In these days of ten year college reunions and wacky space cults, one has to take a moment to pause and contemplate one's place amongst others. Group memberships are rarely free, they almost always come with some kind of cost attached. And just when you're hooked, that's when they raise the tuition.
The small midwestern college the little guy went to didn't have no fraternities, didn't have no sororities or none of that stuff. But it did, like most any gathering of humans, have its groups and cliques. You had your activists, and your jocks, and your geeks, and your beer club, and your chess club, and your ice cream loving calorie countin' little but ever expanding perky ones. And you had those that never really felt a part of any of the throngs that gathered together. Perhaps these souls wanted to join, wanted that coveted membership, perhaps not. Solitude too comes with its own benefits though the accompanying dues can be difficult for many people to deal with.
Perhaps the best way to better illustrate this is to examine the world of nuts: The most perfect nut, the newsletter endorsed variety, is of course, the pistachio. There is nothing quite as satisfying as sitting down when the day's embers are dimming, as the evening quiet dawns to a nice bag of freshly bought pistachios. We ain't talkin about those messy red ones, we are talking about the ones that all the finest stores carry in masses in a big display next to the peanuts.
The pistachio can be so refreshing; lightly salted, a hint of moisture mixed in with a delectably light taste. One can't stop at eating one!
But sad to say there are those who don't know, or don't in any case want to enjoy our friend, Mr. Pistachio. These lower class types would much rather eat the all popular peanut. Yes, the peanut has its place being the versatile nut that it is. And yes the peanut certainly has earned some of its popularity among the masses. But can something that popular, that available be truly worth it? Those that are too easy, often get a reputation you know.
(Pardon the interruption here but my furry little feline friend just mistimed, misjudged a leap and landed on his tail. A tad ungraceful though he did his best to disguise his gaffe and prance away as if that was what he meant to do. At least he has the excuse of having a walnut sized brain. I have no such excuse to explain myself...)
At the other end of the spectrum is the high brow appeal of the almond. The almond is a fashionable nut, almost too good for its own appeal. With its tip slightly turned upwards, the almond is one nut that some of us can only savor on special occasions. Then you have the flashy curl of the cashew. Open a box of mixed nuts and your attention might fix upon the cashews. Their size and shape certainly are impressive enough. Even those of us rooting for the pistachio have to admire the smooth texture and meaty content of your average cashew. Who doesn't enjoy a good cashew now and then?
The walnut is a little too hard to get. With its thick shell and its rigid texture, the walnut is the type of nut one can take or leave. If there is a bowl placed in front of you, one might partake, but then again, one might not.
Which brings us back to our true love, the pistachio. There's nothing quite as frustrating as a pistachio that doesn't have an opening so you can't crack it open. The sweet nut of the gods within a shell's width away from your taste buds, and still there is nothing you can humanly do to get at it. Sure it's tempting to try to crack it between your teeth but with the thought of a lofty dental bill in mind it's probably a good idea to show a little restraint and move on to the next nut.
I suppose you can get out a hammer and splatter the thing open but it hardly seems worth that much energy and noise to get one little nut when you have a whole bag in front of you. You have to learn to let go and move on to the next.
PISTACHIO NIGHTMARE SCENARIO: Your kind parents buy you a bag of pistachios which you with no shame and no mercy enjoy for a couple of nights. When you get near the end of the bag you carefully leave enough so you can enjoy yourself one last night. You want to savor the presence of your friend as long as you can. You carefully twist the bag shut to maintain maximum freshness and place the bag on top of the Tupperware full of discarded shells. Garbage day comes and you empty the shells into the garbage. Alas when you get home the next night with visions of that bag causing cravings of unbearable desire for the remainder pistachios, you discover you forgot to remove the good pistachios from the empty shells. Your treat is gone. She has broken your heart one more time. All that is left is the memory, a distant time and place. And yet you are still in love. All you can think about is the next time...
Monday, April 28, 1997
Monday, April 21, 1997
Rumble in the Jungle
So it's king for king, queen for queen, gonna be the meanest flood anybody's ever seen.
There are those who feel that the sport of boxing should be outlawed. The sport is flooded by those who exploit young boxers in the pursuit of a dollar as well as its supposedly corrupt rumored connections to the Mafia. Not to mention when you stop and think for a moment about the mere object of trying to hit someone harder, hurt someone more, knock them down and out before they do the same to you, one realizes the brutality does seem a bit much for entertainment purposes. Still after seeing the brilliant documentary, When We Were Kings, one can't help but share in at least one man's, Muhammad Ali's, sheer love of the artistry of the game. It once again proves that in even the ugliest of human endeavors, there are those unique individuals who can transcend their surroundings and show the rest of us the ever elusive beauty of the human soul.
My memory of Ali is of a cocky fighter who fought one too many fights, tarnishing his ever entertaining style by hanging around too long and leaving the ring as a mere shadow of his former self. To see him today is to see the ravages of all the fights, and the onslaught of Parkinson's Disease.
But in When We Were Kings, a film that depicts the events surrounding a much anticipated 1974 fight between Ali and George Foreman, Ali is at his charismatic best. Indeed one can argue there has never been as entertaining a figure in any sport as Ali was back in his prime. The champ in the movie is as funny, as watchable, as stylish and as likable as the most intriguing of leaders. It wasn't a simpler time, but by having a force like Ali to guide the way, it was in a sense, a more understandable time. Ali rises above the harsh brutality of the sport and gives a performance of an artist doing what he loves to do best.
