1) John Gnodtke: 16 (8 points for delineation, lower case "i," extra "and" after the word "I," probably, freight, missing comma after "By this point," becoming, epiphany, and 2 points for being the first with info on ear popping) 2) Craig Rathmill: 7 3) Jason Nypaver: 7 4) Evelyn Segura: 4 (1 point for epiphany and 2 points for being the first with info on earwigs) 5) Cheryl Stafford: 3 (none) 6) Kevin Pimentel: 1 (none) 7) Richard Kriheli: 1 (none)
errors recognized:
1) delineation 2) improper lower case "I" 3) extra "and" after the word "I" 4) probably 5) freight 6) missing comma after "By this point" 7) becoming 8) epiphany --------------------------------------- The way I see it, you never really know what happened unless you either saw it happen yourself or talk to someone who saw it happen. Everything else carries with it the albatross of interpretation and decontextualization. And, if you really want to get down to it, even the "talk to someone who saw it happen" prong of my two-pronged reliability model is still imminently sketchy unless the teller is both someone you really trust and keenly perceptive.
I suppose this has always been the case to some extent, but there can be little doubt that it is now more difficult than ever to distinguish fact from fiction, news from spin, spin from honesty, tv from reality tv, and . . . yes, I am going to go there . . . good Kobe from bad Kobe. Simply put, the fact that we barely see anything of consequence with our own eyes anymore has resulted in quite a messy reality where almost no one knows what the hell is what.
With the rise of radio, the invaluablity of eyewitness experience took a hit. The falling bombs of wartime battles, far-off sporting events, and Grand Old Opry concerts were now, suddenly, all there for the hearing. Folks no longer HAD to see something in order to experience it and didn't have to wait around for the insights of a friend-of-a-friend who'd been to the war, ballgame, or concert in order to get a sense of what went down. Things became more instantaneous, for sure. But people who were no longer seeing what was going on were corespondinly forced to offer up a great deal of trust in the accounts they were receiving. That is, without the capacity to actually see the Willy Mays over-the-shoulder catch described by a broadcaster as "one of the best I've ever seen," listeners had to take it on faith: 1) That the catch, and more broadly the game itself, indeed was happening in real time, and 2) That the catch really was a great one.
That's a lot to ask of someone who is used to seeing things first-hand or getting information from a person they knew and trusted.
Television, of course, ratcheted up the this phenomenon, but it's the internet that has really pushed things over the edge. Even putting aside for a moment all the trolls who enter news and forum sites in order to spread misinformation, the breadth of opportunity for receiving bad information on the web is astounding. Complete websites exist for the sole purpose of spreading rumors about what "may have happened" somewhere, or that which "may be about to happen." And although I won't even begin to document all of the mistaken bits of information that have been "reported" on what one would assume to be reliable news sites, I'm pretty sure that CNN.com gave Florida and the whole ball of wax to Gore a bit prematurely.
I could go on, but I'd rather not. Instead, I'll simply advice skepticism in that which is reported or told to you by someone you've never met before. And when you get the opportunity to, say, spend some time with your grandfather talking about the aura of Forbes Field during the Pirates' heyday in the 50s and 60s, as I recently did, cherish that time. Stuff like that cannot be had on the internet and is not available via the buy-it-now function on eBay.
posted by mjxm at 7:05 PM |
Tuesday, July 29, 2003
CONTEST STANDINGS:
Craig Rathmill: 7 Jason Nypaver: 7 John Gnodtke: 6 Cheryl Stafford: 3 Evelyn Segura: 1 Kevin Pimentel: 1 Richard Kriheli: 1 --------------------------------------- I have finally returned to the city and can report that it still smells. My blogging, like the street funk in this grand metropolis, is once again at full-strength. So, where were we? Oh, yes, I remember . . . .
