Wow.
Has it really been so long since I've posted here? Never thought the blog production would fall off so quickly, or so abrubtly. Well, for my three readers out there, here's a quick update on what's going on in the land of Billy;
We've moved! Megan and I are now comforatably settled in a nice two-bedroom rental, all utilities paid, until at least March 30 of next year. It's pretty interesting how we ended up with the place, actually.
After doing some searching, examining various apartments and one other rental home, Megan received a call from a real estate agent in town, who's basically THE real estate agent here on the south side of town. She had a family that was looking to get out of the rental business and sell their properties, only a planned sale was going to fall through, leaving them stuck with the home that they were in. Piling injury to insult, this family had purchased a home elsewhere in town with more room (they have three children) contingent on the sale or rental of their current home. When the weather turns colder in Fort Wayne, the housing market goes with it--it was unlikely that this family would be able to find a buyer in time to make their move.
That's where Megan and I entered the picture. As potential renters, we represented an attractive fit to the family in dire straits. One, we were only looking to rent until the spring, when my grad school decision was more firmed up (more on that in another post). Two, we would be able to move immediately, and were fine with a short-term lease. Three, we had served as references for friends of ours who had rented from this family (the McMillens) two years ago. A deal was quickly struck, and we moved into our new house with help from friends from church and Fort Wayne the next week.
I don't think it will be easy for us to go back to apartment living after being in a house. First, the difference in available space is, well, astonishing to my space-cramped mind (I spent a year in Japan and another in various one- and two-bedroom apartments, mind you). There's actually room for everything to have a place, and everything to be in its place--something that's key when it comes to keeping an orderly home (my wife is very big on this). Second, we're located in an actual neighborhood, with space between our neighbors and us. In our old place, we had a downstairs neighbor that liked to crank her music and sing along to it, usually at 1 p.m. on a Sunday afternoon--difficult to nap with the warbled strains of Celine Deion or Madonna coming up through the floor. Here, there's blessed quiet. Megan said that at first, when a loud car with the base turned up would pass by, she would start to worry about the noise being permanent. When the car passes by and fades in the distance, she realises again what a difference it makes to have a home of one's own.
Third, (and finally, since I'm getting long-winded here) did I mention all utilities paid? Have that heat turned up enough to keep a (very) pregnant lady warm. Have those Christmas lights on the tree--leave them on all night if you want to. Sure, take a long bath. Take one every morning if you like. Without the worry of a huge utility bill arriving in the mail, our winter season is a lot more comfortable.
If I don't post before Christmas, have a sacred and joyous Christmas season.
Billy
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Friday, November 11, 2005
What to do with my life
I'm beginning to seriously doubt that I'll ever figure out what to do with my life. I thought I had a plan, up until today, only to have the foundations of what I'm doing thrown into question. Sorry I can't be more specific--those of you who know me can e-mail me, and I'll give you an answer--but this is a public forum, after all.
I'd like to address more generally the question of purpose in life. Is it possible to determine your purpose in life? I'd like to propose a theory--that it's not possible. Think about it--purpose implies a why for something, a reason for being. But the why for something is really only evident (if it's ever evident at all) in hindsight, when you can look back and say, "Oh, that's the reason that happened!" This is how it works in scientific experimentation--you experiment, test your results against a control, then evaluate the variable as it pertains to the cause of your experiment.
Only in life, you have no "control," no "second experiment." You can look back, make reasonable guesses about why something happened, or why some decision was made, but to look into the future, figure out a course of action, and say, "yes, this is the purpose to which I must dedicate my life," this is something that seems impossible to me.
Instead of purpose, which is how I realize I've been thinking about things recently, I think I need to re-frame my question, to read, "what am I called to do with my life?" This question is becoming more real to me, as I contemplate my future and my past.
I'd like to address more generally the question of purpose in life. Is it possible to determine your purpose in life? I'd like to propose a theory--that it's not possible. Think about it--purpose implies a why for something, a reason for being. But the why for something is really only evident (if it's ever evident at all) in hindsight, when you can look back and say, "Oh, that's the reason that happened!" This is how it works in scientific experimentation--you experiment, test your results against a control, then evaluate the variable as it pertains to the cause of your experiment.
Only in life, you have no "control," no "second experiment." You can look back, make reasonable guesses about why something happened, or why some decision was made, but to look into the future, figure out a course of action, and say, "yes, this is the purpose to which I must dedicate my life," this is something that seems impossible to me.
Instead of purpose, which is how I realize I've been thinking about things recently, I think I need to re-frame my question, to read, "what am I called to do with my life?" This question is becoming more real to me, as I contemplate my future and my past.
Monday, October 24, 2005
Monday, October 17, 2005
How business is done
Today was a true sweet and sour day.
Sweet, because we were able to get the rental house that we wanted. It's a nice two-bedroom, with lots of space downstairs and a relatively dry basement, and it was going to be sold as recently as two weeks ago. A call to a realtor, a potential buyer who backed out when her loan came in with a higher monthly payment, and one visited home later, Megan and I came away from a tour of the house impressed and excited. That was Saturday--we had to wait until Monday when the deadline for the frightened buyer came and went. Well, it appears as though the sale will fall through, which means that Megan and I will be in a new place come November.
Sour, because of various difficulties with all sorts of random things, from church to our current place to incorrect rebate information on a cell phone application. Little things can really push you over the top. Take this cell phone rebate. Not only do you have to send in the UPC from the original box, the form showing where you purchased the phone from, and a rebate application, but you have to send in a phone bill no less than 90 days but no more than 120 days after your application for service (!). I did all this, hoping and praying for my $50 rebate, only to get a terse e-mail saying that I had filled out my form incorrectly/incompletely (they didn't say which one) and that I could correct the information as long as it was within 120 days of my activation date. Guess what? The rebate company also takes the liberty of saying they will take from 8-10 weeks to process a claim, so I think I'm outside the 120 window they prescribed.
There's something that seems almost criminal about how this was done, and the worst part of it is, there's no face, no person to attack or feel slighted by. Rather, I feel like I was chewed up by the system, by a faceless, friendless corporation, which makes the loss of that $50 harder to take. I am glad in these situations that I am a Christian, that I believe that there is a real Right and Wrong in this world, and that eventually, all of the Wrongs will be made right, or at least called into account. Then there will be no systems, no faceless corporations, only people, and what those people did to themselves, to each other, and to God.
