I’m still working on mastering the art of the short, pithy post.
Actually, a lot of short, pithy ideas occur to me. It’s just a matter of finding the time to get something written and posted.
At any rate, I searched YouTube yesterday for a nice version of this song. I saw one that I liked, but now I can’t find it. But this one is dang good.
In other news:
I have had some short, pithy, and rather snarky thoughts on the whole Michael Jackson brouhaha. But the man is dead, for crying out loud. Plenty of snark is being flung about over it; I don’t feel the need to contribute to it.
Great Wimbledon men’s singles final today. I wanted Roger Federer to win, but I didn’t want Andy Roddick to lose. OK, so call me wishy-washy. Roddick has one major to his name (the U.S. Open a while back) and his resume is thin compared to Federer’s. But the man exhibits great sportsmanship and is fine gentleman.
Ditto Robin Soderling, who lost to Federer at the French Open. What a wonderful speech and post-match interview he gave at Roland Garros. Right after losing to Federer. After all the hand-wringing over LeBron James’ behavior after the Cleveland Cavaliers lost to the Orlando Magic in the NBA playoffs did anyone notice that in tennis the championship match losers remain on court to receive their trophy and address the spectators? And how gracious they are? And how the fans listen respectfully? Roddick looked like he was about to break down and cry today. Federer cried after losing to Rafael Nadal in this year’s Australian Open championship match.
The macho athlete likes to remind us “I’m a man.” Like we don’t have eyes. But they are not men. Oh sure, they have the Y chromosome and the associated male body parts and probably a lot of testosterone in their bloodstream. But they are not men. They are poseurs.
I never was a huge Michael Jackson fan but of course listened to his music. For a while he was everywhere. I remember watching him with The Jackson 5 on “The Andy Williams Show” way back when. He was very talented, but grew up to be eccentric. And not just a “normal” eccentric, but eccentric to the point of being downright weird.
At any rate, the news of his death was surprising. He was, after all, 50. Younger than me. It always feels kind of creepy when people younger than yourself die. The media has been saturated with stories about Jackson. Which is understandable; it’s always this way when someone famous dies. But it was a bit much to hear JT the Brick (yes, I still do listen to sports talk radio even though I can’t catch DP live anymore and don’t really have time to listen to him at night) say “The whole world is in mourning” over Jackson’s death. Sure, I’m sorry that the man is dead. I am sorry for his family and his friends. But “the whole world is in mourning”? Give me a break. That could be the overstatement of the year.
I am on record as being a avid reader of obituaries and a recent one struck me:
Jerri Nielsen FitzGerald, a doctor who treated herself for breast cancer for months while stationed at the South Pole in 1999 and then when the weather thawed a bit was flown out in a daring rescue mission, died Tuesday at her home in Southwick, Mass. She was 57.
The cause was breast cancer, which had recurred in 2005, her husband, Thomas, said.
Gosh, what a compelling story that was; I can’t believe it was 10 years ago. A friend of mine has done research at the South Pole and conditions down there are unbelievably harsh.
I feel sorry for Dr. FitzGerald’s family and friends, just as I feel for Mr. Jackson’s. I can’t say that I am in mourning over them, as I knew neither person. But I am sad that these two people have died. Both made contributions to the world. But Dr. FitzGerald’s death is being treated as a footnote, as is Farrah Fawcett’s. Which is too bad, because the families of the deceased are in mourning, and the rest of us are just spectators to their passing.
It is kind of weird, but at least the concept is owned by the guys who staged the original concert. I’d be more than a little bothered if Donald Trump or some multi-national corporation owned Woodstock Ventures.
I used to think that Kenneth Feinberg had the Worst Job in the World when he was selected to determine the compensation due the 9/11 victims. How can a monetary value be placed on someone’s life?
He may now have the Best Job in the World, deciding compensation for the big shot, fat cat employees of the big shot, fat cat companies that screwed up, helped to ruin the economy, and have accepted government bail-out money.
The Treasury Department on Wednesday appointed a well-known Washington lawyer, Kenneth R. Feinberg, to oversee the compensation of employees at the seven companies — the American International Group, Citigroup, Bank of America, General Motors, Chrysler and the financing arms of the two automakers.
