Idiocy and the internet

The internet can be a dangerous, sad and sometimes daunting place.  I've been on websites for various of my interests and almost on every one of them, I've encountered what I've learned are known as internet trolls.  These trolls use the virtual courage that the ether bestows on them to push their own agenda, taunt and humiliate those who dare to disagree with them and, in some instances, meddle in the other persons' lives.  I've known people who have suffered horribly at these trolls' hands, and there's little to do about the internet bullying.  On the one hand, you have an actionable tort, but on the other, you have the assumption of risk.  Furthermore, some people may be too humiliated to make their sufferings public.  Not everyone can be as brave or naive as Mantei Te'o.

I'm sure some of these trolls feel their vigor is justified.  Some of them are simply delusional, others are sanctimonious to an extreme.  There are those who would say that some of my positions on issues, such as England, are extreme, and I would have to agree.  But as Charles Barkley's said (or quoted, I don't remember), opinions are like buttholes and everyone's got one.

I don't begrudge anyone his or her opinion even if it differs with mine.  I enjoy the frank exchange of ideas, especially if I stand to learn something in the process.

My complaint about some of these trolls, however, has little to do with their vitriol, their invasiveness, their sometimes unreasoned idiocy.  No, it has to do with their grammar.

Assuming, for a second, that something posted online isn't dripping with venom, I generally appreciate a well-reasoned if argumentative position.  Online, those can be few and far between.  But what irks me more than anything is sloppy spelling, misuse of words and other rhetorical miscues (logical inconsistencies, historical inaccuracies, outright lying).

For today, I'm going to focus on the grammar and the misuse of words.  Before we get into the meat of the matter, let's stipulate this:  Everyone makes mistakes.  Typos happen to me all the time.  I don't proofread what I type here and Karen will tell me later of mistakes that I never saw.  So I'm not expecting perfection by any means.  To paraphrase, stuff happens. 

Yet it becomes evident after reading a couple of lines or a couple of posts that someone is either functionally illiterate, hopelessly stupid or using English as his or her second language.  At least the person in the last category has an excuse; the first two don't.

I admit that I have trouble with certain verbal constructions; lay and lie confuddle me whenever I need to go to the preterite.  But I do know how to access the internet, I know how to use a dictionary.  Some people either don't know how to use those tools to fix their grammar problems or don't care.

Past and passed are not synonyms.  Their, they're and there mean three distinct things.  If someone is going to be so condescending as to use one of these terms, the least he can do is use them properly.  Using them incorrectly not only detracts from the message but points out that what little thought was put into the original thought didn't cost the person much.

Use of apostrophes is hit or miss.  Sometimes people omit them altogether; I guess this is an outgrowth of the texting craze, something that passed me by.  It's and its are hilariously mistaken often, and the test to make sure one is using is the correct form is, ironically, quite simple.  But to expect someone so loaded up with hatred to take the time to check his work is simply asking too much.

There is and there are are almost becoming interchangeable.  Heck, if news anchors can't even use them correctly, why should some amped up tool?

Perhaps my fondest mistake of all time was this self-proclaimed druid who liked to harken back to the good ole days and talk of his drinking meade.  Karen thinks I'm the only one who would get this, but every time he'd use meade instead of mead, I'd post this:

That, ladies and gentlemen, is the victorious general at the battle of Gettysburg, George Meade.  Unlike his predecessor Joseph Hooker and his successor U.S. Grant, George Meade drank in moderation, if at all, and almost certainly never drank mead.

Of course, by pointing these simple mistakes out, I run the risk of being labeled snooty.  To some extent perhaps I am.  But when someone attacks me and misuses language so horribly as to distract and detract from his essential message, what's the point of continuing the argument?  Someone who so woefully uses the language with which he wants to fight me is like fencing against someone using a wet noodle.


(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Television shows

Karen says I like to watch television too much.  I'm not sure about that.  There's a lot of crap on TV.  I think between the two of us, we like some good shows and like some bad shows.  I admit to having some guilty pleasures that I'm going to keep to myself.  Karen has hers as well, and we both think the other's shows are crappola.  Of course, she designates every thing involving sports as being sports crappola.