Foreman was heavily favored to win the fight having just knocked out, in impressive fashion two of the day's greatest boxers, Joe Frazier and Ken Norton. He was bigger, stronger and younger than Ali, and was so dominating in his other fights that many feared for Ali's safety. Foreman comes across as a brooding and angry man, angry at Ali's greater popularity with the African people as well as angry with Ali's constant goading and gloating.
One of the movie's biggest charms is its snapshot of time quality. It is a movie about remembering history, of gaining deeper knowledge and thus appreciation of understanding where we've been to have a greater perception of where we are. It's a trait the movie observes that is often lacking in today's society. Knowing what we do of both Ali and Foreman's current state of health and popularity, an added poignancy comes in watching their younger selves. Ali's quick wit, his constant movement and jabs, both physical and verbal, contrast with the stony, trembling figure he is today. Foreman's transformation is equally as startling. After the fight he was to sink into a deep depression only to emerge years later as the fun loving, happy and smiling entertainer he now is.
In 1974, Ali ruled the world. His fight strategy was brilliant. He uses the hype and the hyperbole to trick Foreman into thinking he was going to fight a fight that he disguises like the unmatchable and greatly missed artist he is. While the experts expected it to be a fight between brute and quickness, force against wisdom, Ali uses his greater understanding of boxing, proving it more important to think than just hit hard, and with his body's wonderful grace he tires Foreman out with a well conceived although risky game plan.
His strategy stuns Foreman and the rest of the sporting world but Ali calmly walks away knowing he accomplished what he set out to do. He wasn't just saying he would win, his faith left no internal doubt- just another day at the office. His mission is expressed both in his bravado, but also in a more personal voyage which his many words conceal until the very moment that it becomes clear to the rest of the world. When We Were Kings isn't so much about boxing as it is about triumph of a unique and universal human spirit.
As I wander, hopes grow fonder, precious memories flood my soul.
There are those who feel that the sport of boxing should be outlawed. The sport is flooded by those who exploit young boxers in the pursuit of a dollar as well as its supposedly corrupt rumored connections to the Mafia. Not to mention when you stop and think for a moment about the mere object of trying to hit someone harder, hurt someone more, knock them down and out before they do the same to you, one realizes the brutality does seem a bit much for entertainment purposes. Still after seeing the brilliant documentary, When We Were Kings, one can't help but share in at least one man's, Muhammad Ali's, sheer love of the artistry of the game. It once again proves that in even the ugliest of human endeavors, there are those unique individuals who can transcend their surroundings and show the rest of us the ever elusive beauty of the human soul.
My memory of Ali is of a cocky fighter who fought one too many fights, tarnishing his ever entertaining style by hanging around too long and leaving the ring as a mere shadow of his former self. To see him today is to see the ravages of all the fights, and the onslaught of Parkinson's Disease.
But in When We Were Kings, a film that depicts the events surrounding a much anticipated 1974 fight between Ali and George Foreman, Ali is at his charismatic best. Indeed one can argue there has never been as entertaining a figure in any sport as Ali was back in his prime. The champ in the movie is as funny, as watchable, as stylish and as likable as the most intriguing of leaders. It wasn't a simpler time, but by having a force like Ali to guide the way, it was in a sense, a more understandable time. Ali rises above the harsh brutality of the sport and gives a performance of an artist doing what he loves to do best.
Foreman was heavily favored to win the fight having just knocked out, in impressive fashion two of the day's greatest boxers, Joe Frazier and Ken Norton. He was bigger, stronger and younger than Ali, and was so dominating in his other fights that many feared for Ali's safety. Foreman comes across as a brooding and angry man, angry at Ali's greater popularity with the African people as well as angry with Ali's constant goading and gloating.
One of the movie's biggest charms is its snapshot of time quality. It is a movie about remembering history, of gaining deeper knowledge and thus appreciation of understanding where we've been to have a greater perception of where we are. It's a trait the movie observes that is often lacking in today's society. Knowing what we do of both Ali and Foreman's current state of health and popularity, an added poignancy comes in watching their younger selves. Ali's quick wit, his constant movement and jabs, both physical and verbal, contrast with the stony, trembling figure he is today. Foreman's transformation is equally as startling. After the fight he was to sink into a deep depression only to emerge years later as the fun loving, happy and smiling entertainer he now is.
In 1974, Ali ruled the world. His fight strategy was brilliant. He uses the hype and the hyperbole to trick Foreman into thinking he was going to fight a fight that he disguises like the unmatchable and greatly missed artist he is. While the experts expected it to be a fight between brute and quickness, force against wisdom, Ali uses his greater understanding of boxing, proving it more important to think than just hit hard, and with his body's wonderful grace he tires Foreman out with a well conceived although risky game plan.
His strategy stuns Foreman and the rest of the sporting world but Ali calmly walks away knowing he accomplished what he set out to do. He wasn't just saying he would win, his faith left no internal doubt- just another day at the office. His mission is expressed both in his bravado, but also in a more personal voyage which his many words conceal until the very moment that it becomes clear to the rest of the world. When We Were Kings isn't so much about boxing as it is about triumph of a unique and universal human spirit.
As I wander, hopes grow fonder, precious memories flood my soul.