There are myriad unnerving ways to wake up, or, depending upon the situation, to be awoken. A splash of cold water to the face is the one that immediately comes to mind, but there are more--a ray of sunlight streaming in through a crack in the drapes to catch a formerly closed eye; the urgent need to urinate; dogs barking; a strange itch in the place where strange itches are not simply momentary trifles. I could go on forever. The list, I assure you, is a long and ugly one, and I will spare you a further deliniation of the not-so-great ways to wake up. That said, I must note that a loud scratching noise that seems to be coming from the middle of one's brain should be slotted somewhere within the top quartile of that list.
It was about 11 a.m. when i fell prey to the dreaded middle-of-the-brain-scratching-wake-up.
It was summer. I was 12 or so. And I and was sleeping late, as usual. In fact, I probabaly had at least a good hour and a half of sleep left in me when my eyes abruptly flicked open. By the time I raised my head and shot quickly into a sitting position, the noise was as loud as could be and seemed to have the consistency of a frieght train. I had no idea what was going on, or what I could do. But I had to do something because the scratching sound inside my head was not going away, and I was convinced it was getting louder as time passed.
After determining that this racket seemed to be originating from the left side of my head, I started poking at my ear--first with my finger, then with a cotton swab. It was only 10 minutes into the ordeal, but I had become an extremely desperate boy. Basically, I was just searching the house for things that I could shove into my ear in the hopes of making the noise stop. I may have even resorted to a toothpick, although I'm not positive.
When none of my efforts seemed to quell the noise, and after all of my jabs came up empty, I stuck my head under the faucet. Still, no luck. The noise remained strong, and was becomming increasingly maddening. By this point 45 minutes or so had passed, and I was convinced that something not-so-nice had crawled into my ear. So I called my mother at work and reported said news. Her response--which was characterized by a tinge of doubt and provided more encouragement than practical instruction--was simple.
"Get it out," she yelled. "If there's something in there, get it out. Be careful, but get it out."
I did what I was told.
After banging my head against the wall a few times, I had an epiffany. I remembered that old thing about yawning in order to make one's ears "pop" while on a plane or in a fast-moving elevator. I didn't really know what happened when one's ears "popped," but I was hoping that it had something to do with forcing air out through the ears.
So, I yawned. And then I yawned some more.
After about 15 yawns and a bit of pain, a bug that I would describe as neither tiny nor large fell out of my ear. If I remember correctly, it was mostly brown and had a bunch of legs followed by a set of pinchers at its hind end. My guess was that it had fallen off of the ceiling in my bedroom and landed directly in my left ear, where it decided to do some exploring. It appeared to be a bit injured and, well, unnerved. But it was still trying to crawl away when I smushed it. I found out later that the bug was something called an earwig.
For months, and, dare I say, years after that morning, I swore that I heard that memorable scratching noise coming from my brain. My friends told me that the thing probably laid eggs, and that those eggs had probably hatched in my ear, and that the bugs that resulted from those eggs were likely crawling deeper and deeper into my brain.
I think I would've known by now if that badnews bug laid some eggs up in my ear. But every now and again, right when I am about to fall asleep, I can still hear that stupid scratching noise. --------------- EXTRA POINTS:
2 points for the first person to give me information on what the hell happens when your ears "pop." 2 points for the first person to give me information on these stupid earwig bugs, especially re their egg laying habits.
Note: The same person cannot receive both bonuses.
Craig Rathmill: 7 (4 points for ladybugs, announcing, dissuade, and revert, and 2 points for being the first to reply with errors) Jason Nypaver: 7 (ladybugs, announcing, dissuade, revert) John Gnodtke: 6 (ladybugs, announcing, dissuade, spraying) Cheryl Stafford: 3 (none) Evelyn Segura: 1 (none) Kevin Pimentel: 1 (spraying) Richard Kriheli: 1 (announcing)
Errors recognized:
1) ladybugs 2) announcing 3) dissuade 4) "reverting" should have been "revert" 5) "spaying" should have been "spraying" ----------------------------------------
I've been out of town since the 19th and will not return until the 28th. Please check in next week for more musings. My readership has already plumetted sharply. I cannot afford to lose you, too.
