The following are the fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh (and final) installments of the occasional 2009 series looking at how the traditional "Seven Deadly Sins" play in today's world.
Often times, there are items that grab my attention that are interesting to me, but they just don't contain enough substance for me to blather endlessly about. So I thought I'd try blathering in short bursts. With that, I present to you, instead of one long-winded piece, a collection of several short-winded pieces.
From Lemons to Lemonade to Shameless Marketing
In February 2009, R&B star Chris Brown assaulted his then-girlfriend, R&B star Rihanna. Eight months later, Rihanna had the courage to appear on TV with Diane Sawyer and share her pain with millions of viewers. Like it or not, many people listen when celebrities speak, so for Rihanna to bare her soul was a gesture that hopefully inspired victims of abuse to have the courage to make positive changes in their lives. I only wish she hadn't done so 18 days before her latest record dropped, offering her maximum exposure just in time to boost first-week sales and to sustain unit-movement over those critical and finite pre-Christmas shopping days. It kind of dulled the shine of her sincerity. The presence of Envy here is clear. If the first things a singer looks at are her own sales figures, the second things she looks at are the sales figures of her competition - and God forbid the competition does better. You may say that this is a key to success, and it might well be ... but not after a case of domestic abuse. If the choice in timing of the interview was hers, she isn't brave, she's manipulative. If the choice in timing wasn't hers but rather her record label's, she's still a victim, but of a different kind of abuse. Domestic violence is abhorrent. Period. But not only should domestic violence not be committed, it should not be exploited for profit, either.
Casting Pearls (of Anger) Before Swine (Flu)
It seems that since the last presidential election, the yelling - from both sides - has gotten substantially worse, and I've all but tuned it out. Oh, I follow the issues, but now almost exclusively in print; gone are my nights of watching wall-to-wall political coverage on the cable news channels. The stars (if you will) of these shows, these so-called pundits (or commentators, anchors, experts, correspondents, or chief correspondents) are really nothing more than well-dressed, well-paid gasbags who simply don't know how to turn it off or, at the least, turn it down. Truthfully, if I want that kind of deafening and incessant droning of voices over voices over voices, I'll volunteer to be a grade school lunchroom dad. And just as those lunchroom kids are somehow prone to mimic that which they see on TV, so, too, are adults. For every screamer on cable news, there seems to be an army of screamer wannabes taking their issues from talk radio to town halls, and from the World Wide Web to the corner coffee klatch. Yes, all of this speech is free, but does it have to be so vitriolic? When did ire and volume replace simple debate? Recently, the loudest voices have come from those who are vehemently opposed to government-run healthcare. To those people, I ask: If you are so passionate in your opposition to the government's involvement in healthcare, if you have been moved to the point of Wrath by this issue, to the point that you have disrupted organized public forums (up to, and including, joint sessions of Congress) by shouting down those "against" you as opposed to debating - or even arguing - the issue's points on merit ... did you, in your fit of Wrath, boisterously and passionately yank your children out of line for the Swine Flu vaccinations they were to receive at school?
If Sandra Bullock Made This Movie, Would It Be Called MISS HYPOCRISY?
When flavor-of-the-month (about six months ago) Carrie Prejean was Miss California USA, and she was asked during the Miss USA 2009 pageant about her opinion on same-sex marriage, and she responded that she thought marriage should be between a man and a woman, I didn't blink. Did I agree with her? Of course not; I never have and I never will. But despite my opposition, I still respected her opinion, and besides, at least she answered the question honestly, as opposed to trying to spin her way out of it in hopes of gaining favor with the judges. So when the drama erupted over her answer - and by "drama," I mean when Prejean was knee-capped by internet whatever Perez Hilton, who, through D-List chicanery, managed to light the public's torches and sharpen the masses' pitchforks - I was surprised. I mean, there's a guy who lives at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue who essentially shares the same belief, and 70% of the gay community helped vote him into office, so why the fervor over the blonde beauty queen? Wow. Could it be true? Could I defend a same-sex marriage detractor? It turns out I could, right up until the point where she just wouldn't shut up. Fast forward through too many press conferences and lawsuits to a few weeks ago, during her recent book tour and what is, perhaps, her most intriguing quote. On NBC's TODAY, Prejean said, "Our bodies are temples of the Lord. We should earn respect and admiration for our hearts, not for showing skin to look sexy." Listen sweetheart, I don't mind that you are a body-baring beauty queen, stirring Lust in those who really don't care about your position on the importance of education or the fight against world hunger; nor do I mind that you had breast augmentation, further stoking that Lust; nor do I mind that you made a sex tape, showing that you've got a saucy Lustful streak in you. What I do mind is a woman who is in her 18th minute of fame and hawking a book from one side of her mouth, all the while invoking the Word of God from the other side of her mouth, preaching about the temple that is the woman's body, when if it weren't for your desecration of that temple, your name wouldn't be Carrie Prejean, it would be Carrie Who?
