With the recent attacks on soldiers in the UK and France, combined with the Boston bombings, it's clear that, contrary to the administration's contentions, Al Qaeda is not on the run or decimated. Al Qaeda is crowing about the attacks, declaring that they force the West to always be looking over its collective shoulder for the next attack.
Is it wrong, then, to look askance at Arabs who may pose a threat to us? Is profiling a social evil that is necessary albeit illegal? Is it fair to look not only at Arabs but anyone professing to be a Muslim? News today came that a woman from Michigan died in Syria fighting the Assad regime. Is it not possible that a native-born American radicalized by Islamic fundamentalists would try to infiltrate our communities and attack to spread terror in the name of jihad? Would profiling such a person be allowable or per se illegal?
As an attorney, I know the answer. But as an American citizen, I also have an opinion. I don't think it's necessarily wrong for the authorities to look at suspicious individuals based on their race or their professed religious beliefs if their actions give sufficient reason to believe they pose a threat to us. It's one thing to pull an Arab out of a line simply because he's Arab. It's quite another to pull him out of line because he's looking around and carrying a backpack.
Moderate Muslims need to do a better job of policing themselves. They need to cooperate with authorities and stop aiding and abetting the Islamofascists with their silence and active support. Otherwise, they have no reason to gripe when they're unfairly profiled. It's an unfortunate consequence, but in this country at least, I believe they have a civic duty to help protect the country that has given them the freedoms and opportunities it has.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Friday, May 31, 2013
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Failed experiment of the designated hitter
(Warning: This blogpost contains massive amounts of Sports Crappola)
Recently I read another article arguing that the designated hitter should be applied to all teams in Major League Baseball. The arguments were all the same: The need for uniformity, the horror of seeing pitchers hit, wanting to see more offense, blah, blah, blah. In fact, the time to end the designated hitter has come.
The designated hitter was supposed to be an experiment. Like tolls on Illinois highways, the designated hitter rule has overstayed its welcome. Somewhere, Ron Blomberg and Edgar Martínez are smiling, because one was able to extend his career and the other was able to have one because of this rule -- and a mighty fine, albeit incomplete, career it was.
The basic premise is that pitchers can't hit. Tell that to Carlos Zambrano, Jason Marquis, John Smoltz and a few other pitchers who revel in the underestimation. Sure, most pitchers hit below the Mendoza Line, but when one of them unexpectedly gets a key hit, it adds excitement to the game.
Another argument is that by eliminating hitting duties, it keeps pitchers fresher. I'm not about to cull through records to prove or disprove this. But an argument can be made that by having pitchers face nine and not eight major league hitters, it wears them down more than the occasional trip to the plate. What's more, given the emphasis on pitch counts and the fact that bullpens these days are well-stocked, the number of complete games continues to dwindle.
Of the ninety-two no-hitters thrown in the era of the designated hitter, forty-nine of them happened in the American League. What happened to more offense? The argument will be made, of course, that by not having the pitchers hit, they were fresher and therefore more capable of throwing a no-no. Well, if pitchers are so horrible in the batter's box, how much effort does it take to watch three pitches down the middle or swing a bat three times and walk back to the dugout? The argument cuts both ways.
Supporters of the rule scoff at the argument that by not having the pitcher hit, it takes the double switch and therefore strategy off the table. Well, frankly, it does. And what's more, teams can't always sit around waiting for the longball. They need to play small ball once in awhile, and even pitchers can do that at the plate, notably with sacrifices.
There's also the practical part of keeping pitchers at the plate. Without their turns hitting, pitchers can throw with impunity at the other team confident in the knowledge that they won't face retribution when their turn comes around. Having the pitcher hit may make a pitcher think twice about aiming a heater at an opponent's head.
The final point I'll make is that baseball was invented with the idea that the nine in the field all take their turns at the plate. This isn't like basketball, which introduced the three point line and the twenty-four second clock. The changes baseball's made in that vein were reducing artificial turf and domed stadiums, which necessarily affected the play on the field. But the basic integrity of the sport has been affected by the DH, and it needs to go.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Recently I read another article arguing that the designated hitter should be applied to all teams in Major League Baseball. The arguments were all the same: The need for uniformity, the horror of seeing pitchers hit, wanting to see more offense, blah, blah, blah. In fact, the time to end the designated hitter has come.
The designated hitter was supposed to be an experiment. Like tolls on Illinois highways, the designated hitter rule has overstayed its welcome. Somewhere, Ron Blomberg and Edgar Martínez are smiling, because one was able to extend his career and the other was able to have one because of this rule -- and a mighty fine, albeit incomplete, career it was.
The basic premise is that pitchers can't hit. Tell that to Carlos Zambrano, Jason Marquis, John Smoltz and a few other pitchers who revel in the underestimation. Sure, most pitchers hit below the Mendoza Line, but when one of them unexpectedly gets a key hit, it adds excitement to the game.
Another argument is that by eliminating hitting duties, it keeps pitchers fresher. I'm not about to cull through records to prove or disprove this. But an argument can be made that by having pitchers face nine and not eight major league hitters, it wears them down more than the occasional trip to the plate. What's more, given the emphasis on pitch counts and the fact that bullpens these days are well-stocked, the number of complete games continues to dwindle.
Of the ninety-two no-hitters thrown in the era of the designated hitter, forty-nine of them happened in the American League. What happened to more offense? The argument will be made, of course, that by not having the pitchers hit, they were fresher and therefore more capable of throwing a no-no. Well, if pitchers are so horrible in the batter's box, how much effort does it take to watch three pitches down the middle or swing a bat three times and walk back to the dugout? The argument cuts both ways.
Supporters of the rule scoff at the argument that by not having the pitcher hit, it takes the double switch and therefore strategy off the table. Well, frankly, it does. And what's more, teams can't always sit around waiting for the longball. They need to play small ball once in awhile, and even pitchers can do that at the plate, notably with sacrifices.
There's also the practical part of keeping pitchers at the plate. Without their turns hitting, pitchers can throw with impunity at the other team confident in the knowledge that they won't face retribution when their turn comes around. Having the pitcher hit may make a pitcher think twice about aiming a heater at an opponent's head.
The final point I'll make is that baseball was invented with the idea that the nine in the field all take their turns at the plate. This isn't like basketball, which introduced the three point line and the twenty-four second clock. The changes baseball's made in that vein were reducing artificial turf and domed stadiums, which necessarily affected the play on the field. But the basic integrity of the sport has been affected by the DH, and it needs to go.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Online opinionating
Opinions, in the words of the estimable Charles Barkley, are like #$%holes -- everyone's got one. I've known this for some time, and I try to respect what others say, no matter how crazy or ludicrous the opinion. Perhaps it's my training, but rather than resort to ad hominem or ad baculum assaults, I try to defeat the other opinion through reasoning or facts.
Sometimes, however, opinions take on a provocative, almost belligerent, tone. Take, for example, the following that was posted on Amazon for one of my reviews by the legendary Martin P. Bradley:
Read this over and see if it makes sense:
"It really is what the title implies: an examination of War and Politics."
Er...when you go food shopping do you buy a box of Cheerios expecting to find Tootsie Rolls inside?
What a worthless review!
Of course, to paraphrase what Barkley said, he has his own opinion as I have mine, and he's entitled to it. Nevermind that my review of the book simply said that the title of the book was dead on and that I expected more about the actual war and less about the politics of the situation, and I didn't even flame the book. I gave it a middling rating and left it at that.
Not to be outdone by himself, Mr. Bradley has apparently turned into my harshest critic, because he found another of my reviews that irked him even further:
Read this over and tell me this reviewer doesn't sound like a fool:
"I think Hemingway has the fame he does because of his life and not his works..admittedly, I haven't read all of them."
Ironically, I gave the book I reviewed, Hemingway's For Whom the Bell Tolls, four stars out of five. The entirety of my review is this:
I think Hemingway has the fame he does because of his life and not his works. This is my favorite Hemingway novel (admittedly, I haven't read all of them) and I give it four stars because it deals with Spain and I like the plot. Even so, Hemingway thought he spoke Spanish, which he decidedly did not. Early in the novel, while discussing the procurement of horses, someone says something to which another character says "Less bad." I don't know if that's Hemingway, a translator taking this from a Spanish edition or what, but "menos mal" does not translate to "less bad." It's "all right," "better yet," or whatever phrase makes sense. "Less bad" is just wrong.
I agree with those who question Hemingway's putative brilliance. I think his life is far more interesting than any of his works that I've read. Still, I enjoyed the plot of this novel.
Now, I never held myself out as a Hemingway scholar, and I qualified my review by saying that I had not read all of Hemingway's works. I actually admire and enjoy Isabel Allende's works but I haven't read all of them. Does that make me unqualified to comment on one of the ones I have read? Furthermore, there's nothing foolish about what I wrote. One can disagree with it, but to launch into a personal attack for my remarks is, in and of itself, foolish.
Mr. Bradley has taken it upon himself to be my personal critic. He uses the anonymity that the internet provides to assail me and belittle my reviews. As I wrote back to him, he obviously has an axe to grind and too much time on his hands. At no time did I attack anything he wrote, directly or indirectly, so why he should feel so emotional about my reviews mystifies me. I don't hold myself out as either a professional reviewer or a literature scholar. I gave two opinions that he found disagreeable. So be it. I write those to give people interested in the items another opinion from which, together with other opinions, they can decide whether to watch the movie or read the book. That Mr. Bradley disagrees with me is of no consequence. That he does so like a cowardly bully is telling.
Mr. Barkley was right about opinions. What he failed to say is that sometimes the opinion and the person giving the opinion can be described using the same word.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Sometimes, however, opinions take on a provocative, almost belligerent, tone. Take, for example, the following that was posted on Amazon for one of my reviews by the legendary Martin P. Bradley:
Read this over and see if it makes sense:
"It really is what the title implies: an examination of War and Politics."
Er...when you go food shopping do you buy a box of Cheerios expecting to find Tootsie Rolls inside?
What a worthless review!
Of course, to paraphrase what Barkley said, he has his own opinion as I have mine, and he's entitled to it. Nevermind that my review of the book simply said that the title of the book was dead on and that I expected more about the actual war and less about the politics of the situation, and I didn't even flame the book. I gave it a middling rating and left it at that.
Not to be outdone by himself, Mr. Bradley has apparently turned into my harshest critic, because he found another of my reviews that irked him even further:
Read this over and tell me this reviewer doesn't sound like a fool:
"I think Hemingway has the fame he does because of his life and not his works..admittedly, I haven't read all of them."
Ironically, I gave the book I reviewed, Hemingway's For Whom the Bell Tolls, four stars out of five. The entirety of my review is this:
I think Hemingway has the fame he does because of his life and not his works. This is my favorite Hemingway novel (admittedly, I haven't read all of them) and I give it four stars because it deals with Spain and I like the plot. Even so, Hemingway thought he spoke Spanish, which he decidedly did not. Early in the novel, while discussing the procurement of horses, someone says something to which another character says "Less bad." I don't know if that's Hemingway, a translator taking this from a Spanish edition or what, but "menos mal" does not translate to "less bad." It's "all right," "better yet," or whatever phrase makes sense. "Less bad" is just wrong.
I agree with those who question Hemingway's putative brilliance. I think his life is far more interesting than any of his works that I've read. Still, I enjoyed the plot of this novel.
Now, I never held myself out as a Hemingway scholar, and I qualified my review by saying that I had not read all of Hemingway's works. I actually admire and enjoy Isabel Allende's works but I haven't read all of them. Does that make me unqualified to comment on one of the ones I have read? Furthermore, there's nothing foolish about what I wrote. One can disagree with it, but to launch into a personal attack for my remarks is, in and of itself, foolish.
Mr. Bradley has taken it upon himself to be my personal critic. He uses the anonymity that the internet provides to assail me and belittle my reviews. As I wrote back to him, he obviously has an axe to grind and too much time on his hands. At no time did I attack anything he wrote, directly or indirectly, so why he should feel so emotional about my reviews mystifies me. I don't hold myself out as either a professional reviewer or a literature scholar. I gave two opinions that he found disagreeable. So be it. I write those to give people interested in the items another opinion from which, together with other opinions, they can decide whether to watch the movie or read the book. That Mr. Bradley disagrees with me is of no consequence. That he does so like a cowardly bully is telling.
Mr. Barkley was right about opinions. What he failed to say is that sometimes the opinion and the person giving the opinion can be described using the same word.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Fox News
As anyone who's read this blog can probably tell, I bend a little more toward the conservative than the liberal side of the fence. Perhaps it's my age, and I can't tell you whether I've evolved politically since I cast my first vote back in the 1980 Presidential election. To quote Popeye, I yam what I yam.
That's not to say that I kneel at the altar of conservatism. I am not an unabashed apologist for all things conservative. For one, I am not a Republican. In fact, I'm a Marxist: I'd never join a club that would have me as a member. Think Groucho, not Karl.
Second, there are some conservative mouthpieces from whom I shy away. I'm not a huge fan of Rush Limbaugh, for example. Our Mother seemed to think she was on a first name basis with him, since whenever she'd refer to something she heard him say, she'd preface it by saying, Well, as Rush said.... I've never listened to more than a snippet of what he had to say. Likewise, I've never listened to Glenn Beck. I have nothing against them personally, I just don't like their delivery systems. I'm sure there are others out there whom I would likewise find disagreeable, but I can't say I know of them.
It wasn't until I had some free time on my hands that I started watching Fox News last fall. Truly, I'd never paid any attention to the station. But when the whole Benghazi thing started, I was fascinated and appalled at the same time that only one station was giving the issue continual coverage, as if it didn't matter to anyone else that four Americans were killed in a terrorist attack, that they worked for the American government and no one in the government seemed much to care.
