Orange camo outfit on the lower deck and orange sari on the upper.
Native American dress in the streets and dancing on the field.
Never give up. Never surrender.
Some days the defenders win, offensive units not fully united as one.
How much Moore can you catch? How many groups can you thank in one invocation? When the name Reveiz is a better tackler than a kicker (has a Reveiz missed five in a row of anything?), then you Poole your resources, rest your aching muscles, remember you're an academic student as well as an athlete and represent yourself well.
After watching the new faces of the marching band, I rest assured that our planet's future rests comfortably in the hands of the next generation, as competent, inexperienced and young as it is.
We old fogeys had our moment to shine. Our days are tarnished, covered with the dents and dings of protecting ourselves from ourselves. Let us step aside and serve as protective guides.
We will not live forever. Our vanity, our attempts at pretending to extend our youth, what do they accomplish? Can we celebrate the wisdom and looks of old age while sharing the spotlight with the younger we're training to take over the world while they grow old, too?
I am not perfect. I am the example of myself to myself who looks down upon those who use plastic surgery and other superficial tricks to make themselves look younger than they are.
I am not wise. I simply have a bunch of experiences and knowledge at my discretion to reference when I don't understand what I seem to perceive.
While moving aside to help discover the forms/shapes we'll need to take to discover new worlds, I pass the last pages of the Book of the Future [of this world] to those who want to discover it for themselves.
I cannot be sensitive to the needs, wants, desires and demands of seven billion people while crafting a new type of "people" who will populate the solar system and galaxy in the trillions (using 3D printers and beams of energy to replicate quickly, for example (sound familiar?)).
The resources of the local environment are all we have. Wisely learn what they are and you'll use them wisely.
My "children" will make planetary conquests* look like collecting a bag of marbles.
Time to close this blog and open a new window on unfamiliar territory.
= = =
* not a carefully thought-out word. Is there any way to make benign contact with the unknown? Guess we're going to find out!
Showing posts with label sports. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sports. Show all posts
2010-09-26
2010-09-04
We're Gonna Find You
In my backyard, a viral (not aviral) video gone global. No cute cats or laughing babies.
A father's legacy performing well on the field.
Ringing ears. Hoarse voice.
Bistros and Bubba burgers.
Squeaky teeth and onerous onlookers.
A clean bill of health and a bill for poor health.
Acting out a public role to draw attention away from the players in play.
Happy and tired family.
Forty-year anniversary and another Kindle 2, too.
Crown and goose and checkerboard, Jennie and royal stout on a long weekend.
Montreat and PC in a small world after all; pretty eyes, adopted or otherwise; soccer, lacrosse or other sports. Ocean crossings and practical jokes.
Playing DJ for mother and her new family. Tackling pillows in slo mo like the pros.
Sleep...much needed sleep...too worn out to proofread or re-edit...nighty night.
A father's legacy performing well on the field.
Ringing ears. Hoarse voice.
Bistros and Bubba burgers.
Squeaky teeth and onerous onlookers.
A clean bill of health and a bill for poor health.
Acting out a public role to draw attention away from the players in play.
Happy and tired family.
Forty-year anniversary and another Kindle 2, too.
Crown and goose and checkerboard, Jennie and royal stout on a long weekend.
Montreat and PC in a small world after all; pretty eyes, adopted or otherwise; soccer, lacrosse or other sports. Ocean crossings and practical jokes.
Playing DJ for mother and her new family. Tackling pillows in slo mo like the pros.
Sleep...much needed sleep...too worn out to proofread or re-edit...nighty night.
2010-08-27
The Falling Leaves of Early Autumn
Nestled...no
Carved...no
Scraped...no
Landscaped into the landscape, a secondary school campus - its property lines defined by a highway and train tracks - hosted the hopes of two opposing football teams last night.
My niece's husband ("nephew in-law"?) coaches the quarterbacks for Hazel Green High School. His team, the Trojans, faced the Madison County High School Tigers as the sun set over the north Alabama hills - the Keel Mountain "range" and Moontown Airport nearby.
Vintage aeroplanes crisscrossed the skies before the game began, as if an air war were to accompany the pending ground war.
As a child of teachers and a husband of a daughter of teachers, I know all too well the appearance and disappearance of parents' faces as their children enter and exit their school years.
There in front of us everywhere are the precious, specific offspring of adults who've invested more time and and money than they'd want to count preparing their kids for the social setting that public/private schooling provides.
Their stories are similar but never the same. Married parents, divorced parents, widows/widowers, adoptive parents, adaptive parents, involved parents, absentee parents...the list goes on and on.
But they're not just parents. They have lives they believe are their own, defined at least partially outside the parental zone.
For instance, around us last night:
For dinner, we ate at a local steakhouse, Oh Bryan's, (food/beverages served by Jessie), where no one in the place is a stranger to anyone else. I know the worker overlooking the salad bar will take an upcoming trip to the Nashville Zoo. I shook hands with people I don't know although we acted as if we were best friends.