Recently, we let go of our cable movie channels for financial reasons.  Sadly, that meant we don't get Dexter, Homeland or Game of Thrones.  There are probably some other shows we'll miss as well, but those are the only ones that I can think of that we'll both miss.

The regular cable channels have some other shows that will fill the void.  Those Alaska-based shows are pretty interesting, for example.  Either way, between what remains on our cable package and Redbox movies, we'll be just fine.

In the meantime, there are a couple of new shows that have caught my interest.  One of them, Scandal, is surprising to me.  It has as its underpinning politics, which I abhor, but the storylines are intriguing to me for some reason.  They don't go too far requiring an absolute suspension of disbelief, but instead posit things that could actually happen.

Another, The Following, beguiles me.  It involves Kevin Bacon as a retired FBI agent who was instrumental in capturing a serial killer.  The killer, after being convicted, escapes from prison some years later and Bacon's character is called back to the force to help apprehend him.  If you haven't seen the show yet, give it a try; I won't explain any more of the plot other to say that the serial killer has a fixation with Edgar Allan Poe.  So far, we're only two episodes in, but I'm hooked.  And Kevin Bacon, a very underrated actor, is excellent in the role.

There's another show debuting on Valentine's Day that has caught my eye called Zero Hour.  I can't find out much about it yet other than it has something to do with a long-standing historical conspiracy.  What's been shown in the promos for the show seem to indicate devices along the lines of what was used in the original National Treasure movie which, despite the participation of Nicholas Cage, I could watch repeatedly.  I know the links between historical events in that movie -- and perhaps this new show -- are largely conjecture, but it fascinates me nevertheless.  I hope Zero Hour is on the same par.

A few years ago I was hooked on another such show, 24.  I almost didn't watch it because of Kiefer Sutherland, a member of the Nicholas Cage acting school.  The first episode was so thrilling I stuck with it and although later seasons never really measured up to the excitement of the first two, there were a couple of good seasons that kept me watching.

For all this I probably have to thank The Fugitive.  Although I never saw the show, the basic premise seems to have given birth to these kinds of shows.  Wiseguy, a show from the 80's, was another show that popularized arcs. 

What all of them have in common is a cerebral quality that makes me think.  I like to try to figure out what's going to happen next and am pleasantly surprised, typically, when I'm wrong and the plot plays out.  I enjoy the cleverness of twists and turns that are at the same time realistic. 

(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Dreams

I don't remember my dreams.  Sure, I have them, but I rarely, if ever, remember much about them.  Karen remembers hers and, may I just say, they are vivid and beyond weird sometime.  I always get a kick out of hearing what she dreamt.  Sadly, for her, I can' return the favor.

That being said, I do have moments of reverie that I remember all too well.  Perhaps they qualify as daydreams which, I suppose, make them dreams, but when I say I don't remember my dreams, I mean to say that I don't remember those dreams that I have when I sleep.

These dreams or reveries that I have recur.  I can have a moment of silence and these thoughts will come back to me.  I have no control over it, much like dreams during sleep.  But unlike the dreams that I have during sleep, I remember these.

One of the most enduring dreams or reveries that I have involves me rolling over every single inch of land or ice on earth.  I imagine rolling -- not walking or running, but rolling -- through every dale and valley, up every hill and mountain, and over every desert and plain, on each continent.  I'm not one who can interpret dreams with any accuracy, but I suppose the easiest interpretation is that my love of travel and learning about other cultures explains this reverie.  When I think about this, I try to figure out how long it would take me to do this, and whether I'd be able to enjoy or even look at the lands through which I was rolling.  The odd thing about this particular dream is that whenever I'm rolling through the world, it's always daytime and it's always sunny out.  That, of course, proves the delusion.

One of the other bits of reverie involves the end of time.  Admittedly, I've never read the entirety of Revelations, and Karen's told me much of the predictions in it.  I've read some parts on my own, and I've heard Nostradamus' take on things, but I'm otherwise uninformed.

For whatever reason, I've pondered whether time will end when every possible song combination or every possible chess variation is played.  From what little I understand about music, the possible combinations of melodies are endless.  The only being, then, that could possibly figure out all of them is God.  The theory, then, is that God would decide when time is to end by allowing man to finally grasp every possible variation.  It's hard for us to conceive, with our humanity, but God alone could do it.  When that were to happen, time would end.