So I started watching and immediately began noticing some things. First, and most evidently, Fox likes pretty women, and usually pretty blonde women. From morning until night, about the only time a brunette makes an appearance is either as a guest or a substitute, with one notably unfortunate exception. Unfortunately, despite some of them having some very decent credentials, they do little to dispel the myth of the dumb blonde. I'm sure that all of them are educated, but the way their bosses either encourage them to talk or how the ratings compel them to talk, they have this maudlin, unctuous tone when they try to seem sympathetic, and when they're in disagreement with something, they try to maintain a DAR demeanor while showing their outrage. I have little doubt as to the sincerity of their feelings on either level, but how they show them is a little disingenuous.
Megyn Kelly anchors the midday show. She's quite appealing to the eye, but the minute she opens her mouth the illusion's over. She almost sounds like a truck driver. I know she used to be an attorney, but for someone with that background, one would think she could think better on her feet. Oftentimes, she appears tongue-tied when forced to speak extemporaneously. She tries to sound authoritative about things, but she comes off as foolish most often. It's often best to watch her segments with the sound off.
One of my favorite shows is The Five. Five commentators -- four conservative, one liberal -- talk about current events. The blonde, Dana Perino, is a former spokesperson for George W. Bush. Almost counterintuitively, she's the best female at Fox News of those who appear during the day. The only flaw I can find with her is that she's married to a Brit. There are those who like Greta Van Sustern, but she's a little too dry for my tastes.
Kimberly Guilfoyle is beautiful in an almost exotic way. But it's hard to believe she was a prosecuting attorney at one point in her career. She's almost like a sorority sister who's got the leading GPA in her house which is only a middling average compared to the rest of the campus. She likes to play the coquette too much for my tastes, something none of the other women on Fox does.
Eric Bolling is quality. I appreciate his demeanor on the show and how he mixes it up with the resident liberal, Bob Beckel. For all his liberal leanings, I actually appreciate Bob Beckel, although sometimes he strains credulity to support the Left. The troublesome one is Greg Gutfeld. For as much as I agree with him, I hate his enfant terrible act. I'm sure there are some inside jokes between him, Perino and Guilfoyle, but he's almost like the younger brother who's hell-bent on annoying his older sisters. His monologues are tiresome exercises of conceit. All right already: We get that you have a nicely developed vocabulary.
Sean Hannity and Bill O'Reilly are quality people, but O'Reilly has a little too much showman in him for my tastes. Truth be told, I don't really watch Hannity that much, so I can't comment on him. O'Reilly I watch only when there's a spill-over from the hour before him or if there's a particularly juicy topic he's addressing. He is fearless; I'll give him that.
I think it's Limbaugh whose legion of followers is called the Dittoheads. But just as I chastise the liberals for adhering to what the likes of Madonna, Alec Baldwin and Bill Maher tell them to believe, I too can think for myself. Fox serves one purpose and one purpose only: It's a counterweight to the rest of the MSM and brings me news I'm almost guaranteed not to hear anywhere else.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
That's not to say that I kneel at the altar of conservatism. I am not an unabashed apologist for all things conservative. For one, I am not a Republican. In fact, I'm a Marxist: I'd never join a club that would have me as a member. Think Groucho, not Karl.
Second, there are some conservative mouthpieces from whom I shy away. I'm not a huge fan of Rush Limbaugh, for example. Our Mother seemed to think she was on a first name basis with him, since whenever she'd refer to something she heard him say, she'd preface it by saying, Well, as Rush said.... I've never listened to more than a snippet of what he had to say. Likewise, I've never listened to Glenn Beck. I have nothing against them personally, I just don't like their delivery systems. I'm sure there are others out there whom I would likewise find disagreeable, but I can't say I know of them.
It wasn't until I had some free time on my hands that I started watching Fox News last fall. Truly, I'd never paid any attention to the station. But when the whole Benghazi thing started, I was fascinated and appalled at the same time that only one station was giving the issue continual coverage, as if it didn't matter to anyone else that four Americans were killed in a terrorist attack, that they worked for the American government and no one in the government seemed much to care.
So I started watching and immediately began noticing some things. First, and most evidently, Fox likes pretty women, and usually pretty blonde women. From morning until night, about the only time a brunette makes an appearance is either as a guest or a substitute, with one notably unfortunate exception. Unfortunately, despite some of them having some very decent credentials, they do little to dispel the myth of the dumb blonde. I'm sure that all of them are educated, but the way their bosses either encourage them to talk or how the ratings compel them to talk, they have this maudlin, unctuous tone when they try to seem sympathetic, and when they're in disagreement with something, they try to maintain a DAR demeanor while showing their outrage. I have little doubt as to the sincerity of their feelings on either level, but how they show them is a little disingenuous.
Megyn Kelly anchors the midday show. She's quite appealing to the eye, but the minute she opens her mouth the illusion's over. She almost sounds like a truck driver. I know she used to be an attorney, but for someone with that background, one would think she could think better on her feet. Oftentimes, she appears tongue-tied when forced to speak extemporaneously. She tries to sound authoritative about things, but she comes off as foolish most often. It's often best to watch her segments with the sound off.
One of my favorite shows is The Five. Five commentators -- four conservative, one liberal -- talk about current events. The blonde, Dana Perino, is a former spokesperson for George W. Bush. Almost counterintuitively, she's the best female at Fox News of those who appear during the day. The only flaw I can find with her is that she's married to a Brit. There are those who like Greta Van Sustern, but she's a little too dry for my tastes.
Kimberly Guilfoyle is beautiful in an almost exotic way. But it's hard to believe she was a prosecuting attorney at one point in her career. She's almost like a sorority sister who's got the leading GPA in her house which is only a middling average compared to the rest of the campus. She likes to play the coquette too much for my tastes, something none of the other women on Fox does.
Eric Bolling is quality. I appreciate his demeanor on the show and how he mixes it up with the resident liberal, Bob Beckel. For all his liberal leanings, I actually appreciate Bob Beckel, although sometimes he strains credulity to support the Left. The troublesome one is Greg Gutfeld. For as much as I agree with him, I hate his enfant terrible act. I'm sure there are some inside jokes between him, Perino and Guilfoyle, but he's almost like the younger brother who's hell-bent on annoying his older sisters. His monologues are tiresome exercises of conceit. All right already: We get that you have a nicely developed vocabulary.
Sean Hannity and Bill O'Reilly are quality people, but O'Reilly has a little too much showman in him for my tastes. Truth be told, I don't really watch Hannity that much, so I can't comment on him. O'Reilly I watch only when there's a spill-over from the hour before him or if there's a particularly juicy topic he's addressing. He is fearless; I'll give him that.
I think it's Limbaugh whose legion of followers is called the Dittoheads. But just as I chastise the liberals for adhering to what the likes of Madonna, Alec Baldwin and Bill Maher tell them to believe, I too can think for myself. Fox serves one purpose and one purpose only: It's a counterweight to the rest of the MSM and brings me news I'm almost guaranteed not to hear anywhere else.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Sealing a driveway
So I came home to take care of my girl. She had a cancer treatment on Friday to which I drove her. Then when we got home, I fixed the mower and took care of the front lawn after I grocery shopped. Yesterday, I took care of the back lawn and did some other honey-do's before we settled down for the Blackhawks-Red Wings tilt. Today, however, was a date of infamy.
I knew it was coming. I couldn't avoid it. Today was the day I had to seal the driveway. Yesterday, part of my honey-do's included sweeping out and then filling the cracks in the driveway. It was tedious, no more. This was a veritable pain in the backside.
It's easy, I read. No sweat, said another. I wasn't lulled into a false sense of security. I remember that two-hour toilet installation that took me four days instead. Nothing having to do with handyman's jobs is ever as easy for me.
Therefore, I present my Do's and Don'ts for sealing a driveway:
Don't buy a house with a driveway with a contour that more resembles a putting green at Augusta National.
Do buy a house with a nice, level driveway.
Don't buy your equipment and supplies at Menard's.
Do your first driveway seal with someone who's done one before.
Don't listen to the guy on Youtube who says it's easy.
Do have a cold beer or two waiting for you for afterwards.
Don't buy a squeegee that's the size of a rake for a bonsai tree.
Do measure your driveway ahead of time.
Don't trust the guy at Menard's when you give him your measurements.
Don't fret about the forecast.
Do go to the holler for the family reunion instead.
Don't buy anything less than a six foot squeegee; you'll thank me later.
Do get Goo-Gone or Murphy's Oil Soap; you're going to need it.
Don't close off all your access to the garage.
Do use a scrub brush with plastic bristles.
Don't buy your supplies and equipment at Menard's. (Did I say that already?)
Do be prepared to clean the sidewalks and the front of the garage.
Don't plan on doing anything else for the rest of the day if you follow the Don'ts.
Do buy the next house with a gravel driveway.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
I knew it was coming. I couldn't avoid it. Today was the day I had to seal the driveway. Yesterday, part of my honey-do's included sweeping out and then filling the cracks in the driveway. It was tedious, no more. This was a veritable pain in the backside.
It's easy, I read. No sweat, said another. I wasn't lulled into a false sense of security. I remember that two-hour toilet installation that took me four days instead. Nothing having to do with handyman's jobs is ever as easy for me.
Therefore, I present my Do's and Don'ts for sealing a driveway:
Don't buy a house with a driveway with a contour that more resembles a putting green at Augusta National.
Do buy a house with a nice, level driveway.
Don't buy your equipment and supplies at Menard's.
Do your first driveway seal with someone who's done one before.
Don't listen to the guy on Youtube who says it's easy.
Do have a cold beer or two waiting for you for afterwards.
Don't buy a squeegee that's the size of a rake for a bonsai tree.
Do measure your driveway ahead of time.
Don't trust the guy at Menard's when you give him your measurements.
Don't fret about the forecast.
Do go to the holler for the family reunion instead.
Don't buy anything less than a six foot squeegee; you'll thank me later.
Do get Goo-Gone or Murphy's Oil Soap; you're going to need it.
Don't close off all your access to the garage.
Do use a scrub brush with plastic bristles.
Don't buy your supplies and equipment at Menard's. (Did I say that already?)
Do be prepared to clean the sidewalks and the front of the garage.
Don't plan on doing anything else for the rest of the day if you follow the Don'ts.
Do buy the next house with a gravel driveway.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Friday, May 24, 2013
Sports nostalgia
My playing days are well past me now. I've written about them in a short story and a book, neither of which will see the light of day. They help me remember things so that when I'm enfeebled, I'll at least have a record to which I can refer.
I miss sports. I loved competing. I loved trying to do my best and enjoyed it when I accomplished something. I was never about myself; I couldn't have played anything but a team sport. Seeking personal achievements never occurred to me.
But what I miss most about playing baseball and basketball are the sensations. For someone who's never played either of these sports, this will sound weird. Here, though, are the things I miss:
The feel of a new baseball that I'm about to pitch.
The tightening of my stomach as we get ready for the center jump to start the game.
The feel of my cleats as I scraped the ground in front of the rubber, beside first base or in the batter's box.
The feel of wood in my hands in any weather: It's coldness in early Spring games, it's slipperiness in humid weather games and the sting it gave me in those colder games.
How my wrist felt when I knew I'd stroked a good shot.
The weight of an opponent's body as he banged into me contesting a rebound.
The hardness of home plate as I crossed it with a run.
The odd mix of hardness and softness of first, second or third base.
The smell of the freshly mown infield grass.
The unforgiving varnished court that gave me floor burns as I dove for a loose ball.
The oddity of the tartan surface that was a hard rubber.
The scratchiness of the old woolen uniforms we played T-ball in.
The almost unique sleeved jerseys our grade school team in which our team played basketball.
The sound of cheerleaders being a din in the background of a game.
The spontaneous cheers of the crowd reacting to a play.
The chatter of the opponents when I was up to bat.
The majestic sound of ash meeting ball.
The thud of the ball landing in horsehide.
The smell of a freshly oiled mitt.
The perfection of the raised surface of a new basketball.
The difference in sounds of a ball hitting a backboard.
The cacophony in the gym during the final moments of a hotly contested game.
The sting moments after being hit by a pitch.
The refreshing taste of very cold water during hot summer games.
The glare of the lights playing night games.
The haze in which the ball disappeared in the lights during night games.
My breathing as I ran to my position to cut off the outfielder's throw to the plate.
The slight tick of the ball barely grazing my mitt as I let it go through to the catcher to decoy the runner rounding first.
The union of ball in mitt and mitt hitting runner diving back to first after the pitcher threw to first.
The ping of an aluminum bat hitting a baseball.
The muffled sounds of the coach shifting fielders from the bench.
The subtle directions from our basketball coach adjusting our defense.
The stern instructions in the huddle for our next in-bounding play.
The groan of an opponent when our aggressiveness went up a few notches.
And finally, the elation of being drenched in the showers in full uniform after winning the championship.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
I miss sports. I loved competing. I loved trying to do my best and enjoyed it when I accomplished something. I was never about myself; I couldn't have played anything but a team sport. Seeking personal achievements never occurred to me.
But what I miss most about playing baseball and basketball are the sensations. For someone who's never played either of these sports, this will sound weird. Here, though, are the things I miss:
The feel of a new baseball that I'm about to pitch.
The tightening of my stomach as we get ready for the center jump to start the game.
The feel of my cleats as I scraped the ground in front of the rubber, beside first base or in the batter's box.
The feel of wood in my hands in any weather: It's coldness in early Spring games, it's slipperiness in humid weather games and the sting it gave me in those colder games.
How my wrist felt when I knew I'd stroked a good shot.
The weight of an opponent's body as he banged into me contesting a rebound.
The hardness of home plate as I crossed it with a run.
The odd mix of hardness and softness of first, second or third base.
The smell of the freshly mown infield grass.
The unforgiving varnished court that gave me floor burns as I dove for a loose ball.
The oddity of the tartan surface that was a hard rubber.
The scratchiness of the old woolen uniforms we played T-ball in.
The almost unique sleeved jerseys our grade school team in which our team played basketball.
The sound of cheerleaders being a din in the background of a game.
The spontaneous cheers of the crowd reacting to a play.
The chatter of the opponents when I was up to bat.
