politics is boring, you don't need to read me write about either, and yet there is nothing else.

I have decided to stop deciding what is and is not a sport, because over the past 13 days, if I've figured anything out, it's that I no longer have a clue one way or another. I've seen so many silly things, some of which fit my definitions, some of which do not. What I think is that the entire process has confused me. I'm inspired to develop a sport where you can be judged based upon your ability to predict how long you will be stuck in rush hour traffic when trying to navigate a northeast direction without an expressway. Because I'm telling you, I'd medal in that competition. You can time it, and you can also judge me with style points. I don't particularly care if it's winter olympics or summer olympics, and I think a case could be made for either. So I'm in for either 2008 summer or 2010 winter, whichever is easiest for the committee to schedule.

I am sitting here watching the skating, and it's fine and all, I won't rail against it. What I will say is that the announcers are a bunch of blowhards who are pretty tough to take. I'm glad I don't figure skate for a living (and you are too, though wouldn't that be a sight, and they'd need to run the zamboni pretty frequently, and why don't they ever show the olympic zamboni, and although i wasn't in a band called olympic zamboni i think i should have been) and I'm glad I'm not the miserable self important people who "call" the sport. I know I know, they aren't all mean. But one of them is.

And with that, I will make one last mention that Kevlar owes us a post.

An Admission, Out of Nowhere, Just Because

In 1989, my second and third year of college, I would race home from class, through Miami rush hour, away from the badass musicians that went to that school, whom I had just been playing and practicing and grooving with, just so that I could watch reruns of the Golden Girls.

I certainly hope I am not alone in admissions of silliness.

Some Help?

Really, really, really important.

Go to "Illinois" and then click "Take Action". You'll see for yourself. Takes about 25 seconds and this is the real deal.

Thanks!

Sickeningly Depressing

For this, I will have a six-figure debt.

The Wonders of Morning Television

Watching the "hip" morning show, which really means it's programmed for people like "me" who are "somewhere in their 30s" this morning. The segment they just ran: out of nowhere, Cindy Sheehan is interviewed by two very uncomfortable, normally witty, now stumped TV anchors. They try to be hard hitting, like Matt Lauer, and Cindy Sheehan does what she does. The segment is unbelievably awkward and uncomfortable. The segment is quickly over. Then, they throw it to...and I'm not making this up...the monster truck rally in the west suburbs, and then they throw it back to the studio to, and I'm not making this up...show a wacky commercial where a guy gets caught in a red lace g-string and frilly bra outfit during a fire alarm, which just cracks up the same TV anchors that 4 minutes earlier were squirming uncontrolably on camera with Sheehan. Not a single commercial in that segment. Brilliant.

And now Kelly Ripa has Simon Cowell sitting in for Regis, and can I tell you how wacky that is?

And now, thankfully, I'm going to go to work and stay there forever.

Sport Rule Update

OK. Even though it is timed, and therefore falls under my basic rule #1 about what is and what is not a sport, because, you know, someone has to come in first, I am declaring that Snowboard Cross is not remotely a sport. It's sledding on your feet. Now you're going to ask me about luging and bobsled, aren't you? I'll tell you the difference. In luge, you're going about 90 miles an hour, and in bobsled, it's only a little less. And you are on/in solid sheets/tubes of ice at a 70 degree angle downhill. In the Snowboard Cross, you and a coupla dudes stand on a big ski and slide down a snowy hill. First one down wins. I know technically it's within my definition, but I'm throwing it out 'cause it's stupid.