Likewise, chess involves endless permutations.  The sixty-four square board would appear to be limited, but the pieces all have different ways of moving.  Add to that the various strategies, between openings, middle game and endgames, and the different games are endless.  The only being, again, that could determine all of that is God.  And when He's ready for time to end, He'll allow each variation to be played by man.

I don't know why I think these things.  I don't think that they're determinative of anything.  But I can't hold a candle to Karen's dreams.  Mine, not surprisingly, are more abstruse.

(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Chefs

I like to cook.  I'm no chef by any means.  Our Mother used to teach me things when I was younger out of fear that someday I might find myself all alone without anyone to cook for me.  I'll never be one to cook outstanding meals.  I may, in fact, be little better than a line chef at a diner-dive.

Even so, I appreciate what people can do in the kitchen.  To that end, I enjoy watching some cooking shows, chief among them Top Chef.  I admire their skill and knowledge and marvel at what they're able to whip up under time constraints and with the pressure of the $125,000 prize hanging over their heads, not to mention possible elimination because something wasn't seasoned enough.

Every once in awhile I give flight to my whimsy and wonder whether I could have ever done it.  After all, I like to cook and I love to eat.  But when I get down to brass tacks, I know it's not something that would ever have happened.

Why?  Well, for one reason, I can't keep track of the times that certain things require to be cooked correctly.  I can barely time dishes to make sure everything comes together for weeknight dinner, let alone keep track of several dishes at once.  Then there's the notion of keeping track of every ingredient of what is a classical hollandaise sauce, or how long you cook an egg for hardboiled or softboiled (more on that later).

Then there's the whole French thing.  I hate the language, frankly, and to have to use it to communicate in the kitchen bothers me.  Mise en place?  Seriously?  Why do I have to use French terms for Spanish dishes?  I don't think so.

Then there's the smell of foods.  I can barely smell certain foods.  I can smell strawberries and garlic just fine, but I can't smell a lot of other things.  The danger in this, of course, is that I might not be able to smell foods that are just past their dates.  Horribly putrid things I might be able to smell, but I wonder.

Finally, I don't like certain foods.  On Top Chef, people have either won or lost based on their seared scallops.  For me, ironically, I'm allergic to them -- horribly.  So I wouldn't know what a good scallop tasted like if someone offered me Bill Gates' fortune to tell them.  And eggs....to quote Karen, sort of, blech.  I hate cooked eggs more than any other food.  I cringe when I see someone embellishing a dish with a cooked egg (egg on hamburger?  that's just blasphemy to me...).  And yet, cooked eggs feature in many of the dishes chefs make on television.  I just couldn't do it.  I can use raw eggs in baking, but not cooked eggs on any level.  When I get fried rice, I ask that it contain no egg.  That's another smell I have no trouble recognizing, and it makes me heave.

For those reasons, then, it's best that I never went into culinary school.  Sure, it would be cool to be able to tell people that I graduated from the C.I.A., but I wouldn't want anyone to die at my hand.

Besides, I wouldn't look good in those tall chef hats the French love to wear in the kitchen.

(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Bad industries

In the States, there are some industries that are largely respected.  There are a few, like mine, that are held in ill-repute.  In both cases, some of what forms the opinion is right and some of what forms it is wrong. 

I'm not immune to having my prejudices.  In each case, I haven't been harmed directly by either of these industries, but I've seen others hurt by them.  I think, for the reasons stated, that these industries are in serious need of regulation -- and I'm not typically in favor of more regulation.

The first industry is the credit card industry.  An industry that sends pre-approved credit cards to dead people, animals and children ought not to be allowed to write legislation, but that's what happened in the early part of this century, when Congress allowed itself to be bought by the credit card industry and turned over the duty to re-write the Bankruptcy Code to this industry.  The resulting law, known cynically as the Bankruptcy Abuse Prevention and Consumer Protection Act (BAPCPA), was declared by its proponents as a perfect law.  Within four years a federal court declared certain provisions of it unconstitutional.  Moreover, and perhaps more telling, the final draft that was signed into law misspelled the word bankruptcy.