The majestic sound of ash meeting ball.
The thud of the ball landing in horsehide.
The smell of a freshly oiled mitt.
The perfection of the raised surface of a new basketball.
The difference in sounds of a ball hitting a backboard.
The cacophony in the gym during the final moments of a hotly contested game.
The sting moments after being hit by a pitch.
The refreshing taste of very cold water during hot summer games.
The glare of the lights playing night games.
The haze in which the ball disappeared in the lights during night games.
My breathing as I ran to my position to cut off the outfielder's throw to the plate.
The slight tick of the ball barely grazing my mitt as I let it go through to the catcher to decoy the runner rounding first.
The union of ball in mitt and mitt hitting runner diving back to first after the pitcher threw to first.
The ping of an aluminum bat hitting a baseball.
The muffled sounds of the coach shifting fielders from the bench.
The subtle directions from our basketball coach adjusting our defense.
The stern instructions in the huddle for our next in-bounding play.
The groan of an opponent when our aggressiveness went up a few notches.
And finally, the elation of being drenched in the showers in full uniform after winning the championship.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Political double standards
Lost in the ongoing controversies the Obama administration is confronting is the role the MSM has played and continues to play in these farces. As anyone who reads this blog knows, I'm highly critical of the partisan way in which the MSM chooses to cover the POTUS and his cronies. The spate of troubles he and his band of merry men have encountered lately puts the MSM in a bit of a pickle.
Having swooned at President Obama for nearly five years (his four year first term and the campaign year that preceeded it), the MSM has been less than objective in its reporting. It has chosen not to report negative news about the Democrats and the President or downplayed things its done. One small example, which really isn't that big of a deal, is when President Obama gave a press conference wherein he admitted he didn't know a term in Austrian:
It was an unfortunate slip of the tongue, probably made after a long day when the President was tired. Here's another one:
Again, it's a meaningless, simple gaffe, probably made at the end of a tiring day. It was mentioned briefly, if at all, with an avuncular chuckle by the press. Had this been former President Bush, we'd still be talking about it today. But the MSM cleans up this President's messes, big and small, and these incidents, meaningless when taken in isolation, portended bigger things if only we'd known it.
Now we have the Grand Slam of scandals: Benghazi, the IRS, the AP and the Secret Service. The MSM is just addressing three -- more on that anon -- and not even talking about the Secret Service one, wherein six agents who engaged prostitutes on their detail in Cartagena, Colombia, were put on indefinite, administrative leave without pay. A report was written by someone with unimpeachable credentials that included mention of two higher-ups at Secret Service who not only also patronized prostitutes at the same time (it's legal in Colombia, apparently), but did so in the same hotel in which the President was staying. The investigator mentioned it in his report but was told to redact it. When he wouldn't, he too was put on administrative leave.
This is the kind of thing we expect from the British. Back in the '80s, with the Troubles continuing to fester, Maggie Thatcher sent John Stalker, the former Deputy Chief Constable of the Manchester Police, to investigage claims that the authorities in Northern Ireland were cooperating with Protestant groups against the minority Catholic groups. Stalker's report, commissioned by the British government itself, found among other things that in fact Northern Irish and British authorities were providing information to Protestant para-military groups on the whereabouts of Catholic paramilitary personnel and then turning their backs while the Protestant groups went out and murdered the Catholics. It also discovered the infamous Shoot-to-kill policy. When Stalker presented his report, it was suppressed under the Official Secrets Act. The British government even tried to try Stalker, but an independent court ruled in Stalker's favor.
Here, we have no Official Secrets Act that, at first blush, should be considered a good thing. Transparency is necessary for a free and informed public. As Justice Brandeis once said before he ascended to the Supreme Court, sunlight is said to be the best of disinfectants. Yet the MSM continues to maintain a film over the things to be examined by either not reporting them, reporting them and then discrediting them or editorializing. The other night, Scott Pelley contorted himself to say that there was no evidence there was any political motivation for the IRS scandal. Think about it for a minute: Were a conservative in the White House and liberal groups had been the targets, would the MSM have been arguing that there was no political motivation? What's more, why is the MSM even addressing this without all the facts being in evidence? When did the MSM's job expand from mere reporting to advocacy and cheerleading?
This puts the MSM in a bind. It now has to divorce itself from its self-appointed role as cheerleader-in-chief and promoter of the President's agenda and begin to report objectively on scandals that may or may not have an impact on the government of this country. It's struggling to do so and, by and large, failing.
I go back once again to what my learned liberal friend Bill said about this: The MSM is letting the country down. I have uttered the hyperbole that this verges into Goebbles and Riefenstahl territory, but I'm not entirely wrong. The news organs that exist in this country -- the MSM and Hollywood, the majority of which stand side-by-side with the liberal elite -- are putting out a skewed and therefore almost one-sided perspective of the goings-on in this country. What's more, when a conservative member of the media points out things that don't conform to the administration's -- and by extensions the MSM's -- version, the liberal establishment discredits the conservative news organ as being politically motivated. It's a substratum of ad hominem and ad baculum argument styles.
None of these incidents, by themselves or even collectively, will bring down the Republic. They will, however, continue to erode the people's confidence in government, widen the divide between groups and begin preparing the stage for the ultimate breakdown of the best experiment in human history, thereby proving Plato correct.
And ironically, it may very well set the stage for a conservative backlash that could be more strident than what even the liberals fear now.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Having swooned at President Obama for nearly five years (his four year first term and the campaign year that preceeded it), the MSM has been less than objective in its reporting. It has chosen not to report negative news about the Democrats and the President or downplayed things its done. One small example, which really isn't that big of a deal, is when President Obama gave a press conference wherein he admitted he didn't know a term in Austrian:
It was an unfortunate slip of the tongue, probably made after a long day when the President was tired. Here's another one:
Again, it's a meaningless, simple gaffe, probably made at the end of a tiring day. It was mentioned briefly, if at all, with an avuncular chuckle by the press. Had this been former President Bush, we'd still be talking about it today. But the MSM cleans up this President's messes, big and small, and these incidents, meaningless when taken in isolation, portended bigger things if only we'd known it.
Now we have the Grand Slam of scandals: Benghazi, the IRS, the AP and the Secret Service. The MSM is just addressing three -- more on that anon -- and not even talking about the Secret Service one, wherein six agents who engaged prostitutes on their detail in Cartagena, Colombia, were put on indefinite, administrative leave without pay. A report was written by someone with unimpeachable credentials that included mention of two higher-ups at Secret Service who not only also patronized prostitutes at the same time (it's legal in Colombia, apparently), but did so in the same hotel in which the President was staying. The investigator mentioned it in his report but was told to redact it. When he wouldn't, he too was put on administrative leave.
This is the kind of thing we expect from the British. Back in the '80s, with the Troubles continuing to fester, Maggie Thatcher sent John Stalker, the former Deputy Chief Constable of the Manchester Police, to investigage claims that the authorities in Northern Ireland were cooperating with Protestant groups against the minority Catholic groups. Stalker's report, commissioned by the British government itself, found among other things that in fact Northern Irish and British authorities were providing information to Protestant para-military groups on the whereabouts of Catholic paramilitary personnel and then turning their backs while the Protestant groups went out and murdered the Catholics. It also discovered the infamous Shoot-to-kill policy. When Stalker presented his report, it was suppressed under the Official Secrets Act. The British government even tried to try Stalker, but an independent court ruled in Stalker's favor.
Here, we have no Official Secrets Act that, at first blush, should be considered a good thing. Transparency is necessary for a free and informed public. As Justice Brandeis once said before he ascended to the Supreme Court, sunlight is said to be the best of disinfectants. Yet the MSM continues to maintain a film over the things to be examined by either not reporting them, reporting them and then discrediting them or editorializing. The other night, Scott Pelley contorted himself to say that there was no evidence there was any political motivation for the IRS scandal. Think about it for a minute: Were a conservative in the White House and liberal groups had been the targets, would the MSM have been arguing that there was no political motivation? What's more, why is the MSM even addressing this without all the facts being in evidence? When did the MSM's job expand from mere reporting to advocacy and cheerleading?
This puts the MSM in a bind. It now has to divorce itself from its self-appointed role as cheerleader-in-chief and promoter of the President's agenda and begin to report objectively on scandals that may or may not have an impact on the government of this country. It's struggling to do so and, by and large, failing.
I go back once again to what my learned liberal friend Bill said about this: The MSM is letting the country down. I have uttered the hyperbole that this verges into Goebbles and Riefenstahl territory, but I'm not entirely wrong. The news organs that exist in this country -- the MSM and Hollywood, the majority of which stand side-by-side with the liberal elite -- are putting out a skewed and therefore almost one-sided perspective of the goings-on in this country. What's more, when a conservative member of the media points out things that don't conform to the administration's -- and by extensions the MSM's -- version, the liberal establishment discredits the conservative news organ as being politically motivated. It's a substratum of ad hominem and ad baculum argument styles.
None of these incidents, by themselves or even collectively, will bring down the Republic. They will, however, continue to erode the people's confidence in government, widen the divide between groups and begin preparing the stage for the ultimate breakdown of the best experiment in human history, thereby proving Plato correct.
And ironically, it may very well set the stage for a conservative backlash that could be more strident than what even the liberals fear now.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Chicago politics and D.C., I
Anyone paying attention to the recent spate of scandals plaguing the White House is no doubt troubled by them. The IRS matter, the seizure of the AP logs, the lingering Benghazi affair and the little-mentioned Secret Service investigation just won't go away. But there are certain things that go beyond what's being reported, and they're not necessarily going to be front and center in the debate.
First of all, if the IRS was not targeting Tea Party groups out of political motivation, why then were liberal or progressive groups not included in the scrutiny? I haven't heard one iota about a liberal group being targeted which, no matter what one's political affiliation, would be just as outrageous as the targeting of conservative groups. To claim that there was no political motivation is undercut by the fact that no groups from the other side were similarly targeted.
Second, how is it the President is being kept in the dark by the very people who are working at his pleasure? If this were the private sector, those people would lose their jobs the minute the boss found out about it. But in this administration, they're hidden in different departments. Ask yourself whatever happened to those blamed for the miscommunication on Benghazi who were allegedly terminated. Where are those people today?
The final thought is one that is more local. The President hails from Chicago. That's where he cut his political teeth. For as intelligent as he is, he learned how to maneuver politically from the Democratic hacks that have a stranglehold on government not only in Chicago but also from Illinois.
Despite the fact that I lived in Illinois most of my life, I really didn't understand much about how the Machine, as it's called, operated and dominated life in Illinois. Then I read a book called American Pharoah, about the first Mayor Daley, and that explained everything to me. Many people swear by Mike Royko's book Boss, also about the first Mayor Daley, but I haven't gotten around to that yet.
For those not aware of Chicago politics, think of the Borgias. Democrats have controlled Chicago and the state of Illinois for decades, and only once in a great while is a Republican elected to the governorship. Republicans stand no chance of gaining the mayoralty in Chicago.
The second Mayor Daley recently retired. He was loved by many in the city for his passion for the city and his efforts to beautify the place. But the dirty secret that never made news outside of Illinois is that countless members of his administration were convicted of various acts of corruption. Some of these officials were very high up in the administration. Yet not once was the mayor himself targeted, nor was there any hint in any of the testimony that he was aware of the corruption that was going on in his own administration.
Sound familiar?
The President's former chief of staff, Rahm Emanuel, is now the mayor of Chicago. David Axelrod, the former senior advisor to the President in his first term, is a political consultant based in Chicago who specializes in getting liberals elected. He's now back in Chicago. It is unlikely that any taint will ever attach to either of them, but had there been a sniff of a scandal, they would have thrown themselves on their swords to protect the President.
The full story of all these scandals won't be known for several years, perhaps decades. Meanwhile, denials will issue from the White House that a Harvard-educated president was kept in the dark by the very people who worked for him. The man who was going to bring Change and Hope to Washington instead has surrounded himself with toadies who better imitate these creatures
than advisors who would counsel the President on what is best for the country. This is the true Chicago way: Seize power with promises and then change the game up to maintain power. When one thinks about it, it almost has a socialist ring to it.
So while you're watching events coming out of the capital, remember Chicago.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
First of all, if the IRS was not targeting Tea Party groups out of political motivation, why then were liberal or progressive groups not included in the scrutiny? I haven't heard one iota about a liberal group being targeted which, no matter what one's political affiliation, would be just as outrageous as the targeting of conservative groups. To claim that there was no political motivation is undercut by the fact that no groups from the other side were similarly targeted.
Second, how is it the President is being kept in the dark by the very people who are working at his pleasure? If this were the private sector, those people would lose their jobs the minute the boss found out about it. But in this administration, they're hidden in different departments. Ask yourself whatever happened to those blamed for the miscommunication on Benghazi who were allegedly terminated. Where are those people today?
The final thought is one that is more local. The President hails from Chicago. That's where he cut his political teeth. For as intelligent as he is, he learned how to maneuver politically from the Democratic hacks that have a stranglehold on government not only in Chicago but also from Illinois.
Despite the fact that I lived in Illinois most of my life, I really didn't understand much about how the Machine, as it's called, operated and dominated life in Illinois. Then I read a book called American Pharoah, about the first Mayor Daley, and that explained everything to me. Many people swear by Mike Royko's book Boss, also about the first Mayor Daley, but I haven't gotten around to that yet.
For those not aware of Chicago politics, think of the Borgias. Democrats have controlled Chicago and the state of Illinois for decades, and only once in a great while is a Republican elected to the governorship. Republicans stand no chance of gaining the mayoralty in Chicago.
The second Mayor Daley recently retired. He was loved by many in the city for his passion for the city and his efforts to beautify the place. But the dirty secret that never made news outside of Illinois is that countless members of his administration were convicted of various acts of corruption. Some of these officials were very high up in the administration. Yet not once was the mayor himself targeted, nor was there any hint in any of the testimony that he was aware of the corruption that was going on in his own administration.
Sound familiar?