Sweet, because we were able to get the rental house that we wanted. It's a nice two-bedroom, with lots of space downstairs and a relatively dry basement, and it was going to be sold as recently as two weeks ago. A call to a realtor, a potential buyer who backed out when her loan came in with a higher monthly payment, and one visited home later, Megan and I came away from a tour of the house impressed and excited. That was Saturday--we had to wait until Monday when the deadline for the frightened buyer came and went. Well, it appears as though the sale will fall through, which means that Megan and I will be in a new place come November.
Sour, because of various difficulties with all sorts of random things, from church to our current place to incorrect rebate information on a cell phone application. Little things can really push you over the top. Take this cell phone rebate. Not only do you have to send in the UPC from the original box, the form showing where you purchased the phone from, and a rebate application, but you have to send in a phone bill no less than 90 days but no more than 120 days after your application for service (!). I did all this, hoping and praying for my $50 rebate, only to get a terse e-mail saying that I had filled out my form incorrectly/incompletely (they didn't say which one) and that I could correct the information as long as it was within 120 days of my activation date. Guess what? The rebate company also takes the liberty of saying they will take from 8-10 weeks to process a claim, so I think I'm outside the 120 window they prescribed.
There's something that seems almost criminal about how this was done, and the worst part of it is, there's no face, no person to attack or feel slighted by. Rather, I feel like I was chewed up by the system, by a faceless, friendless corporation, which makes the loss of that $50 harder to take. I am glad in these situations that I am a Christian, that I believe that there is a real Right and Wrong in this world, and that eventually, all of the Wrongs will be made right, or at least called into account. Then there will be no systems, no faceless corporations, only people, and what those people did to themselves, to each other, and to God.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Thoughts on Serenity
Well, it's good to get back to this blogging thing--I appreciate your comments and hope that you enjoy at least some of this. If not, I hope I can at least help pass the time a little bit more quickly.
More from the Thailand trip in a little bit, but first, some thoughts on Serenity, a movie I recently had the opportunity to watch with my in-laws and wife.
I'm glad that I knew that this was a TV show at one time--I guess the creator of the show had a falling-out with Fox TV, who originally aired it as Firefly, but chopped up the order of the series, as well as airing it in a different time slot every week. Knowing that it was a TV show helped excuse, for me, some of the somewhat wooden acting of the principals, particularly the captain. At one point, my wife leaned over and said, "He could use some charisma, huh?"
My thoughts exactly.
What stuck with me was not the story, or the characters, or even stilted acting (all thoughts in the intro aside), but the settings. The movie, for me, did a wonderful job of creating a sense of place and time that is or was different from my own. I think that was the allure of the movie, thinking about the different settings and worlds, imagining what other kinds of things could be happening in a setting like the one in the movie.
Some movies are about character--As Good As it Gets is a great example. That movie had nothing else going for it except the snappily written characters and the actors who brought them to life. Well, that and a cute little dog.
Some movies are about plot--Sahara is the best recent example I can think of that did this well. Sahara or The Mummy--these movies drive you along with them, making you think and wonder what will happen next, tying it all up in the expected way, and making you feel good about what you just saw and participated in, without a lot of committment, kind of like a game of Pac-Man or Crazy Eights.
Serenity was about setting--different worlds, different technologies, even a different way of speaking that, in some ways, helped create versimilitude (sp?) that affected my inner eye in a profound way. I've started to write a book (again) but this time, I'm trying to actually finish it before I start, rather than just writing a chapter and getting stuck. It's that sense of setting, that sense of place, that I'd like to try to convey in my book, even though it's a completely different place and time (it's going to be a high fantasy-type story, something like A Game of Thrones but less depressing). To that end, the movie was valuable and instructive.
I'll see if I can post some of the book here at the blog, if you're interested.
BillG
Currently reading: "A Swiftly Tilting Planet," Madeline L'Engle
More from the Thailand trip in a little bit, but first, some thoughts on Serenity, a movie I recently had the opportunity to watch with my in-laws and wife.
I'm glad that I knew that this was a TV show at one time--I guess the creator of the show had a falling-out with Fox TV, who originally aired it as Firefly, but chopped up the order of the series, as well as airing it in a different time slot every week. Knowing that it was a TV show helped excuse, for me, some of the somewhat wooden acting of the principals, particularly the captain. At one point, my wife leaned over and said, "He could use some charisma, huh?"
My thoughts exactly.
What stuck with me was not the story, or the characters, or even stilted acting (all thoughts in the intro aside), but the settings. The movie, for me, did a wonderful job of creating a sense of place and time that is or was different from my own. I think that was the allure of the movie, thinking about the different settings and worlds, imagining what other kinds of things could be happening in a setting like the one in the movie.
Some movies are about character--As Good As it Gets is a great example. That movie had nothing else going for it except the snappily written characters and the actors who brought them to life. Well, that and a cute little dog.
Some movies are about plot--Sahara is the best recent example I can think of that did this well. Sahara or The Mummy--these movies drive you along with them, making you think and wonder what will happen next, tying it all up in the expected way, and making you feel good about what you just saw and participated in, without a lot of committment, kind of like a game of Pac-Man or Crazy Eights.
Serenity was about setting--different worlds, different technologies, even a different way of speaking that, in some ways, helped create versimilitude (sp?) that affected my inner eye in a profound way. I've started to write a book (again) but this time, I'm trying to actually finish it before I start, rather than just writing a chapter and getting stuck. It's that sense of setting, that sense of place, that I'd like to try to convey in my book, even though it's a completely different place and time (it's going to be a high fantasy-type story, something like A Game of Thrones but less depressing). To that end, the movie was valuable and instructive.
I'll see if I can post some of the book here at the blog, if you're interested.
BillG
Currently reading: "A Swiftly Tilting Planet," Madeline L'Engle
Thursday, October 06, 2005
First day--khosan road
Here's an excerpt from my journal, written on a warm night in Bangkok, Thailand.
Today it is rainy. The time, according to a Thai clock--16:20. Joel and I have shoved off the sparkling sea of Osaka, shook the brown dust of Korea back on the road, and sit now in Thailand, "The land of smiles," where shiny brown men and women ply an innumerable number of trades and professions, most of them involving selling something or scamming someone. Oddly enough, the oddest thing about Thailand is the distinct lack of Thai people, at least in many of the areas we've been in. Backpackers infest this area like scruffy rodents, coming in every shape, size, race, age and color. They crowded our bus from the airport, Nihon-jin behind us, Australians in front. The Australians actually led us to a hotel the first night, though they weren't aware of it. We followed them as they bolted from our air-conditioned bus, darted left and across the street, and raced to the Sawadee guest house. We managed to secure a doublem which meant a fan, a balcony, and a really big bed--for the two of us. The bed and room were a relief after enduring a sleepless night in Osaka (for J anyway), slashing rain, rude Thai stewardesses who refused to fill drinks, and a cold that almost prevented me from packing, though it wouldn't have stopped me from going.