Monday, April 7, 1997
Boppity Bop
"Seen a shooting star tonight, and I thought of you. You're trying to break into another world, a world I never knew. I always kind of wondered if you ever made it through. Seen a shooting star tonight, and I thought of you."
The song goes that when you wish upon a shooting star, it makes no difference who you are. Unfortunately when you wish upon a shooting comet, you better have your papers in order Pepe. You don't want to miss the boat. You don't want to leave this place before you have your house in order. Although I may not quite be ready to buy me a pair of Nikes and a purple shroud I nonetheless have been impressed by the sight of the great Hale Bopp comet in the sky. To gaze up at this heavenly wonder and to contemplate the significance of it all is at the very least, a pleasant distraction from trying to figure out the deductions on your taxes.
It's rather easy to get bogged down in the minutia of every day life and lose perspective on the grander scheme of things. But if you stop and think about it, the frustrations you feel after an unpleasant encounter with a raging customer, or a demanding boss, or a lazy coworker pales in comparison with the vastness of what's out there. Those overdue bills? How overdue are they among the waves of eternal time? To think of your own personal significance in comparison with the expanse of time and space, geez its enough to make one either feel overwhelmed or laugh at the seriousness we all tend to take ourselves at times.
The difference in those things cosmic with our daily routines can be somewhat jarring. We do like our lives to be orderly. We count on the dependability and stability of those familiar elements around us and expect a minimum of surprises. Last Tuesday on April Fool's Day several of the comic strip writers got together and switched strips. Thus Dagwood appeared in Garfield's world and Dilbert appeared in Luann's. One of the appeals of our the daily comic strips is their reliability- you may not always find them amusing in the slightest but somehow it is comforting to be able to look at them every morning and know what to expect- something like an old friend.
But with predictability comes boredom. A break in routine every now and then can be a good thing. And the good news for those of you out there who aren't who you want to be, or aren't where you thought you would be, is that because of time, and in spite of it, we all change. Five years from now you may not even recognize who you are today. And what better way to demonstrate this than another geeky example from my own life?
I first saw Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey when I was in high school. Having read glowing reviews of the movie I expected to be awed just like I was when I pulled out my telescope to look at the stars. I was disappointed. The movie seemed sterile and seemed to have no point. This of course was the perspective of one who had just seen the comic book plotted Star Wars movies. Thus I dismissed the movie as just another indulgence of those high brow critics who claim to see art in pretension in the name of being able to understand something the masses will never get.
Last Saturday evening Channel 2 played 2001: A Space Odyssey and I watched it after the rush of having produced another solid edition of the newsletter. Maybe it was the afterglow of having gone outside and gazed at Hale Bopp, but this time around the movie did blow me away. From the terrific opening scene with early man learning to club each other to death with a new found tool, to the mind boggling, surrealistic closing scene concluding with the birth of the star child, the movie seemed timeless and somehow captured that feeling of wonder that the promise of space can create inside of us.
As far as I could tell nothing in the movie was different from what I remembered. More likely it was the dork outside that was different, having gained fifteen years of life experience. The lack of a conventional story was admired this time around. It wasn't even a matter of gained wisdom, it's just that time gives you a different outlook on things. As the now frequently appearing gray hairs are a constant reminder of, life is a one way ride, there ain't no space for a U-turn. (Depressing discovery of the week: while perusing the Twins' opening day roster it dawned on me that I am older than all but four of the players. These guys used to be my heroes- now they are mere inexperienced youngsters. A mid-life crisis? YIKES!) So it was somewhat comforting to see that although the knowledge I have retained may fill a thimble, the perspective stumbled upon still leaves room for an appreciation for what I wasn't able to appreciate in earlier days. Time rolls over us much too rapidly to comprehend at the moment yet in the end it is the ride that can be so intriguing and inspiring.
The song goes that when you wish upon a shooting star, it makes no difference who you are. Unfortunately when you wish upon a shooting comet, you better have your papers in order Pepe. You don't want to miss the boat. You don't want to leave this place before you have your house in order. Although I may not quite be ready to buy me a pair of Nikes and a purple shroud I nonetheless have been impressed by the sight of the great Hale Bopp comet in the sky. To gaze up at this heavenly wonder and to contemplate the significance of it all is at the very least, a pleasant distraction from trying to figure out the deductions on your taxes.
It's rather easy to get bogged down in the minutia of every day life and lose perspective on the grander scheme of things. But if you stop and think about it, the frustrations you feel after an unpleasant encounter with a raging customer, or a demanding boss, or a lazy coworker pales in comparison with the vastness of what's out there. Those overdue bills? How overdue are they among the waves of eternal time? To think of your own personal significance in comparison with the expanse of time and space, geez its enough to make one either feel overwhelmed or laugh at the seriousness we all tend to take ourselves at times.
The difference in those things cosmic with our daily routines can be somewhat jarring. We do like our lives to be orderly. We count on the dependability and stability of those familiar elements around us and expect a minimum of surprises. Last Tuesday on April Fool's Day several of the comic strip writers got together and switched strips. Thus Dagwood appeared in Garfield's world and Dilbert appeared in Luann's. One of the appeals of our the daily comic strips is their reliability- you may not always find them amusing in the slightest but somehow it is comforting to be able to look at them every morning and know what to expect- something like an old friend.
