Month: January 2015

There are several things I wanted to say last night that I didn’t. Fatugue robbed me of my sensibilities and dragged me, kicking and screaming, towards the doldrums. No, I wanted to talk about the GoDaddy commercial. I wanted to reflect on how quickly they tapped that sore spot of ours and reminded us of how more important the perceptions of dogs and the importance of their handlers are than the role of parents, perceptions of women, or anything else. Moreover, I wanted to talk about how quickly public entities cave in the face of even a sprinkle of public pressure.

 

This all started with the misogyny of the NFL.

Because of the recent media storm regarding abuse towards women by a handful of players, commercials had to be designed in a way that reflected the NFL’s new attitude towards femininity. In other words, GoDaddy couldn’t treat women like objects this year. So, in lieu of women, they turned to the other major source of American pathos: Dogs.

 

The commercial itself is a satirical take on the lost dog trope. A puppy is separated from its home and walks across the world, encountering challenges and making friends along the way. In the end we get the awaited punch line. Turns out home is a breeder and as the puppy happily leaps into its owner’s embrace it is coldly shipped off to a new home.

 

That’s funny stuff right there. Wait, can I say that? Am I supposed to consider the feelings of the dog? I’m not going to in this instance. In fact, I’m going to offer a second interpretation altogether. What if the puppy was complicit in the ‘crime’ What if the puppy’s role was to be bought and then ‘lost’ only to be bought and ‘lost’ again. The commercial certainly lends itself to that.

 

Still, the real issue is how quickly backlash exploded and the very powerful animal rights contingent cried about lack of sensitivity. They haven’t trotted out Mike Vick yet, but it’s only a matter of time.

 

I’m starting to wonder about all these stories—these distractions—from the game itself. I hear more about the world happening around the game (the meta game) than the game itself. It all leads to one question: How much of the Super Bowl is really about the football anymore?

Here are some things I think I think.

1. Wilmore’s Nightly show is a nuanced slice of black-american humor that might not have the audience base to sustain it, but since it is brought to you by the network that kept the Kroll Show going for so long.
2. CNN is running a special called ‘Finding Jesus’ in March. It revisits the question of the man who was Jesus vs. the very powerful myth conjured around the possibility of the man.
3. Speaking of which, there is a guy who spends his days walking around Maricopa, AZ lugging a cross big enough to crucify himself on.
4. segway: Comcast sent a bill to someone and called them ‘Asshole Brown’ in the name area. Wow.
5. ISIS is kinda limited. We really feel they’re a threat here based on their media savvy–which is also limited. I’m not impressed. Heck, their recent ‘Ranson’ (sic) demand is proof of a failure of savvy–unless that mispelling was less ISIS and more CNN.
6. 24 hour news does more harm than good…
7. Here’s what I don’t get: 500k fine for wearing the wrong hat on media day and 50k fine for purposely hurting another player? WTF? what matters more to the NFL. Time for a new commish, folks.
8. My kids’ games may be rained out this weekend. Sad sauce.
9. The amount of plastic surgery and fake ass people in AZ is far sadder sauce.
10. Seahawk fans are starting to be as bad as Cowboy fans. I wonder if Cubs fans will suck once the Cubbies get good again…

The day is almost upon us. The 49th annual Super Bowl. Patriots vs. Seahawks. Who is going to win? Patriots, of course.

This comes down to coaching vs. momentum. The Seahawks are perhaps the most dominant and physical defense in the NFL, but they rarely face teams prepared to run a bruising RB right at them a la Beast Mode or a la Blount–a cast away from the Steelers. So, I see reflections of the Seahawks loss to the Cowboys and their loss to the Chiefs all wrapped into one. The Patriots don’t have the backs of that calibre but with the threat of Gronk holding Chancellor at bay, what they have can work and Brady can work the slot picking on the weakest parts of the secondary.

The Seahawks are a legit ball club with a QB who can hold his own and, well, Beast Mode. However, the interior defense of the Patriots is crazy underrated and capable of slowing down if not outright stopping Lynch. Once that happens, the game is over. All that madness we saw against the Packers doesn’t go down here.

There’s a college hidden in the hills of some unheralded state that offers only one degree: Experience Architecture. All the Leagues and legends go there. I didn’t realize this until I walked through the gates of the NFL experience with my boys. Though we didn’t bother with all-access passes (worth the price if you’re into meeting famous people), it was clear from the check in that this was going to be a good time. I watched the boys go through several drills, each time vying to beat the others time. I watched my five year old snatching punts out of the air that were fired from a jugs machine, far exceeding what I thought him capable of.

I was in the moment, surrounded by fans and professional athletes and watching my little guys take it all in. We were even fortunate enough to catch the U15 flag football championship game. The Tucson Turf took the win in OT. What I noticed about the team was how fast and crisp and practiced everything was–which is amazing for a group that only trains once a week.