This Time It's Personal
Sitting in my church is not unlike sitting in the food court at the mall. Oh sure, there's an altar instead of a Cinnabon and they serve the Body and Blood of Christ as opposed to pretzel gems and dippin' cheese, but the congregants are dressed the same as the shoppers. On any given Sunday, you see the occasional suit or dress, but usually the fashion choices range from trendy casuals to football jerseys and jeans to shorts and sandals. This, to me, is blasphemous. I was raised that when you go to church, you wear what they used to call "your Sunday best" (which I still do), with anything less being undignified. That pretty much makes me guilty of the sin of Pride, for judging people on their attire as it pales in comparison to mine, when instead I should be thankful that they attend church at all. I am working on this. However, this issue intersects with an experience I had this past Sunday, when Baby and I pulled a pair of tags off our church's Giving Tree. (For those of you unfamiliar, a Giving Tree is a Christmas tree that has hanging from it tags instead of ornaments, and written on those tags are donation requests for basic items needed by local residents who are experiencing hard times.) The first tag asked for a gift card to the local supermarket, with no specific denomination requested. I like this request, and I have faith that the requestor will use the gift not for cigarettes or margarita mix, but rather for food or diapers. Done. The second request, complete with useful size information, asked for a pair of jeans ... from Aeropostale. Boutique jeans? On a Giving Tree? "Please help me. I need jeans ... but only really nice jeans." It seems I'm not alone in my Pride.
Showing posts with label Seven_Deadly_Sins. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Seven_Deadly_Sins. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Thursday, October 8, 2009
It's About More Than the Benjamins
The following is the third of an occasional 2009 series looking at how the traditional "Seven Deadly Sins" play in today's world.
For those of you who know me, and by "who know me," I mean "who read my stuff," and by "who read my stuff," I mean "who used to read my stuff when I actually wrote stuff on a regular basis," I hope you will be happy to know that I am OFF the public dole! Yes, I have once again joined the land of the gainfully employed (oddly enough, at the same place that cut me loose last year - go figure). There was much rejoicing done by Baby and The Girls when I delivered the good news, and the weeks and months that have followed have brought more happiness, both monetarily and self-worthily. But it hasn't been all "sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows," as Lesley Gore once sang. Sadly, during this time, I've also gotten a taste of sorrow ... in the form of death.
I've been very fortunate in my life that my experience with death has been limited.
My first real exposure to death was when I lost my grandfather. Pop-Pop was a man who influenced me greatly, and who still influences me today, some 11 years since his passing. Many people say their grandfathers were the best grandfathers in all the land, but mine actually was.
My second exposure to death was when I lost my brother-in-law six years ago. When I married his wife's sister, he and I quickly became brothers-in-arms-in-law, and eventually we became very close friends. His passing came too soon, something I also think about daily.
As for my third experience just a few months ago, it was something quite different. You see, while it was sad to watch my grandfather die at the hands of old age, and while it was sad to watch my brother-in-law die at the hands of disease, neither were as sad as bearing witness to the death of Honor ... at the hands Greed.
(It's been a while. Forgive the length.)
When did we start doing what's best for ourselves instead of doing the honorable thing?
An old friend with whom I had lost touch after my unemployment (who shall remain nameless because I would like her to remain my old friend with whom I am back in touch since my re-employment) recently confided in me that she had cheated on her husband. The affair hadn't been going on long when her husband made the discovery, and after a period of slow progress in rebuilding their relationship and (sadly) a crippling relapse, the storm of uncertainty that surrounded their marriage, while still churning, is beginning to calm, and my friend and her husband seem to be ... finally ... moving in the right direction. Not only have they recommitted themselves to each other, they have returned to the spiritual faith they both abandoned in their youth. Plus, they are engaged in professional marriage counseling as a couple, and they are both addressing their individual psychological issues. It turns out that she is being treated for Depression - a key factor in her missteps - and he is being treated for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder - something they didn't realize (nor did I) applied to anything outside of the military - caused by the affair.
My friend's revelation was a stunner. She and her husband have known each other for nearly 20 years. They met as coworkers, became close friends, and then nurtured their relationship through romance and into marriage - a marriage, by the way, that many others admired and respected; a marriage everyone thought was indestructible. It wasn't, and to learn that their marriage could fall victim to this fate is still no greater a shock to this adult than learning the truth about Santa Claus must be to any child. Everything I thought I knew disappeared, and in the months-long wake of the sad news, I still yearn to be intoxicated by the fantasy of a perfect couple, instead of enduring the maddening sobriety that we are all human. When you watch your heroes fall, you become painfully self-aware of your own mortality.
Before I continue, a pair of items. First, I don't condone what my friend did to her husband. While I'm glad their problems seem to be rooted in something psychologically deeper (as opposed to something shallow and thoughtless), that doesn't change the fact that she betrayed her husband - twice. She knows where I stand on this, which is right at the edge of opinion and teetering towards judgment. Second, my friend is lucky that her husband is the man that he is to look past the affairs and see that his wife is suffering from an affliction and needs help, not unlike the way someone with the flu or a broken leg needs help. I've reminded her more than once of this fact, and she has humbly agreed with counted blessings. With that, my housekeeping here is complete.
What does all of this have to do with Greed?
It seems that whenever we bear witness to infidelity, either through the hypnotic moving-picture box in our living rooms or on the pages of the latest scandal sheets in our grocer's checkout lanes, we tend to do one of two things: we either judge the guilty with great condemnation (see: politicians and/or clergymen of all stripes and levels), or we get lost in the salaciousness of it all (see: celebrities ... actual, reality, or otherwise). We might even take pity on some of the parties involved, especially if children become collateral damage.
But there is something we never consider with marital impropriety, something we never discuss when we roll like pigs in the muddy details. It's something that hit me when infidelity touched people I actually know. I came to the sad realization that despite her level of responsibility, despite her husband's level of responsibility for missing the signs of her problems or perhaps contributing to those problems, there were several other people who not only failed this poor woman (and, to a great extent, her husband), but did so intentionally and for their own personal gain.