We wandered around Khosan Road, "backpackers mecca" and it was possible to feel the energy rippling through the place. Sidewalk vendors peddled all sorts of weird goods, from silk flowers to shruikens. Thai women with portable speakers wandered up and down the street, singing songs and shaking money cans. We sat at a restaurant, ordered drinks, and found ourselves drinking out of a coconut and cold bottle. . .
Today it is rainy. The time, according to a Thai clock--16:20. Joel and I have shoved off the sparkling sea of Osaka, shook the brown dust of Korea back on the road, and sit now in Thailand, "The land of smiles," where shiny brown men and women ply an innumerable number of trades and professions, most of them involving selling something or scamming someone. Oddly enough, the oddest thing about Thailand is the distinct lack of Thai people, at least in many of the areas we've been in. Backpackers infest this area like scruffy rodents, coming in every shape, size, race, age and color. They crowded our bus from the airport, Nihon-jin behind us, Australians in front. The Australians actually led us to a hotel the first night, though they weren't aware of it. We followed them as they bolted from our air-conditioned bus, darted left and across the street, and raced to the Sawadee guest house. We managed to secure a doublem which meant a fan, a balcony, and a really big bed--for the two of us. The bed and room were a relief after enduring a sleepless night in Osaka (for J anyway), slashing rain, rude Thai stewardesses who refused to fill drinks, and a cold that almost prevented me from packing, though it wouldn't have stopped me from going.
We wandered around Khosan Road, "backpackers mecca" and it was possible to feel the energy rippling through the place. Sidewalk vendors peddled all sorts of weird goods, from silk flowers to shruikens. Thai women with portable speakers wandered up and down the street, singing songs and shaking money cans. We sat at a restaurant, ordered drinks, and found ourselves drinking out of a coconut and cold bottle. . .
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
Yeesh
I wish I had more to say about certain things, and less to say about others. I think that time spent writing in this blog seems awfully hard before I actually get into it, then when I start writing, things loosen up quite a bit. Apologies to all for my absence--if I can figure out how to load pictures here then you'll see some from our recent vacation to Arizona and the Grand Canyon with my side of the family.
We're currently looking to move into a bigger place. The two of us (soon to be three, and becoming more real every day!) will probably need a little bit more space than the current crammed office, crammed bedroom, etc. etc. Interesting how many rental properties are out there. Whenever I see or think about rental properties, I can't help but calculate up how much actual money these landlords are pulling in. Of course, there are probably all sorts of hidden costs in money and time, but on the whole of it, being a landlord or renting a place doesn't seem so bad--you just maintain what you've got, keep your tenants happy, and watch the checks roll in, month after month.
Of the places we've seen, a little rental home close to where we currently live seems the most promising. Interestingly enough, as we were going through it with the owner, she said that she had her first child in this house, then moved away six months later, which is odd because Megan and I may end up doing the same thing.
I'll type up some of my Vietnam/Cambodia/Laos notes for my next post, assuming I ever get around to it.
Oh, and I have a gmail account now, thanks to Josh Walton. If you put your e-mail addy in the comments seciton, I'll send you mail from there so you can have the new address.
We're currently looking to move into a bigger place. The two of us (soon to be three, and becoming more real every day!) will probably need a little bit more space than the current crammed office, crammed bedroom, etc. etc. Interesting how many rental properties are out there. Whenever I see or think about rental properties, I can't help but calculate up how much actual money these landlords are pulling in. Of course, there are probably all sorts of hidden costs in money and time, but on the whole of it, being a landlord or renting a place doesn't seem so bad--you just maintain what you've got, keep your tenants happy, and watch the checks roll in, month after month.
Of the places we've seen, a little rental home close to where we currently live seems the most promising. Interestingly enough, as we were going through it with the owner, she said that she had her first child in this house, then moved away six months later, which is odd because Megan and I may end up doing the same thing.
I'll type up some of my Vietnam/Cambodia/Laos notes for my next post, assuming I ever get around to it.
Oh, and I have a gmail account now, thanks to Josh Walton. If you put your e-mail addy in the comments seciton, I'll send you mail from there so you can have the new address.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Thoughts on becoming a father
"At last I feel the equal of my parents. Knowing you are going to have a child is like extending yourself in the world, setting up a tent and saying “Here I am, I am important.” Now that I’m going to have a child it’s like the balance is even. My hand is as rich as theirs, maybe for the first time. I am no longer just a child."
--Anonymous Father. Ourselves and Our Children, by Boston Women’s Health Book Collective, ch. 5 (1978).
The slim white finger of plastic sat on the floor, hidden by instructions on how to use it. My wife and I were standing over it, waiting for the requisite two minutes to pass and the results to become clear. After about 4 had passed, she looked at me with anticipation in her eyes.
"I'm almost afraid to look," she said.
I whipped off the directions, and to our surpise, delight and great joy, a little "+" was there, indicating that we'd be adding to our family in a little under eight months.
That was back in June. Since then, we've surprised her parents, confirmed my parents' suspicions (though they were right for the wrong reasons), and then sat mum for two more months, not telling anyone until we could hear the heartbeat and see the child moving on the ultrasound. As you may have guessed, that window of time has come and gone, and now she and I are waiting for February 2, when we'll meet the newest member of our family, and she will become a mother and I will become a father.
I feel like I should wax poetic about being a father now, but in reality, the truth of the matter still has yet to sink in. This doesn't change any of our plans, and yet it does change them. I don't feel changed, and yet I am changed. I'm looking forward to February, and yet I'm dreading it, wondering what kind of man I will be for my child, wondering if our baby will be strong, or shy, or smart, or timid, or some combination of traits I can't think of. We're praying and hoping and waiting and worrying, and we're looking forward to being parents, and to adding to our family.
Looks like I did wax poetic after all. Sorry.
--Anonymous Father. Ourselves and Our Children, by Boston Women’s Health Book Collective, ch. 5 (1978).
The slim white finger of plastic sat on the floor, hidden by instructions on how to use it. My wife and I were standing over it, waiting for the requisite two minutes to pass and the results to become clear. After about 4 had passed, she looked at me with anticipation in her eyes.
"I'm almost afraid to look," she said.
I whipped off the directions, and to our surpise, delight and great joy, a little "+" was there, indicating that we'd be adding to our family in a little under eight months.