He will have broad discretion to set the salaries and bonuses for their five most senior executives and their 20 most highly paid employees. …
Mr. Feinberg will also have the right to review the compensation for the 100 most highly paid employees and any other executives. …
Mr. Feinberg will also determine whether it would be in the public interest to force executives at companies receiving assistance who might have been overpaid — for example, if their pay was based on revenue and profit that turned out to be illusory — to return the money. …
His role is certainly not to be punitive, which is how a lot of us would react if put in that position. I mean, for God’s sake, does someone deserve $38 million in salary for running a company that goes bankrupt or fails to such a degree that it needs to be rescued?
If Feinberg were put in charge of the salary of everyone in the world I wonder how he would rule. Does A-Rod deserve $25 million a year? If I remember correctly, Keith Olbermann makes something like $4 million annually and Rush Limbaugh pulls in about $15 million a year. The president makes $400,000 per year. I think schoolteachers average about $40,000/year. I don’t think police or firefighters average in the six-figure range.
The Mets game was rained out, which is just as well. I’d like to focus on Giants@Nationals and the Big Unit going for his 300th career win. But there’s a rain delay in D.C. right now.
Some players are stars. Fewer are superstars. But only a handful are larger-than-life legends who turn their peers into gawking kids.
Among pitchers, those at the top of the pyramid are the hurlers who can fan 300 men in a season. Only nine men have done it more than once. Four of them did it twice, including Walter Johnson. Two of them did it three times, including Sandy Koufax. Then there is a gap up to the only two pitchers who have fanned 300 men an almost insane six times — Nolan Ryan and Randy Johnson.
Had the Norse deity Thor grown his hair into a mullet, he might have looked something like Giants pitcher Randy Johnson.
For nearly two decades, Johnson was baseball’s god of thunder, a scowling, intimidating left-hander, 2 inches shy of 7 feet tall, who could sling a baseball side-armed at 100 miles an hour and gelatinize the knees of even the best hitters.
At 45, Johnson no longer hurls lightning bolts the way he once did, but he still can win, as he has done four times in 2009. When he returns to the mound today in Washington to face the Nationals, the worst team in the majors and the franchise that drafted him 24 years ago, Johnson has a chance to become the 24th major leaguer to reach 300 wins, the platinum standard for pitchers.
I’ve been a Randy Johnson fan ever since he was with the Mariners. He’s not as dominant as he used to be, but he’s still good and I really want to see him reach the sacred plateau of 300 wins. Plus at 45 he’s an Old Guy, and as an Old Gal I like to see the Old Guys do well.
A lot of people remember him for the “Don’t get in my face” encounter he had with the NYC media after joining the Yankees. OK, it wasn’t a great moment in terms of being a mensch. (Ditto LeBron’s post-game disappearing act after the Cavs were eliminated by the Magic.) But I like this quote from the San Francisco Chronicle article:
“It’s like an hourglass with sand,” Johnson said. “You see the last few granules going through. Those are the years. I feel very fortunate I’ve been able to play 20-plus years in this game.”
I see the granules going through my own personal hourglass and I want to see Unit get his 300th before his career is over.
Filed under: Wheel of Life — Keith Olbermann Is Evil @ 19:48:44
I’m not sure when this happened, but I became an afficionado of obituaries. It didn’t happen when I became middle-aged; I’ve liked reading them since I was pretty young, since around high school days. My mother was a big reader of obituaries; maybe I got my habit from her.
A soldier from southern New Jersey has died of injuries suffered in Iraq, the Department of Defense announced today.
Pvt. Bradley W. Iorio, 19, died Friday at Landstuhl Regional Medical Center, a U.S. military hospital in Germany. Iorio, a resident of Galloway Township in Atlantic County, had been injured two days earlier in Tallil, Iraq, about 190 miles southeast of Baghdad. …
Anthony Librizzi, a family friend who coached Iorio in youth soccer, said the teen joined the Army after graduating from Absegami High School in Galloway as a means of paying for college and pursuing a medical degree.
“He was looking for an avenue to become a doctor, and he thought he could serve his country and go into the medical field at the same time,” said Librizzi, 56, a retired police detective who broke down in tears as he spoke of Iorio. “This kid was a perfect kid, and I don’t know anybody who couldn’t say he was a blessing to the world. It’s just a tremendous loss.” …
I googled Pvt. Iorio’s name after I saw it in the Times’ Names of the Dead. I used to work with someone named Iorio; for all I know Pvt. Iorio could be her grandson. Even if he’s not, he’s someone’s grandson. 19 is just way too young for anyone to die.