The first person here is the miscreant she had the affair with. He was fully aware of her marital status when their relationship began, but that didn't stop him from being Greedy - sexually so, but Greedy nonetheless - and taking advantage of this woman in her time of need. I know, I know - lizards like this have been crawling the planet since the dawn of man and lizards; I get that. But what I think we've forgotten, perhaps as a result of being desensitized by the media's frenzied fascination with the pandemic that is infidelity, is that this guy, like the millions before him and the millions to come, made a decision, conscious or not, that went something like this: "This woman is married to someone else but she wants to sleep with me. That defies the core tenet of marriage, so she must be having problems at home. I can either seize this opportunity for a cheap and meaningless thrill, and in doing so set forth into motion a series of events that will ruin the life of her husband and children ... you know, my fellow humans ... or I can tell her that what she is doing to her husband is wrong, and that she should either stay with him completely or leave him completely; nothing in between. Hmmm. Decisions, decisions."
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzip.
If your grandmother is about to be hit by an oncoming bus, don't expect this guy to help her. Surely he will say, "Hey, she chose to stand there." Unless, of course, Grandma is a cougar, and then he might consider what his reward would be for saving her life.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzip.
The second guilty person here is my friend's girlfriend. This so-called friend, who goes back so far as to have been in attendance at the wedding of the fractured couple, was fully aware of the affair, yet she did nothing to inquire about the state of the marriage, she did nothing to advise on the potential harm my friend would cause her family by cheating, she kept the secret from the husband (whom she knew), and she was fully prepared to act as an alibi for my friend, so that my friend could have a full sleepover with The Miscreant, as opposed to some lunchtime quicky. Why do this to/for a friend? Well, perhaps the girlfriend's Greed was in the form of looking at a future where the husband was out of the picture so more "girl-time" could be spent together. Or maybe her Greed was Greed by attrition - her marriage was in the toilet at the time, so rather than try to improve her own situation, why not drag company down to her level.
Or maybe it was a Greedy combination of both. Regardless, she did not have my friend's best interest at heart.
Sure, you might think that if someone is your best friend, they will do anything they can to support you. You would be wrong. A friend, a true friend, has the guts - check that - the responsibility to step in and say, "Something is not right here. I'm your friend. How can I help you fix this?" If you don't believe me, go to the person you think is your best friend and tell them how cool it would be if you put a gun to your own head so you could blow your brains out. If the response is, "Anything for you, amigo," they aren't your friend, they are an accomplice at best, an accessory at worst. I am happy to say that my friend recognized what a cancer her so-called friend was on her marriage and has since written off The Accomplice.
Finally, the third guilty person here is actually more than one person. It's the other friends my friend THOUGHT she had - those people she considered to be in her "support network" who, upon learning of the affair, never bothered to say, "What can I do to help?" or "How are you two managing?" They simply stopped calling. They simply stopped e-mailing. They simply stopped texting. They simply stopped responding to calls and e-mails and texts, or if they responded, they did so with the written or verbal equivalent of the Heisman Trophy, stiff-arming my friend with retorts that would barely appease the homeless squeegee guy at the busy city intersection. They simply allowed their body language, in coincidental social settings, to scream, "My God, get me as far away from here as possible." The Greed here is the most perplexing - and perhaps the worst - of all.
Unlike the Greed of The Miscreant and The Accomplice, which was predatory and opportunistic, the Greed of The Deserters was not just of the "gimme" variety, it was of the "gimme back" variety. Their actions and inactions have screamed, "Yes, I have broken bread with you. Yes, I have welcomed you into my home. Yes, I have held the hands of your children and you have held the hands of mine. Yes, you have been there for me through good times and bad, but ... not this bad. I mean, really, when I became not just your friend but a part of your life, a part of your extended family, I thought we'd go shopping and gab on the phone and have cocktails and cookouts and other fun stuff. I really wasn't counting on your life spiraling out of control. What if it's contagious? I don't want whatever it is you got, which includes our friendship, so gimme back."
Shakespeare would have called this too tragic.
Perhaps the Greed of The Miscreant and The Accomplice and The Deserters is nothing more than a sign of our times. It seems that the Greed of today goes beyond the usual desire for stacks of cash. The Greed of today represents a shocking combination of conceit and covetousness that doesn't just desire THINGS, it desires everyone around them to exist in their little universe on their unquestionable terms, with complete disregard for anyone who cannot help further whatever agenda they have. While I won't blame social networking sites for this mindset, they certainly contribute to the mentality.
"If you don't interest ME, or if you don't want to look at MY pictures and listen to MY playlists and read MY Tweets and watch MY videos, or if you don't want to GIMME your body or GIMME your time or GIMME your upsides only ... well, then GIMME the keyboard so I can delete you."
I'd rather have the cash than people like that in my life. At least the cash has value.
For those of you who know me, and by "who know me," I mean "who read my stuff," and by "who read my stuff," I mean "who used to read my stuff when I actually wrote stuff on a regular basis," I hope you will be happy to know that I am OFF the public dole! Yes, I have once again joined the land of the gainfully employed (oddly enough, at the same place that cut me loose last year - go figure). There was much rejoicing done by Baby and The Girls when I delivered the good news, and the weeks and months that have followed have brought more happiness, both monetarily and self-worthily. But it hasn't been all "sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows," as Lesley Gore once sang. Sadly, during this time, I've also gotten a taste of sorrow ... in the form of death.
I've been very fortunate in my life that my experience with death has been limited.
My first real exposure to death was when I lost my grandfather. Pop-Pop was a man who influenced me greatly, and who still influences me today, some 11 years since his passing. Many people say their grandfathers were the best grandfathers in all the land, but mine actually was.
My second exposure to death was when I lost my brother-in-law six years ago. When I married his wife's sister, he and I quickly became brothers-in-arms-in-law, and eventually we became very close friends. His passing came too soon, something I also think about daily.