That was back in June. Since then, we've surprised her parents, confirmed my parents' suspicions (though they were right for the wrong reasons), and then sat mum for two more months, not telling anyone until we could hear the heartbeat and see the child moving on the ultrasound. As you may have guessed, that window of time has come and gone, and now she and I are waiting for February 2, when we'll meet the newest member of our family, and she will become a mother and I will become a father.
I feel like I should wax poetic about being a father now, but in reality, the truth of the matter still has yet to sink in. This doesn't change any of our plans, and yet it does change them. I don't feel changed, and yet I am changed. I'm looking forward to February, and yet I'm dreading it, wondering what kind of man I will be for my child, wondering if our baby will be strong, or shy, or smart, or timid, or some combination of traits I can't think of. We're praying and hoping and waiting and worrying, and we're looking forward to being parents, and to adding to our family.
Looks like I did wax poetic after all. Sorry.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Monday, July 11, 2005
Baking away in Fort Wayne
Megan and I had the chance to attend the various Three Rivers Festival events this weekend--specifically Saturday. A highlight of the day was watching members of the Red Hat club (a group of 55+ year old women who get together on weekends wearing red hats and purple clothes and descend upon various stores at Glenbrook Square, our shopping mall . . . it looks even wierder than it sounds) ride with the local Harley Davidson appreciation chapter here in Fort Wayne in the kickoff parade. My father in law remarked--"I don't know if there's a better way to keep those bikers under control than by having an old lady riding along behind them." He was rewarded with an eye roll from my mother in law, and a chuckle from me. Some of those old ladies (no disrespect intended) actually looked pretty tough. One of them, instead of wearing a red hat, had a red bandana tied around her head. I immediately identified her as Tony's grandmother.
This parade is known as the Three Rivers Invitational, and is the same one that some of you may have heard me talk about in previous years. Usually, I'm running around like a madman trying to get everything in order for the parade for the two weeks before, then on the day of I had to get up around o'dark forty and listen to cheerleaders complain about the fact that we didn't make enough small and medium-sized t-shirts. Then, I sit in the back of a pickup truck for hours, passing out water and drinks, after which I ride in the parade in the back of the truck, hunched down because we're only allowed 35 people on the float, and I would disqualify us as the 36th person. After that is the nerve-wracking drive back to campus, where I watch the float that we painstakingly built over the last 48 hours disintegrate owing to the bumps and potholes of Fort Wayne's streets, and the speedy driving of the man in the pickup truck. We would then tear the float down, put away the artificial flowers for use next year, and I would head home to sleep for four or five hours.
It sounds like as much fun as it was.
This year, I actually missed seeing the USF float entirely, and instead was treated to old women riding around on the backs of Harley Davidson motorcycles. Sometimes it pays to move up in the company.
BillG
This parade is known as the Three Rivers Invitational, and is the same one that some of you may have heard me talk about in previous years. Usually, I'm running around like a madman trying to get everything in order for the parade for the two weeks before, then on the day of I had to get up around o'dark forty and listen to cheerleaders complain about the fact that we didn't make enough small and medium-sized t-shirts. Then, I sit in the back of a pickup truck for hours, passing out water and drinks, after which I ride in the parade in the back of the truck, hunched down because we're only allowed 35 people on the float, and I would disqualify us as the 36th person. After that is the nerve-wracking drive back to campus, where I watch the float that we painstakingly built over the last 48 hours disintegrate owing to the bumps and potholes of Fort Wayne's streets, and the speedy driving of the man in the pickup truck. We would then tear the float down, put away the artificial flowers for use next year, and I would head home to sleep for four or five hours.
It sounds like as much fun as it was.
This year, I actually missed seeing the USF float entirely, and instead was treated to old women riding around on the backs of Harley Davidson motorcycles. Sometimes it pays to move up in the company.
BillG
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Gorilla blog
Well, after the week from H-E-Double hockey sticks, things are finally easing up enough for me to drop a little post here, with more to follow later on. The reasons for the lack of posting are myriad--I won't go into them here.
Those of you without regular jobs, enjoy it while you can--I'm hoping to find my way back to that promised land soon enough. For now, I have to dash off furtive posts while at work, typing, hitting Alt-TAB when I hear footsteps, then opening up the window again to type a little more. I am the gorilla blogger.
The only problem? One of my strongest food aversions is to bananas (Sp? who cares?). I have a friend who loves to tell the story of how he ate little finger sized bananas every day for a solid week, squeezing them out like so much toothpaste. Because I couldn't avoid my friend at the time, I had to watch, or at least be in the vicinity of, him at the time. To this day, the smell alone is enough to make me gag. So if I'm going to be a gorilla, I'm going to be one who doesn't eat bananas.
Wait, my internal filter is telling me that it's spelled Guerilla, not gorilla.
Dang it! Ah well, enjoy the weirdness.
Those of you without regular jobs, enjoy it while you can--I'm hoping to find my way back to that promised land soon enough. For now, I have to dash off furtive posts while at work, typing, hitting Alt-TAB when I hear footsteps, then opening up the window again to type a little more. I am the gorilla blogger.
The only problem? One of my strongest food aversions is to bananas (Sp? who cares?). I have a friend who loves to tell the story of how he ate little finger sized bananas every day for a solid week, squeezing them out like so much toothpaste. Because I couldn't avoid my friend at the time, I had to watch, or at least be in the vicinity of, him at the time. To this day, the smell alone is enough to make me gag. So if I'm going to be a gorilla, I'm going to be one who doesn't eat bananas.
Wait, my internal filter is telling me that it's spelled Guerilla, not gorilla.
Dang it! Ah well, enjoy the weirdness.
Monday, June 13, 2005
Memories . . . all alone in the moonlight
"Human memory, on the other hand, is the invisible psychic adhesive that holds our identity together from moment to moment. This makes it a radically different phenomenon from computer memory. For one thing, it is fluid rather than granular, more like a wave than a particle. Like a wave, it spreads through the mind, puddling up here and there in odd personal associations that may be of the most inexplicable kind. It flows not only through the mind, but through the emotions, the senses, the body. We remember things as no computer can—in our muscles and reflexes: how to swim, play an instrument, use a tool."
--Theodore Roszak, historian and educator
And on the return, rejuvination nation.
Vacations are odd animals. For something as much anticipated as they tend to be, they seem to go really quickly while you're in them, and then you wonder why you worried about this or that, and why you didn't enjoy the vacation more. But then, hopefully, you settle in, back to regular life, or at least a near-approximation of it, and the vacation becomes a pleasant memory or set of memories.