The President's former chief of staff, Rahm Emanuel, is now the mayor of Chicago. David Axelrod, the former senior advisor to the President in his first term, is a political consultant based in Chicago who specializes in getting liberals elected. He's now back in Chicago. It is unlikely that any taint will ever attach to either of them, but had there been a sniff of a scandal, they would have thrown themselves on their swords to protect the President.
The full story of all these scandals won't be known for several years, perhaps decades. Meanwhile, denials will issue from the White House that a Harvard-educated president was kept in the dark by the very people who worked for him. The man who was going to bring Change and Hope to Washington instead has surrounded himself with toadies who better imitate these creatures
than advisors who would counsel the President on what is best for the country. This is the true Chicago way: Seize power with promises and then change the game up to maintain power. When one thinks about it, it almost has a socialist ring to it.
So while you're watching events coming out of the capital, remember Chicago.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Monday, May 20, 2013
Chess
Since I was around six-years-old I've been playing chess. There was a period of time where I didn't play much because I had no one with whom to play it. This was in the period before the internet allowed people to play each other in the ether. I never played correspondence chess because I had knew no one and wasn't much into networking even at an early age.
Himself taught me the game. He has a set of very heavy pieces that he keeps in a closet somewhere that he'd take out every so often and we'd play. He'd teach me the rudiments of the game and then he'd beat me. I didn't care at first that I lost because I was getting hooked on the game. Eventually, though, I wanted to beat him, as much out of competitive drive as for other reasons. After about the thirty-sixth time I finally beat him, and he never played me again.
I should have joined the chess club. When I was eleven the famous Fischer-Spassky match was held in Reyjkavik, Iceland. It's hard to imagine now the idea that eleven-year-olds could be captivated watching a chess match on black and white television, but I wasn't alone in my fascination. Of course, I didn't understand all the political ramifications. I was simply interested in grandmasters playing this game I had only recently learned to play.
In law school, I played a friend who boasted that he was pretty good at the game. I was so hungry to play that I agreed, wondering if I would get my butt kicked. I think we played about fifteen games all told and he never beat me. He couldn't figure out why he couldn't beat me; I couldn't figure out why he thought he was that good.
The internet opened a new phenomenon to me: Trash talking. I found a gaming site called Pimpernel and played people from all over the world. I learned to play blitz chess, two minute games with five seconds added to my time upon each move, and I held my own. Sometimes, I got my butt kicked. Other times, I pulled off surprising upsets, given our rankings on the site. But what amused and annoyed me was the trash talking that would begin as soon as the first move was made.
You're going down. I'm going to kick your ass. This should be easy.
I don't remember Fischer or Spassky talking this much.
I played against the computer and surprised myself a couple of times by beating it. If I played well I chalked up a victory of the moral variety. When I played poorly the losses got larger.
I have a couple of chess sets. I bought a beautiful chessboard with inlaid wood in La Alhambra, Spain and chess pieces to fit the squares in Florence, Italy. I have some other sets that are pure wood, more pedestrian but just as nice. I detest those sets with Civil War figures or, worse yet, Disney or Star Wars characters. I also don't care for crystal or jade pieces. Just give me a good Staunton set and I'm happy.
I've never joined a chess club. I should probably have joined the chess club in high school, but I hadn't come to grips with my inner nerd yet. I doubt I would have been very good; competent, yes, but certainly not on the road to being a grandmaster.
There is a certain beauty to chess, a symmetry that somehow speaks to my mind. I don't have the intellectual power to compete with Deep Blue like Kasparov did. I can't think fourteen moves ahead like the greats can. But chess has been likened to war on a board with sixty-four squares. Given my penchant for all things military, this attracts me and keeps me interested. I suppose if I let it, chess could take over my life as it did with several players. But I prefer to play chess for fun, challenging myself to get better but only to the point that I'm competitive against anyone who's not a grandmaster.
Lately, I've tried to find good books on the history of the game and its major players. Games written by former champions that are designed to teach players the game don't do much for me. I've never been able to memorize openings or remember exactly what moves were made in the Immortal Game -- I can't even remember who played in it, frankly. I'm a seriously interested casual player, and I'll leave it at that.
Besides, I can't figure checkers out. Go figure.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Himself taught me the game. He has a set of very heavy pieces that he keeps in a closet somewhere that he'd take out every so often and we'd play. He'd teach me the rudiments of the game and then he'd beat me. I didn't care at first that I lost because I was getting hooked on the game. Eventually, though, I wanted to beat him, as much out of competitive drive as for other reasons. After about the thirty-sixth time I finally beat him, and he never played me again.
I should have joined the chess club. When I was eleven the famous Fischer-Spassky match was held in Reyjkavik, Iceland. It's hard to imagine now the idea that eleven-year-olds could be captivated watching a chess match on black and white television, but I wasn't alone in my fascination. Of course, I didn't understand all the political ramifications. I was simply interested in grandmasters playing this game I had only recently learned to play.
In law school, I played a friend who boasted that he was pretty good at the game. I was so hungry to play that I agreed, wondering if I would get my butt kicked. I think we played about fifteen games all told and he never beat me. He couldn't figure out why he couldn't beat me; I couldn't figure out why he thought he was that good.
The internet opened a new phenomenon to me: Trash talking. I found a gaming site called Pimpernel and played people from all over the world. I learned to play blitz chess, two minute games with five seconds added to my time upon each move, and I held my own. Sometimes, I got my butt kicked. Other times, I pulled off surprising upsets, given our rankings on the site. But what amused and annoyed me was the trash talking that would begin as soon as the first move was made.
You're going down. I'm going to kick your ass. This should be easy.
I don't remember Fischer or Spassky talking this much.
I played against the computer and surprised myself a couple of times by beating it. If I played well I chalked up a victory of the moral variety. When I played poorly the losses got larger.
I have a couple of chess sets. I bought a beautiful chessboard with inlaid wood in La Alhambra, Spain and chess pieces to fit the squares in Florence, Italy. I have some other sets that are pure wood, more pedestrian but just as nice. I detest those sets with Civil War figures or, worse yet, Disney or Star Wars characters. I also don't care for crystal or jade pieces. Just give me a good Staunton set and I'm happy.
I've never joined a chess club. I should probably have joined the chess club in high school, but I hadn't come to grips with my inner nerd yet. I doubt I would have been very good; competent, yes, but certainly not on the road to being a grandmaster.
There is a certain beauty to chess, a symmetry that somehow speaks to my mind. I don't have the intellectual power to compete with Deep Blue like Kasparov did. I can't think fourteen moves ahead like the greats can. But chess has been likened to war on a board with sixty-four squares. Given my penchant for all things military, this attracts me and keeps me interested. I suppose if I let it, chess could take over my life as it did with several players. But I prefer to play chess for fun, challenging myself to get better but only to the point that I'm competitive against anyone who's not a grandmaster.
Lately, I've tried to find good books on the history of the game and its major players. Games written by former champions that are designed to teach players the game don't do much for me. I've never been able to memorize openings or remember exactly what moves were made in the Immortal Game -- I can't even remember who played in it, frankly. I'm a seriously interested casual player, and I'll leave it at that.
Besides, I can't figure checkers out. Go figure.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Sunday, May 19, 2013
Computer problems
No, we didn't win the lottery.
That business being over, I find myself once again stymied by computer problems. I am admittedly a Luddite, confused as anyone by the modern age. What computer jockeys think is intuitive is anything but to me. How I'm supposed to know that if one just pushes this button or slides the cursor over this icon and all my problems will be solved is seriously bereft of common sense. How, absent any instruction whatsoever, is someone supposed to know that by moving a cursor over a particular icon that it's going to solve all one's problems? That would be akin to expecting someone to know the intricacies of a foreign language simply because we all speak.
Today's problem is another of those interstitial problems in which I seem to specialize. Yesterday I worked on certain things on Word. I saved my work and did nothing to install or uninstall any programs related to Word. When I left the office my computer was functioning fine.
I'm quite certain no one else has been in the office since yesterday. Yet today when I came in, I'm no longer a part of the shared directory. Why this should happen is beyond me, other than the fact that computer gremlins who delight in bedeviling me returned for their irregular visit. I'm left in the office without anyway to save documents to a directory and no one with any computer savvy to know how to return me to the main directory of shared documents.
I'm often confronted with computer problems that stump the so-called experts. I will hit three keys with my finger and either my screen goes blank, the formatting changes so that I neither know what happened or how to undo it or I've replaced what I was doing with something I deleted hours before. When I call in someone who professes to understand these machines, I get the dismissive head-shaking that usually parents use with an infant who doesn't know how to use a sippy cup. Computers are not sippy cups, people! And nine times out of ten, the person who thinks my problem is a quick fix spends upwards of a half hour, at least, trying to figure out what I've done and undo it. Sure, I'm usually vindicated, but they never admit that I incomprehensibly get myself into computer problems that are not run-of-the-mill.
Why the computer would remove me from the shared directory overnight is confusing to me. When the computer guys delve into this and fix it, I'm sure they'll come up with a vague explanation for how it happened and how it can be prevented from happening again in the future. None of this helps me understand these machines any better and does nothing to lessen my frustration with them. After all, technology generally and computers specifically were supposed to make our lives easier.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
That business being over, I find myself once again stymied by computer problems. I am admittedly a Luddite, confused as anyone by the modern age. What computer jockeys think is intuitive is anything but to me. How I'm supposed to know that if one just pushes this button or slides the cursor over this icon and all my problems will be solved is seriously bereft of common sense. How, absent any instruction whatsoever, is someone supposed to know that by moving a cursor over a particular icon that it's going to solve all one's problems? That would be akin to expecting someone to know the intricacies of a foreign language simply because we all speak.
Today's problem is another of those interstitial problems in which I seem to specialize. Yesterday I worked on certain things on Word. I saved my work and did nothing to install or uninstall any programs related to Word. When I left the office my computer was functioning fine.
I'm quite certain no one else has been in the office since yesterday. Yet today when I came in, I'm no longer a part of the shared directory. Why this should happen is beyond me, other than the fact that computer gremlins who delight in bedeviling me returned for their irregular visit. I'm left in the office without anyway to save documents to a directory and no one with any computer savvy to know how to return me to the main directory of shared documents.
I'm often confronted with computer problems that stump the so-called experts. I will hit three keys with my finger and either my screen goes blank, the formatting changes so that I neither know what happened or how to undo it or I've replaced what I was doing with something I deleted hours before. When I call in someone who professes to understand these machines, I get the dismissive head-shaking that usually parents use with an infant who doesn't know how to use a sippy cup. Computers are not sippy cups, people! And nine times out of ten, the person who thinks my problem is a quick fix spends upwards of a half hour, at least, trying to figure out what I've done and undo it. Sure, I'm usually vindicated, but they never admit that I incomprehensibly get myself into computer problems that are not run-of-the-mill.
Why the computer would remove me from the shared directory overnight is confusing to me. When the computer guys delve into this and fix it, I'm sure they'll come up with a vague explanation for how it happened and how it can be prevented from happening again in the future. None of this helps me understand these machines any better and does nothing to lessen my frustration with them. After all, technology generally and computers specifically were supposed to make our lives easier.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Saturday, May 18, 2013
Lottery dreaming
So tonight is the drawing for the $600 million Powerball lottery, and last night someone somewhere won the MegaMillions worth around $190 million. I didn't win the latter and probably won't win the former. What would I do if I won a large lottery?
For one, I'd beg Karen to marry me and set up the perfect wedding that she's always dreamt of. Well, at least one not involving her and Dwayne Johnson, Simon Pegg or Bob from Great Big Sea, anyway. The next thing I'd do after those plans were set would be to get the best possible health insurance for us and prepay the premiums for forty years. I don't want her to have to worry about her health ever again.
Of course, I would probably do that latter after hiring the best financial planner money could buy. I'd have him or her bonded just to make sure there was no funny business going on. We'd probably incorporate, because that's what everyone does. We'd pay off our existing debts and be debt free. Then we'd get to the fun stuff.
Karen and I would find two houses -- one in which we'd live and the other that we'd keep as a getaway location. I have a feeling I know where that would be -- so does Karen -- but we wouldn't disclose it but to a few people. Our main house would be Karen's to decorate and furnish as she saw fit with one exception -- I will, and this is non-negotiable, have a library of whatever size I want with however many books I want in it. It won't be a main cave by any means. But I will have my library where I can write and read. Something along these lines:
Then we'd get Karen the car of her dreams. I'd probably need a new one myself.
We'd invest heavily and wisely. I'm not going to go on spending sprees nor would I be the family bank. We'd set up education funds for those children that needed it and take care of other family members as we saw fit.
I'd certainly give to charity. I have some places near and dear to my heart that I'd endow. I would give to my grade school for sure. I'd give to my undergraduate and graduate schools. I'd also give to veterans' groups. Karen has a few groups to which I know she'd donate as well.
I'd buy some rifles and a handgun or two. Michael Bloomberg can bite me. I'd put together the studio of Karen's dreams so if she ever got the hankering to start painting again, she could do so.
I'd buy the best and most advanced computer I could and have someone on retainer to fix it when it broke down. Heaven knows I couldn't fix it.
Then I'd build a workshop on our property somewhere and tinker with things without any fear that they wouldn't work or would injure someone. I'd have a woodworking shop in there, too.
But beyond those things -- and Karen's input, of course -- there isn't really anything extravagant we'd do with the money. Sure, we'd take some trips here and there. But I'm not buying a helicopter, I'm not owning a mansion with an eight-car garage and fifty-two rooms. I won't be buying real estate in prime locations, say a penthouse in New York City. We're not extravagant people and we don't like extravagant things.
Well, except for that library.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
For one, I'd beg Karen to marry me and set up the perfect wedding that she's always dreamt of. Well, at least one not involving her and Dwayne Johnson, Simon Pegg or Bob from Great Big Sea, anyway. The next thing I'd do after those plans were set would be to get the best possible health insurance for us and prepay the premiums for forty years. I don't want her to have to worry about her health ever again.