You can't pay for that kind of local friendliness, friendliness that's missing at the political/corporate infighting levels.
And that's why I'm here everyday, because seven billion people are my local friends and neighbours. I am saddened that opportunists make extremist speeches in order to popularise themselves with "like-minded" folks, ingratiating others and making enemies where enemies are not needed.
Drug cartels I can deal with, because politics are unnecessary where guns and money speak louder than words.
I can play the game of subtle political posturing as well, knowing that subcultures need feelings of exclusivity, BUT without raising their fears and anxieties too high.
At lunch yesterday, Miranda, our server at Beauregard's, shared her secret to success with us. She's taking college courses, paying for them with her own money, so that she'll have no debt when she graduates from college with a degree in special education about two years from now. Her happiness and pride in supporting herself shines on her face and in her gray-green eyes.
I sat on the bleachers with the parents, wondering which one(s) of their children will figure out how to self-finance post-secondary school training tracks pointing toward lucrative careers.
Hazel Green pulled off the win last night at Madison County, 7-21. The young men on both sides chased and pounded each other into the ground like warriors. Their seasons barely started, they'll use lessons from this game to start discussions about where they want to be after their secondary school playing years are over.
As the planes buzzed overhead, as the trains chugged by, as a single helicopter flew a little too close to the stadium, I wondered about my own career and what my parents would have thought 30 years ago as I took off my graduation cap and gown to start my post-secondary school life.
Certainly, I am not where I thought I would be with a fully-financed Navy ROTC scholarship at Georgia Tech in my hand back then.
I imagined myself a storyteller from age five onward, writing when and where I can/could. That's where I've always been, my career track a consequence of putting food on the table and a little bit more than that. That's where I'll always be.
How many children in primary and secondary schools know who they are and who they will be from moment to moment? How many parents can say the same?
Circumstances do not make us who we are. Circumstances show to others what we're made of. Writers and thinkers have stated and restated those facts. Non-linguistic animals demonstrate those facts from birth. So do we.
You bring who you are to the game. You take away from the game an appreciation for others and what they're made of. If children know that innately, why do we adults so easily forget?
Isn't it time we relearned who we are and willingly/openly shared ourselves with those who have no want/desire to be what we ignorantly label enemies, who are really just temporary opponents in a game?
Carved...no
Scraped...no
Landscaped into the landscape, a secondary school campus - its property lines defined by a highway and train tracks - hosted the hopes of two opposing football teams last night.
My niece's husband ("nephew in-law"?) coaches the quarterbacks for Hazel Green High School. His team, the Trojans, faced the Madison County High School Tigers as the sun set over the north Alabama hills - the Keel Mountain "range" and Moontown Airport nearby.
Vintage aeroplanes crisscrossed the skies before the game began, as if an air war were to accompany the pending ground war.
As a child of teachers and a husband of a daughter of teachers, I know all too well the appearance and disappearance of parents' faces as their children enter and exit their school years.
There in front of us everywhere are the precious, specific offspring of adults who've invested more time and and money than they'd want to count preparing their kids for the social setting that public/private schooling provides.
Their stories are similar but never the same. Married parents, divorced parents, widows/widowers, adoptive parents, adaptive parents, involved parents, absentee parents...the list goes on and on.
But they're not just parents. They have lives they believe are their own, defined at least partially outside the parental zone.
For instance, around us last night:
- Dee, whose husband received an award of excellence earlier in the day from General Ann Dunwoody, head of the U.S. Army Materiel Command at Redstone Arsenal and the first female four-star general (if you want to bring up good, tough-but-friendly female role models, I'll take 1 Gen. Dunwoody for every 100 Sarah Palins). [Gen Dunwoody comes from a long line of soldiers, reports the BBC. ” ‘A Dunwoody has fought in every American war since the Revolution,’ said army chief of staff Gen George Casey.]
- Meanwhile, a fellow next to me, a happy father, has two sons on the football team and one daughter in the marching band's flag corps. The father retired from the military and now works as a logistics manager for LG. His wife, unable to attend the football game because of a business meeting, is CFO for a small international firm. They hope their daughter will get an engineering degree at university.
For dinner, we ate at a local steakhouse, Oh Bryan's, (food/beverages served by Jessie), where no one in the place is a stranger to anyone else. I know the worker overlooking the salad bar will take an upcoming trip to the Nashville Zoo. I shook hands with people I don't know although we acted as if we were best friends.
You can't pay for that kind of local friendliness, friendliness that's missing at the political/corporate infighting levels.
And that's why I'm here everyday, because seven billion people are my local friends and neighbours. I am saddened that opportunists make extremist speeches in order to popularise themselves with "like-minded" folks, ingratiating others and making enemies where enemies are not needed.