Depressing Abstract

Here is the abstract for an article that I'm about to read:

ABSTRACT: This article presents a contextualized treatment of the current configuration of self, some of the pathologies that plague it, and the technologies that attempt to heael it. Of particular interest is the historical shift from the Victorian, sexually restricted self to the post-World War II empty self. The empty self is soothed and made cohesive by becoming "filled up" with food, consumer products, and celebrities. Its historical antecedents, economic constituents, and political consequences are the focus of this article. The two professions most responsible for healing the empty self, advertising and psychotherapy, find themselves in a bind: They must treat a psychological symptom without being able to address its historical causes. Both circumvent the bind by employing the life-style solution, a strategy that attempts to heal by covertly filling the empty self with the accoutrements, values, and mannerisms of idealized figures. This strategysolves an old problem but creates new ones, including an opportunity for abuse by exploitive therapists, cult leaders, and politicians. Psychology's role in constructing the empty self, and thus reproducing the current hierarchy of power and privilege, is examined.

Cushman, Philip (1990). Why the Self Is Empty: Toward a Historically Situated Psychology. American Psychologist, 45, 599-611.

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Me again. I haven't yet read this article, but the abstract both interested me and depressed me so much that I had to share before I actually got down to business. Stay tuned for more.

OK I'll Weigh In

With all of the ludicrous stories out of Washington these days, it's hard not to comment. I'll save the jokes for others because, well, others are better at them than me. And I won't even go into detail about, well, anything, because I don't know details about most things, including this.

My thoughts about the insanity of last weekend's escapade are along these lines: What type of outcry/charges would be brought if the Veep and the 78-year-old's positions had been reversed? What would have happend if the 78-year-old dude had been killed? Why is it OK to justify this as an accident? Which is not to imply that it wasn't an accident. I don't doubt that it was an accident. I'm talking about the justification process. Just because it's an accident doesn't make it OK.

I have to ask: what if this were two truly private citizens? Investigations galore. What if one person had been black and the other white? Investigations and speculation. What if the Veep had been shot rather than the shooter? Investigations and charges of some sort, most likely. I highly doubt that it would be waved off under the guise of an accident. Even though I'm sure it was an accident.

I'm just saying, it's not OK to accidently shoot someone, whether it was an accident or not, and I think that should be the bigger story, rather than whether or not Scott McClellan is in another tough spot. I think the press is missing the bigger story. I think everyone is.

Little League

I'm a Little League dad. I have two kids that play LL baseball in southern California, which means that I get to be around people who seem to somehow think it's sane to spend $300 on an aluminum bat for a nine year old. Although the overwhelming majority of parents are sane and have reasonable expectations for their kids (i.e. have fun, work hard, and learn to be part of a team), there are always a few who seem to think that their child is unquestionably the next Derek Jeter. Honestly, most of the kids won't even play high school ball, let alone division three college ball, but there's a palpable sense around the fields sometimes that parents expect their kids to go on to be major leaguers. It's quite ridiculous.

All of that said, I love Little League baseball. At its best, its a blast. Most of the parents are nice and a sizable number have a great sense of humor, so there's a lot of laughter during games. The kids tend to be kind to each other (at least at this age), funny, and happy to be playing. On a Saturday morning when the sun hits the grass just right, it is one of those uniquely americana kinds of experiences. Good times.

That said, my wife almost got in a fight at a game two years ago. During one of our son's games, the only girl on his team stepped up to bat and was heckled by a parent from the opposing team. This is, of course, a substantial no-no under any circumstances, but when a 35+ year old man yells "easy out" in reference to a seven year old girl stepping into the batter's box, it's a particularly egregious form of no-no. My wife stood up and suggested to the gentleman that he should shut his mouth and sit down; she then loudly asked him if he felt better about himself after heckling little girls. Naturally, he shut up and sat down and my wife received a round of applause from the other parents.

Dear me, I love that woman.

For Teo

A local college - the sort of college that advertises on sports talk radio - ran a radio ad this morning that made laugh out loud:

"People are going to tell you their problems anyway. Why not make it a career? Consider enrolling in our psychology programs."

Sports

1) Must be timed, as in, who comes in first
or
2) Must involve a ball/projectile

Anything with judges is an exhibition of some sort of leisure activity.

Just clearing this up. Thanks.