Of course, I would probably do that latter after hiring the best financial planner money could buy. I'd have him or her bonded just to make sure there was no funny business going on. We'd probably incorporate, because that's what everyone does. We'd pay off our existing debts and be debt free. Then we'd get to the fun stuff.
Karen and I would find two houses -- one in which we'd live and the other that we'd keep as a getaway location. I have a feeling I know where that would be -- so does Karen -- but we wouldn't disclose it but to a few people. Our main house would be Karen's to decorate and furnish as she saw fit with one exception -- I will, and this is non-negotiable, have a library of whatever size I want with however many books I want in it. It won't be a main cave by any means. But I will have my library where I can write and read. Something along these lines:
Then we'd get Karen the car of her dreams. I'd probably need a new one myself.
We'd invest heavily and wisely. I'm not going to go on spending sprees nor would I be the family bank. We'd set up education funds for those children that needed it and take care of other family members as we saw fit.
I'd certainly give to charity. I have some places near and dear to my heart that I'd endow. I would give to my grade school for sure. I'd give to my undergraduate and graduate schools. I'd also give to veterans' groups. Karen has a few groups to which I know she'd donate as well.
I'd buy some rifles and a handgun or two. Michael Bloomberg can bite me. I'd put together the studio of Karen's dreams so if she ever got the hankering to start painting again, she could do so.
I'd buy the best and most advanced computer I could and have someone on retainer to fix it when it broke down. Heaven knows I couldn't fix it.
Then I'd build a workshop on our property somewhere and tinker with things without any fear that they wouldn't work or would injure someone. I'd have a woodworking shop in there, too.
But beyond those things -- and Karen's input, of course -- there isn't really anything extravagant we'd do with the money. Sure, we'd take some trips here and there. But I'm not buying a helicopter, I'm not owning a mansion with an eight-car garage and fifty-two rooms. I won't be buying real estate in prime locations, say a penthouse in New York City. We're not extravagant people and we don't like extravagant things.
Well, except for that library.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Facts I learned from reading
It's no secret that I enjoy reading. I have certain areas in which I concentrate my reading. I'm very interested in Spain, Ireland, military history, biographies, sports, espionage, classics and a few other subjects. I'm not fond of contemporary fiction, although I've read some here and there.
My love of reading stems largely from the fact that as a child I didn't have a lot of friends. Books kept me company and taught me things about people and places that I'd never know. I learned about the world, its history and what was expected for its future. The more I read the more I loved reading.
Karen thinks I need a twelve-step program because of the amount of books I have. I disagree. She thinks I should get rid of more books than I do. The ones I keep I refer to every once in awhile -- some more than others, but I usually refer to all of them at some point.
Because I CLEPed out of two years of history in college, I never had to take a pure history course that wasn't involved in my studies of Spanish or Philosophy. I've tried to make up for that formal training with my reading. I've also branched out into other areas to learn about things that merely interested me.
Some of what I read is fluff. Everyone probably does this. To keep from being bored, I try to vary the subjects I read each month, so I'll read a military history, a biography, a book on sports and perhaps a classic each month. The next month I'll read something about espionage, a book in Spanish, a travel book and more military history. It doesn't always work, but I try.
In my readings, I come across some things that are just very interesting factoids, things that I never knew and probably don't need to know but that I retain nevertheless. Here are a few of them:
-- The Marx brothers actually lived in Chicago for a time and then owned a farm in LaGrange, Illinois.
-- St. Lucia is actually the first country that saluted the new nation of the United States of America.
-- Schaphism is a particulary devilish torture with which to put someone to death.
-- Walter Cronkite's mother dated Douglas MacArthur's father, meaning that had things turned out differently Walter Cronkite could have been Douglas MacArthur.
-- In the Gulf War, the CIA knew that computers were being transhipped to Iraq in violation of the embargo, and that Iraqi intelligence would inspect the computers for any bugs that would be planted in the computers, so they put the bugs instead in the printers such that when the air war broke out and the Iraqi air defenses started up, the computers shut down once the information they spit out when through the printers.
-- Jimmy Stewart lost his virginity to Marlene Dietrich.
-- The United States and Britain actually invaded the Soviet Union shortly after World War I.
-- Greta Garbo really was bisexual.
-- The owners of the St. Louis Spirit of the old ABA were and continue to be paid money from the NBA's television contract not be a part of the NBA. The brothers get one-seventh of the money received from the television contract the four teams from the ABA admitted to the NBA generate and have received $255 million since 1976.
-- John Wooden was ready to accept an offer to become the head coach of the Minnesota Gophers but a downed telephone line kept him from accepting the offer. UCLA swept in and made him a better offer and he became its head coach instead.
-- In 1966, a Spanish fisherman became a millionaire by helping the US military find a hydrogen bomb that was jettisoned into the Mediterranean in an accident. Using the law of salvage, the fisherman claimed a percentage of the weapon's value, and the US paid him for his help.
-- Whittier, Alaska, has only one road into the town and has 177 inhabitants.
-- British security forces gave Protestant paramilitary groups information on Catholics and the IRA to allow them to murder them.
-- The city of Newport, Rhode Island, used the pineapple as its symbol because back in the day, only the very rich could have them imported, and Newport was a playground for the very rich.
-- During the Cold War, a US submarine tailed a Soviet submarine underwater for forty-five days without being detected.
-- Chuck Daly, the coach of the Dream Team in Barcelona, never called one timeout.
-- The Iditarod started because of an epidemic in Nome and the need to get medicines to the sick population.
-- Minorities did not suffer disproportionate casualties in the Vietnam War.
-- Moe Berg was a major league catcher and a spy for the US government in Japan.
-- Tom Harmon, the winner of the 1940 Heisman Trophy, was shot down in the Pacific in 1943 and used his parachute for his wife's wedding dress.
-- The Kosciuszko Squadron was actually formed in part by Merian Cooper, the man who produced the movie King Kong.
-- Credit card numbers and ISBN numbers are actually codes.
-- Stealth technology was actually a Soviet invention that they did not pursue.
-- Mayor Richard J. Daley and his minions actually planned developments in Chicago to keep blacks separated from whites.
-- The Nazis actually allowed a Jewish symphony to perform regularly in Germany in the first half of World War II.
-- Impact is also actually a verb.
-- The Blackhawks' sweaters, seen here --
-- are the best uniform in all of sport and were actually designed by a woman, Irene Castle, the wife of the then-owner of the Chicago Blackhawks.
-- Al Hirschfeld, the New York cartoonist, put his daughter's name Nina in his cartoons after she was born, and it was so well done that the U.S. Army later used these cartoons as training to train their bombardiers to locate their targets.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
My love of reading stems largely from the fact that as a child I didn't have a lot of friends. Books kept me company and taught me things about people and places that I'd never know. I learned about the world, its history and what was expected for its future. The more I read the more I loved reading.
Karen thinks I need a twelve-step program because of the amount of books I have. I disagree. She thinks I should get rid of more books than I do. The ones I keep I refer to every once in awhile -- some more than others, but I usually refer to all of them at some point.
Because I CLEPed out of two years of history in college, I never had to take a pure history course that wasn't involved in my studies of Spanish or Philosophy. I've tried to make up for that formal training with my reading. I've also branched out into other areas to learn about things that merely interested me.
Some of what I read is fluff. Everyone probably does this. To keep from being bored, I try to vary the subjects I read each month, so I'll read a military history, a biography, a book on sports and perhaps a classic each month. The next month I'll read something about espionage, a book in Spanish, a travel book and more military history. It doesn't always work, but I try.
In my readings, I come across some things that are just very interesting factoids, things that I never knew and probably don't need to know but that I retain nevertheless. Here are a few of them:
-- The Marx brothers actually lived in Chicago for a time and then owned a farm in LaGrange, Illinois.
-- St. Lucia is actually the first country that saluted the new nation of the United States of America.
-- Schaphism is a particulary devilish torture with which to put someone to death.
-- Walter Cronkite's mother dated Douglas MacArthur's father, meaning that had things turned out differently Walter Cronkite could have been Douglas MacArthur.
-- In the Gulf War, the CIA knew that computers were being transhipped to Iraq in violation of the embargo, and that Iraqi intelligence would inspect the computers for any bugs that would be planted in the computers, so they put the bugs instead in the printers such that when the air war broke out and the Iraqi air defenses started up, the computers shut down once the information they spit out when through the printers.
-- Jimmy Stewart lost his virginity to Marlene Dietrich.
-- The United States and Britain actually invaded the Soviet Union shortly after World War I.
-- Greta Garbo really was bisexual.
-- The owners of the St. Louis Spirit of the old ABA were and continue to be paid money from the NBA's television contract not be a part of the NBA. The brothers get one-seventh of the money received from the television contract the four teams from the ABA admitted to the NBA generate and have received $255 million since 1976.
-- John Wooden was ready to accept an offer to become the head coach of the Minnesota Gophers but a downed telephone line kept him from accepting the offer. UCLA swept in and made him a better offer and he became its head coach instead.
-- In 1966, a Spanish fisherman became a millionaire by helping the US military find a hydrogen bomb that was jettisoned into the Mediterranean in an accident. Using the law of salvage, the fisherman claimed a percentage of the weapon's value, and the US paid him for his help.
-- Whittier, Alaska, has only one road into the town and has 177 inhabitants.
-- British security forces gave Protestant paramilitary groups information on Catholics and the IRA to allow them to murder them.
-- The city of Newport, Rhode Island, used the pineapple as its symbol because back in the day, only the very rich could have them imported, and Newport was a playground for the very rich.
-- During the Cold War, a US submarine tailed a Soviet submarine underwater for forty-five days without being detected.
-- Chuck Daly, the coach of the Dream Team in Barcelona, never called one timeout.
-- The Iditarod started because of an epidemic in Nome and the need to get medicines to the sick population.
-- Minorities did not suffer disproportionate casualties in the Vietnam War.
-- Moe Berg was a major league catcher and a spy for the US government in Japan.
-- Tom Harmon, the winner of the 1940 Heisman Trophy, was shot down in the Pacific in 1943 and used his parachute for his wife's wedding dress.
-- The Kosciuszko Squadron was actually formed in part by Merian Cooper, the man who produced the movie King Kong.
-- Credit card numbers and ISBN numbers are actually codes.
-- Stealth technology was actually a Soviet invention that they did not pursue.
-- Mayor Richard J. Daley and his minions actually planned developments in Chicago to keep blacks separated from whites.
-- The Nazis actually allowed a Jewish symphony to perform regularly in Germany in the first half of World War II.
-- Impact is also actually a verb.
-- The Blackhawks' sweaters, seen here --
-- Al Hirschfeld, the New York cartoonist, put his daughter's name Nina in his cartoons after she was born, and it was so well done that the U.S. Army later used these cartoons as training to train their bombardiers to locate their targets.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Movies, books and songs
I was listening to a song on the television the other day while getting ready for work and immediately started singing it differently than how it was being sung. The song, Ticket To Ride by The Beatles, was being covered by some group in a commercial for a car dealership, I think. Either way, I began singing it the way The Carpenters did it, which was vastly different than the up-tempo song The Beatles and most of their imitators favor.
That got me thinking: Nowadays, even on Sirius/XM radio, all manner of different versions of things -- movies, songs, uniforms -- are out there, and depending on the popular reaction, they're either with us for the long haul or quickly shunted aside and hopefully out of mind. Sirius/XM even has an acoustic channel where songs made famous by artists are then redone by the artists in acoustic fashion, sometimes to their benefit and sometimes to their detriment.
Here, then, is my humble list of things -- songs and movies, predominantly, but I may think of other things -- where there is a question as to which is better. Songs are easy: Is one version preferable over the other? Books and movies usually come down to whether the book or the movie was the better version; sometimes, the result is surprising. There are also remakes of movies that begin the debate.
Note: Karen disagrees with me sometimes. I'm going to indicate her choice with italics. I know of at least one instance where we disagree; there may be more. My choices are in bold, with comments in parentheses underneath:
Book The Count of Monte Cristo Movies
(There hasn't been a good movie version of this yet)
Book The Four Feathers Movies
(Id.)
Book Doc Hollywood Movie
(The book pales by comparison)
Book We Were Soldiers Movie
(The book's slightly better, but they're both good)
Book The Perfect Storm Movie
(It's unfair, because the book's so good)
The Beatles Ticket to Ride The Carpenters
(I prefer the melancholy version)
Gene Wilder Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory Johnny Depp
(Seriously? Is there any doubt?)
Book Lonesome Dove Movie
(I know it's a series, but both are excellent)
Book The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo Movie
(Both are excellent)
Matt Nathanson Come On Get Higher Sugarland
(Karen swears everyone agrees with her; I'm right)
Book The Longest Day Movie
(The movie's OK, but the book's better)
Book The Ghost Raid Movie
(The movie's got a different title, but both are great)
Book The Day of the Jackal Movie
(The book gets a slight edge over the original movie)
Book Water For Elephants Movie
(The movie gets a slight edge, but only slight)
Book The Odyssey/Ulysses Movie
(Movie's great, but how do you beat Homer?)
John Mayer Why, Georgia, Why? Brad Paisley
(Paisley just kills it)
Brooks & Dunn My Maria B.W. Stevenson
(It's the only B&D song I like, but it's a good one)
Book Black Hawk Down Movie
(Both are excellent)
Book The Caine Mutiny Movie
(It's hard to beat Bogie)
Book The Quiet Man Movie
(There's not even a question about this)
Series M*A*S*H Movie
(The series was good but inconsistent)
Book Barbarians at the Gate Movie
(The book was fantastic, the movie not so much)
Book The Princess Bride Movie
(Both are excellent)
Book Deliverance Movie
(The movie's chilling)
Jim Belushi Sahara Humphrey Bogart
(See, The Caine Mutiny, supra)
Steve McQueen The Thomas Crown Affair Pierce Brosnan
(This is considered heresy, but I like Brosnan's better)
Book Touching the Void Movie
(The book was surprisingly boring)
Those are my two cents' worth. I'm sure there are more that I'm missing. Feel free to chime in. I imagine Karen will be commenting on Come On Get Higher, so there's no need to be shy.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
That got me thinking: Nowadays, even on Sirius/XM radio, all manner of different versions of things -- movies, songs, uniforms -- are out there, and depending on the popular reaction, they're either with us for the long haul or quickly shunted aside and hopefully out of mind. Sirius/XM even has an acoustic channel where songs made famous by artists are then redone by the artists in acoustic fashion, sometimes to their benefit and sometimes to their detriment.