As for my third experience just a few months ago, it was something quite different. You see, while it was sad to watch my grandfather die at the hands of old age, and while it was sad to watch my brother-in-law die at the hands of disease, neither were as sad as bearing witness to the death of Honor ... at the hands Greed.
(It's been a while. Forgive the length.)
When did we start doing what's best for ourselves instead of doing the honorable thing?
An old friend with whom I had lost touch after my unemployment (who shall remain nameless because I would like her to remain my old friend with whom I am back in touch since my re-employment) recently confided in me that she had cheated on her husband. The affair hadn't been going on long when her husband made the discovery, and after a period of slow progress in rebuilding their relationship and (sadly) a crippling relapse, the storm of uncertainty that surrounded their marriage, while still churning, is beginning to calm, and my friend and her husband seem to be ... finally ... moving in the right direction. Not only have they recommitted themselves to each other, they have returned to the spiritual faith they both abandoned in their youth. Plus, they are engaged in professional marriage counseling as a couple, and they are both addressing their individual psychological issues. It turns out that she is being treated for Depression - a key factor in her missteps - and he is being treated for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder - something they didn't realize (nor did I) applied to anything outside of the military - caused by the affair.
My friend's revelation was a stunner. She and her husband have known each other for nearly 20 years. They met as coworkers, became close friends, and then nurtured their relationship through romance and into marriage - a marriage, by the way, that many others admired and respected; a marriage everyone thought was indestructible. It wasn't, and to learn that their marriage could fall victim to this fate is still no greater a shock to this adult than learning the truth about Santa Claus must be to any child. Everything I thought I knew disappeared, and in the months-long wake of the sad news, I still yearn to be intoxicated by the fantasy of a perfect couple, instead of enduring the maddening sobriety that we are all human. When you watch your heroes fall, you become painfully self-aware of your own mortality.
Before I continue, a pair of items. First, I don't condone what my friend did to her husband. While I'm glad their problems seem to be rooted in something psychologically deeper (as opposed to something shallow and thoughtless), that doesn't change the fact that she betrayed her husband - twice. She knows where I stand on this, which is right at the edge of opinion and teetering towards judgment. Second, my friend is lucky that her husband is the man that he is to look past the affairs and see that his wife is suffering from an affliction and needs help, not unlike the way someone with the flu or a broken leg needs help. I've reminded her more than once of this fact, and she has humbly agreed with counted blessings. With that, my housekeeping here is complete.
What does all of this have to do with Greed?
It seems that whenever we bear witness to infidelity, either through the hypnotic moving-picture box in our living rooms or on the pages of the latest scandal sheets in our grocer's checkout lanes, we tend to do one of two things: we either judge the guilty with great condemnation (see: politicians and/or clergymen of all stripes and levels), or we get lost in the salaciousness of it all (see: celebrities ... actual, reality, or otherwise). We might even take pity on some of the parties involved, especially if children become collateral damage.
But there is something we never consider with marital impropriety, something we never discuss when we roll like pigs in the muddy details. It's something that hit me when infidelity touched people I actually know. I came to the sad realization that despite her level of responsibility, despite her husband's level of responsibility for missing the signs of her problems or perhaps contributing to those problems, there were several other people who not only failed this poor woman (and, to a great extent, her husband), but did so intentionally and for their own personal gain.
The first person here is the miscreant she had the affair with. He was fully aware of her marital status when their relationship began, but that didn't stop him from being Greedy - sexually so, but Greedy nonetheless - and taking advantage of this woman in her time of need. I know, I know - lizards like this have been crawling the planet since the dawn of man and lizards; I get that. But what I think we've forgotten, perhaps as a result of being desensitized by the media's frenzied fascination with the pandemic that is infidelity, is that this guy, like the millions before him and the millions to come, made a decision, conscious or not, that went something like this: "This woman is married to someone else but she wants to sleep with me. That defies the core tenet of marriage, so she must be having problems at home. I can either seize this opportunity for a cheap and meaningless thrill, and in doing so set forth into motion a series of events that will ruin the life of her husband and children ... you know, my fellow humans ... or I can tell her that what she is doing to her husband is wrong, and that she should either stay with him completely or leave him completely; nothing in between. Hmmm. Decisions, decisions."
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzip.
If your grandmother is about to be hit by an oncoming bus, don't expect this guy to help her. Surely he will say, "Hey, she chose to stand there." Unless, of course, Grandma is a cougar, and then he might consider what his reward would be for saving her life.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzip.
The second guilty person here is my friend's girlfriend. This so-called friend, who goes back so far as to have been in attendance at the wedding of the fractured couple, was fully aware of the affair, yet she did nothing to inquire about the state of the marriage, she did nothing to advise on the potential harm my friend would cause her family by cheating, she kept the secret from the husband (whom she knew), and she was fully prepared to act as an alibi for my friend, so that my friend could have a full sleepover with The Miscreant, as opposed to some lunchtime quicky. Why do this to/for a friend? Well, perhaps the girlfriend's Greed was in the form of looking at a future where the husband was out of the picture so more "girl-time" could be spent together. Or maybe her Greed was Greed by attrition - her marriage was in the toilet at the time, so rather than try to improve her own situation, why not drag company down to her level.
Or maybe it was a Greedy combination of both. Regardless, she did not have my friend's best interest at heart.