This one had pleasant memories by the bucketful. Shopping for clothes in a wind-swept Cabazon Mall in Palm Springs, for one. Oddly enough, I managed to get all of the clothes that I set out to obtain, and Megan didn'tacquiree any new clothing. I even did it sans Tony, though I'm sure he would have found a lot of other clothes at a great bargain that looked wonderful. I still use that jacket you strong-armed me in Japan to get, Tony.
Another was our day at the beach. My skin carries memories of this one. No longer am I the supple-skinned seventeen-year old who could stay out in the sun all day long swimming and playing polo and not getting burned. As I get older, I seem to be flip-flopping some of my genetic traits--my skin is getting more like my Dad's (pale, easily burnt), while my hair is getting more like my Mom's (thinner, soon to become male-pattern baldness). So, at the beach, I tried a new "spray-on" type sunscreen. I can't say it didn't do its job, because it did--except only in the places where it actually got on my skin. For the record, it was a particularly windy day at the beach. When I got home and showered off, I found white blotches that looked like little mushrooms (the spray had hit my body and dripped slightly) all over my chest and back. Good Times!
V-ball and dinner with Kwin was also nice. We packed up my little bro for the summer, moving him out of his tiny apartment on UCSD's campus, and placing all of his stuff in our van, which saggednoticeablyy after being loaded. After piling all of his stuff away, it was time for some V-Ball, the guys vs. the girls, best of seven. Jamie and I stole a couple of games early on Kwin, Bobbi and Megan, an advantage we held on to in order to eventually win the series. I also managed to step on a rusty nail, something that you might find in the Handbook of Things Not To Step On If You Don't Want To Get A Tetanus Booster (Catchy Title!). I avoided a shot, and hopefully tetanus--victory heals all ills, or something. Or maybe it was Kwin's excellent cooking? If you're ever in SD, feel free to stop by--she's always happy to see friends, and doesn't need much advance notice to whip something delectable up.
I have other memories to share, of course--those are just some of the highlights. Look for more this week, as I want to get these down while they're still fresh in my mind.
Currently reading: The Life of the Modern, by Paul Johnson.
--Theodore Roszak, historian and educator
And on the return, rejuvination nation.
Vacations are odd animals. For something as much anticipated as they tend to be, they seem to go really quickly while you're in them, and then you wonder why you worried about this or that, and why you didn't enjoy the vacation more. But then, hopefully, you settle in, back to regular life, or at least a near-approximation of it, and the vacation becomes a pleasant memory or set of memories.
This one had pleasant memories by the bucketful. Shopping for clothes in a wind-swept Cabazon Mall in Palm Springs, for one. Oddly enough, I managed to get all of the clothes that I set out to obtain, and Megan didn'tacquiree any new clothing. I even did it sans Tony, though I'm sure he would have found a lot of other clothes at a great bargain that looked wonderful. I still use that jacket you strong-armed me in Japan to get, Tony.
Another was our day at the beach. My skin carries memories of this one. No longer am I the supple-skinned seventeen-year old who could stay out in the sun all day long swimming and playing polo and not getting burned. As I get older, I seem to be flip-flopping some of my genetic traits--my skin is getting more like my Dad's (pale, easily burnt), while my hair is getting more like my Mom's (thinner, soon to become male-pattern baldness). So, at the beach, I tried a new "spray-on" type sunscreen. I can't say it didn't do its job, because it did--except only in the places where it actually got on my skin. For the record, it was a particularly windy day at the beach. When I got home and showered off, I found white blotches that looked like little mushrooms (the spray had hit my body and dripped slightly) all over my chest and back. Good Times!
V-ball and dinner with Kwin was also nice. We packed up my little bro for the summer, moving him out of his tiny apartment on UCSD's campus, and placing all of his stuff in our van, which saggednoticeablyy after being loaded. After piling all of his stuff away, it was time for some V-Ball, the guys vs. the girls, best of seven. Jamie and I stole a couple of games early on Kwin, Bobbi and Megan, an advantage we held on to in order to eventually win the series. I also managed to step on a rusty nail, something that you might find in the Handbook of Things Not To Step On If You Don't Want To Get A Tetanus Booster (Catchy Title!). I avoided a shot, and hopefully tetanus--victory heals all ills, or something. Or maybe it was Kwin's excellent cooking? If you're ever in SD, feel free to stop by--she's always happy to see friends, and doesn't need much advance notice to whip something delectable up.
I have other memories to share, of course--those are just some of the highlights. Look for more this week, as I want to get these down while they're still fresh in my mind.
Currently reading: The Life of the Modern, by Paul Johnson.
Sunday, June 05, 2005
Imagine yourself on a beach in California
"Travel is glamorous only in retrospect."
--Paul Theroux, travel writer
After an exhausting day, in which I drove 200 miles, and flew roughly 1200 more, Megan and I found ourselves in California on Friday. A day that started in Angola, Indiana, pitching an advertising campaign to a dentist, ended with me, Megan, Bobbi and Mom in Dad in our kitchen talking and eating chocolate-chip cookies. Modern life is certainly odd.
I think back to stories of how people even as late as a hundred years ago never traveled more than 25 -50 miles away from home. How different things must have been back then, when distance was a very real thing, and people who had traveled were rare. Short of going off to war, maybe some people didn't have t o travel. And, of course, I'm not ruling out the possiblity that there are still people who haven't traveled more than 25-50 mi. away from home, even in this day and age.
California, so far, has been a pastiche of mini-golf, air hockey, and really good food. Today, Megan and I will be going to Catholic Mass with my parents and sister, and then who knows what else is on the docket--probably seeing Revenge of the Sith, which my parents and sis haven't seen yet. It'll be our second time, but I'll be looking for a shot of George Lucas, who appears in the movie, as well as other little "Easter Eggs" that Lucas has hidden in the movie.
Take care, everybody.
Billy
--Paul Theroux, travel writer
After an exhausting day, in which I drove 200 miles, and flew roughly 1200 more, Megan and I found ourselves in California on Friday. A day that started in Angola, Indiana, pitching an advertising campaign to a dentist, ended with me, Megan, Bobbi and Mom in Dad in our kitchen talking and eating chocolate-chip cookies. Modern life is certainly odd.
I think back to stories of how people even as late as a hundred years ago never traveled more than 25 -50 miles away from home. How different things must have been back then, when distance was a very real thing, and people who had traveled were rare. Short of going off to war, maybe some people didn't have t o travel. And, of course, I'm not ruling out the possiblity that there are still people who haven't traveled more than 25-50 mi. away from home, even in this day and age.