Here, then, is my humble list of things -- songs and movies, predominantly, but I may think of other things -- where there is a question as to which is better. Songs are easy: Is one version preferable over the other? Books and movies usually come down to whether the book or the movie was the better version; sometimes, the result is surprising. There are also remakes of movies that begin the debate.
Note: Karen disagrees with me sometimes. I'm going to indicate her choice with italics. I know of at least one instance where we disagree; there may be more. My choices are in bold, with comments in parentheses underneath:
Book The Count of Monte Cristo Movies
(There hasn't been a good movie version of this yet)
Book The Four Feathers Movies
(Id.)
Book Doc Hollywood Movie
(The book pales by comparison)
Book We Were Soldiers Movie
(The book's slightly better, but they're both good)
Book The Perfect Storm Movie
(It's unfair, because the book's so good)
The Beatles Ticket to Ride The Carpenters
(I prefer the melancholy version)
Gene Wilder Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory Johnny Depp
(Seriously? Is there any doubt?)
Book Lonesome Dove Movie
(I know it's a series, but both are excellent)
Book The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo Movie
(Both are excellent)
Matt Nathanson Come On Get Higher Sugarland
(Karen swears everyone agrees with her; I'm right)
Book The Longest Day Movie
(The movie's OK, but the book's better)
Book The Ghost Raid Movie
(The movie's got a different title, but both are great)
Book The Day of the Jackal Movie
(The book gets a slight edge over the original movie)
Book Water For Elephants Movie
(The movie gets a slight edge, but only slight)
Book The Odyssey/Ulysses Movie
(Movie's great, but how do you beat Homer?)
John Mayer Why, Georgia, Why? Brad Paisley
(Paisley just kills it)
Brooks & Dunn My Maria B.W. Stevenson
(It's the only B&D song I like, but it's a good one)
Book Black Hawk Down Movie
(Both are excellent)
Book The Caine Mutiny Movie
(It's hard to beat Bogie)
Book The Quiet Man Movie
(There's not even a question about this)
Series M*A*S*H Movie
(The series was good but inconsistent)
Book Barbarians at the Gate Movie
(The book was fantastic, the movie not so much)
Book The Princess Bride Movie
(Both are excellent)
Book Deliverance Movie
(The movie's chilling)
Jim Belushi Sahara Humphrey Bogart
(See, The Caine Mutiny, supra)
Steve McQueen The Thomas Crown Affair Pierce Brosnan
(This is considered heresy, but I like Brosnan's better)
Book Touching the Void Movie
(The book was surprisingly boring)
Those are my two cents' worth. I'm sure there are more that I'm missing. Feel free to chime in. I imagine Karen will be commenting on Come On Get Higher, so there's no need to be shy.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Facebook...ugh
Pigs are flying in a frozen hell.
I've joined Facebook.
I didn't do this voluntarily. I maintained my integrity at least to that degree. I bowed to necessity and put up a Facebook page even though there's nothing remotely interesting about me. It's a marketing tool, nothing more, nothing less. I hate that I had to do it but something had to be done. Before anyone thinks that I did this, I give all the credit to Karen, who has a Ph.D in Facebooking. I sat back and stayed largely out of the way.
I'm not happy about it. The thing frustrates me to no end, which I'll address in a minute. But it serves a purpose, I suppose, even if I don't see any tangible results yet.
When I tinkered on Karen's FB, I was thoroughly frustrated because I didn't know what to use and how to use it. Nothing's changed now that I have one of my own. While we were setting up the thing, one of the other attorneys in the office commented on one of my Likes, and I went to respond to his Boooooooooooo! with Bite me. Fortunately, Karen stopped me before I posted it, because my otherwise unprofessional response would have gone out globally, something that would have detracted just a bit from the professionalism for which I am striving (but doesn't the Booooooooooo! do the same thing...?).
While trying to learn how to use this, I decided to put down some places that I've been, so I chose an easy one: Dyersville, Iowa, where Field of Dreams was filmed, in part. I dutifully put in Dyersville, Iowa, and the title of the movie, but when I hit enter, it located me in Oklahoma, neither a place I've ever been or anything I typed. Not to be outdone, I put down Door County, Wisconsin, and after I hit enter it located Door County in the Chicago metropolitan area. Again, I never typed anything remotely related to Chicago -- nor was I in Chicago as I typed the entry -- but FB decided that Door County needed to be relocated. FB further decided that entries I was adding were being added in Chicago, somewhere I am and was nowhere near.
I put in that I liked chess, but it took me two days to figure out how to add cribbage and Sudoku. I tried to add books and movies to my likes, but it said that I had read them or watched them instead. When I scroll down the page, my screen keeps recalculating, just like the infernal GPS does when one doesn't follow its idiotic directions. I hate to read documents on the computer and avoid it whenever I can. There's no avoiding it with FB.
For families that are in different parts of the world, FB makes perfect sense. It allows them to keep in touch economically. For businesses and media outlets, it makes sense. Now that I have my own business, in essence, I have to have this. But I hate it. I can't figure the thing out and I don't have anything nearly interesting to say. I don't know when I'm saying something privately instead of publicly, or worse vice versa, and I can't put up pictures of anything because that takes a Rube Goldbergian set up between my camera, my computer, Photobucket and FB, and I'm just not going to spend the time to do it. Yeah, yeah, if I had a smartphone it would be sooooooooooo much easier. But that would require me to attend MIT for three years, minimum, so I could figure out how to use the smartphone...it's a vicious cycle.
The Native Americans did it best: Smoke signals. Would that I could use those instead.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles.
I've joined Facebook.
I didn't do this voluntarily. I maintained my integrity at least to that degree. I bowed to necessity and put up a Facebook page even though there's nothing remotely interesting about me. It's a marketing tool, nothing more, nothing less. I hate that I had to do it but something had to be done. Before anyone thinks that I did this, I give all the credit to Karen, who has a Ph.D in Facebooking. I sat back and stayed largely out of the way.
I'm not happy about it. The thing frustrates me to no end, which I'll address in a minute. But it serves a purpose, I suppose, even if I don't see any tangible results yet.
When I tinkered on Karen's FB, I was thoroughly frustrated because I didn't know what to use and how to use it. Nothing's changed now that I have one of my own. While we were setting up the thing, one of the other attorneys in the office commented on one of my Likes, and I went to respond to his Boooooooooooo! with Bite me. Fortunately, Karen stopped me before I posted it, because my otherwise unprofessional response would have gone out globally, something that would have detracted just a bit from the professionalism for which I am striving (but doesn't the Booooooooooo! do the same thing...?).
While trying to learn how to use this, I decided to put down some places that I've been, so I chose an easy one: Dyersville, Iowa, where Field of Dreams was filmed, in part. I dutifully put in Dyersville, Iowa, and the title of the movie, but when I hit enter, it located me in Oklahoma, neither a place I've ever been or anything I typed. Not to be outdone, I put down Door County, Wisconsin, and after I hit enter it located Door County in the Chicago metropolitan area. Again, I never typed anything remotely related to Chicago -- nor was I in Chicago as I typed the entry -- but FB decided that Door County needed to be relocated. FB further decided that entries I was adding were being added in Chicago, somewhere I am and was nowhere near.
I put in that I liked chess, but it took me two days to figure out how to add cribbage and Sudoku. I tried to add books and movies to my likes, but it said that I had read them or watched them instead. When I scroll down the page, my screen keeps recalculating, just like the infernal GPS does when one doesn't follow its idiotic directions. I hate to read documents on the computer and avoid it whenever I can. There's no avoiding it with FB.
For families that are in different parts of the world, FB makes perfect sense. It allows them to keep in touch economically. For businesses and media outlets, it makes sense. Now that I have my own business, in essence, I have to have this. But I hate it. I can't figure the thing out and I don't have anything nearly interesting to say. I don't know when I'm saying something privately instead of publicly, or worse vice versa, and I can't put up pictures of anything because that takes a Rube Goldbergian set up between my camera, my computer, Photobucket and FB, and I'm just not going to spend the time to do it. Yeah, yeah, if I had a smartphone it would be sooooooooooo much easier. But that would require me to attend MIT for three years, minimum, so I could figure out how to use the smartphone...it's a vicious cycle.
The Native Americans did it best: Smoke signals. Would that I could use those instead.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles.
Monday, May 13, 2013
Background checks for gun purchases
As a concept, I'm not opposed to background checks for those wishing to purchase firearms. I see it as a necessary evil to ferret out the mentally disabled and the criminal element who shouldn't be allowed to own and operate firearms. The biggest criticism of background checks is that it allows the federal government to compile a database that will allow it to seize weapons more easily when it feels the need to do so. Proponents of proposed legislation expanding background checks point to the fact that the legislation up for consideration states specifically that it will not establish a database. Critics of the legislation say that it's a short step from that legislation for the government to override that, citing national emergency as its excuse for seizure.
Until this past week, I was in favor of the background checks. Then came the latest hearings on Benghazi, where diplomats on the ground stated that they informed the State department in real time that the consulate was under attack and that there was no spontaneous demonstration. Unknown and nameless government functionaries, for lack of more specific identification, changed this information for public dissemination. That is the heart of the debate now fueling expanded congressional hearings.
Then last week one of the Secret Service agents embroiled in prostitution scandal from a presidential trip to Cartagena, Colombia, is making noise about not getting due process with his case. In his interview with CBS News, he mentions that one of the investigators looking into the case was placed on administrative leave because he refused to redact a portion of his report detailing two other Secret Service higher-ups who were not implicated in the scandal but who could have been. The report and the resolution of the case remain in limbo.
Now news breaks about the IRS scrutinizing conservative groups, examining their tax-exempt status more closely. What's more, this news breaks after an IRS official testified before Congress two years ago claiming that this wasn't going on, which was an absolute lie. At best, this was either a misunderstanding or a mistake; at worst, this is a violation of rights that is sanctionable under the law.
The trouble is that this undermines the people's confidence in government at a time when it's being asked to support even more government. On the one hand it's being told that more government is needed to protect it from private interests that threaten its freedoms, yet government itself is restricting its freedoms either directly by attacking those groups not allied with the government or indirectly by whitewashing or hiding information that the public has a right to know. If in fact this is a government by the people and for the people, the government should not be keeping it at arms length unless there's a serious issue of national security involved. Conservative groups, Secret Service agents' misfeasance and motivations for attacks on American consulates are not things about which the public should be kept in the dark.
One of the unintended consequences of this governmental behavior is that it undercuts the notion that gun control can be bought by having expanded background checks with the promise of no database being created. Given the IRS's malfeasance, the whitewashing of news stories for political considerations and the failure to include politically-connected people in a report critical about misdeeds by the very agency responsible to protect the President, why would anyone believe the government when it says it's not interested in seizing weapons? Constitutions arguments aside, the public is right to be wary that the government is looking for ways to seize guns in support of its gun control initiative. To think otherwise is naive.
Perhaps as I get older I become more cynical. To be sure, as I age I feel more emboldened to speak my mind. I just think that with these three examples, there is every reason to distrust the government when it tries to assure the public that it's only looking out for the public weal and not its own.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Until this past week, I was in favor of the background checks. Then came the latest hearings on Benghazi, where diplomats on the ground stated that they informed the State department in real time that the consulate was under attack and that there was no spontaneous demonstration. Unknown and nameless government functionaries, for lack of more specific identification, changed this information for public dissemination. That is the heart of the debate now fueling expanded congressional hearings.
Then last week one of the Secret Service agents embroiled in prostitution scandal from a presidential trip to Cartagena, Colombia, is making noise about not getting due process with his case. In his interview with CBS News, he mentions that one of the investigators looking into the case was placed on administrative leave because he refused to redact a portion of his report detailing two other Secret Service higher-ups who were not implicated in the scandal but who could have been. The report and the resolution of the case remain in limbo.
Now news breaks about the IRS scrutinizing conservative groups, examining their tax-exempt status more closely. What's more, this news breaks after an IRS official testified before Congress two years ago claiming that this wasn't going on, which was an absolute lie. At best, this was either a misunderstanding or a mistake; at worst, this is a violation of rights that is sanctionable under the law.
The trouble is that this undermines the people's confidence in government at a time when it's being asked to support even more government. On the one hand it's being told that more government is needed to protect it from private interests that threaten its freedoms, yet government itself is restricting its freedoms either directly by attacking those groups not allied with the government or indirectly by whitewashing or hiding information that the public has a right to know. If in fact this is a government by the people and for the people, the government should not be keeping it at arms length unless there's a serious issue of national security involved. Conservative groups, Secret Service agents' misfeasance and motivations for attacks on American consulates are not things about which the public should be kept in the dark.
One of the unintended consequences of this governmental behavior is that it undercuts the notion that gun control can be bought by having expanded background checks with the promise of no database being created. Given the IRS's malfeasance, the whitewashing of news stories for political considerations and the failure to include politically-connected people in a report critical about misdeeds by the very agency responsible to protect the President, why would anyone believe the government when it says it's not interested in seizing weapons? Constitutions arguments aside, the public is right to be wary that the government is looking for ways to seize guns in support of its gun control initiative. To think otherwise is naive.
Perhaps as I get older I become more cynical. To be sure, as I age I feel more emboldened to speak my mind. I just think that with these three examples, there is every reason to distrust the government when it tries to assure the public that it's only looking out for the public weal and not its own.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Sunday, May 12, 2013
May 12 and Mother's Day
Today is May 12, Mother's Day. May 12 is my favorite day of the year, for odd reasons. In an ironic twist, on May 12 seventeen years ago is also the last day I ever saw our Mother alive.