But with predictability comes boredom. A break in routine every now and then can be a good thing. And the good news for those of you out there who aren't who you want to be, or aren't where you thought you would be, is that because of time, and in spite of it, we all change. Five years from now you may not even recognize who you are today. And what better way to demonstrate this than another geeky example from my own life?
I first saw Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey when I was in high school. Having read glowing reviews of the movie I expected to be awed just like I was when I pulled out my telescope to look at the stars. I was disappointed. The movie seemed sterile and seemed to have no point. This of course was the perspective of one who had just seen the comic book plotted Star Wars movies. Thus I dismissed the movie as just another indulgence of those high brow critics who claim to see art in pretension in the name of being able to understand something the masses will never get.
Last Saturday evening Channel 2 played 2001: A Space Odyssey and I watched it after the rush of having produced another solid edition of the newsletter. Maybe it was the afterglow of having gone outside and gazed at Hale Bopp, but this time around the movie did blow me away. From the terrific opening scene with early man learning to club each other to death with a new found tool, to the mind boggling, surrealistic closing scene concluding with the birth of the star child, the movie seemed timeless and somehow captured that feeling of wonder that the promise of space can create inside of us.
As far as I could tell nothing in the movie was different from what I remembered. More likely it was the dork outside that was different, having gained fifteen years of life experience. The lack of a conventional story was admired this time around. It wasn't even a matter of gained wisdom, it's just that time gives you a different outlook on things. As the now frequently appearing gray hairs are a constant reminder of, life is a one way ride, there ain't no space for a U-turn. (Depressing discovery of the week: while perusing the Twins' opening day roster it dawned on me that I am older than all but four of the players. These guys used to be my heroes- now they are mere inexperienced youngsters. A mid-life crisis? YIKES!) So it was somewhat comforting to see that although the knowledge I have retained may fill a thimble, the perspective stumbled upon still leaves room for an appreciation for what I wasn't able to appreciate in earlier days. Time rolls over us much too rapidly to comprehend at the moment yet in the end it is the ride that can be so intriguing and inspiring.
Monday, March 31, 1997
School Daze
What's the scoop Baboop? Well the test results are in and although the rabbit may not be dead, that sucker is barely breathing. On the recently administered test of Minnesota 8th grade students in which the minimum standards for graduation were tested, only 41% passed in math and a mere 35% passed in reading. Along with the predictable concern with the results of the latest scores came much talk of the need to reform our schools. Vouchers and later starting school days aside perhaps it is time to take a step back and rethink the way we approach this education thing.
In his book Beyond the Classroom, Laurence Steinberg a professor of psychology at Temple University, suggests the focus of the problem may be the actual problem. Steinberg argues that all of our past attempts at school reform have merely produced lower and lower test scores thus it may be time to look at other areas for the reason our students are doing so badly in school. He suggests that because parents and peers have more influence on how a student will do in school than do teachers, perhaps the focus of change should be in that area. This type of change would require a radical shift in our educational philosophy.
The most interesting notion put forward in Beyond the Classroom is the clear connection between our failing education system and the trend in society for refocusing the blame for what we do wrong. No matter what area you look, it seems like fewer and fewer are willing to take the responsibility for their own faults, instead it is becoming more and more commonplace to look for reasons for our failings. We are all victims and thus we can't help it if we are so screwed up.
Steinberg writes that the students who are succeeding in the very same schools that are mass producing poor educational skills for the majority, are the students who are willing to concede that it is their work ethic and the amount of time they are willing to put into improving themselves academically instead of blaming their failures on something out of their control. The students who blame the system, or to bad luck or some type of genetic or environmental inferiority are the ones giving themselves the excuse for failure. And because the consequences of failing don't seem to be all that great to these students, the mechanism for producing the essentials of a well educated, well prepared work force is constantly deteriorating.
Indeed it has been a learning experience to witness how the current debate shaped up after the latest round of alarming test scores was announced. All the focus was on how we can improve the school systems- whether or not private schools are better than public schools; whether or not we should go to some type of voucher system to make the public schools more on par with private schools. On one side you have those arguing what needs to be done are more progressive reforms. On the other you have those saying that what is needed is a hard return to the basics. In his book, Steinberg argues that until we change the attitude many of our students and their peers and parents have toward their education, no amount of school reform can possibly succeed.
Steinberg writes that because students are much more influenced in their study habits, their work ethic, and their attitudes by their peers and by their parents, unless they are given the message that education is indeed the key to their future, they simply lack the necessary motivation to try to do well in school. Without that motivation they cannot do well in school. Thus our focus should change to reforming our attitudes much more than it should focus on reshaping the educational systems.
Somehow our schools have shifted from a place of learning to a place one merely has to endure. The joy of an education has evaporated as schools more and more become part social hang out, part symptom or symbol of a greater societal problem. It is easier to be able to blame it all on the system in place rather than the attitudes and efforts put forward to try to change the direction, try to reform what is actually broken. It is an all too common approach in how we deal with our obstacles these days. As long as we don't take responsibility for allowing the problems to exist, as long as we have something or somebody else to blame, the solution will never be met. That may be a self comforting approach to adopt but in the long haul we just end up worse than where we began.
In his book Beyond the Classroom, Laurence Steinberg a professor of psychology at Temple University, suggests the focus of the problem may be the actual problem. Steinberg argues that all of our past attempts at school reform have merely produced lower and lower test scores thus it may be time to look at other areas for the reason our students are doing so badly in school. He suggests that because parents and peers have more influence on how a student will do in school than do teachers, perhaps the focus of change should be in that area. This type of change would require a radical shift in our educational philosophy.