California, so far, has been a pastiche of mini-golf, air hockey, and really good food. Today, Megan and I will be going to Catholic Mass with my parents and sister, and then who knows what else is on the docket--probably seeing Revenge of the Sith, which my parents and sis haven't seen yet. It'll be our second time, but I'll be looking for a shot of George Lucas, who appears in the movie, as well as other little "Easter Eggs" that Lucas has hidden in the movie.
Take care, everybody.
Billy
Thursday, June 02, 2005
Creativity
"Ideas are infinite, original, and lively divine thoughts. "
--Friedrich Von Schlegel, German Philosopher
What I do in marketing is pretty interesting, somedays. As I've learned by doing the Backpage, and through other endeavors, coming up with new stuff is hard. It's really hard. And so, when I find myself sitting in a room with two other people trying to think of a way to describe dentistry that is both powerful and comforting, I can't help but think back to the days of the Backpage (for those of you who don't know, it was a humor page my friends and I published (I'm still not sure how) on the last page of our college news paper. Some of it was actually funny) and all of the nights I spent eating pizza and telling other Americans whether they were hot or not.
When we finally arrived at a good idea, both at the Backpage and at this meeting I was at today, the feeling was that it was something so completely obvious that we couldn't figure out why we didn't think of it sooner. Of course, it's not as easy as all that. I mean, something like "leaf holocaust" doesn't just hit you out of the blue (unless your name is Lucas). So when we ended up with a good tagline, and a better creative campaign theme, I was pretty happy to be in the business that I'm currently in. Maybe it's not always this fun or satisfying--most days it's more mundane and banal--but from time to time, I can see myself doing this for a while, and liking it, which is the scary thing.
On other random notes, we will be leaving for California tomorrow morning. Please pray for safe travel for us, as well as for the time spent with my parents and Bobbi and Jamie. It's nice to have a vacation, finally. This is the first time that Megan and I will be out in California when it's actually warm. Novel idea, huh? Those of you that live in California, you know what I'm talking about--sun, sand, your mom's cooking, wide freeways and mountain vistas. I'll try to blog from Cali, if only so I don't have a ton of catching up to do with this upon our return.
Till then, take care.
Billy
--Friedrich Von Schlegel, German Philosopher
What I do in marketing is pretty interesting, somedays. As I've learned by doing the Backpage, and through other endeavors, coming up with new stuff is hard. It's really hard. And so, when I find myself sitting in a room with two other people trying to think of a way to describe dentistry that is both powerful and comforting, I can't help but think back to the days of the Backpage (for those of you who don't know, it was a humor page my friends and I published (I'm still not sure how) on the last page of our college news paper. Some of it was actually funny) and all of the nights I spent eating pizza and telling other Americans whether they were hot or not.
When we finally arrived at a good idea, both at the Backpage and at this meeting I was at today, the feeling was that it was something so completely obvious that we couldn't figure out why we didn't think of it sooner. Of course, it's not as easy as all that. I mean, something like "leaf holocaust" doesn't just hit you out of the blue (unless your name is Lucas). So when we ended up with a good tagline, and a better creative campaign theme, I was pretty happy to be in the business that I'm currently in. Maybe it's not always this fun or satisfying--most days it's more mundane and banal--but from time to time, I can see myself doing this for a while, and liking it, which is the scary thing.
On other random notes, we will be leaving for California tomorrow morning. Please pray for safe travel for us, as well as for the time spent with my parents and Bobbi and Jamie. It's nice to have a vacation, finally. This is the first time that Megan and I will be out in California when it's actually warm. Novel idea, huh? Those of you that live in California, you know what I'm talking about--sun, sand, your mom's cooking, wide freeways and mountain vistas. I'll try to blog from Cali, if only so I don't have a ton of catching up to do with this upon our return.
Till then, take care.
Billy
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Heh heh . . . sorry
"Consistency is a virtue for trains: what we want from a philosopher is insights, whether he comes by them consistently or not."
--Stephen Vizinczey, Hungarian novelist and critic
Consistency is overrated.
Whenever I let something in my life go, be it an overdue library book, a stock that I know I should check on, or yes, a daily or at least thrice-weekly commitment to blogging, I tend to try to ignore the problem, thus making it something larger than it already is. Take writing in this blog as an example. For the longest time, say, around May 12, I wouldn't even think about checking in on Tony's blog, or my own, for that matter, because I didn't want to think about trying to write consistently in this one. The thought "I have to write in my blog," kept crossing my mind, and yet, I wouldn't, because I was afraid of what you, dear readers, would say upon my return.
Probably something like,
"There he goes again--we'll see how long this lasts!"
or
"hmmm. new post from Billy. think I'll ignore it for a week or so, then see if he posts in that time."
or even,
"it's nice to see Billy posting again. I hope he keeps it up--I like reading his informative and well-written posts."
Okay, maybe only Kwin would say that last one. Point being, I need to face up to my blogging beast, bite the bullet, jump in the pool, pop the question, get on with it--I need to put in a consistent effort here on the 'net for this to have any value to anyone whatsoever.
"that Billy--always making promises about consistency--then never delivering."
We'll see about that . . .
--Stephen Vizinczey, Hungarian novelist and critic
Consistency is overrated.
Whenever I let something in my life go, be it an overdue library book, a stock that I know I should check on, or yes, a daily or at least thrice-weekly commitment to blogging, I tend to try to ignore the problem, thus making it something larger than it already is. Take writing in this blog as an example. For the longest time, say, around May 12, I wouldn't even think about checking in on Tony's blog, or my own, for that matter, because I didn't want to think about trying to write consistently in this one. The thought "I have to write in my blog," kept crossing my mind, and yet, I wouldn't, because I was afraid of what you, dear readers, would say upon my return.
Probably something like,
"There he goes again--we'll see how long this lasts!"
or
"hmmm. new post from Billy. think I'll ignore it for a week or so, then see if he posts in that time."
or even,
"it's nice to see Billy posting again. I hope he keeps it up--I like reading his informative and well-written posts."
Okay, maybe only Kwin would say that last one. Point being, I need to face up to my blogging beast, bite the bullet, jump in the pool, pop the question, get on with it--I need to put in a consistent effort here on the 'net for this to have any value to anyone whatsoever.
"that Billy--always making promises about consistency--then never delivering."
We'll see about that . . .
Thursday, April 21, 2005
Daze of Confusion
Typical day at work--get up at 8 a.m., get to work late. Check e-mail. Check e-mail again. Read the newspaper (this is billable time, by the way). Check e-mail again. Crisis. Crisis averted. Crisis. Check e-mail. Crisis averted. Lunch. Afternoon--looks a lot like the morning.
