License plate frames. You buy a car from a dealership. A few weeks later you get the permanent plate in the mail. When you put the new plate on, you reattach the dealership’s license plate frame. Why? Free advertising for the dealership that made you pay too much for the car you’re driving? Now, I’m not talking about the frame your folks got you when you graduated from South Kentucky University, or the one that says, “My other car is a pirate ship.” By all means, keep those (of course, I’d never have one myself). It’s the dealership frames I don’t understand. Especially one as revealing as the one I saw the other day from No Credit Check Auto Sales.
Business letters. Specifically, the closing right before you sign your name. “Very truly yours,” I don’t even know what that means, but it might just be a polite way of saying “Give me more money.” “Sincerely,” has become so ubiquitous and trite that you might as well be signing “Insincerely”. “Best,” Now this one I kinda like because it’s so vague. Best what? Sure, the recipient of the letter might think it means something like “Best wishes” or “Best regards,” but as the writer of the letter, I like to think it means “I’m the best”.
Eyebrows. At this point in human history eyebrows serve no purpose. “Not true, they keep sweat out of your eyes!” Of course they do, but who sweats nowadays? Professional athletes? I wonder what the professional athlete-normal human being ratio is. OK sure, there are plenty of professions that require a bit of physical exertion. But as technology advances, it’s only a matter of time before robots replace the world’s manual laborers, thereby rendering eyebrows obsolete. Chances are your eyebrows already are.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Trampling Out the Vintage
The other night I finally finished The Grapes of Wrath. Not my favorite by John Steinbeck, but still a worthy read, and definitely an excellent portrayal of America during the Great Depression. The book is about the Joad family, who are booted off their Oklahoma farm as a result of the dust bowl. They make their way to California in search of work, finding only desparation in its place. (That really makes you wanna read it, right?)
I love how this book is written. The odd chapters (1, 3, 5, etc.) are short, 3 or 4 pages, and provide a general description of the Great Depression, the Dust Bowl, and the challenges the homeless migrant families faced as they headed west. These chapters put the story in context and usually foreshadow the even chapters. Then, the even chapters (2, 4, 6, etc.) are a telling of how one family in particular (the Joads) respond to these challenges.
The book's ending is quite abrupt and, at first glance, anti-climactic, which is something I'm learning to expect and appreciate when it comes to Steinbeck novels. I won't spoil the it for you, but what I got out of this book, especially the ending, is that human dignity is most effectively obtained and imparted while debasing oneself in the service of another.
If you're gonna read only one John Steinbeck novel in your life, read East of Eden. If you're gonna read two, try The Grapes of Wrath.
I love how this book is written. The odd chapters (1, 3, 5, etc.) are short, 3 or 4 pages, and provide a general description of the Great Depression, the Dust Bowl, and the challenges the homeless migrant families faced as they headed west. These chapters put the story in context and usually foreshadow the even chapters. Then, the even chapters (2, 4, 6, etc.) are a telling of how one family in particular (the Joads) respond to these challenges.
The book's ending is quite abrupt and, at first glance, anti-climactic, which is something I'm learning to expect and appreciate when it comes to Steinbeck novels. I won't spoil the it for you, but what I got out of this book, especially the ending, is that human dignity is most effectively obtained and imparted while debasing oneself in the service of another.
If you're gonna read only one John Steinbeck novel in your life, read East of Eden. If you're gonna read two, try The Grapes of Wrath.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Your kids can walk to school.
Not sure know why parents don't realize this. For years I've lived across the street from a junior high school. When I'd leave for school (college school) every day, backing out of my driveway was always a chore thanks to the mobile baracade of SUVs and minivans lining the street. Going to school in Idaho has been a bit of a break because I always walk to class. But since I've been here in California I've witnessed a similar phenomenon on my way to work: a snake of cars slithering through an elementary school parking lot. Sure, it's not a big deal here because I don't have to sever the snake to leave my house; I just find it strange that so many children need a ride to school.
Let's think about this. There are, what, two to three junior highs (or middle schools, if you will) per high school? And the same number or more of elementary schools per junior high? That's anywhere from 6 to over 12 elementary schools per high school. I'll agree, not every high school is within walking distance, but when the elementary to high school ratio is so high, there will almost always be an elementary school, and very likely a junior high as well, within walking distance of any house.
It's especially ironic here in Nor Cal, where liberalism is the church of state and everyone's greatest fear is global warming. If your kid is perfectly capable of getting to school her own (she has two functional legs), why waste precious resources and pollute the air by driving her to school?
Parents might argue that's it's unsafe to have their kids walk to school. Well, if you all made your kids walk there'd be more kids on the road, making it far less likely for your kid to be abducted -- odds are it will be someone else's kid, so what are you worried about? Honestly, the world is a dangerous place, but the sooner kids learn how to live in that world, the better. The one place they won't learn that is in the backseat of a minivan.
Let's think about this. There are, what, two to three junior highs (or middle schools, if you will) per high school? And the same number or more of elementary schools per junior high? That's anywhere from 6 to over 12 elementary schools per high school. I'll agree, not every high school is within walking distance, but when the elementary to high school ratio is so high, there will almost always be an elementary school, and very likely a junior high as well, within walking distance of any house.
It's especially ironic here in Nor Cal, where liberalism is the church of state and everyone's greatest fear is global warming. If your kid is perfectly capable of getting to school her own (she has two functional legs), why waste precious resources and pollute the air by driving her to school?
Parents might argue that's it's unsafe to have their kids walk to school. Well, if you all made your kids walk there'd be more kids on the road, making it far less likely for your kid to be abducted -- odds are it will be someone else's kid, so what are you worried about? Honestly, the world is a dangerous place, but the sooner kids learn how to live in that world, the better. The one place they won't learn that is in the backseat of a minivan.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
I dream in color TV
I rarely remember my dreams, but lately, in all the ones I do remember, I'm hanging with characters from TV shows. Sunday night I was at the mall, enjoying a meal in the food court with Jim Halpert, Pam Beasley, Michael Gary Scott, and Dwight Kurt Schrute. Last week I dreamt that I was back on the Lost island -- I say 'back' because it's the second Lost dream I've had. In the first, I was hanging with Locke in the hatch, season two style. In the one I had last week, Ben had been replaced as chief of the Others by some unknown person who immediately enlisted Sawyer to carry out seemingly random kidnappings among the other island survivors. For the end-of-the-episode twist, this mysterious personage was revealed as my friend Marliett, which, if you knew her, would be one of the best twists of plot in Lost history. Of course, let's not forget about Carl Winslow the Cannibal that I blogged about earlier.
I just can't wait for the night when I find myself in cut-off shorts ("There are dozens of us!") painting myself blue with Tobias Funke. Or maybe working a shift at the Banana Stand with George Michael (no, not the 80's pop star). Perhaps I'll find myself appearing as a wisdom dispensing David Bowie in one of Bret McKenzie's freaky dreams ("Am I freaking you out, Bret?").
I just can't wait for the night when I find myself in cut-off shorts ("There are dozens of us!") painting myself blue with Tobias Funke. Or maybe working a shift at the Banana Stand with George Michael (no, not the 80's pop star). Perhaps I'll find myself appearing as a wisdom dispensing David Bowie in one of Bret McKenzie's freaky dreams ("Am I freaking you out, Bret?").
Sunday, February 24, 2008
And I'm sorry Mr. Jones, it's time.
In memorandum
Jameson Jones, iPod
When I got in my car after church today, I began the normal routine of attaching the car charger and iTrip to my iPod. "Bitterblue" by Cat Stevens was almost over but I wanted to enjoy the rest of it at a louder volume so I reached down to turn it up. When my thumb hit the track wheel and slid accross its surface something strange happened. Or rather, nothing happened. I was confused. I hit the menu button to backtrack to the list of songs of the album I was listening to. I tried cycling through the songs, but with the same result, or more accurately, the lack of one. It was the same when I tried going through albums and artists: nothing. The conclusion I reached: the trackwheel is broken.
I bought my iPod in Spring of 2005. Over the past three years, Jameson Jones has been a stalwart and constant companion. Whether it was a road trip or a drive across town, a long run or a short walk to class, an hour cleaning my room or a long day at work, Jameson provided the soundtrack to which each one of these activities was accomplished. The number of miles and hours Jameson has spent at my side is incalculable.
Sure, Jameson still functions, he still works; however, his functions are now limited. I love the album Teaser and the Firecat, and for that reason, I don't want to end up hating it since it's the only album Jameson is now capable of playing. I love the fact that my iPod can't play videos. I love its monochrome screen and blocky text. So, with a heavy heart I sing to you the words that you allowed Ben Folds to sing to me so many times: "I'm sorry Mr. Jones, it's time."
Jameson Jones, iPod
When I got in my car after church today, I began the normal routine of attaching the car charger and iTrip to my iPod. "Bitterblue" by Cat Stevens was almost over but I wanted to enjoy the rest of it at a louder volume so I reached down to turn it up. When my thumb hit the track wheel and slid accross its surface something strange happened. Or rather, nothing happened. I was confused. I hit the menu button to backtrack to the list of songs of the album I was listening to. I tried cycling through the songs, but with the same result, or more accurately, the lack of one. It was the same when I tried going through albums and artists: nothing. The conclusion I reached: the trackwheel is broken.
I bought my iPod in Spring of 2005. Over the past three years, Jameson Jones has been a stalwart and constant companion. Whether it was a road trip or a drive across town, a long run or a short walk to class, an hour cleaning my room or a long day at work, Jameson provided the soundtrack to which each one of these activities was accomplished. The number of miles and hours Jameson has spent at my side is incalculable.
Sure, Jameson still functions, he still works; however, his functions are now limited. I love the album Teaser and the Firecat, and for that reason, I don't want to end up hating it since it's the only album Jameson is now capable of playing. I love the fact that my iPod can't play videos. I love its monochrome screen and blocky text. So, with a heavy heart I sing to you the words that you allowed Ben Folds to sing to me so many times: "I'm sorry Mr. Jones, it's time."
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Sab-badical!
Jesus sought me when a stranger
Wandering from the fold of God
He, to rescue me from danger
Interposed His precious blood
O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I'm constrained to be
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter
Bind my wandering heart to Thee
O that day when freed from sinning
I shall see Thy lovely face
Clothed then in blood washed linen
How I'll sing Thy sovereign grace
Wandering from the fold of God
He, to rescue me from danger
Interposed His precious blood
O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I'm constrained to be
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter
Bind my wandering heart to Thee
O that day when freed from sinning
I shall see Thy lovely face
Clothed then in blood washed linen
How I'll sing Thy sovereign grace
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