Re the contest: It's anybody's ballgame, and I think it will turn out to be kind of fun. For future reference, please email all errors directly to me at mjxm@yahoo.com rather than posting them as comments on the website.
Cheryl Stafford: 3 (none) Jason Nypaver: 3 (1 point for punctuation error and 2 points for being the first to reply with errors) John Gnodtke: 2 (none) Evelyn Segura: 1 (none) Craig Rathmill: 1 (none)
Errors recognized:
1) Period missing at the end of the sentence, "This is nothing new." --------------------------------------
Bugs are pervasive in New York City. They're part of the overall landscape of the place in the way that cabs, bodegas, and foul odors are. And, the bugs of which I speak are not the cute little ones that I grew up with in the suburbs.
There are none of those pretty, multi-colored butterflies, no lightning bugs, and certainly no laydbugs. If those darling little creatures did exist in this metropolis they'd look out of place anyway. That is, they'd look out of place for about two seconds. Thereafter they would be eaten by the badass, native New York City bugs.
Our bugs are bigger, nastier, and more immune to bug spray than any I've ever encountered before. They're the kind of bugs that look for trouble and the type that--if they could talk--would teach all the other bugs curse words. They're not anything like those wimpy Westchester bugs that, in comparison, seem quite shy and almost apologetic when they are come across by humans. Nope, our bugs are super bad, and they know it. They won't back down from you, and they laugh at your "extra strength" Raid.
Yup, our bugs are roaches . . . big ones. And they're everywhere. We may not see them, but they're there, and we know it. In fact, we do all sorts of little things to thwart inevitable sightings of, well, little things.
Up until I moved to the city, I would smush up the bag of cereal after breakfast and simply return it back to the box. Here, such shoddy putbackmanship is tantamount to sending out tons of tiny little invitations annoncing a party in the Captain Crunch. I now roll up the top of the cereal bag as though it was a water-filled sponge and the continuation of my life hinged on the divestment of liquid from the sponge. Once that bag is rolled tightly, I put it back in the box upside-down. Sometimes I put it in sideways, but never just straight in with the opening at the top. I'm almost certain that these tactics would do little to disuade a persistent roach. And the number of times that I've forgotten a bag of cereal was in the box upside-down and thus spilled all of it on the floor upon separating bag from box is greater than the number of times that I've seen a roach in my apartment. Yet, I do it anyway and wouldn't dare reverting back to the smush and stuff method.
In addition to my laughable efforts to roachproof the cereal, I also stand my shoes up against the wall in a row. This looks really silly, but that's what happens after you put on your shoe one day, notice movement, quickly take off your shoe, hold it upside-down, witness a two-inch long roach fall to the ground, spend the next hour searching for said roach, refuse to turn the lights off or go to bed until the roach is found and killed, and finally kill the roach when you catch it out of the corner of your eye trying to crawl in another shoe on the other side of the room. Yup, that's what happens. You stand up your shoes in a funny line against the wall and you shake them out--every time, not just sometimes--before placing them on your feet.
What's funny is that I've actually been quite lucky when it comes to dealing with New York's resident stomach crawlers. I've only seen two in my apartment--the one with the foot fetish, and another that took about 15 minutes of spaying to kill, and, in a last gasp before dying, I swear could be heard to utter "fuck you." In my view, two roaches in four years isn't so bad.
This summer's been great. I'm still at zero on the roach meter, my cereal seems fine, and all my shoe shakes have come up negative. I don't know whether to rejoice or cower in fear at the inevitable sighting or event that is sure to come any day now. You simply can't go this long without any sightings, and the vermin are due to catch a break any day now. Let's just hope nothing too crazy happens.