Sure, you might think that if someone is your best friend, they will do anything they can to support you. You would be wrong. A friend, a true friend, has the guts - check that - the responsibility to step in and say, "Something is not right here. I'm your friend. How can I help you fix this?" If you don't believe me, go to the person you think is your best friend and tell them how cool it would be if you put a gun to your own head so you could blow your brains out. If the response is, "Anything for you, amigo," they aren't your friend, they are an accomplice at best, an accessory at worst. I am happy to say that my friend recognized what a cancer her so-called friend was on her marriage and has since written off The Accomplice.
Finally, the third guilty person here is actually more than one person. It's the other friends my friend THOUGHT she had - those people she considered to be in her "support network" who, upon learning of the affair, never bothered to say, "What can I do to help?" or "How are you two managing?" They simply stopped calling. They simply stopped e-mailing. They simply stopped texting. They simply stopped responding to calls and e-mails and texts, or if they responded, they did so with the written or verbal equivalent of the Heisman Trophy, stiff-arming my friend with retorts that would barely appease the homeless squeegee guy at the busy city intersection. They simply allowed their body language, in coincidental social settings, to scream, "My God, get me as far away from here as possible." The Greed here is the most perplexing - and perhaps the worst - of all.
Unlike the Greed of The Miscreant and The Accomplice, which was predatory and opportunistic, the Greed of The Deserters was not just of the "gimme" variety, it was of the "gimme back" variety. Their actions and inactions have screamed, "Yes, I have broken bread with you. Yes, I have welcomed you into my home. Yes, I have held the hands of your children and you have held the hands of mine. Yes, you have been there for me through good times and bad, but ... not this bad. I mean, really, when I became not just your friend but a part of your life, a part of your extended family, I thought we'd go shopping and gab on the phone and have cocktails and cookouts and other fun stuff. I really wasn't counting on your life spiraling out of control. What if it's contagious? I don't want whatever it is you got, which includes our friendship, so gimme back."
Shakespeare would have called this too tragic.
Perhaps the Greed of The Miscreant and The Accomplice and The Deserters is nothing more than a sign of our times. It seems that the Greed of today goes beyond the usual desire for stacks of cash. The Greed of today represents a shocking combination of conceit and covetousness that doesn't just desire THINGS, it desires everyone around them to exist in their little universe on their unquestionable terms, with complete disregard for anyone who cannot help further whatever agenda they have. While I won't blame social networking sites for this mindset, they certainly contribute to the mentality.
"If you don't interest ME, or if you don't want to look at MY pictures and listen to MY playlists and read MY Tweets and watch MY videos, or if you don't want to GIMME your body or GIMME your time or GIMME your upsides only ... well, then GIMME the keyboard so I can delete you."
I'd rather have the cash than people like that in my life. At least the cash has value.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Americans Idle
The following is the second of an occasional 2009 series looking at how the traditional "Seven Deadly Sins" play in today's world.
Hello there. It's been a while since I've come 'round. I'm sorry about that. It hasn't been for lack of want; I've been pining to opine. It's just that I've been busy taking care of some very important things in my personal life, including my ongoing search for gainful employment.
Wednesday, May 16, 2009, marked the 222nd day since my...what's that euphemism employers like to use when they don't want to sully their souls?...ah yes, my DISPLACEMENT. Being euphemized for over seven months is not exactly cause for celebration. However, 222 days is as good a time as any for reflection, and I have learned much during my time in this predicament.
I've learned on whom I can count in tough times. I've also learned that I'm not surprised by how short that list is.
I've learned that my threshold for rejection is mighty, thanks to the tolerance I developed from the rejection I faced in high school; finally, something from my teen years has come in handy. (If only I could say the same for trigonometry.)
I've learned that COBRA is more than just a bad '80s Sylvester Stallone movie. I've also learned that I happen to like bad '80s Sylvester Stallone movies, so if anyone is up for a Cobra / Rocky IV / Over the Top triple feature, let me know; I'll pop the corn.
The list goes on about the things I've learned, but if there is one thing that I HAVEN'T learned, it's how to prove to others that just because I don't have another job yet doesn't mean I'm not working hard at getting one. When you work hard at something, you usually have something else to show for it, like a good report card for hard work at school or a nice lawn for hard work in your yard. But this is not the case for a job search. If you work hard at looking for a job, but don't actually get a job, there is nothing you can present that shows your hard work.
I typically don't fret over what others might think of me. Still, I have a base desire to at least paint an accurate portrait of myself. I don't have a job yet because (so far) I've been unsuccessful - not lazy. I'd much rather be labeled the former than the latter. Failure is not a sin, but Sloth is.
And while the Deadly Sin of Sloth might conjure images of parental-basement-dwelling slackers with no desire to do anything but play video games, blog about playing video games, or Twitter about blogging about playing video games, there's another breed of lazy person out there - the politician.
Not the running politician, mind you. THAT guy works hard. From Dog Catcher to President, the running politician can't shake enough hands or work enough phones to convince the people that he is the best man for the job. But when he gets that job, something happens: he tends to commit Sloth.
Consider federal earmarks, those wasteful spending addenda that ride the coattails of important Congressional bills. These are also known as pork, which surely is offensive to Babe, Hamm, Miss Piggy, Porky and Petunia, Arnold, Wilbur, Piglet, and most other dignified swine. All earmarks are telltale signs of Sloth, including the $500,000 for a "virtual space community for students" added by Texas Sen. Kay Bailey Hutchison (R), and the $200,000 for a "Tattoo Removal Violence Prevention Outreach Program" added by California Rep. Howard Berman (D). The list is almost endless (and an impressively exhaustive reference of all pork, including those above, can be found here.
Or, consider the Sloth exhibited in the local school district referendum that paired, on one ballot item, the expansion of a teacher training center with the addition of two new artificial turf fields for local high schools...in addition to the one already installed.