The most interesting notion put forward in Beyond the Classroom is the clear connection between our failing education system and the trend in society for refocusing the blame for what we do wrong. No matter what area you look, it seems like fewer and fewer are willing to take the responsibility for their own faults, instead it is becoming more and more commonplace to look for reasons for our failings. We are all victims and thus we can't help it if we are so screwed up.
Steinberg writes that the students who are succeeding in the very same schools that are mass producing poor educational skills for the majority, are the students who are willing to concede that it is their work ethic and the amount of time they are willing to put into improving themselves academically instead of blaming their failures on something out of their control. The students who blame the system, or to bad luck or some type of genetic or environmental inferiority are the ones giving themselves the excuse for failure. And because the consequences of failing don't seem to be all that great to these students, the mechanism for producing the essentials of a well educated, well prepared work force is constantly deteriorating.
Indeed it has been a learning experience to witness how the current debate shaped up after the latest round of alarming test scores was announced. All the focus was on how we can improve the school systems- whether or not private schools are better than public schools; whether or not we should go to some type of voucher system to make the public schools more on par with private schools. On one side you have those arguing what needs to be done are more progressive reforms. On the other you have those saying that what is needed is a hard return to the basics. In his book, Steinberg argues that until we change the attitude many of our students and their peers and parents have toward their education, no amount of school reform can possibly succeed.
Steinberg writes that because students are much more influenced in their study habits, their work ethic, and their attitudes by their peers and by their parents, unless they are given the message that education is indeed the key to their future, they simply lack the necessary motivation to try to do well in school. Without that motivation they cannot do well in school. Thus our focus should change to reforming our attitudes much more than it should focus on reshaping the educational systems.
Somehow our schools have shifted from a place of learning to a place one merely has to endure. The joy of an education has evaporated as schools more and more become part social hang out, part symptom or symbol of a greater societal problem. It is easier to be able to blame it all on the system in place rather than the attitudes and efforts put forward to try to change the direction, try to reform what is actually broken. It is an all too common approach in how we deal with our obstacles these days. As long as we don't take responsibility for allowing the problems to exist, as long as we have something or somebody else to blame, the solution will never be met. That may be a self comforting approach to adopt but in the long haul we just end up worse than where we began.
Monday, March 24, 1997
And Then There Were Four
Up until sometime early last week, many Minnesotans seemed to be skeptical about the University of Minnesota men's basketball team's success. Local talk radio shows were full of callers who were predicting the Gophers would quickly bow out of the NCAA tournament. It is doubtful many of these callers were hard-core college basketball fans but rather it is more likely they were among the many burned and scorned Minnesotans not used to success of our athletic teams. These people seemed to be unable to enjoy the team's marvelous season because they knew at some point, just as they were beginning to care, they'd be let down.
But this is a very special team that has enjoyed a very special season. Back in the fall when the Sporting News picked them to win the Big Ten, I was skeptical. But then when Clem Haskins started saying that he expected them to win the league we were all forced to listen. Clem has been notorious for downplaying his team's talents to lower everyone's expectations and thus anything achieved seems somewhat satisfying. But right from the start it was clear this team was going to be very good (especially after that dazzling if just a little lucky overtime win in Indiana early in the season).
It is a team without any weaknesses: quick, well coached and excellent defensively (are there any other teams that can boast of such wonderful defensive guard play from both positions?). The team has eight players who legitimately could start for most teams. It says a lot that the two most physically talented, Sam Jacobson and Courtney James, had up and down seasons and still the team steamrolled its way through the opposition. One of the biggest reasons for their success is they really don't rely on one player to win games. If Bobby Jackson has an off night there are others to pick up the slack.
I became a Gophers basketball fan in 1976 with the team that many followers claim was the greatest Gopher team of all time featuring Kevin McHale, Ray Williams, Mychal Thompson and Osborne Lockhart. I was lucky enough to see McHale play for Hibbing in the high school championship game at the Civic Center a few years back (it now appears that was my fifteen minutes of fame as my classmates and I square danced at half time in front of the enthralled eyes of a state. For some reason the camera focused on me- probably seeing the strange sight of an oriental country western dancer twirling his Scandinavian partner had something to do with it). McHale became my favorite player with his awesome low post game (which I styled my own 5'5" play after).
Many have said that the '76 Gophers could beat this year's squad. I'm not so convinced. That team did boast the best starting lineup in the history of the school but when you had to rely on Dave Winey to provide valuable backup minutes, it means a team as deep as this year's Gophers would stand a chance of winning. The 1997 Gophers do what they have to do to win. They have won so many close games- a true sign that they do not panic and their precision approach to the ups and downs of the game is impressive.
The team I had the most emotional attachment to was the 1982 version, the last time the Gophers won the Big Ten title. It was the last season for seniors Gary Holmes, Trent Tucker and Daryl Mitchell who had arrived at the University four years earlier, with Mark Hall and Leo Rautins to much fanfare, supposedly the best recruiting class ever. Their struggles for three years were mighty and it was truly rewarding to be there on the final day of the season to watch them clinch their title by beating Ohio State.