Mom was sick and dying of lung cancer. We knew she was terminal after having talked with her oncologist back in January of that year. Imagine being in the room when the doctor tells your beloved parent she's going to die within months, and she being far too young for that news.
Our Mom was my best friend, my protector, my teacher, my confidante. She was the closest person in the world to me until I met Karen. We didn't always agree on everything, but we never had major disagreements, either.
Mom taught me how to cook. She taught me how to read, how to love music, how to look at things with a critical eye. She even taught me how to throw.
I came home seventeen years ago for what I knew was going to be her last Mother's Day ever. I sat close next to her and talked with her as if there were no sword hanging over her head. I made sure to tell her I loved her and left, not knowing that I would never see her alive again.
When our brother called me telling me it wasn't good, I made it out to the hospital as quickly as I could. I arrived on the floor and stopped for a brief minute to hug our little nephews. While I was putting him down, the nurse came out and told us our Mother had just died.
I went into the room sobbing and saw our Mother's body on her bed, lifeless. I knew then that she had passed but somehow was in a state of suspended animation, disbelieving that she was gone because I'd arrived to say goodbye. She couldn't be gone yet. But she was.
Today is one of the few times when Mother's Day and May 12 have lined up in the same year since she passed. I think about Mom every single day. I wish she'd been able to meet Karen; they would have been good friends. I miss her more than I can possibly explain, but just the same as Karen misses her father and countless others miss someone who was once close to them.
I love her still to this day and make sure her memory is not forgotten.
Happy Mother's Day, Mom.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Mom was sick and dying of lung cancer. We knew she was terminal after having talked with her oncologist back in January of that year. Imagine being in the room when the doctor tells your beloved parent she's going to die within months, and she being far too young for that news.
Our Mom was my best friend, my protector, my teacher, my confidante. She was the closest person in the world to me until I met Karen. We didn't always agree on everything, but we never had major disagreements, either.
Mom taught me how to cook. She taught me how to read, how to love music, how to look at things with a critical eye. She even taught me how to throw.
I came home seventeen years ago for what I knew was going to be her last Mother's Day ever. I sat close next to her and talked with her as if there were no sword hanging over her head. I made sure to tell her I loved her and left, not knowing that I would never see her alive again.
When our brother called me telling me it wasn't good, I made it out to the hospital as quickly as I could. I arrived on the floor and stopped for a brief minute to hug our little nephews. While I was putting him down, the nurse came out and told us our Mother had just died.
I went into the room sobbing and saw our Mother's body on her bed, lifeless. I knew then that she had passed but somehow was in a state of suspended animation, disbelieving that she was gone because I'd arrived to say goodbye. She couldn't be gone yet. But she was.
Today is one of the few times when Mother's Day and May 12 have lined up in the same year since she passed. I think about Mom every single day. I wish she'd been able to meet Karen; they would have been good friends. I miss her more than I can possibly explain, but just the same as Karen misses her father and countless others miss someone who was once close to them.
I love her still to this day and make sure her memory is not forgotten.
Happy Mother's Day, Mom.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Friday, May 10, 2013
Being an attorney
For as long as I can remember, I wanted to be an attorney. I wasn't drawn to it because of riches or fame. In fact, when I first started entertaining the idea of becoming an attorney, there were very few television shows about the law on the air. Really, the only one I remember by that time was Perry Mason, and I had and continue to have no interest in criminal law. What's more, I'm not a litigator and have little intention of ever becoming one.
When college recruiters came to our school to pitch their universities, I asked them about their law schools. I was told in almost a dismissively parental way that I would have to go through undergrad first and then apply to law school. This made no sense to me, so I'd ask them Why? Most of them, I'm sure, thought I was being cute. I wasn't.
I went to law school and I was right: Undergrad did nothing to prepare me for law school. I would have been better served going directly to law school rather than wasting four years with subjects that may or may not have interested me.
Twenty-three years ago today I was admitted to practice law. Since then, I've been admitted to several federal jurisdictions and practiced before countless judges. I've enjoyed some of my time and I've hated other times. I've met great people and I've met worse scoundrels. I've had some epic battles with other attorneys and I've suffered through more banality and stupidity than I care to remember.
But what I don't have anymore is a career. Our Mother always told us we should have something upon which to fall back in the event we found ourselves in dire straits. I have three college degrees and have demonstrated competence and success but I have no career to show for it. I have been deceived by more employers than I can shake a stick and have lost out on jobs because of politics. What was once a profession is now a business.
I was probably never and will certainly never be a great attorney. I was a competent attorney, a worker bee, someone with occasionally brilliant results but more often merely adequate ones. The Supreme Court was never my calling and I was never destined to wear a robe. But I am damned good at what I do, I treat my clients right and I obtain the results they want, honestly. None of that matters a wit.
So my career is over. What I'm going to do with the rest of my life is open to question.
At the swearing-in ceremony, the state Supreme Court justice intoned From now on you are no longer just another Tom, Dick or Harriet but attorneys entitled to be called Esquire. My brother, who was seated to the other side of our Mother, leaned in front of her and whispered in a voice audible enough for the fifty closest strangers to hear, I don't care what he says I'm still going to call you a dick. I often told that anecdote for it's clever and witty humor.
I just didn't realize how prophetic he was.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
When college recruiters came to our school to pitch their universities, I asked them about their law schools. I was told in almost a dismissively parental way that I would have to go through undergrad first and then apply to law school. This made no sense to me, so I'd ask them Why? Most of them, I'm sure, thought I was being cute. I wasn't.
I went to law school and I was right: Undergrad did nothing to prepare me for law school. I would have been better served going directly to law school rather than wasting four years with subjects that may or may not have interested me.
Twenty-three years ago today I was admitted to practice law. Since then, I've been admitted to several federal jurisdictions and practiced before countless judges. I've enjoyed some of my time and I've hated other times. I've met great people and I've met worse scoundrels. I've had some epic battles with other attorneys and I've suffered through more banality and stupidity than I care to remember.
But what I don't have anymore is a career. Our Mother always told us we should have something upon which to fall back in the event we found ourselves in dire straits. I have three college degrees and have demonstrated competence and success but I have no career to show for it. I have been deceived by more employers than I can shake a stick and have lost out on jobs because of politics. What was once a profession is now a business.
I was probably never and will certainly never be a great attorney. I was a competent attorney, a worker bee, someone with occasionally brilliant results but more often merely adequate ones. The Supreme Court was never my calling and I was never destined to wear a robe. But I am damned good at what I do, I treat my clients right and I obtain the results they want, honestly. None of that matters a wit.
So my career is over. What I'm going to do with the rest of my life is open to question.
At the swearing-in ceremony, the state Supreme Court justice intoned From now on you are no longer just another Tom, Dick or Harriet but attorneys entitled to be called Esquire. My brother, who was seated to the other side of our Mother, leaned in front of her and whispered in a voice audible enough for the fifty closest strangers to hear, I don't care what he says I'm still going to call you a dick. I often told that anecdote for it's clever and witty humor.
I just didn't realize how prophetic he was.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Spain in May
May is my favorite month. It's not yet too warm, and it's not too cool. Baseball season is revving up, basketball and hockey are in the first stages of the playoffs and the end of school is right around the corner.
When I lived in Spain, May was the best month in which to visit the country. The country tends to get very hot during the summer -- almost unbearably so at times -- and May is that nice calm before the storm. Flowers are blooming there, and they paint a picture that is almost stereotypical of Spain. Córdoba, where I visited a few times, has a festival during May that centers on the plazas that homeowners decorate in dazzling fashion.
Here are some examples of the homes:
Sure, it can be overkill sometimes. There is a competition that encourages it, I do believe. But it's so festive that one can't help to enjoy the scenery.
Another aspect of Spain in May is that many of the towns string Italian lights in their parks and streets. In Spain, a tradition still endures of the paseo, or the stroll, that usually takes place anywhere from seven to eleven in the evening. The nights lend a certain ambiance to the stroll. With the floral decorations and the lights, it's quite pleasant to walk through a Spanish town at dusk.
May is also in between major holidays. Of course, Semana Santa takes place in April and los sanfermines begin in early July, but there aren't too many major holidays in Spain outside San Isidro, who is the patron saint of Madrid. People relax during this period and gear up for the bigger holidays coming during the summer.
When I lived in Spain, I was winding down my teaching job in May and saying my goodbyes. I was torn about returning to the States, which I really didn't want to do, fearing that I would never have the chance to return to my adopted country. I made my usual side trips outside the capital, visiting Valencia and Barcelona among other towns. But the atmosphere in Spain during May was absolutely the most pleasant I experienced my entire time there. I subsequently returned in May of 1999 and had a wonderful time in country.
If anyone is thinking of visiting Spain, the best time of year to do so is May. Tourists usually show up later in the season. The weather's beautiful. There aren't too many high-profile festivals that make movement around the country or in particular towns difficult. It's just a wonderful time to visit Spain.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
When I lived in Spain, May was the best month in which to visit the country. The country tends to get very hot during the summer -- almost unbearably so at times -- and May is that nice calm before the storm. Flowers are blooming there, and they paint a picture that is almost stereotypical of Spain. Córdoba, where I visited a few times, has a festival during May that centers on the plazas that homeowners decorate in dazzling fashion.
Here are some examples of the homes:
Sure, it can be overkill sometimes. There is a competition that encourages it, I do believe. But it's so festive that one can't help to enjoy the scenery.
Another aspect of Spain in May is that many of the towns string Italian lights in their parks and streets. In Spain, a tradition still endures of the paseo, or the stroll, that usually takes place anywhere from seven to eleven in the evening. The nights lend a certain ambiance to the stroll. With the floral decorations and the lights, it's quite pleasant to walk through a Spanish town at dusk.
May is also in between major holidays. Of course, Semana Santa takes place in April and los sanfermines begin in early July, but there aren't too many major holidays in Spain outside San Isidro, who is the patron saint of Madrid. People relax during this period and gear up for the bigger holidays coming during the summer.
When I lived in Spain, I was winding down my teaching job in May and saying my goodbyes. I was torn about returning to the States, which I really didn't want to do, fearing that I would never have the chance to return to my adopted country. I made my usual side trips outside the capital, visiting Valencia and Barcelona among other towns. But the atmosphere in Spain during May was absolutely the most pleasant I experienced my entire time there. I subsequently returned in May of 1999 and had a wonderful time in country.
If anyone is thinking of visiting Spain, the best time of year to do so is May. Tourists usually show up later in the season. The weather's beautiful. There aren't too many high-profile festivals that make movement around the country or in particular towns difficult. It's just a wonderful time to visit Spain.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Common tasks
Growing up, I remember well the lessons I was taught at school and at home about certain things. I don't know why certain things stuck with me so well when others, like math, quickly departed. But things like English and Spanish and history took root, and the math and science stuff left. Left brain, right brain, I can't explain it, although Karen calls me Left Brain occasionally which, although I sort of understand, I really don't.
But the lessons to which I'm referring aren't about school subjects, per se. These are things that we all do in everyday life. And how we each gets them done differs slightly in some cases and hugely in others. Yet we all manage to accomplish the same thing.
Take penmanship, for example. As we've been told, everyone's hand is different, and only skilled forgers can duplicate someone's handwriting sufficiently to pass scrutiny. But that's not the subject here. I'm referring to how we all hold pens or pencils. I was taught that the correct way to hold the writing instrument is to grip it between the thumb and the forefinger. Yet I see people gripping it between their thumbs and forefingers and index fingers, others between the thumb and the index finger alone. I've tried to grip the tool like that and I can barely hold it, much less write with it.
Then there's the script that comes out from the writing. Doctors are notorious for having bad penmanship, but with the advent of the computer, handwriting has deteriorated horribly. Even mine has, and I try to maintain a certain degree of legibility. But how women of a certain age write is interesting, because it's as if their handwriting hasn't matured with them. Men's on the other hand, hasn't gotten any more legible with age.
Then there's eating. There are various ways of holding the utensils. Our parents insisted that we do it a certain way and that's how we do it. I have seen other people use utensils as if they were cavemen. Either way, it gets the job done. There is no right or wrong way, but whenever I see this, I wonder what our Mother would have done if I'd held the utensils any other way.
There's also how to put a roll of toilet paper on the roller. In this instance, I'm talking about a horizontal roller: Does the paper roll over the top or under the bottom? I used to do it under the bottom, but in my later years I've switched to over the top. I was wrong; it's better over the top.
How about brushing one's teeth? For years, I brushed down with the direction of my teeth. This I was told by a dentist when I was in my teens. I've had very few dental problems and thought that this was the correct way to brush as a result. It wasn't until I got into my forties that I was told by another dentist that this was incorrect, and that I should be brushing them horizontally. I've since changed. But for over thirty years I brushed my teeth in the same fashion, incorrectly.
There are probably other examples of this that I'm overlooking. But I find it fascinating the way we all do the same things, differently.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
But the lessons to which I'm referring aren't about school subjects, per se. These are things that we all do in everyday life. And how we each gets them done differs slightly in some cases and hugely in others. Yet we all manage to accomplish the same thing.
Take penmanship, for example. As we've been told, everyone's hand is different, and only skilled forgers can duplicate someone's handwriting sufficiently to pass scrutiny. But that's not the subject here. I'm referring to how we all hold pens or pencils. I was taught that the correct way to hold the writing instrument is to grip it between the thumb and the forefinger. Yet I see people gripping it between their thumbs and forefingers and index fingers, others between the thumb and the index finger alone. I've tried to grip the tool like that and I can barely hold it, much less write with it.
Then there's the script that comes out from the writing. Doctors are notorious for having bad penmanship, but with the advent of the computer, handwriting has deteriorated horribly. Even mine has, and I try to maintain a certain degree of legibility. But how women of a certain age write is interesting, because it's as if their handwriting hasn't matured with them. Men's on the other hand, hasn't gotten any more legible with age.