Not Exactly a Sleepover...

...but cinnamon donuts.

The Upside of Mean Stuff

I needed a laugh the other day and happened upon the DVD "The Best of Triumph the Insult Comic Dog". Naturally, I purchased it and only today had a chance to sit down and watch it.

It is mean. It is crude. It is immature. And I laughed and laughed and laughed until my sides hurt. For one example of what's on the DVD, go here.

"Want a spoiler? Here's a spoiler - you will die alone."

I know, I know, it's incredibly meanspirited stuff. But darn it all, it is funny. And I can't help but laugh.

Um, Has Anyone Gotten The Mail Yet?

Sigh. My dream ticket shall not be. Do not piss off the McCain. The man is not afraid to call out the newbies and take them to serious task, especially when they have a big future as a presidential candidate.

I am at a loss. Which way do I go. Right or Left. I didn't want to choose between these two yet. I will not do so at this point. Right and Left can still live together. I study psychology. Love and Hate can and do exist together. Ambivalence is natural. I will integrate. I will accept all parts of me and the world as one big complicated whole. Black and White live in all of us creating zillions of shades of grey. I can handle this. I will use intellectualization as my primary defense in order to manage my conflict and anxiety.

But man, read that letter. Not bad. Not a letter I'd want to get in the mail.

Do not piss off the McCain.

Eyes Open

I just found some horseradish and used it instead of my regular mustard, and my entire day immediately became that much more interesting.

Mean Stuff Still Sucks

I know everyone talks about the commercials. That's all fine and good, and I'm no snob for entertainment. My view here is also not all that original, as I remember thinking this for the last few years and reading and hearing other people's reactions that have been similar. And so my point is this: most of the commercials are mean and sadistic, and they make me sad and uncomfortable as often as they make me laugh. Maybe more often.

For . . .

Teo

Another Problem

My writing style this semester is decidedly dense and oblique, which is a problem, because I write papers, and because you can't tell what the hell I'm writing about. And if you aren't sure what I'm talking about, it's because I said that my writing style this semester is decidedly dense and oblique.

Herewith as evinced with a semicolon; indeed.

The State of the Hombre

I guess I'm gonna have to ask all of your patience this semester. Ol' Teo is strapped these days (strapped?), and I'm not sure if much quality material will be coming forth on a regular basis. I'm not sure where I'll find the time to do all that is on my calendar as it is. I like the Hombre blog. I just wish I could do it some justice.

The good news is that my dissertation proposal is looking pretty good. I hope to submit it for approval in about a month. My committee will include the author of this book: I've linked to this book before, because it is the single greatest psychology book I've read. The fact that the author of the book...a Chicago guy...is on my dissertation committee is downright panic inducing. My committee has three heavyweights on it, so my next 18 months will be, um, hard.

And with the addition of some midterms and papers and readings and interviews and blah blah blah on my plate I'm pretty much always doing something, even when I'm doing nothing. And the school lost my financial aid, which kinda sucks, and you can read about my fantastic reaction to that below.

So all of this is to say that I can at this point write about two things: 1) my schedule, which is pretty boring (Hey! Did you read Teo's blog! He's busy! Let's comment!), or 2) my observation that a lady pressed the elevator button continuously yesterday, after I had already waited five minutes for the vater, and then she showed up and pressed it about 25 times in a row and the elevator opened, and I thought, jeez, why didn't I think of hitting the button 25 times rather than once.

Either way, the blog is not full of very interesting material these days. My apologies, and I hope I don't lose you all forever.

I Was Mean Today

I rolled my eyes and snapped at the financial aid flunky today. She's not really that great at her job and the school lost my financial aid, and the thing is that those two things really aren't related. The fact that she's not great at her job doesn't mean I should be mean. The fact that the school lost my money doesn't mean it's her fault. I have apologized. She accepted. Doesn't make me feel all that great when this stuff happens, though.