The program fell upon some difficult times in the mid-80's with that horrible weekend in Madison. It was a weekend that in a way detached me from college basketball- the three players accused of rape, not only kicked off the team (proper), but out of the University (not proper); the resignation of Coach Jim Dutcher and the subsequent not guilty verdicts left a nasty cloud hanging over the entire program. I cared enough to be there the next game when the "Iron Five" played for an emotional catharsis but until these past couple of weeks, the connection somehow wasn't as encompassing.
You have to like a good Rocky like story and to see where this team has gotten after how far the program had fallen is rather special and uplifting. To some it may just seem like another sports story but it is more than that. It has been a wonderful ride with a wonderful team. I think many have even learned to let the walls down for a moment and enjoy all that has been accomplished.
But this is a very special team that has enjoyed a very special season. Back in the fall when the Sporting News picked them to win the Big Ten, I was skeptical. But then when Clem Haskins started saying that he expected them to win the league we were all forced to listen. Clem has been notorious for downplaying his team's talents to lower everyone's expectations and thus anything achieved seems somewhat satisfying. But right from the start it was clear this team was going to be very good (especially after that dazzling if just a little lucky overtime win in Indiana early in the season).
It is a team without any weaknesses: quick, well coached and excellent defensively (are there any other teams that can boast of such wonderful defensive guard play from both positions?). The team has eight players who legitimately could start for most teams. It says a lot that the two most physically talented, Sam Jacobson and Courtney James, had up and down seasons and still the team steamrolled its way through the opposition. One of the biggest reasons for their success is they really don't rely on one player to win games. If Bobby Jackson has an off night there are others to pick up the slack.
I became a Gophers basketball fan in 1976 with the team that many followers claim was the greatest Gopher team of all time featuring Kevin McHale, Ray Williams, Mychal Thompson and Osborne Lockhart. I was lucky enough to see McHale play for Hibbing in the high school championship game at the Civic Center a few years back (it now appears that was my fifteen minutes of fame as my classmates and I square danced at half time in front of the enthralled eyes of a state. For some reason the camera focused on me- probably seeing the strange sight of an oriental country western dancer twirling his Scandinavian partner had something to do with it). McHale became my favorite player with his awesome low post game (which I styled my own 5'5" play after).
Many have said that the '76 Gophers could beat this year's squad. I'm not so convinced. That team did boast the best starting lineup in the history of the school but when you had to rely on Dave Winey to provide valuable backup minutes, it means a team as deep as this year's Gophers would stand a chance of winning. The 1997 Gophers do what they have to do to win. They have won so many close games- a true sign that they do not panic and their precision approach to the ups and downs of the game is impressive.
The team I had the most emotional attachment to was the 1982 version, the last time the Gophers won the Big Ten title. It was the last season for seniors Gary Holmes, Trent Tucker and Daryl Mitchell who had arrived at the University four years earlier, with Mark Hall and Leo Rautins to much fanfare, supposedly the best recruiting class ever. Their struggles for three years were mighty and it was truly rewarding to be there on the final day of the season to watch them clinch their title by beating Ohio State.
The program fell upon some difficult times in the mid-80's with that horrible weekend in Madison. It was a weekend that in a way detached me from college basketball- the three players accused of rape, not only kicked off the team (proper), but out of the University (not proper); the resignation of Coach Jim Dutcher and the subsequent not guilty verdicts left a nasty cloud hanging over the entire program. I cared enough to be there the next game when the "Iron Five" played for an emotional catharsis but until these past couple of weeks, the connection somehow wasn't as encompassing.
You have to like a good Rocky like story and to see where this team has gotten after how far the program had fallen is rather special and uplifting. To some it may just seem like another sports story but it is more than that. It has been a wonderful ride with a wonderful team. I think many have even learned to let the walls down for a moment and enjoy all that has been accomplished.
Monday, March 17, 1997
Down the Middle of the Road
It was that great philosopher, Mr. Miyagi who once said it was OK to walk down one side of the road, and it was OK to walk down the other. It was not however, OK to walk down the middle of the road because something would eventually come along and you would go SPLAT!
So the middle of the road in another world, another perspective isn't always about moderation and compromise. Coming from a cool college and finding oneself working in a cool record store following college, one was expected to dislike anything that smelled of the mainstream. The belief was that if something was popular with the masses it lacked any type of artistic integrity. There is some wisdom to that view of culture. Part of the role of good art is to challenge preconceived notions, making us feel the unfamiliar as well as seeing the familiar in a different way. Much of our best works of popular culture come from the fringe elements, the types of writers and artists by their very work will never appeal to a mass audience. Yet at the same time, to dismiss a piece of work because a lot of somebody elses like it, is downright silly.
All this comes to mind this week after the news that the Twin Cities, which didn't have a lot to begin with, lost two of its alternative voices, TheReader and REV 105. The buyout of both media outlets continues a disturbing trend of fewer and fewer owning more and more of the sources from which we get our news and entertainment. If there is one area in which we do not want monopolies involved it is the area in which we get our information. The more sources we have, the better our democracy works.
I've never been much of a radio listener, depending more on my own collection of music whether at home or in my car. The little I listen to the radio usually is to get my news either from talk radio or MPR. So losing REV 105 probably won't have much affect on my day to day life. Yet I know there are people in this company, and among the regulars who shop at our stores that cherished REV 105. I saw a discussion on the Internet about the loss of the radio station and someone commented that the station's demographic didn't count its income by monetary figures but rather by how many CDs they had bought used from Cheapo. It is sad to lose that alternative, the one station in town that had the audacity to play Sinatra, Dylan and Liz Phair back to back to back especially in a city that has 19,000 country music stations.