Drug cartels I can deal with, because politics are unnecessary where guns and money speak louder than words.
I can play the game of subtle political posturing as well, knowing that subcultures need feelings of exclusivity, BUT without raising their fears and anxieties too high.
At lunch yesterday, Miranda, our server at Beauregard's, shared her secret to success with us. She's taking college courses, paying for them with her own money, so that she'll have no debt when she graduates from college with a degree in special education about two years from now. Her happiness and pride in supporting herself shines on her face and in her gray-green eyes.
I sat on the bleachers with the parents, wondering which one(s) of their children will figure out how to self-finance post-secondary school training tracks pointing toward lucrative careers.
Hazel Green pulled off the win last night at Madison County, 7-21. The young men on both sides chased and pounded each other into the ground like warriors. Their seasons barely started, they'll use lessons from this game to start discussions about where they want to be after their secondary school playing years are over.
As the planes buzzed overhead, as the trains chugged by, as a single helicopter flew a little too close to the stadium, I wondered about my own career and what my parents would have thought 30 years ago as I took off my graduation cap and gown to start my post-secondary school life.
Certainly, I am not where I thought I would be with a fully-financed Navy ROTC scholarship at Georgia Tech in my hand back then.
I imagined myself a storyteller from age five onward, writing when and where I can/could. That's where I've always been, my career track a consequence of putting food on the table and a little bit more than that. That's where I'll always be.
How many children in primary and secondary schools know who they are and who they will be from moment to moment? How many parents can say the same?
Circumstances do not make us who we are. Circumstances show to others what we're made of. Writers and thinkers have stated and restated those facts. Non-linguistic animals demonstrate those facts from birth. So do we.
You bring who you are to the game. You take away from the game an appreciation for others and what they're made of. If children know that innately, why do we adults so easily forget?
Isn't it time we relearned who we are and willingly/openly shared ourselves with those who have no want/desire to be what we ignorantly label enemies, who are really just temporary opponents in a game?
2010-08-24
Mid-Morning News
Breaking news for this morning:
** makes us wonder if there's a purpose behind a driver with the last name Speed or Power. Along that same line, Dale Earnhardt, Jr., is said to be in negotiations with his agents to consider changing his name to Pure Moneymaker. Because of contract constraints, he's not allowed to change his name to Nationwide Bud Wrangler.
- One shopper claims that after he pumped BP petrol into his car, brine shrimp started blowing out of his tailpipe. Our investigators are digging deeper into this watery horizon.
- Walmart's success in selling bananas has been traced to a rumour spreading across texts, tweets and the Internet that the tropical fruit, combined with bacon grease and hair of a dog's tail collected on the night of a full moon, is the exact same set of ingredients used to make Viagra, Cialis and other expensive stimulants (that is, according to a witch doctor we hired after the doc predicted the government's bureaucratic blunder in responding to the cataclysmic cleanup of Hurricane Katrina; the doc said that Pakistanis might as well roll up their rugs and move somewhere else 'cause they're in worse shape than a few thousand displaced Nawlins residents).
- Due to an unstoppable epidemic of artificial aging, today's episode of the soap opera, Days of Our Lives, moves the storyline forward 100 years and past 20 generations of Black, Brady, Carver, DiMera, Hernandez, Horton, Kiriakis, etc.
- Our crack reporters* have unearthed a conspiracy of epic proportions. The recent triple-race win (no, not a trifecta) by a driver fans love to hate was rigged in order to help increase sales of Busch beer. When asked if this was true, Kyle's brother said, "Why else do you think they hired us in the first place? Do we look like NASCAR drivers to you?"**
** makes us wonder if there's a purpose behind a driver with the last name Speed or Power. Along that same line, Dale Earnhardt, Jr., is said to be in negotiations with his agents to consider changing his name to Pure Moneymaker. Because of contract constraints, he's not allowed to change his name to Nationwide Bud Wrangler.
2010-08-08
Seeds and Asphalt
While road courses dominate the airwaves, crowds dominated the lanes of the watermelon festival in what only the meteorologists would call a cold front. Thanks to Bev Mazursky's homemade ice cream, Ten Thousand Villages' informative volunteers like Sheelagh and Rupa Singh, the band Offering in which my nephew's friend Sanannah plays violin, Plan 9 Music, the World of Mirth and vendering vendors sweating under tent booth roofs selling to the fiery frenzy that is the competitive taps, claps and timbre of street music.
Congrats to Montoya and Dario who had more will power today. Wish I could see Amish country near the Mid-Ohio track again.
Anyone had a hankerin' for an atomic stop at Quaker Lube lately?
Why do I crave a low-slung Lotus right now?
Congrats to Montoya and Dario who had more will power today. Wish I could see Amish country near the Mid-Ohio track again.
Anyone had a hankerin' for an atomic stop at Quaker Lube lately?
Why do I crave a low-slung Lotus right now?
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