Keeping pace with the credit card industry in its race through the nine circles of hell is the insurance industry.  It sells itself as protection for consumers and then presents policies with more convoluted rules than the Internal Revenue Code.  The Gordian Knot was easier to untie.  I've seen horror stories wherein coverage was denied over some weasely technicality that, in some situations, is only reversed when the great modern antiseptic, publicity, is shone on the problem via a television story.  I know there's insurance fraud out there, but the insurance companies are at least equally guilty of misusing their own product.

The final industry to draw my wrath and scorn is perhaps not an industry, but it's the organic being known as homeowner's associations.  I find it patently ridiculous that people can be paid to tell me how to live.  I understand that it already exists in places without defined homeowner's associations, where taxes paid to a municipality indirectly fund that entity and allow it to tell a homeowner how to live -- to a certain extent.  But it doesn't typically tell you whether you can put up the American flag.  I've seen stories wherein homeowners were sued because they refused to take the flag down. 

All three industries have at their cores a problem with self-importance.  The first two are capitalist entities, but the third is almost socialist.  Regardless, the three are rife with unfairness and boorishness.  There need to be changes to make each of them more equitable.

(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Best and worst sportscasters

I prefer to watch sporting events at home.  That way, I can avoid all the hassles I've encountered at past sporting events:  high costs, crowds, parking, commuting to the venue, not being able to see the game because of the fools in front of me, etc.  Sure, some could call it lazy, but when you add up the costs of gas, tickets, parking and concessions, then factor in the quality of the viewing experience, sometimes it makes more sense to stay home.

Then again, when you watch from the comfort of your couch, the quality of the viewing experience can vary depending on the transmission of the game, the size of the television screen and, most notably, the experience and competence of the men calling the game.  There are some people who are so good it's almost a religious experience to listen to them.  Then there are others who make you want to tear your ears off.  Sure, you can turn down the volume.  I have friends who turn off the television volume and turn on the radio to listen to people whom they prefer.

Here then is my list of the best and the worst sportscasters whom I've heard in my lifetime.  When I say sportscasters, I'm including anyone who appears on television or radio in connection with a sporting event.  I'm sure it doesn't meet with everyone's approval, but it is what it is:

The Best (in no particular order):

Ernie Harwell/Vin Scully:  Admittedly, I didn't get to listen to them as much as I'd like to have listened to them, but if you're going to talk about the best, you have to start with them.  I wonder how them compared to the likes of Red Smith and Mel Allen, but I'll stick with these two.

Pat Foley:  What Dollar Bill did to him was unconscionable, but Foley has maintained a level of excellence in the Chicago market for over a quarter century.  That he's just a little bit snarky only adds to his charm.

Lloyd Pettit:  Before there was Foley, there was Pettit.  Anyone who grew up during the sixties and seventies and listened to Blackhawks' games knows of what I speak.

Len Casper and Bob Brenley:  Casper is as steady as they come, and Brenley is honest, sometimes brutally so, but he's always right.

Steven Stone:  Before he went elsewhere, Stone's analysis was prized by those who listened to him.  Unfortunately for Stone, he's been saddled with a couple of real doozies, more of whom anon.

Mike Emrick:  I admit he's been a revelation.  He does a consistent and even-handed job.  He's a pleasure to enjoy when he does the national and Olympic games.

James Brown:  He's only the host of an NFL pregame show, but he's about the best there is at it.  Smooth, knowledgeable and friendly, he could announce vote counting results and I'd watch it.

Tony Kornheiser/Michael Wilbon:  The PTI pair needs to be mentioned together.  They're entertaining and knowledgeable, and they're also unafraid of tackling sensitive stories.

Bob Lea:  He's the academic on the list.

Dick Schaap/Jeremy Schaap:  The only father/son duo on the list, it's obvious the apple didn't fall far from the tree.  I always appreciate listening to them and their incisive interviews.

Troy Aikman:   There aren't too many former athletes on this list, but he's good, knowledgeable and quite consistent.  Excellent, in fact.

Shannon Sharpe:  He's got a great love for the game and speaks his mind.  He's a joy to watch.

Jeff Van Gundy:  I wasn't a big fan of his when he coached, but he's an eye-opener as an analyst.

Jay Bilas:  I'm prejudiced, of course, but having an attorney who also played the game in the booth provides excellent, concise analysis.