For me, the loss of The Reader cuts a bit deeper. We are one of the few metropolitan areas lucky enough to still have two competing major daily newspapers. That said, the news in the Pioneer Press seldom varies from the news you'll find in the Star Tribune. There certainly are better alternative newspapers than The Reader and the City Pages. Yet both have established themselves as capable of looking at stories that you would not find in either one of our dailies. The voices, the perspectives that appeared in those pages were great reminders of the ideals I learned while studying journalism, and the need for those out of the mainstream to be able to have an outlet to use to speak out. We all are bettered, more informed when that level of dialogue is allowed to exist.
The town of course will survive the loss of both REV 105 and The Reader. Perhaps in time replacements will appear to take their places. Until then it is our duty to disregard Mr. Miyagi's words of wisdom every now and then because once in a while it's worth the risk to step from the side and risk walking down that dangerous and oh so lonesome middle. It takes an occasional SPLAT to wake us up. Often we require that SPLAT in order to ask the right questions to get the right answers. Only now it will be that much harder to find it.
So the middle of the road in another world, another perspective isn't always about moderation and compromise. Coming from a cool college and finding oneself working in a cool record store following college, one was expected to dislike anything that smelled of the mainstream. The belief was that if something was popular with the masses it lacked any type of artistic integrity. There is some wisdom to that view of culture. Part of the role of good art is to challenge preconceived notions, making us feel the unfamiliar as well as seeing the familiar in a different way. Much of our best works of popular culture come from the fringe elements, the types of writers and artists by their very work will never appeal to a mass audience. Yet at the same time, to dismiss a piece of work because a lot of somebody elses like it, is downright silly.
All this comes to mind this week after the news that the Twin Cities, which didn't have a lot to begin with, lost two of its alternative voices, TheReader and REV 105. The buyout of both media outlets continues a disturbing trend of fewer and fewer owning more and more of the sources from which we get our news and entertainment. If there is one area in which we do not want monopolies involved it is the area in which we get our information. The more sources we have, the better our democracy works.
I've never been much of a radio listener, depending more on my own collection of music whether at home or in my car. The little I listen to the radio usually is to get my news either from talk radio or MPR. So losing REV 105 probably won't have much affect on my day to day life. Yet I know there are people in this company, and among the regulars who shop at our stores that cherished REV 105. I saw a discussion on the Internet about the loss of the radio station and someone commented that the station's demographic didn't count its income by monetary figures but rather by how many CDs they had bought used from Cheapo. It is sad to lose that alternative, the one station in town that had the audacity to play Sinatra, Dylan and Liz Phair back to back to back especially in a city that has 19,000 country music stations.
For me, the loss of The Reader cuts a bit deeper. We are one of the few metropolitan areas lucky enough to still have two competing major daily newspapers. That said, the news in the Pioneer Press seldom varies from the news you'll find in the Star Tribune. There certainly are better alternative newspapers than The Reader and the City Pages. Yet both have established themselves as capable of looking at stories that you would not find in either one of our dailies. The voices, the perspectives that appeared in those pages were great reminders of the ideals I learned while studying journalism, and the need for those out of the mainstream to be able to have an outlet to use to speak out. We all are bettered, more informed when that level of dialogue is allowed to exist.
The town of course will survive the loss of both REV 105 and The Reader. Perhaps in time replacements will appear to take their places. Until then it is our duty to disregard Mr. Miyagi's words of wisdom every now and then because once in a while it's worth the risk to step from the side and risk walking down that dangerous and oh so lonesome middle. It takes an occasional SPLAT to wake us up. Often we require that SPLAT in order to ask the right questions to get the right answers. Only now it will be that much harder to find it.
Monday, March 10, 1997
Understanding Human Behavior, Uh Huh, No Sir I Reckon It's Not Easy to Do
Having just completed a month long course at the Humphrey Institute called Managing Human Behavior I was reminded of just about the only truism I've learned over the past thirty two years: the more you are around people, the less you understand human behavior.
The course, taught by Mike Johnson, who during the day teaches business courses to students at the University of Minnesota's Dental School, was one of the better management classes I've attended. We began by studying the elements that influence people's values and to understand that someone who was born during the Depression years in rural Iowa probably doesn't have the same values as a Generation X'er raised in Seattle. To try and manage both people the same way is ludicrous. Once the understanding is there that people have different values and thus have to be approached differently, the class shifted focus to motivating employees. The theory presented was that a person cannot motivate another person, that the best a manager can do is to provide an atmosphere where employees motivate themselves.
This perhaps was the course's strongest point: the acceptance that hard as people try, as much time as we put into trying, we really cannot change another person. We can't get someone to value the same ethic or morals that we do nor can we make someone we find it difficult to deal with actually less difficult. We can however change our own perceptions and actions, learning how to turn conflict and differences into something positive, how to make change something to strive for as much as we strive for constant improvement.
My recent attendance at a current movie reinforced some of what I learned in class. Billy Bob Thornton's Sling Blade is a very special movie, the rare film that creates a world so familiar and yet so different than anything previously experienced. Thornton's character of Karl is someone never quite seen before. He has been described by some as the "dark side of Forrest Gump" based on his lack of mental quickness and minimal social skills. Yet where Gump was a character that represented some kind of pseudo-fable, Karl seems every bit real. Like M*A*S*H's Captain Tuttle, there is a little bit of Karl in each one of us.