Here’s what I learned: Its not about the skills they have when they come into a thing. It is about the effort and the attitude they bring to the table. It is about being willing to push yourself beyond what you think you can do and evolving to the next level of success. That’s what good coaching and even good parenting does. That’s what I haven’t yet done for the boys and girls under my watch and what I intend to do moving forward.

The NFL experience was a great experience and a kick in the butt to boot.

 

I almost didn’t write tonight. 10:44 on a Monday, burnt out and craving salt I thought nothing about the task. Then the responsibility of the thing crawled up inside my brain and demanded its 10 minutes. It wasn’t that I have nothing left to say, or am tired of writing for the day. None of that is the case. In truth, my mind was squared on the TV, considering yet again the many ways to untether.

My mind is made up on this one.

I’m getting rid of DirectTV. I pay upwards of $150 a month for a handful of shows that are largely accessible through other means. I think the real issue is that I’m a bit fearful to be away from cable. I’ve been wired since I was 9 and that means three decades of having cable TV. The tech now is sufficiently advanced to allow me to finally cut that cord. Don’t think the symbolism is lost on me. Another change that lives in the actual and metaphorical space. Meanwhile the time and money spent can be put to better use.

I’ve learned that TV is a crutch for me–an excuse I use when I’m not feeling like interacting with people or being very productive. It is not needed given the other options for show watching. I’m not about to go cold turkey and not watch at all. No, I will wean myself to a point and then stay at that lower threshold of watching, presumably forever. I don’t have a problem with TV in moderation.

When the watching sucks your life so dry that it becomes your focus most of the non-working hours, you’ve gone ‘full retard’ and need to stop watching so many shows.

 

I often wonder how the joy of writing fades. I think some of that comes from why we liked to write in the first place. Its a lot like math in that respect. I loved math when I was a kid, because I could fly through the times tables and everyone thought it was absolutely cool. As I got older the math was tougher and the rewards were few and far between. Success didn’t reward nearly as much as failure penalized. For so many of us writing has come to embody that same philosophy. Few people are going to pat you on the back if you’re a great writer. Moreover, the idea of ‘good’ or ‘bad’ writing is almost entirely subjective.

 

As a result, many writers wind up disconnected from their feelings about writing and viewing the writing as more as a chore and a bore than something that helps us makes sense of the jumbled mess of emotions, thoughts, goals, and drive that constitute our soul.

 

The thing is, writing must come from the soul. Writing must allow you to connect with your creative self. I recognize that essay writing, such as the stuff done in college, doesn’t appear to allow you to access that creativity, but below the surface is a scalding lava flow of creative opportunity. Essays don’t have to be rote and dry. They should be a combination of form and passion.

 

The best writing comes when we are able to connect with the topic in some way and allow ourselves to stop thinking about how other people will feel about what we write or even how afraid we are to get those emotions out into the world, and to just sit down and write.

 

This year I want to get back to really enjoying the process of sitting down in front of a screen or with a pen and paper and just letting the words come out. All of the beautification and error checking comes as part of the revision process, which is the step that most collegiate writers skip entirely. That is what leads to a lot of collegiate writers and even professional writers thinking they are bad at writing or dismissing the written word entirely.

 

I like to think about writing the way I do about sports and even romance. If I quit the first time I swung a bat at a ball and missed, I would’ve never known the joy of connecting. If I gave up on finding a partner the first time a girl said, ‘no way, dude. You suck’ I wouldn’t have three incredible boys. It is easy to quit and easier to do so when everyone around you wants to quit too. We find camaraderie in failure, but guess what? We can find a greater camaraderie in success.

Writing I suppose. Though, I am fatefully behind the curve on something that should’ve been done long ago. It happens, but it shouldn’t and it has happened more over the last two years than over the last 12. Sometimes I wonder if it is the trials and tribulations of life, the conditions I create for myself, some deeper failing of my mind and spirit, or a combination of these myriad factors.

It has to be something that every writer goes through–that period when they wonder if they’re body is equipped to put out all the wonderful stuff the mind wants to do. Likewise is the mind prepared to stretch and expand to the point where it can release work on the scale necessary to be a (financially and publication wise) successful writer. I know that I’m slightly past the point where I realize I’m not that 19 year old kid who pulled all nighters four nights in a row to get a piece done ahead of schedule. No, its about scheduling properly, but more importantly it is about headspace and taking care of my mind, body, and spirit and making sure that there isn’t too much weighing down one part of that or the other and that all can exist in balance and help me to excel.

Its about sitting BIC and just putting the words on paper without fear of how they sound or negative feedback of a first draft or the fear that I can’t do it right or even do it at all anymore. It is about confidence and about heart.