Well, today wasn't a typical day at all! To start, we had a photo shoot at work, which is basically a lot of standing around watching a photographer work, suggesting shots and lugging equipment around. We did a "moving" shoot--in other words, no studio. The photographer and his assistant would set up and tear down lights in actual classroom space, which means we got to be the target of student jesting, hamming it up, and sometimes pleased embarassment (sp?).
Some thoughts on photo shoots--it's interesting how different someone can look on camera. We took pictures of one student in the library, who seemed pretty, but nothing out of the ordinary. On film, she looked like a different person--changed, somehow, the camera brought out beauty in her that I hadn't seen, that maybe wasn't visible, just by looking at her. It was a strange experience.
Also, seeing how people react to the camera is a source of fascination as well. Some people can't concentrate on anything else--this includes some of the professors in the rooms we were shooting in. Some try to resolutely ignore it. The ones that can't are the interesting ones--you can tell they're always thinking about where that camera is, what it's looking at, who it's looking at.
Anyway, today was a day out of the ordinary--something I'm grateful for.
Check e-mail.
Well, today wasn't a typical day at all! To start, we had a photo shoot at work, which is basically a lot of standing around watching a photographer work, suggesting shots and lugging equipment around. We did a "moving" shoot--in other words, no studio. The photographer and his assistant would set up and tear down lights in actual classroom space, which means we got to be the target of student jesting, hamming it up, and sometimes pleased embarassment (sp?).
Some thoughts on photo shoots--it's interesting how different someone can look on camera. We took pictures of one student in the library, who seemed pretty, but nothing out of the ordinary. On film, she looked like a different person--changed, somehow, the camera brought out beauty in her that I hadn't seen, that maybe wasn't visible, just by looking at her. It was a strange experience.
Also, seeing how people react to the camera is a source of fascination as well. Some people can't concentrate on anything else--this includes some of the professors in the rooms we were shooting in. Some try to resolutely ignore it. The ones that can't are the interesting ones--you can tell they're always thinking about where that camera is, what it's looking at, who it's looking at.
Anyway, today was a day out of the ordinary--something I'm grateful for.
Check e-mail.
Saturday, April 16, 2005
Classic
Here's a "blast from the past." The "booting it up" thing was classic--though this guy has nothing on Lucas' "magic blow" (not as gross as it sounds).
http://www.milkandcookies.com/links/28721/
(You'll need Quicktime to view this, or be on a mac, anyway)
http://www.milkandcookies.com/links/28721/
(You'll need Quicktime to view this, or be on a mac, anyway)
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
So, I'm a burger king
Well, it's been a while. The website is up--www.parkview.com. Bobbi got into Harvard Law, though she's not sure whether she'll take it. And my father in law won the college baskteball tournament pool, a grand prize of $80. Yes, things have been happening. Important things. Things that maybe people want to know a little about.
And yet, my posting has shriveled up like Langston Hughes' rasins.
How many times can you apologize and say you'll try to do a better job?
Answer: at least one more time.
By the way, I guess I'm in the burger business--check out this link: www.billgrays.com. It makes me kinda hungry, looking at those burgers. Perhaps a pilgrimmage is in order?
Thought of the day: "Let us endeavor so to live that when we come to die even the undertaker will be sorry." --Mark Twain
And yet, my posting has shriveled up like Langston Hughes' rasins.
How many times can you apologize and say you'll try to do a better job?
Answer: at least one more time.
By the way, I guess I'm in the burger business--check out this link: www.billgrays.com. It makes me kinda hungry, looking at those burgers. Perhaps a pilgrimmage is in order?
Thought of the day: "Let us endeavor so to live that when we come to die even the undertaker will be sorry." --Mark Twain
Friday, March 11, 2005
Everybody! Everybody!
Everybody! Everybody!
One of the best flash cartoon sites on the web. Look for hidden easter eggs on the main pages, check out the "strong bad" e-mail, and enjoy the kid-friendly, yet riotously funny humor and voices.
This site was started by two guys who love programming in flash. They brought in another guy to do all the voices, and their parents help them by shipping out and silk-screening t-shirts. If you haven't been introduced to the homestar runner, now's your chance.
Good introductory ones are the "video games" strong bad e-mail, the "first time here" link on the main page, and the "for kids" strong bad e-mail, as well as any of the cartoon shorts.
Enjoy--let me know what you think!
Billy
One of the best flash cartoon sites on the web. Look for hidden easter eggs on the main pages, check out the "strong bad" e-mail, and enjoy the kid-friendly, yet riotously funny humor and voices.
This site was started by two guys who love programming in flash. They brought in another guy to do all the voices, and their parents help them by shipping out and silk-screening t-shirts. If you haven't been introduced to the homestar runner, now's your chance.
Good introductory ones are the "video games" strong bad e-mail, the "first time here" link on the main page, and the "for kids" strong bad e-mail, as well as any of the cartoon shorts.
Enjoy--let me know what you think!
Billy
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Yikes . . . buried alive
So . . . there's really no excuse for not putting interesting tidbits of stuff on this blog, like how I got lost in China or Korea, or extracted some rare mineral from the lead of my pencil, or even how I managed to find solution to the Euthyphro problem. These tidbits of stuff may be interesting (at least they're interesting to me, but I confess it's late) but they're certainly not true.
The truth? Well, that's far more mundane. The truth is that I have been buried alive in the crush of work that has overwhelmed me, trapping me at the bottom of a Lake Baikal of paper. There may be interesting things there, but there's no way (and no time!) to get the word out to people. So, consider this my apology. Sorry for being so late and sporadic on updating this blog. I won't promise not to do it again--I think we all know the foolishness of that empty vow. No, I won't make any promises, simply offer my apologies.
Interested in what I'm up too? Take a second and go to www.parkview.com. Without getting too specific, know that I know almost every inch of that website. Also take into account the fact that I know that a lot of that content is out of date, aside from the website being pretty terribly designed and written. Putting fact 1 with fact 2 should yield an answer, but if you're still confused, post a comment and I'll supply you with an answer.
I've taken up the game of pool. The woman that I work for, who also happens to be the president of the company, used to be a Big Ten billiards champion. She likes to boast (though she has a penchant for exaggeration) that she put herself through school hustling pool. Even if that's not true, it is true that she is a very very strong player, and I've been learning a lot about pool. They say that 8-ball and 9-ball are similar to chess, mixed with golf. While this may be true to a certain extent, I'm hoping it's not entirely true, because I'm pretty poor at both of those sports. I'll keep you posted on my progress--we're having a tournament at work as I write this.