That reminds me. When I was a kid, a big ugly bug with pinchers on the end crawled in my ear. But that's another story.
posted by mjxm at 3:55 PM |
Thursday, July 17, 2003
CONTEST STANDINGS:
Cheryl Stafford: 3 (1 point for Ferrari and 2 points for being the first to reply with errors) John Gnodtke: 2 (Ferrari, yokel) Evelyn Segura: 1 (Ferrari) Craig Rathmill: 1 (Ferrari)
Errors recognized:
1) Ferrari 2) Arguably out of context or improper use of the word "yokel."
----------------------------------------
I'm quite fond of wearing baseball caps to work. Not every day, and not even most days, but sometimes. Tossel caps work too, but only in the winter. And even then, they still don't do it for me the way baseball caps do.
I'm proud to say that I've never held a job that precluded me from dawning my beloved, worn-out caps to the office. And I've had jobs that traverse the spectrum from crummy all the way up to damn good. Each has been different in its own way, but similar in the fact that they all involved me wearing baseball caps while I did whatever it was I was being paid to do.
As I think about it now, I'm not positive what the "it" is that wearing baseball caps to work does for me. I've got a full head of hair that I've been told I am overly enamored with. So, it's not that I'm trying to cover up some real or perceived deficiency. It also has absolutely nothing to do with any notion of team pride or whathaveyou--as the insignias on the hats change from day to day, foremost to ensure I'm not totally off base when it comes to matching with the rest of my attire. And it's also not a disdain for wearing suits or dressing up. Truth be told, I really enjoy those things.
If I had to guess, I'd say that the pleasure I derive from wearing baseball caps at the workplace probably stems from a desire to know that I can do some pretty serious and analytical thinking without having to pander to stereotypes or expectations about what smart people look like. Well, that and the fact that it's nice to think that I'm working for and with people who think highly enough of my work product to put up with the stupid caps. It feels good to know that people value you for more than just superficial reasons like wardrobe, and a quick way to test whether this is or is not the case is to trot out a jacked-up, old Padres hat one day at the office.
A year or so ago, I was in a meeting with some other attorneys who I'd worked with in the past but hadn't seen in a while. "What's with the hat," one of them asked. "Yeah, did you get a bad haircut or something," inquired the other. My response was simple.
"I've always worn baseball hats at work. This is nothing new"
And that was that.
The meeting proceeded swimmingly thereafter.
Anyway, I had a meeting today uptown. I didn't wear a baseball cap. But I could've. And, for me, that's what it's all about.
posted by mjxm at 8:17 PM |
Wednesday, July 16, 2003
Here goes nothin'. Or, perhaps more accurately, here comes nothin'. My plan is to use this space as a forum where I can practice writing brief vignettes--be they true, false, or tralse.
Of course, I once planned to play major league baseball. And, more recently, I planned to set into motion a huge, fake parking ticket scheme that was to have netted me thousands from unsuspecting yokels easily frightened by formal-looking slips of paper and the prospects of acquiring points on their respective licenses. Unfortunately for myself, though not for the yokels, such plans are rarely, if ever, seen through to fruition. So, at this point I'm only prepared to promise the following from my inaugural journey into the world of blogging: lots of spelling mistakes and other assorted gaffes that come with the territory for unedited pieces. My only request to you, dear reader, is that you help me out by informing me of any and all such mistakes. As part of the substance of this blog, I will be keeping a running tab of my errors for all to see--someone needs to check this ego . . . it may as well be me. In addition, I would like to make a bit of a contest out of my penchant for problematic spelling. As such, I will also keep tabs on who has discovered the most errors in my blog. At the end of the year, the person with the most points will win a non-fiction piece written by me, about said person. Ok, so it's not a Ferari. But I promise to spend a great deal of time and effort on the piece, and can nearly guarantee that you'll enjoy it.
With that bit of boilerplate out of the way, I welcome you. Please contact me if you want me to write about a particular subject or issue in this space, and, of course, to call out my lousy spelling.
A hearty thank you to Richard Kriheli (www.kriheli.com) for getting this thing off the ground.
posted by mjxm at 9:07 PM |