Then there's eating. There are various ways of holding the utensils. Our parents insisted that we do it a certain way and that's how we do it. I have seen other people use utensils as if they were cavemen. Either way, it gets the job done. There is no right or wrong way, but whenever I see this, I wonder what our Mother would have done if I'd held the utensils any other way.
There's also how to put a roll of toilet paper on the roller. In this instance, I'm talking about a horizontal roller: Does the paper roll over the top or under the bottom? I used to do it under the bottom, but in my later years I've switched to over the top. I was wrong; it's better over the top.
How about brushing one's teeth? For years, I brushed down with the direction of my teeth. This I was told by a dentist when I was in my teens. I've had very few dental problems and thought that this was the correct way to brush as a result. It wasn't until I got into my forties that I was told by another dentist that this was incorrect, and that I should be brushing them horizontally. I've since changed. But for over thirty years I brushed my teeth in the same fashion, incorrectly.
There are probably other examples of this that I'm overlooking. But I find it fascinating the way we all do the same things, differently.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Fashion????
Fashion or style has always eluded me. I have no concept of what is really good looking and what is only marginally bad looking. It shows in the way I dress, because I typically dress for comfort. Being as big as I am has also limited, to some extent, what's available to me. Elsewhere I've discussed my difficulty in finding clothes to fit me; if I had an unlimited budget I might be able to shop better, but I don't so I wear what I can find.
I state that at the outset to make it clear, unreservedly, that I am in no position to be a fashion critic. Even so, I can have my opinions. And last night, there was something called the Met Costume Institute Gala in New York City where famous people dressed up. I'm not quite clear on the concept and I don't really care to be enlightened, but that doesn't really matter. What matters is what the people wore.
Let's start off with an oldie but a baddie: Gwenyth Paltrow:
WTF????
But that's comparatively tame compared to some of the other entries:
Nicole Ritchie:
What did she see that scared her so that her hair turned white?
Kim Kardashian and Kanye West:
I understand the woman's pregnant, but did she have to try to look like a couch by taking the leftover fabric as a dress? As for Kanye West...he always either looks drugged out (as he does here) or angry.
January Jones:
An otherwise attractive woman, didn't she realize the new Star Trek movie was already cast?
Miley Cyrus:
Great dress, but did she see the same thing Nicole Ritchie saw?
Madonna:
Proving that many dominatrices come from parochial schools.
Kristen Stewart:
She's mastered the art of looking like a drug addict without doing drugs.
Elizabeth Banks:
Such a beautiful woman who apparently kept her wardrobe from The Hunger Games.
Ginnifer Goodwin:
The dress wasn't horrible but this??? Was her designer a raccoon?
Cameron Diaz:
I don't even know what to call that. A throw? A rug? A throw-rug?
But the winner and still champion of bad dressing claimed to be styling, Sarah Jessica Parker:
If Kardashian took the couch fabric, Parker took the curtains. For the life of me, I don't know who died and decreed that this woman was a leader in fashion. I can't recall the last time I saw her look presentable. I think Sex and the City went to her head.
Again, this is really the pot calling the kettle black. I don't know that I could have done much better myself. For one, none of these outfits would have fit on me. But even if they had, I probably would have chosen something equally horrid. Well, Karen wouldn't have let me out of the house in it, but I wouldn't have had any better idea.
It's really not something about which I have any business commenting about. But an eyesore is still an eyesore, no matter to whom the eye belongs.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
I state that at the outset to make it clear, unreservedly, that I am in no position to be a fashion critic. Even so, I can have my opinions. And last night, there was something called the Met Costume Institute Gala in New York City where famous people dressed up. I'm not quite clear on the concept and I don't really care to be enlightened, but that doesn't really matter. What matters is what the people wore.
Let's start off with an oldie but a baddie: Gwenyth Paltrow:
WTF????
But that's comparatively tame compared to some of the other entries:
Nicole Ritchie:
What did she see that scared her so that her hair turned white?
Kim Kardashian and Kanye West:
I understand the woman's pregnant, but did she have to try to look like a couch by taking the leftover fabric as a dress? As for Kanye West...he always either looks drugged out (as he does here) or angry.
January Jones:
An otherwise attractive woman, didn't she realize the new Star Trek movie was already cast?
Miley Cyrus:
Great dress, but did she see the same thing Nicole Ritchie saw?
Madonna:
Proving that many dominatrices come from parochial schools.
Kristen Stewart:
She's mastered the art of looking like a drug addict without doing drugs.
Elizabeth Banks:
Such a beautiful woman who apparently kept her wardrobe from The Hunger Games.
Ginnifer Goodwin:
The dress wasn't horrible but this??? Was her designer a raccoon?
Cameron Diaz:
I don't even know what to call that. A throw? A rug? A throw-rug?
But the winner and still champion of bad dressing claimed to be styling, Sarah Jessica Parker:
If Kardashian took the couch fabric, Parker took the curtains. For the life of me, I don't know who died and decreed that this woman was a leader in fashion. I can't recall the last time I saw her look presentable. I think Sex and the City went to her head.
Again, this is really the pot calling the kettle black. I don't know that I could have done much better myself. For one, none of these outfits would have fit on me. But even if they had, I probably would have chosen something equally horrid. Well, Karen wouldn't have let me out of the house in it, but I wouldn't have had any better idea.
It's really not something about which I have any business commenting about. But an eyesore is still an eyesore, no matter to whom the eye belongs.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Contradictions
Karen oftentimes will call me goofy. In fact, she uses myriad words to inform me of my goofiness, and there's only one to which I object. There is no doubt that my demeanor bears a passing resemblance to Dr. Sheldon Cooper, although by no means am I as intelligent as he is.
My quirks aren't as obsure as Dr. Cooper's. I admit they're not in the mainstream, but I'm not sufficiently intelligent from a scientific or technological standpoint to be that far out of the mainstream. Then again, perhaps because I do need idiot-friendly software I'm that far out of the mainstream.
Either way, here then are my quirks, both little and small:
I eat my dinners in order, from the vegetables and potatoes to the meat. Meat is always last.
I read when I pump gas.
I don't really care all that much for pro football but love the draft and college football.
I speak Spanish and lived in Spain but went to a French-affiliated law school instead of the Spanish-affiliated law school.
I can't remember jokes or lyrics but I can remember sports statistics.
I dribbled better left-handed than right-handed even though I'm right-handed.
I'd rather use a map than a GPS.
I hate cellphones.
No matter what the weather, I have to sleep with something covering me.
I segregate my books according to type, not alphabetically. But I alphabetize within each grouping.
I can throw and bat left-handed, but I can't eat, brush my teeth or comb my hair left-handed.
I don't consider style when buying shoes, just comfort.
I prefer watches and clocks with Roman numerals.
I don't like squared cars.
I spell it grey instead of gray.
I don't like wet bread.
I'm not a small man yet my handwriting's like a girl's.
I can't eat cooked eggs but can bake with them.
I love fruit and I love meat, but I don't like them mixed.
I like watermelon, but not cantaloupe or any other melons.
I love chocolate but not hard candy or gum.
My printing is less legible than my handwriting.
I don't mind flying but I'm not keen about rollercoasters.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
My quirks aren't as obsure as Dr. Cooper's. I admit they're not in the mainstream, but I'm not sufficiently intelligent from a scientific or technological standpoint to be that far out of the mainstream. Then again, perhaps because I do need idiot-friendly software I'm that far out of the mainstream.
Either way, here then are my quirks, both little and small:
I eat my dinners in order, from the vegetables and potatoes to the meat. Meat is always last.
I read when I pump gas.
I don't really care all that much for pro football but love the draft and college football.
I speak Spanish and lived in Spain but went to a French-affiliated law school instead of the Spanish-affiliated law school.
I can't remember jokes or lyrics but I can remember sports statistics.
I dribbled better left-handed than right-handed even though I'm right-handed.
I'd rather use a map than a GPS.
I hate cellphones.
No matter what the weather, I have to sleep with something covering me.
I segregate my books according to type, not alphabetically. But I alphabetize within each grouping.
I can throw and bat left-handed, but I can't eat, brush my teeth or comb my hair left-handed.
I don't consider style when buying shoes, just comfort.
I prefer watches and clocks with Roman numerals.
I don't like squared cars.
I spell it grey instead of gray.
I don't like wet bread.
I'm not a small man yet my handwriting's like a girl's.
I can't eat cooked eggs but can bake with them.
I love fruit and I love meat, but I don't like them mixed.
I like watermelon, but not cantaloupe or any other melons.
I love chocolate but not hard candy or gum.
My printing is less legible than my handwriting.
I don't mind flying but I'm not keen about rollercoasters.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Sunday, May 5, 2013
Spangler in the kitchen
I could never be a chef. Heck, I can barely cook. Our Mother used to teach me how to cook because she always wanted me to be able to fend for myself, and I enjoyed it. Of course, I enjoyed licking the spoon, or the beaters, or whatever else was tasty, and that helped. But I actually enjoyed cooking and especially baking.
When I was in school, I would make up dishes that suited my palate. I'd take mashed potatoes, grill some onions, some green peppers and whatever vegetables I had, then some ground turkey or pulled chicken, spice it to taste and have a meal fit for an impoverished grad student. If I didn't have potatoes I'd do the same thing with rice. At holiday time, I'd cook two big turkeys for Thanksgiving and Christmas, eat my meals and freeze the rest of the meat to use in these concoctions. I always enjoyed the meals.
Baking was always enjoyable. I'd make applesauce loaf, cookies, pies from scratch. Of course, I ate too much, but it was as much the baking as the eating that I enjoyed.
Nowadays, I don't get to cook as much simply because Karen's palate is far softer than mine. I can eat spicy with little difficulty, although this is not to suggest I'd be a phenom on the Scoville scale. Karen has very valid reasons for not eating spicy foods, and I adjust. But when I get a free weekend alone, I enjoy amping up the spice.
One of my favorite meals is Dirty Rice. I take the Zatarain's brand Dirty Rice mix, cook up some ground turkey, julienne some green or red pepper, then slice and brown some andouille sausage and mix it together. The andouille gives the added spice so I don't need to add anything. Karen tells me it smells like ass, but I love it.
I've learned to eat hot dogs with something sold locally called mouffelatta, otherwise known as olive salad and not to be confused with the New Orleans bread by the same name. I put that in my hot dog bun and lay the hot dog on top of it. It gives the hot dog a nice heat that needs no other garnishment.
Not surprisingly, Karen's chili and taco mixes are pretty bland for my taste. It's not that they're bad, they're just not spicy. One thing I learned to do as a student was to use the packaged taco mix but instead of putting in the water as called for, I used salsa, usually thick and chunky. This thickens the taco mix so that in the shell, it stays more compact with whatever else is put in with the meat.
I love to experiment when I cook, but I don't get to do it much anymore.
One memory of our Mother in the kitchen that I cherish is when she tried to figure out the ingredients for the Big Mac, Kentucky Fried chicken and a local favorite known as a Colonial burger. She came pretty close, all things considered, but it was watching her focus on her tests and then serving them to us that makes me smile the broadest.
She gave me a great gift when she taught me not only how to cook but how not to fear the kitchen. As I've said countless times, there is so much I don't know, and that's reinforced every time I watch Top Chef. There are things I would still like to experience, like a clambake, cooking a fresh catch out of the river, making a reasonably good paella. But until I experience those things, I'm just grateful Mom took the time to teach me what she knew.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
When I was in school, I would make up dishes that suited my palate. I'd take mashed potatoes, grill some onions, some green peppers and whatever vegetables I had, then some ground turkey or pulled chicken, spice it to taste and have a meal fit for an impoverished grad student. If I didn't have potatoes I'd do the same thing with rice. At holiday time, I'd cook two big turkeys for Thanksgiving and Christmas, eat my meals and freeze the rest of the meat to use in these concoctions. I always enjoyed the meals.
Baking was always enjoyable. I'd make applesauce loaf, cookies, pies from scratch. Of course, I ate too much, but it was as much the baking as the eating that I enjoyed.
Nowadays, I don't get to cook as much simply because Karen's palate is far softer than mine. I can eat spicy with little difficulty, although this is not to suggest I'd be a phenom on the Scoville scale. Karen has very valid reasons for not eating spicy foods, and I adjust. But when I get a free weekend alone, I enjoy amping up the spice.
One of my favorite meals is Dirty Rice. I take the Zatarain's brand Dirty Rice mix, cook up some ground turkey, julienne some green or red pepper, then slice and brown some andouille sausage and mix it together. The andouille gives the added spice so I don't need to add anything. Karen tells me it smells like ass, but I love it.
I've learned to eat hot dogs with something sold locally called mouffelatta, otherwise known as olive salad and not to be confused with the New Orleans bread by the same name. I put that in my hot dog bun and lay the hot dog on top of it. It gives the hot dog a nice heat that needs no other garnishment.
Not surprisingly, Karen's chili and taco mixes are pretty bland for my taste. It's not that they're bad, they're just not spicy. One thing I learned to do as a student was to use the packaged taco mix but instead of putting in the water as called for, I used salsa, usually thick and chunky. This thickens the taco mix so that in the shell, it stays more compact with whatever else is put in with the meat.
I love to experiment when I cook, but I don't get to do it much anymore.
One memory of our Mother in the kitchen that I cherish is when she tried to figure out the ingredients for the Big Mac, Kentucky Fried chicken and a local favorite known as a Colonial burger. She came pretty close, all things considered, but it was watching her focus on her tests and then serving them to us that makes me smile the broadest.
She gave me a great gift when she taught me not only how to cook but how not to fear the kitchen. As I've said countless times, there is so much I don't know, and that's reinforced every time I watch Top Chef. There are things I would still like to experience, like a clambake, cooking a fresh catch out of the river, making a reasonably good paella. But until I experience those things, I'm just grateful Mom took the time to teach me what she knew.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
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