I had a brief discussion with my 10-12 team about heart today. We dropped another game–again due to an offense that is failing repeatedly. The defense did their part. They gave up some points but nothing that couldn’t be overcome by this stripped down offensive gameplan. However, the players weren’t behind it. I saw their heads drooping and their spirits tumbling when the plays we did run were for short yardage. They didn’t get that we can win–win well–with a grinder game and without the splashy big plays that make them feel glorious. I don’t even want to try those, because they usually end in an interception and TD for the other team. No, we ended up beating ourselves and falling into silly turnovers and dropped handoffs and snaps whizzing over the QB’s head and one QB asking to not have to play QB anymore. That’s where I’m at with heart. They just don’t have that mental toughness yet.

I wonder if there’s a drill for that.

… and this is one of them. I’m back to that unfortunate phase of starts and fits with the writing. It can feel like a war when this is happening. I struggle for the words and the motivation and the focus to keep going on to the next sentence. Still, it is as much a part of the writing experience as anything I’ve felt or done in my existence as a writer. I’d say you’re not a writer until you hit one of the tough spells. Fighting through it is what gives you the credentials–the street cred–and the courage to go on with your career. I’m learning a great deal about my process and ways to constantly improve it. What gets me going, what isn’t working environmentally, what rewards seem relevant, what makes me smile, even the mathematical formulae for writing success (to be shared at a later date after extensive piloting).

Then there are the boys.

Of course, writing with them in the house is just foolishness. They’re not interested in me doing anything that doesn’t involve them or involve my attention being seated squarely in boyland. Who can blame them? Attention from my parents was always something I lauded, even when I knew my mom or less occasionally, my dad (not the biological guy–the real dude) had no interest in interacting with me at the time. In truth, the less they wanted a piece of me the more I demanded a piece of them.

I was just one hyperactive little person. Now I have three miniaturized version of that guy all amped up for face time. Rare is the morning lately that I wake up and some little person hasn’t snaked himself on top of me.

So, when the lights go down in the bedroom and I make my way to the office, it is good to spend ten minutes reflecting and warming up the tool. After, its time to get my mind fully in the game and write that stuff I love and that I occasionally get paid for.

I’ve spent the past 55 minutes alternating between fruitless conversation and repeatedly being put on hold by Centurylink (formerly known as Qwest). I’m in a supposed 10 minute wait queue now, so I figured I’d use my time to jot down a few… thoughts. See, I took a neighbors advice and gave the company a second chance at providing me with service. I learned from this experience that not everyone deserves a second chance—especially not those who try to obfuscate the truth of their terrible service by changing their name.

 

Qwest sucked.

They constantly ranked in consumer reports worst five customer service companies. The internet was often as bad as the service, with repeated outages and intermittent signal strength. I was a qwest customer but only because they were the only game in town. Once Cox rolled in, I rolled out of Qwest. Cox lived up to the homonym quite well, but despite the oft abusive treatment, it was better than Qwest.

 

Years later I moved on and out to a town that offered me other options. I went local, signing with Orbitel communications and leaving TV to DirectTV. Things were good for a while until Orbitel started dinking around with upgrades and ended up (accidentaly?) downgrading their services to customers operating below 50 mbps. That service degredation along with the exorbitant ($60) price for 20 mbps tempted me to listen to my neighbor and give qwest-redux a try.

 

Now I’m on the phone trying to figure out why I owe these folks $197.00 after a month of service—which has been suspended as of now because they claim I haven’t paid them. I did. They cashed the check. And lost it in the system. So, now they want more money and refuse to turn on my service. That’s why I wasn’t able to publish last night. That’s why I’m blogging my rant right now …

 

Avoid Centurylink. Save yourself the drama.

10 minutes from now I’ll be saying, “That felt good.”

Its good to get things off my chest. I used to think that I was a bit invulnerable to the wear and tear that carrying secrets brings. When I was little I watched people I loved carry secrets around and watched those secrets fill up the empty spaces in their heads, becoming the luggage that they carried everyday. I watched it and said, ‘not me, yo’ (maybe I didn’t say yo). Yet here I am, burdened by the secrets I carry.

It isn’t my place to reveal everything happening in my life just yet, but it is safe to say that my life will be changing in a major way very shortly. No, I don’t have cancer (that I know of), but I am moving more fully into the concept of the second half and awakening to the possibility of a life where everything, starting from the home base, is designed to strengthen me and everyone around me. It is a shift of principal from survival/existence to really building a foundation and a future that is about growth, stability, and on another.

Yeah, that felt good to say. It’ll feel better to make it happen.

Some Thoughts:

1. Bit of news today focused on R. Wilson talking about how God gave him the NFC championship win. Players say that stuff all the time, but devoting a twenty minute news segment to debating whether or not he should’ve said it is a sure sign that we don’t need 24hr sports news.