One of my friends chided me back in late 2001 when I told her I was reading the New York Times’ obituaries of the people killed in the 9/11 attacks; she said I was morbid. On the contrary. Those short pieces were works of art: they seemed to capture the person’s essence by recounting just one or two moments from his or her life. Reading about those people reminded me that everyone can make a difference, in big and small ways.
I think that’s what it will come down to for most of us. We’re not going to have a ten-page obit in the Times, we’re not going to lie in state, two thousand people are not coming to the funeral. We will be remembered for one or two things we did — not in the limelight, but for friends or family in the course of our everyday lives.
Ronald Takaki, who made it his life’s work to rewrite American history to include Asian-Americans and other ethnic groups excluded from tradit<ional accounts and who helped start the first doctoral program in ethnic studies in the United States, died Tuesday in his home in Berkeley, Calif. He was 70.
The cause was suicide, said his son Troy. He battled multiple sclerosis for years. “He struggled, and then he gave up,” his son said. …
Philip C. Bolger, whose hundreds of boat designs, from classic schooners to sportfishing yachts to simple dories and dinghies, ranked him among the most prolific and versatile recreational boat designers in the world, died on Sunday in Gloucester, Mass., where he had lived nearly all his life. He was 81.
The cause was a self-inflicted gunshot, his wife, Susanne Altenburger, said. His mind had slipped in the last several months, and he wanted to control the end of his life while he was still able, she said. They had discussed the matter of his death, she added, but he had not told her of his intention. “He wanted to make sure to leave me out of the loop,” Ms. Altenburger said. …
Two accomplished men, both lost to suicide. So sad.
Reading these obituaries reminded me of this song, which is about folksinger Phil Ochs who committed suicide in 1976.
I opened the paper, there was your picture
Gone, gone, gone by your own hand
I couldn’t believe it, the paper was shakin’
Gone, gone, gone by your own hand
I know I’m gonna spend the rest of my lifetime wondering why
You found yourself so badly hurt you had to die
I opened the paper, there was your picture
Gone, gone, gone by your own hand
The phone started ringing, had I heard about it?
I shook every time I heard it ring
What was my reaction? I put the phone down
That was the only news that was fit to sing
They ask about Dylan, about MacDougal Street and Third
Question piled on question and each question more absurd
I opened the paper, there was your picture
Gone, gone, gone by your own hand
**
Oh, I remember “There But For Fortune”,
There but for fortune you and I would go
Fortune turned its back on you,
Or so it must have seemed to you,
Christ alone knows what was the final blow
The last time I saw you, the last time I saw you,
Bleeker Street outside the Other End
I told you I’d see you, I got distracted
I never saw your face again
I heard that you were feeling stronger every day
I heard that you were well with good things on their way
Then I opened the paper, there was your picture
Gone, gone, gone by your own hand.
Which is what I feel like I having been doing the past few months.
Working on the house and yard, looking for a new job, going back to school …. There is no finish line, but the change of view is rather refreshing. Even though my ship might still be sinking.
At any rate, the Hiatus from Evil was nice, although I sometimes felt guilty for not posting. It would be convenient to blame Keith Olbermann, as Rex Zeitgeist suggested. But if Mr. Zeitgeist paid attention to what I’ve been writing over the past few years he will have noted that as a Buddhist I believe in karma, so that what happens in my life is on me and I cannot blame anyone else for my shortcomings.
for many of us, it’s been a long hard winter with scant inspiration, and spring was never more welcome (today’s snowfall notwithstanding). I can understand an impulse to tend to new sprouts. maybe a break is just what you need.
A nice metaphor. And literal, too, as the garden is doing well. Today I learned that eggplant stems are thorny. Ouch! You don’t learn such things when you buy vegetables at the grocery store.
Cute. I hope that it gets people into poetry. Poems aren’t just for April.
(Being an older — i.e., over the age of 40 — person, I still haven’t grasped the allure of Twitter. Of course, I am still trying to come to grips with the DH and interleague play.)
It’s not like I was giving up blogging for Lent ….
But I haven’t posted in a month. My bad.
I might be running out of sufficient Evil to continue this blog. I have plenty of ideas but not enough time to write. I haven’t developed the skill of writing the short, pithy post. I kind of hate the idea of giving this up, but I’m clearly having problems with posting on a regular basis. I’ll see how it goes this month.