The movie begins with Karl's release from a state mental hospital where he has been for thirty years since killing his mother and her lover when he was twelve years old. The doctors, as Karl says, have decided he is now right in the head. At first it looks as if there is no way he will ever survive out in the "real" world and indeed early on he tries to return to the hospital. But then he is befriended by a boy, and the boy's mother and we begin to see that Karl is a most complex simple man.
The movie earns every bit of its unforced sentimentality. While Karl is confused by his foreign surroundings, at the same time his quiet little existence and self taught philosophy, a reaction from the dark shadows that follow him, are the logical response to a world that he describes as "too big." His moral basis, the Bible, which he says "took him four years to read and he reckons some of it he doesn't understand," helps him make his decisions about what is right and wrong. Yet it is through his contact with other humans where his real education, and his real morality shine through.
The movie is laced with three dimensional characters that we understand on an unusually deep level- that is to say like in life we don't know what ultimately motivates them yet we have seen enough people like these characters to know how we react and respond toward them. Dwight Yoakam gives an inspired performance as Karl's nemesis, a man who Karl sees as truly evil. Where Karl understands and accepts his own limitations he knows Yoakam will never reach that same level of understanding. Yet in the end Karl's quiet philosophy of human nature and of Yoakam's character gives him all the advantage despite the difference in mental abilities.
Sling Blade says more about humanity, people's insecurities and peculiarities, human behavior and the walls and bridges that separate us while bringing us together, better than any work of fiction I've seen or read in quite awhile. It contains several lines of beautifully written dialogue that don't seem written, because the characters are fleshed out well enough where we accept and enjoy whatever manipulation might have distracted in a lesser movie. Indeed it plays out like a good novel creating characters that are uniquely familiar, helping us to follow their path while learning a bit about ourselves along the way. And perhaps that is truly the best way to understand another human- through our own motivations and behavior.
The course, taught by Mike Johnson, who during the day teaches business courses to students at the University of Minnesota's Dental School, was one of the better management classes I've attended. We began by studying the elements that influence people's values and to understand that someone who was born during the Depression years in rural Iowa probably doesn't have the same values as a Generation X'er raised in Seattle. To try and manage both people the same way is ludicrous. Once the understanding is there that people have different values and thus have to be approached differently, the class shifted focus to motivating employees. The theory presented was that a person cannot motivate another person, that the best a manager can do is to provide an atmosphere where employees motivate themselves.
This perhaps was the course's strongest point: the acceptance that hard as people try, as much time as we put into trying, we really cannot change another person. We can't get someone to value the same ethic or morals that we do nor can we make someone we find it difficult to deal with actually less difficult. We can however change our own perceptions and actions, learning how to turn conflict and differences into something positive, how to make change something to strive for as much as we strive for constant improvement.
My recent attendance at a current movie reinforced some of what I learned in class. Billy Bob Thornton's Sling Blade is a very special movie, the rare film that creates a world so familiar and yet so different than anything previously experienced. Thornton's character of Karl is someone never quite seen before. He has been described by some as the "dark side of Forrest Gump" based on his lack of mental quickness and minimal social skills. Yet where Gump was a character that represented some kind of pseudo-fable, Karl seems every bit real. Like M*A*S*H's Captain Tuttle, there is a little bit of Karl in each one of us.
The movie begins with Karl's release from a state mental hospital where he has been for thirty years since killing his mother and her lover when he was twelve years old. The doctors, as Karl says, have decided he is now right in the head. At first it looks as if there is no way he will ever survive out in the "real" world and indeed early on he tries to return to the hospital. But then he is befriended by a boy, and the boy's mother and we begin to see that Karl is a most complex simple man.
The movie earns every bit of its unforced sentimentality. While Karl is confused by his foreign surroundings, at the same time his quiet little existence and self taught philosophy, a reaction from the dark shadows that follow him, are the logical response to a world that he describes as "too big." His moral basis, the Bible, which he says "took him four years to read and he reckons some of it he doesn't understand," helps him make his decisions about what is right and wrong. Yet it is through his contact with other humans where his real education, and his real morality shine through.
The movie is laced with three dimensional characters that we understand on an unusually deep level- that is to say like in life we don't know what ultimately motivates them yet we have seen enough people like these characters to know how we react and respond toward them. Dwight Yoakam gives an inspired performance as Karl's nemesis, a man who Karl sees as truly evil. Where Karl understands and accepts his own limitations he knows Yoakam will never reach that same level of understanding. Yet in the end Karl's quiet philosophy of human nature and of Yoakam's character gives him all the advantage despite the difference in mental abilities.
Sling Blade says more about humanity, people's insecurities and peculiarities, human behavior and the walls and bridges that separate us while bringing us together, better than any work of fiction I've seen or read in quite awhile. It contains several lines of beautifully written dialogue that don't seem written, because the characters are fleshed out well enough where we accept and enjoy whatever manipulation might have distracted in a lesser movie. Indeed it plays out like a good novel creating characters that are uniquely familiar, helping us to follow their path while learning a bit about ourselves along the way. And perhaps that is truly the best way to understand another human- through our own motivations and behavior.
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