Or, consider Andrew Harris, the Sloth-committing Maryland state senator (R) who threatened to withhold $424 million in funding from the University of Maryland if it proceeded with plans to screen a pornographic film - Pirates II: Stagnetti's Revenge - in the student union. The screening itself was to have been funded completely by fees assessed to the students...not by any state or school funds.
So how do these three examples - and the countless others they represent - constitute Sloth? Well, the mark of a good politician is that he can convince you that his idea is worthy of implementation. To do so takes effort.
Earmarks do not take effort. Earmarks are lazy. Earmarks say, "There's no way I can sell this idea on its own merit, but I want it, so I will attach it to the other guy's thing, because that thing is SO good, people will approve my thing just so his thing is approved too." Where's the effort in that?
Odd referendum pairings are lazy. The example says, "The community won't want another tax increase to finance more artificial fields when so many other things are needed for all of the students in the district (not just the athletes), but who would want to deny teachers the help they deserve? Let's tie the teachers to the fields so the fields are approved too." Where's the effort in that?
But the adult film example is the laziest of the three. Whereas the earmark and the referendum exhibit the use of Sloth as a means to gain something, the adult film example sites Sloth as a means of suppressing something. It's the political equivalent of "I don't like this game, so I'm taking my ball and going home." Where's the effort in that? (And heaven forbid this senator ever catch wind of some of the works of that Shakespeare guy.)
All of these paths are easy, and I'm not suggesting that the path of least resistance should always be avoided. It shouldn't. If a politician can find a shortcut that saves time/resources/money, that's great. Go for it. Just don't pitch me a bottle of efficient but sell me a bottle of deceptive instead.
If a virtual space community or tattoo removal or new athletic fields or stopping pornography are the passions of politicians, those politicians need to do drop their pens, roll up their sleeves, and do the work to convince me - convince all of us - that those passions are best for the community/state/country. To manipulate purse strings in an effort to forward an otherwise-failed agenda item is just plain lazy.
Hello there. It's been a while since I've come 'round. I'm sorry about that. It hasn't been for lack of want; I've been pining to opine. It's just that I've been busy taking care of some very important things in my personal life, including my ongoing search for gainful employment.
Wednesday, May 16, 2009, marked the 222nd day since my...what's that euphemism employers like to use when they don't want to sully their souls?...ah yes, my DISPLACEMENT. Being euphemized for over seven months is not exactly cause for celebration. However, 222 days is as good a time as any for reflection, and I have learned much during my time in this predicament.
I've learned on whom I can count in tough times. I've also learned that I'm not surprised by how short that list is.
I've learned that my threshold for rejection is mighty, thanks to the tolerance I developed from the rejection I faced in high school; finally, something from my teen years has come in handy. (If only I could say the same for trigonometry.)
I've learned that COBRA is more than just a bad '80s Sylvester Stallone movie. I've also learned that I happen to like bad '80s Sylvester Stallone movies, so if anyone is up for a Cobra / Rocky IV / Over the Top triple feature, let me know; I'll pop the corn.
The list goes on about the things I've learned, but if there is one thing that I HAVEN'T learned, it's how to prove to others that just because I don't have another job yet doesn't mean I'm not working hard at getting one. When you work hard at something, you usually have something else to show for it, like a good report card for hard work at school or a nice lawn for hard work in your yard. But this is not the case for a job search. If you work hard at looking for a job, but don't actually get a job, there is nothing you can present that shows your hard work.
I typically don't fret over what others might think of me. Still, I have a base desire to at least paint an accurate portrait of myself. I don't have a job yet because (so far) I've been unsuccessful - not lazy. I'd much rather be labeled the former than the latter. Failure is not a sin, but Sloth is.
And while the Deadly Sin of Sloth might conjure images of parental-basement-dwelling slackers with no desire to do anything but play video games, blog about playing video games, or Twitter about blogging about playing video games, there's another breed of lazy person out there - the politician.
Not the running politician, mind you. THAT guy works hard. From Dog Catcher to President, the running politician can't shake enough hands or work enough phones to convince the people that he is the best man for the job. But when he gets that job, something happens: he tends to commit Sloth.
Consider federal earmarks, those wasteful spending addenda that ride the coattails of important Congressional bills. These are also known as pork, which surely is offensive to Babe, Hamm, Miss Piggy, Porky and Petunia, Arnold, Wilbur, Piglet, and most other dignified swine. All earmarks are telltale signs of Sloth, including the $500,000 for a "virtual space community for students" added by Texas Sen. Kay Bailey Hutchison (R), and the $200,000 for a "Tattoo Removal Violence Prevention Outreach Program" added by California Rep. Howard Berman (D). The list is almost endless (and an impressively exhaustive reference of all pork, including those above, can be found here.
Or, consider the Sloth exhibited in the local school district referendum that paired, on one ballot item, the expansion of a teacher training center with the addition of two new artificial turf fields for local high schools...in addition to the one already installed.
Or, consider Andrew Harris, the Sloth-committing Maryland state senator (R) who threatened to withhold $424 million in funding from the University of Maryland if it proceeded with plans to screen a pornographic film - Pirates II: Stagnetti's Revenge - in the student union. The screening itself was to have been funded completely by fees assessed to the students...not by any state or school funds.
So how do these three examples - and the countless others they represent - constitute Sloth? Well, the mark of a good politician is that he can convince you that his idea is worthy of implementation. To do so takes effort.
Earmarks do not take effort. Earmarks are lazy. Earmarks say, "There's no way I can sell this idea on its own merit, but I want it, so I will attach it to the other guy's thing, because that thing is SO good, people will approve my thing just so his thing is approved too." Where's the effort in that?