Verne Lundquist:  There are those who don't like him, but I think he's like the fun uncle with whom you can discuss sports.

Greg Gumbel:  One of the nicest, most self-effacing and subtlely humorous men in the business.

Tim Kurkjian:  Knowledgeable, modest, always ready to laugh at himself and a good audience for others.  Makes the game of baseball that much better because of his boundless enthusiasm.

Scott Van Pelt:  He has a wicked sense of humor and is very smart on a number of different sports.  Always smooth.  He's the kind of guy with whom you'd want to have a beer.

Keith Law:  He deserves special mention here because he's not typically on air that much, but his blogging and inside information is superlative.  I'd love to sit and discuss the ins and outs of baseball with him.


The Worst (again, in no particular order):   

Harry Caray:  I know he was the longtime voice of the St. Louis Cardinals, and he may have been great back in his day, but by the time he got to the Cubs he was a disaster.  Jack Brickhouse may have been vanilla in comparison, but at least Brickhouse wasn't a joke.  Brickhouse was competent.  Caray was on a career bender.

Mike Ditka:  Why this guy is beloved by many I understand to a degree, but why he's viewed as some sort of football savant escapes me.  He drops the same phrases all the time, speaks like he's chewing on jerky at the same time and effects this hard-as-nails persona that's transparently false. 

Joe Buck:  The ultimate pretty frat boy who's in love with the sound of his own voice, he's so grating that he makes Tim McCarver almost palatable.  Not quite, but almost.

Hawk Harrelson:  The man obviously knows his stuff, but he's such a homer that he makes listening to him an exercise in self-induced vomiting.  And all those cutesy catch phrases...grow up already.

Phil Rizzuto:  I only had to listen to him a handful of times, thankfully.  That man rode his teammates coattails all the way to the Hall of Fame, but also into the broadcast booth.

Mike Lupica:  If I understood why Jason Whitlock was let go from ESPN, then he was right and Lupica is a yappy little chihuahua.  Can it already.

Dick Stockton:  So he has a stentorian voice. The man can't speak English properly and he usually gets basic facts wrong.  Why the lovely Lesley Visser ever married him escapes me.

Boomer Esiason:  As with Ditka and Harrelson, he's a walking warning against letting ex-athletes in the booth.  He's just annoying.

Jalen Rose:  I admit a bias against any of the formerly Fab Five, but the incessant off-key singing and the defense of the urban lifestyle injected into sports clashes with what I like. 

Brent Musberger:  After the Honey Badger and She's a beautiful woman episodes, Brent should have stopped when he quit calling You're looking live...

Bryant Gumbel:  Contrary to his brother, Greg, Bryant is one of the most pompous, egotistical and racist people in sports.

(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Random thoughts, the beat goes on

There's a conservative pundit whose message I generally appreciate, but whose rhetoric sours me on his monoloques.  He's the kind of critic to whom liberals rightly point to when they discuss the right's vitrol and venom.  His monologues are exercises in withstanding someone who loved to hear the sound of his own voice.  If only he could tone down his rhetoric to allow his message to be heard...

...Even so, he does one thing that I appreciate.  He regularly issues bans on words or phrases that are overused or hackneyed.  It's not exactly William Safire or Edwin Newman, but it's still funny.  What's more, I enjoy the fact that someone else is taking note of the laziness in speech and writing that pervades our culture.

So here's an nod to him:

At the end of the day, as we double down on kicking the can down the road, an iconic narrative can be achieved by amazing and passionate  job creators on journeys full of chemistry and swag as they fulfil their trending personal bucket lists before the viral fiscal cliff implodes as they hide in their man caves.


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Karen loves to do laundry.  Specifically, she loves to hang laundry out on the line to let it dry in the clean air.

My comparable fascination is chopping firewood.  Actually, it's anything to do with creating firewood, whether it's sawing it or chopping it.  Then I enjoy building and keeping a fire going in the fireplace.  When we're finally in that place that we want to be, I want us to have a great wide fireplace with an inexhaustible source of firewood so we can have plenty of warm fires through the autumn and winter.

Tonight's the coldest night of the year so far and we've had a nice little fire going.  I have enough firewood piled and drying for tomorrow night, when we're supposed to be equally cold.

To me, there's just something comforting and fun about getting firewood.

(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles