Yesterday morning I tried to recall how many years it had been since I had a drink. I remembered the date, but not the year. I resigned myself to the notion that if I couldn't remember how long it had been then it must surely be less of a big deal than I had been making of it. Like remembering the anniversary of your first date. Once you get married, and have a kid, the focus shifts.
Speaking of those last few things, I believe I can draw a fairly straight line from the moment I stopped drinking to the events that culminated in the creation of my little family. Would they have happened anyway? It's possible, but I doubt it could have transpired in the same way or at the same speed. My life changed abruptly once I decided to stop drinking. By removing one major source of activity and confusion in my life, I was able to find other more practical ways to spend my time. It is no coincidence that it is my wife who helped me recall that I was celebrating my twentieth year of sobriety.
Not that I don't have some regrets. I still miss the warm, fraternal buzz of sharing a pitcher of beer. I have fond memories of bottles of Chardonnay: their smell, their taste. I miss that excuse to sit at the end of a bar, hammering away at the video trivia game for hours. I miss the gut-busting laughter that a two-drink minimum ensures. I miss the periodic release of all my demons.
Not everyone is with me on that last one, and I understand. I didn't have an "off switch." My college roommates called me "The Thing That Would Not Heave." Long after I had lost the power of comprehensible speech, I was able to stagger around and continue to consume. Twenty years ago, I had made a name for myself as a guy who could really throw 'em down. On my twentieth birthday, I made a point of drinking a beer for every year I had been alive. I made a name for myself as a number of other things, but decorum prohibits their mention here. The up side has been tremendous, but I know that it was a choice I made way back when to stop drinking, and that means I have had plenty of time to second guess myself. And now, I can turn the page and start forgetting again.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Friday, March 13, 2009
Steele In His Words
Michael Steele must be developing a taste for shoe leather, his own that is. In a recent interview with Gentleman's Quarterly:
“Are you saying you think women have the right to choose abortion?” GQ’s Lisa DePaulo asked.
“Yeah. I mean, again, I think that’s an individual choice,” he said, according to GQ’s transcript, which he did not dispute.
“You do?” he was asked.
“Yeah. Absolutely,” he said.
The pages of GQ isn't where I would expect to find news about platform changes in the Republican party, and certainly Mister Steele has a right to his own opinion, even if it contradicts with the one that he has held previously. In a statement issued through the RNC press office on Thursday, Steele said, “I am pro-life, always have been, always will be.” Not everyone was as understanding as he was with himself.
Last week he had to apologize to Rush Limbaugh. Now he's got the whole pro-life movement mad at him. Charmaine Yoest, president of Americans United for Life, called Steele's comments “disturbing and demoralizing." Ms. Yoest, welcome to the last eight years of my life.
“Chairman Steele needs to reread the Bible, the U.S. Constitution and the 2008 GOP Platform,” said former Ohio Secretary of State Ken Blackwell. “He then needs to get to work or get out of the way.” Wait a minute, he gets a choice?
“Are you saying you think women have the right to choose abortion?” GQ’s Lisa DePaulo asked.
“Yeah. I mean, again, I think that’s an individual choice,” he said, according to GQ’s transcript, which he did not dispute.
“You do?” he was asked.
“Yeah. Absolutely,” he said.
The pages of GQ isn't where I would expect to find news about platform changes in the Republican party, and certainly Mister Steele has a right to his own opinion, even if it contradicts with the one that he has held previously. In a statement issued through the RNC press office on Thursday, Steele said, “I am pro-life, always have been, always will be.” Not everyone was as understanding as he was with himself.
Last week he had to apologize to Rush Limbaugh. Now he's got the whole pro-life movement mad at him. Charmaine Yoest, president of Americans United for Life, called Steele's comments “disturbing and demoralizing." Ms. Yoest, welcome to the last eight years of my life.
“Chairman Steele needs to reread the Bible, the U.S. Constitution and the 2008 GOP Platform,” said former Ohio Secretary of State Ken Blackwell. “He then needs to get to work or get out of the way.” Wait a minute, he gets a choice?
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Are You Ready For Some Football? Really?
I'm old enough to remember the Denver Gold, but I'm also young enough that I can't forget them. The Denver Gold was Colorado's USFL team. Between the years of 1983 and 1985, they were our only football outlet, after the "real" football was over. This was the league that gave Jim Kelly, Steve Young, and Herschel Walker their starts. There were truckloads of money dumped on this Spring Football idea, but it never quite caught on. For a year or so, though, I learned to care about Larry Canada, a running back for the Gold. His nickname was "The Mailman," because, we were told, "he delivers."
Fifteen years passed, and at the turn of the century, paying little or no heed to the lessons of the USFL, World Wrestling promoter Jim McMahon launched the XFL. The new "extreme" brand of football came with no particular rooting interest for me, and so I watched a couple of games purely for the visceral impact of the potentially dangerous rule changes. And then there was "He Hate Me," remembered more for his jersey than his accomplishments on the field. That's the kind of show they were running.
Now we are told, as our economy is about to collapse on itself, that a new league is forming. The United Football League will try once again to fill that outdoor football need that all red-blooded Americans feel. In September. Their mission statement reads, in part, "To fulfill the unmet needs of football fans in major markets currently underserved by professional football by providing a high quality traditional football league comprised of world class professional football players." An interesting notion, considering one of their teams will be headquartered in San Francisco. When they say "underserved," maybe they mean quality more than quantity, since there are already two professional football teams that call the Bay Area home. They're promising to kick off in October 2009. Maybe they'll get Larry Canada out of retirement, since they know that he can deliver.
Fifteen years passed, and at the turn of the century, paying little or no heed to the lessons of the USFL, World Wrestling promoter Jim McMahon launched the XFL. The new "extreme" brand of football came with no particular rooting interest for me, and so I watched a couple of games purely for the visceral impact of the potentially dangerous rule changes. And then there was "He Hate Me," remembered more for his jersey than his accomplishments on the field. That's the kind of show they were running.
Now we are told, as our economy is about to collapse on itself, that a new league is forming. The United Football League will try once again to fill that outdoor football need that all red-blooded Americans feel. In September. Their mission statement reads, in part, "To fulfill the unmet needs of football fans in major markets currently underserved by professional football by providing a high quality traditional football league comprised of world class professional football players." An interesting notion, considering one of their teams will be headquartered in San Francisco. When they say "underserved," maybe they mean quality more than quantity, since there are already two professional football teams that call the Bay Area home. They're promising to kick off in October 2009. Maybe they'll get Larry Canada out of retirement, since they know that he can deliver.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Honeymoon's Over
Don't you just love those first few months of a new relationship? "Oh, you like the Beatles too? And you like sushi? Me too!" Everything they say is interesting, and you can't wait to hear their next thought. Each new utterance is like a door opening on a brand new day. Then, eventually, comes a day when some of the magic has worn thin. "What do you mean comic books? These are graphic novels!" It is precisely this kind of friction that makes life more interesting, and I believe the thing that keeps relationships alive.
So imagine my surprise when I discover that my love affair with my President has just hit a snag. "You want to redistribute wealth? Sounds great, especially the way you say it. Tax breaks for the middle class? What a wonderful idea. Merit pay for teachers?" And then the room goes quiet.
I can't say that it came as a surprise. It has been on all the badges, posters, stickers and T-shirts. I guess I wasn't sure that we would get to it this quickly. Education reform is going to happen right along with the economy and health care and Iraq and a playoff system for college football. Barack Obama is a man of his word. It just so happens that this particular word gives me pause.
"Too many supporters of my party have resisted the idea of rewarding excellence in teaching with extra pay, even though we know it can make a difference in the classroom." Teachers, as a union, held their breath. Does this mean that teachers with high test scores get big checks? What about those of us who dare to stick it out in Program Improvement schools?
The good news is that "achievement" is a broad term, and his administration is showing an active interest in working on this with educators, not to them. "That is a wonderful feeling, for the president of the United States to acknowledge and respect the professional knowledge and skills that those educators bring to every job in the school," president of the National Education Association, Dennis van Roekel said.
Still, he gets a gleam in his eye when he starts talking about charter schools and a longer school years, but I just can't stay mad at him. Not yet, anyway.
So imagine my surprise when I discover that my love affair with my President has just hit a snag. "You want to redistribute wealth? Sounds great, especially the way you say it. Tax breaks for the middle class? What a wonderful idea. Merit pay for teachers?" And then the room goes quiet.
I can't say that it came as a surprise. It has been on all the badges, posters, stickers and T-shirts. I guess I wasn't sure that we would get to it this quickly. Education reform is going to happen right along with the economy and health care and Iraq and a playoff system for college football. Barack Obama is a man of his word. It just so happens that this particular word gives me pause.
"Too many supporters of my party have resisted the idea of rewarding excellence in teaching with extra pay, even though we know it can make a difference in the classroom." Teachers, as a union, held their breath. Does this mean that teachers with high test scores get big checks? What about those of us who dare to stick it out in Program Improvement schools?
The good news is that "achievement" is a broad term, and his administration is showing an active interest in working on this with educators, not to them. "That is a wonderful feeling, for the president of the United States to acknowledge and respect the professional knowledge and skills that those educators bring to every job in the school," president of the National Education Association, Dennis van Roekel said.
Still, he gets a gleam in his eye when he starts talking about charter schools and a longer school years, but I just can't stay mad at him. Not yet, anyway.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Well Of Souls
There was a time when the job I had installing modular office furniture routinely brought me to downtown Denver. That was the major reason that I even considered joining the video dating service "Great Expectations." There was no office in Boulder, and so it would only happen if I found myself in Denver and we had finished early enough on that particular afternoon that I could drop in and not be trapped by rush hour traffic.
It took me some months to find this coincidental moment, but I made sure that I was ready. I brought with me the change of clothes they suggested on the phone, as well as the "get acquainted" coupon they had sent me in the mail back when the snow was falling. The fact that they had sent the special offer to "single resident" didn't matter, at least they got my address right.
It was a warm spring day when I pulled into the covered parking adjacent to the Great Expectations sign. I double-checked the suite number one last time and headed inside. The first thing that struck me when I entered was how empty it was. How was I going to meet the woman of my dreams if there were no women around? The receptionist checked my name off a list and told me to have a seat. They were waiting for two other single residents to come along on our introductory offer.
The magazines in the waiting room were far too hip for me to comprehend, so I flipped through some of the brochures that were laid out carefully within arm's reach of where I was sitting. As I waited for the rest of my tour to arrive, it crossed my mind for the very first time: "I have no idea how much this will cost."
When the two young men, both of whom would have had a much easier time coping with the reading material in the lobby, showed up, we were escorted to a meeting room. There we were shown a number of feel-good happy-ending testimonials from satisfied customers on videotape. It never occurred to me to ask my host if he had used the service himself, but after a few more minutes of preliminaries I dropped the big one: "How much is this going to cost me?"
"How much is it worth to find your soulmate?" came the response.
I knew exactly what he was getting at. He had zeroed in on the desperation I had felt by coming there in the first place. I had been on a grand total of two "real dates" in the previous eight years, and I was ready to believe that I really needed help meeting people. I needed their help enough to pay whatever it was that they were asking, so why was I asking?
The answer came to me in a flash: Because I didn't need their help that bad after all. I picked up my carefully selected wardrobe changes, still on their hangers, thanked them for their time and excused myself. As I walked past the closed doors that I could only assume contained video production equipment and banks of computers for selecting compatible couples, I half-expected to be chased out the door. "But we had a deal!"
We never did. I got back in my car and drove into the late afternoon sunshine. I wished the men I saw and all the women I never met success in their Great Expectations, but they weren't mine. I took a leap of faith and decided to save the money, however much it might have been, for the next date I went on. For the record, that came more than a year later, but it was with the woman who became my wife. That was a good investment.
It took me some months to find this coincidental moment, but I made sure that I was ready. I brought with me the change of clothes they suggested on the phone, as well as the "get acquainted" coupon they had sent me in the mail back when the snow was falling. The fact that they had sent the special offer to "single resident" didn't matter, at least they got my address right.
It was a warm spring day when I pulled into the covered parking adjacent to the Great Expectations sign. I double-checked the suite number one last time and headed inside. The first thing that struck me when I entered was how empty it was. How was I going to meet the woman of my dreams if there were no women around? The receptionist checked my name off a list and told me to have a seat. They were waiting for two other single residents to come along on our introductory offer.
The magazines in the waiting room were far too hip for me to comprehend, so I flipped through some of the brochures that were laid out carefully within arm's reach of where I was sitting. As I waited for the rest of my tour to arrive, it crossed my mind for the very first time: "I have no idea how much this will cost."
When the two young men, both of whom would have had a much easier time coping with the reading material in the lobby, showed up, we were escorted to a meeting room. There we were shown a number of feel-good happy-ending testimonials from satisfied customers on videotape. It never occurred to me to ask my host if he had used the service himself, but after a few more minutes of preliminaries I dropped the big one: "How much is this going to cost me?"
"How much is it worth to find your soulmate?" came the response.
I knew exactly what he was getting at. He had zeroed in on the desperation I had felt by coming there in the first place. I had been on a grand total of two "real dates" in the previous eight years, and I was ready to believe that I really needed help meeting people. I needed their help enough to pay whatever it was that they were asking, so why was I asking?
The answer came to me in a flash: Because I didn't need their help that bad after all. I picked up my carefully selected wardrobe changes, still on their hangers, thanked them for their time and excused myself. As I walked past the closed doors that I could only assume contained video production equipment and banks of computers for selecting compatible couples, I half-expected to be chased out the door. "But we had a deal!"
We never did. I got back in my car and drove into the late afternoon sunshine. I wished the men I saw and all the women I never met success in their Great Expectations, but they weren't mine. I took a leap of faith and decided to save the money, however much it might have been, for the next date I went on. For the record, that came more than a year later, but it was with the woman who became my wife. That was a good investment.
Monday, March 09, 2009
Who Watches The Watchmen? Me
The poet once asked, "Yes, ’n’ how many times must the cannon balls fly before they’re forever banned?" These are Bob Dylan's words. They come from a protest song. They come from a song that is not featured on the soundtrack to the movie version of "The Watchmen." I mention this because there are three other Dylan compositions heard over the course of the film, or about one an hour: "The Times They Are A-Changin'," "All Along The Watchtower," and "Desolation Row." In the alternative reality of the Watchmen where Richard Nixon is still president in 1985, Bob Dylan is still asking the musical questions that need answers.
The question being asked in "The Watchmen" is simple enough: Can a bunch of super heroes save mankind from itself? Or in the case of Doctor Manhattan, would he even care to? Setting the film during the Cold War compounds the feeling of "us versus them," and as the doomsday clock ticks ever closer to nuclear midnight, the line between the good guys and the bad guys gets fuzzier and fuzzier.
Superman used to fight for "truth, justice, and the American Way." In "Superman IV: The Quest For Peace," the Man of Steel seems intent on breaking from the political ideologies of his countrymen to work for nuclear disarmament at the behest of a kid who writes him a letter. When all the good and trustworthy governments send their missiles off into space for Supes to destroy them, a vacuum is created. Lex Luthor and his unscrupulous arms dealer friends swoop in to fill that void. Nuclear weapons, it seems, are a necessary evil.
Christopher Reeve is a much more benign presence than the Superman in Frank Miller's "Dark Knight Returns." In this one, Krypton's favorite son is the tool of a government that that teeters on the edge of fascism. Superman is sent to kill Batman for his vigilante ways. Order must be maintained, but not at the cost of the status quo.
Which brings us back to the Watchmen. In order to make nuclear annihilation unthinkable, it is important to think of something worse. Instead of having two countries mutually assured of the world's destruction, what if that power came in the form of just one man? The big blue guy, Doctor Manhattan. What happens if the guy who can destroy a planet with a thought has a bad day? The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind.
The question being asked in "The Watchmen" is simple enough: Can a bunch of super heroes save mankind from itself? Or in the case of Doctor Manhattan, would he even care to? Setting the film during the Cold War compounds the feeling of "us versus them," and as the doomsday clock ticks ever closer to nuclear midnight, the line between the good guys and the bad guys gets fuzzier and fuzzier.
Superman used to fight for "truth, justice, and the American Way." In "Superman IV: The Quest For Peace," the Man of Steel seems intent on breaking from the political ideologies of his countrymen to work for nuclear disarmament at the behest of a kid who writes him a letter. When all the good and trustworthy governments send their missiles off into space for Supes to destroy them, a vacuum is created. Lex Luthor and his unscrupulous arms dealer friends swoop in to fill that void. Nuclear weapons, it seems, are a necessary evil.