Odd referendum pairings are lazy. The example says, "The community won't want another tax increase to finance more artificial fields when so many other things are needed for all of the students in the district (not just the athletes), but who would want to deny teachers the help they deserve? Let's tie the teachers to the fields so the fields are approved too." Where's the effort in that?
But the adult film example is the laziest of the three. Whereas the earmark and the referendum exhibit the use of Sloth as a means to gain something, the adult film example sites Sloth as a means of suppressing something. It's the political equivalent of "I don't like this game, so I'm taking my ball and going home." Where's the effort in that? (And heaven forbid this senator ever catch wind of some of the works of that Shakespeare guy.)
All of these paths are easy, and I'm not suggesting that the path of least resistance should always be avoided. It shouldn't. If a politician can find a shortcut that saves time/resources/money, that's great. Go for it. Just don't pitch me a bottle of efficient but sell me a bottle of deceptive instead.
If a virtual space community or tattoo removal or new athletic fields or stopping pornography are the passions of politicians, those politicians need to do drop their pens, roll up their sleeves, and do the work to convince me - convince all of us - that those passions are best for the community/state/country. To manipulate purse strings in an effort to forward an otherwise-failed agenda item is just plain lazy.
Friday, January 16, 2009
What's Next? Fantasy Leagues?
The following is the first of an occasional 2009 series looking at how the traditional "Seven Deadly Sins" play in today's world.
If there is one sin (from the official Seven Deadly Sins) of which I am recently guilty, it's Gluttony. I mean really. We're already two weeks removed from the end of the six-week holiday period between Thanksgiving and New Year's Day, and I'm still considering submitting "bloated" as a new color suggestion to the Crayola people; I see it as a rather unhealthy hue of pink and green. Unlike the other six sins (SLOTH, PRIDE, ENVY, WRATH, LUST, and GREED), which take only thought - or little-to-no action - to commit, Gluttony requires excessive participation.
I found my favorite definition of Gluttony in Wikipedia: the "...over-consumption of food, drink, or intoxicants to the point of waste." Think about that. It's a sin that actually requires you to act to such an extreme degree, the word "waste" is part of the definition. This led me to ask, "What does '...to the point of waste' actually mean?"
Maybe this is some kind of subconscious rationalization on my part, but I don't see where overindulgence at a holiday dinner table is wasteful. Besides, my eating habits in the hours leading up to my Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners were different from normal days. Usually, I eat an early breakfast and lunch, followed by a good dinner; but on those two holidays, I ate a light breakfast later in the morning and skipped lunch entirely in anticipation of dinner. So really, I wasn't wasteful with my eating at all; I simply back-loaded my overall daily intake.
Okay. Maybe the rationalization isn't so subconscious after all.
Still, I'm not sure if I was truly gluttonous. I didn't actually measure the volume of food I ate, but even with two large servings, I didn't break any records, like...
...6.91 pounds of roast turkey meat eaten in 8 minutes.
...2.71 pounds of green beans eaten in 6 minutes.
...13.23 pounds (yes, 13.23 pounds) of jellied cranberry sauce eaten in 8 minutes.
It's true. The volume of traditional holiday food and the time it took to eat it, both listed above, are actual documented records.
It turns out that this type of Gluttony is called "Competitive Eating," and it has its roots in New York. Nearly every Fourth of July weekend for the last 90 years, the world has been treated to the intestinal exploits of men and women who gorge themselves on Nathan's Famous Hot Dogs in Coney Island. I always thought this annual ritual was something steeped in decades of tradition, harkening back to a simpler time when electricity was for fancy people and men wore funny hats. I thought that modern-day participants were simply carrying on tradition for tradition's sake, regardless of how ridiculous the tradition seemed, or how meaningless the outcome was; kind of like the annual Groundhog Day festivities, but with six more weeks of antacid.
Silly me.
This event, and countless others like it, are brought to you...ad nauseum...by the International Federation Of Competitive Eating and Major League Eating. They are the fine folks encouraging, promoting, and recording all things Competitive Eating, including 100+ competitive eating records (like those above), competitor rankings, an online store, and even a competitive eating video game.
What do we make of this? What do we make of the oversight of, encouragement of, celebration of, and capitalization on the ability of one person to take a mere five minutes to consume 1.75 pounds of...butter? You read that right. Someone ate seven quarter-pound sticks of butter in less time than it takes most people to run a mile. I can see the bumper sticker on his parents' car now: MY CHILD CAN EAT MORE BUTTER THAN YOUR HONOR STUDENT
Is this Gluttony to the extreme? It sounds like it, but far be it from me to accuse anyone of committing a sin. I'm no more free from sin than the next person...and the next person happens to be the person with whom I've committed a few of those sins. (Thank you, Baby.) Each person in this world has their own maker to reconcile with - or no maker at all - so I leave that reflection to each individual, duo, or group, surely to be done once the buffet table closes. (Actual record for buffet food: 5 1/2 pounds in 12 minutes)
Is this waste to the extreme? It sounds like it, but far be it from me to suggest that any food consumed and NOT regurgitated is wasted. However, if you must speak of waste, try not to do so from your Hummer while driving to buy the hundreds of chicken wings you need for the Super Bowl party you plan to host to show off those 105 glorious flat screen inches you treated yourself to for Christmas. (Actual record for chicken wings: 7 1/2 pounds in 12 minutes)
Is this uncontrolled-need-for-competition to the extreme? It sounds like it...at least, it sounded like it until I lost my concentration when the guy who cut me off to steal my spot in the parking lot also sneered at me inside the minimarket when he picked the quicker checkout line to buy the last of the chili cheese fries. Competition in our society seems to have become less about sport and more about superiority. (Actual record for chili cheese fries: 8 pounds, 2 ounces in 10 minutes)
Or...