Megan has been sick--she sees the doctor tomorrow. Keep her in your prayers.
Coming up next--a short description of a trip to Boston. stay tuned in.
The truth? Well, that's far more mundane. The truth is that I have been buried alive in the crush of work that has overwhelmed me, trapping me at the bottom of a Lake Baikal of paper. There may be interesting things there, but there's no way (and no time!) to get the word out to people. So, consider this my apology. Sorry for being so late and sporadic on updating this blog. I won't promise not to do it again--I think we all know the foolishness of that empty vow. No, I won't make any promises, simply offer my apologies.
Interested in what I'm up too? Take a second and go to www.parkview.com. Without getting too specific, know that I know almost every inch of that website. Also take into account the fact that I know that a lot of that content is out of date, aside from the website being pretty terribly designed and written. Putting fact 1 with fact 2 should yield an answer, but if you're still confused, post a comment and I'll supply you with an answer.
I've taken up the game of pool. The woman that I work for, who also happens to be the president of the company, used to be a Big Ten billiards champion. She likes to boast (though she has a penchant for exaggeration) that she put herself through school hustling pool. Even if that's not true, it is true that she is a very very strong player, and I've been learning a lot about pool. They say that 8-ball and 9-ball are similar to chess, mixed with golf. While this may be true to a certain extent, I'm hoping it's not entirely true, because I'm pretty poor at both of those sports. I'll keep you posted on my progress--we're having a tournament at work as I write this.
Megan has been sick--she sees the doctor tomorrow. Keep her in your prayers.
Coming up next--a short description of a trip to Boston. stay tuned in.
Monday, March 07, 2005
Marketing as it was meant to be
Monday, February 28, 2005
The cyclops
Sorry for the delay, everyone. It's hard to update a blog when you're bumming around Boston with family and friends--my mistake! And Tony, while I appreciate your comments, I have yet to figure out how to add links/pictures/google translators to my blogging page. Advice and comments on that score would be appreciated.
As I write this, I can hear the sounds of my wife getting dinner ready and feel the breeze on the back of my neck. We have a cartoon stove that heats up when's it's angry--of course, smoke comes out of its front as well. So, pardon me while I take a break to eat dinner. . . .
Ok, that was a MUCH longer break than anticipated. We found ourselves, after eating a wonderful cream-of-broccoli soup dinner, mesmerized by the all-seeing eye of our television set. I may be the only one to have experienced this, but it seems as though once you start watching something, and after you've had a long day at work, your arms become lead weights and your brain shuts off and your just sit there and are . . . entertained!
The price you pay, of course, is lost time--time that has left you without any real memories, only who sang what song on American Idol, and what imaginary terrorist was thwarted on 24. When I'm an old man, maybe I'll remember myself as the one who sang to an audience of applauding terrorists and CIA agents. Then again, maybe not.
I had another interesting experience after the brain turned back on. I'm not sure if it's that I'm blogging now, or that I just haven't been using the writing part of my brain, but I get slightly panicky when I think about having to write these entries. That's probably why I keep slipping into the introspective (oops! there I go again! Bad Billy!) . . . Anyway, your patience as I work out this underused muscle is appreciated. And with that, I say, good night!
As I write this, I can hear the sounds of my wife getting dinner ready and feel the breeze on the back of my neck. We have a cartoon stove that heats up when's it's angry--of course, smoke comes out of its front as well. So, pardon me while I take a break to eat dinner. . . .
Ok, that was a MUCH longer break than anticipated. We found ourselves, after eating a wonderful cream-of-broccoli soup dinner, mesmerized by the all-seeing eye of our television set. I may be the only one to have experienced this, but it seems as though once you start watching something, and after you've had a long day at work, your arms become lead weights and your brain shuts off and your just sit there and are . . . entertained!
The price you pay, of course, is lost time--time that has left you without any real memories, only who sang what song on American Idol, and what imaginary terrorist was thwarted on 24. When I'm an old man, maybe I'll remember myself as the one who sang to an audience of applauding terrorists and CIA agents. Then again, maybe not.
I had another interesting experience after the brain turned back on. I'm not sure if it's that I'm blogging now, or that I just haven't been using the writing part of my brain, but I get slightly panicky when I think about having to write these entries. That's probably why I keep slipping into the introspective (oops! there I go again! Bad Billy!) . . . Anyway, your patience as I work out this underused muscle is appreciated. And with that, I say, good night!
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
In the interest of consistency
ESPN.com: Page 2 : Delivering the mail
For those of you who don't read this columnist, and are unfamiliar with the work of the Boston Sports Guy, this is a good introduction to his work. What we have here is a breakdown of (according to him) a groundbreaking TV show, as it stacks up to its heir apparent.
I'm not all that familiar with The OC, but his stuff about 90210 is spot on.
While I'm on the topic, did anyone else who watched 90210 feel slightly guilty after or while watching it? I always felt like I needed to take a bath when the show ended. Looking back on some of those episodes now, that feeling is long gone, being as how I watched a fat man in a diaper high on LSD jump off a balcony and break his neck, only to choke on his own blood when his wife turned him over (the basic plot of last week's CSI). I guess it's really true that innocence, once lost, is lost for good.
On that morbid note--enjoy the column!
For those of you who don't read this columnist, and are unfamiliar with the work of the Boston Sports Guy, this is a good introduction to his work. What we have here is a breakdown of (according to him) a groundbreaking TV show, as it stacks up to its heir apparent.
I'm not all that familiar with The OC, but his stuff about 90210 is spot on.
While I'm on the topic, did anyone else who watched 90210 feel slightly guilty after or while watching it? I always felt like I needed to take a bath when the show ended. Looking back on some of those episodes now, that feeling is long gone, being as how I watched a fat man in a diaper high on LSD jump off a balcony and break his neck, only to choke on his own blood when his wife turned him over (the basic plot of last week's CSI). I guess it's really true that innocence, once lost, is lost for good.
On that morbid note--enjoy the column!
Monday, February 21, 2005
Let's Get Started
Something to be said for starting new works, and never finishing them. Something to be said for writing something that probably no one will see. Regardless, let us press ahead with a new endeavor, a new resolution.
Blink and you'll miss it. Yeah, sounds like a pretty good name. Random thoughts, little stories, and interesting comments from you, the reader. Enjoy--I know I will.
Bill
Blink and you'll miss it. Yeah, sounds like a pretty good name. Random thoughts, little stories, and interesting comments from you, the reader. Enjoy--I know I will.
Bill
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