Christopher Reeve is a much more benign presence than the Superman in Frank Miller's "Dark Knight Returns." In this one, Krypton's favorite son is the tool of a government that that teeters on the edge of fascism. Superman is sent to kill Batman for his vigilante ways. Order must be maintained, but not at the cost of the status quo.
Which brings us back to the Watchmen. In order to make nuclear annihilation unthinkable, it is important to think of something worse. Instead of having two countries mutually assured of the world's destruction, what if that power came in the form of just one man? The big blue guy, Doctor Manhattan. What happens if the guy who can destroy a planet with a thought has a bad day? The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind.
Sunday, March 08, 2009
Apprehension
My wife watched for a few minutes, then turned to me and asked the obvious question: "Why is he doing that?" I knew exactly what she was talking about. We were watching "Live And Let Die," and the villain Kananga was chatting up James Bond, with the expressed intent of killing him shortly after. Kanaga was just another in a series of vociferous scoundrels James has encountered in his career. They always feel compelled to brag about their plans for world domination before dispatching that pesky 007.
This syndrome is not exclusive to the Bond series. Villains always seem more interested in showing off just how clever they are than actually committing the crime. This was best described in Pixar's "The Incredibles," when old friends Bob and Lucius (aka Mister Incredible and Frozone) are reminiscing one night:
Lucius: So now I'm in deep trouble. I mean, one more jolt of this death ray and I'm an epitaph. Somehow I manage to find cover and what does Baron von Ruthless do?
Bob: [laughing] He starts monologuing.
Lucius: He starts monologuing! He starts like, this prepared speech about how *feeble* I am compared to him, how *inevitable* my defeat is, how *the world* *will soon* *be his*, yadda yadda yadda.
Bob: Yammering.
Lucius: Yammering! I mean, the guy has me on a platter and he won't shut up!
It is precisely at this point that Frozone or Batman or James Bond or Austin Powers spot their opening. This hubris always leads to the undoing of the bad guys. And do you suppose that it only happens in the movies and comic books?
Yesterday morning, police and FBI agents raided thirty homes in a gang bust meant to break up a violent group who call themselves the Taliban gang. One of the ways they were able to locate and track members of the gang was through their regular posting of videos on YouTube. On their Facebook pages they were probably updating their status regularly, including important details for their plans for world domination.
It's not that different from the bozos who videotape themselves driving around smashing mailboxes. Eventually that tape makes its way to the very authority they hope to flaunt. James Bond doesn't need a lot of fancy gadgets these days, he could just hang around an Internet cafe and wait for Goldfinger to upload his latest video.
This syndrome is not exclusive to the Bond series. Villains always seem more interested in showing off just how clever they are than actually committing the crime. This was best described in Pixar's "The Incredibles," when old friends Bob and Lucius (aka Mister Incredible and Frozone) are reminiscing one night:
Lucius: So now I'm in deep trouble. I mean, one more jolt of this death ray and I'm an epitaph. Somehow I manage to find cover and what does Baron von Ruthless do?
Bob: [laughing] He starts monologuing.
Lucius: He starts monologuing! He starts like, this prepared speech about how *feeble* I am compared to him, how *inevitable* my defeat is, how *the world* *will soon* *be his*, yadda yadda yadda.
Bob: Yammering.
Lucius: Yammering! I mean, the guy has me on a platter and he won't shut up!
It is precisely at this point that Frozone or Batman or James Bond or Austin Powers spot their opening. This hubris always leads to the undoing of the bad guys. And do you suppose that it only happens in the movies and comic books?
Yesterday morning, police and FBI agents raided thirty homes in a gang bust meant to break up a violent group who call themselves the Taliban gang. One of the ways they were able to locate and track members of the gang was through their regular posting of videos on YouTube. On their Facebook pages they were probably updating their status regularly, including important details for their plans for world domination.
It's not that different from the bozos who videotape themselves driving around smashing mailboxes. Eventually that tape makes its way to the very authority they hope to flaunt. James Bond doesn't need a lot of fancy gadgets these days, he could just hang around an Internet cafe and wait for Goldfinger to upload his latest video.
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