Is this America to the extreme? Oh yes. Only in this country could we suffer from record hunger and record obesity - at the same time! - and turn the ingestion of mass quantities of food into a spectator sport, complete with screaming crowds, news coverage, t-shirts, and video games.
Look, I don't think that just because someone has eaten more than I have, I am absolved from anything; I am not (so the scale tells me). However, I do sleep better knowing that while I might have overdone it during the holidays, it's not like I ate four 32-ounce bowls of mayonnaise in 8 minutes.
That is an actual record, too.
If there is one sin (from the official Seven Deadly Sins) of which I am recently guilty, it's Gluttony. I mean really. We're already two weeks removed from the end of the six-week holiday period between Thanksgiving and New Year's Day, and I'm still considering submitting "bloated" as a new color suggestion to the Crayola people; I see it as a rather unhealthy hue of pink and green. Unlike the other six sins (SLOTH, PRIDE, ENVY, WRATH, LUST, and GREED), which take only thought - or little-to-no action - to commit, Gluttony requires excessive participation.
I found my favorite definition of Gluttony in Wikipedia: the "...over-consumption of food, drink, or intoxicants to the point of waste." Think about that. It's a sin that actually requires you to act to such an extreme degree, the word "waste" is part of the definition. This led me to ask, "What does '...to the point of waste' actually mean?"
Maybe this is some kind of subconscious rationalization on my part, but I don't see where overindulgence at a holiday dinner table is wasteful. Besides, my eating habits in the hours leading up to my Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners were different from normal days. Usually, I eat an early breakfast and lunch, followed by a good dinner; but on those two holidays, I ate a light breakfast later in the morning and skipped lunch entirely in anticipation of dinner. So really, I wasn't wasteful with my eating at all; I simply back-loaded my overall daily intake.
Okay. Maybe the rationalization isn't so subconscious after all.
Still, I'm not sure if I was truly gluttonous. I didn't actually measure the volume of food I ate, but even with two large servings, I didn't break any records, like...
...6.91 pounds of roast turkey meat eaten in 8 minutes.
...2.71 pounds of green beans eaten in 6 minutes.
...13.23 pounds (yes, 13.23 pounds) of jellied cranberry sauce eaten in 8 minutes.
It's true. The volume of traditional holiday food and the time it took to eat it, both listed above, are actual documented records.
It turns out that this type of Gluttony is called "Competitive Eating," and it has its roots in New York. Nearly every Fourth of July weekend for the last 90 years, the world has been treated to the intestinal exploits of men and women who gorge themselves on Nathan's Famous Hot Dogs in Coney Island. I always thought this annual ritual was something steeped in decades of tradition, harkening back to a simpler time when electricity was for fancy people and men wore funny hats. I thought that modern-day participants were simply carrying on tradition for tradition's sake, regardless of how ridiculous the tradition seemed, or how meaningless the outcome was; kind of like the annual Groundhog Day festivities, but with six more weeks of antacid.
Silly me.
This event, and countless others like it, are brought to you...ad nauseum...by the International Federation Of Competitive Eating and Major League Eating. They are the fine folks encouraging, promoting, and recording all things Competitive Eating, including 100+ competitive eating records (like those above), competitor rankings, an online store, and even a competitive eating video game.
What do we make of this? What do we make of the oversight of, encouragement of, celebration of, and capitalization on the ability of one person to take a mere five minutes to consume 1.75 pounds of...butter? You read that right. Someone ate seven quarter-pound sticks of butter in less time than it takes most people to run a mile. I can see the bumper sticker on his parents' car now: MY CHILD CAN EAT MORE BUTTER THAN YOUR HONOR STUDENT
Is this Gluttony to the extreme? It sounds like it, but far be it from me to accuse anyone of committing a sin. I'm no more free from sin than the next person...and the next person happens to be the person with whom I've committed a few of those sins. (Thank you, Baby.) Each person in this world has their own maker to reconcile with - or no maker at all - so I leave that reflection to each individual, duo, or group, surely to be done once the buffet table closes. (Actual record for buffet food: 5 1/2 pounds in 12 minutes)
Is this waste to the extreme? It sounds like it, but far be it from me to suggest that any food consumed and NOT regurgitated is wasted. However, if you must speak of waste, try not to do so from your Hummer while driving to buy the hundreds of chicken wings you need for the Super Bowl party you plan to host to show off those 105 glorious flat screen inches you treated yourself to for Christmas. (Actual record for chicken wings: 7 1/2 pounds in 12 minutes)
Is this uncontrolled-need-for-competition to the extreme? It sounds like it...at least, it sounded like it until I lost my concentration when the guy who cut me off to steal my spot in the parking lot also sneered at me inside the minimarket when he picked the quicker checkout line to buy the last of the chili cheese fries. Competition in our society seems to have become less about sport and more about superiority. (Actual record for chili cheese fries: 8 pounds, 2 ounces in 10 minutes)
Or...
Is this America to the extreme? Oh yes. Only in this country could we suffer from record hunger and record obesity - at the same time! - and turn the ingestion of mass quantities of food into a spectator sport, complete with screaming crowds, news coverage, t-shirts, and video games.
Look, I don't think that just because someone has eaten more than I have, I am absolved from anything; I am not (so the scale tells me). However, I do sleep better knowing that while I might have overdone it during the holidays, it's not like I ate four 32-ounce bowls of mayonnaise in 8 minutes.
That is an actual record, too.
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