Words written this week: 1400.
Responses to last week's topic: 2.
Topics submitted: I have no idea; I'm away from the Slaughterhouse mailbox.
This week's topic: I'm in Chicago getting ready for a triathlon, so I'm not writing much.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sAPv_DhIFkQ
THIS WEEK'S TOPIC FINISHED BY: Sunday, August 31, sooner than 10:50 AM.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Slaughterhouse 34
Start Time: 10:33 PM
End Time: 11:59 PM
Word Count: 723 (not counting intro)
“Write a review of an event or story from your life from the perspective/voice of Hunter Thompson.”
Wow. First off, the intro doesn’t count.
My first exposure to the writing of Hunter Thompson was when I was about 14, through a collection of his newspaper columns he’d written for the San Francisco Examiner in the mid-80s, entitled “Generation of Swine: Tales Of Shame and Degradation in the Eighties,” individual lines of which I can still remember. At that time he was writing a mad pastiche of politics, football, and human interest stories. I think at the time he was working as night manager at the O’Farrell Theater in San Francisco, “the Carnegie Hall of public sex in America,” for a forthcoming book, The Night Manager.
I didn’t realize what “Gonzo” was. I knew a little about the Uncle Duke character in “Doonesbury,” and I remembered a Time magazine back page article showing him in the plaid flannel coat, picturing him shooting a typewriter and mentioning burning a Christmas tree in a fireplace.
It was the summer after high school that I discovered “Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas: A Savage Journey Into The Heart of The American Dream,” which about 98% of 18-year-olds pick up along with a Hendrix album, a Jim Morrison haircut, and an experimental attitude towards drugs. I spent the next few years after that reading nearly everything of his I could get my hands on. Everything the campus bookstore offered, I got. I’ve deliberately left some of it out there, because there’s one thing about reading Hunter Thompson: you, too, think that you should be able to throw yourself into any situation and find its essential truth through loutish behavior and two-fisted use of dangerous substances. And if you fancy yourself a writer type, you think, shit, I can do this.
And, being the impressionable young man that I was, I thought that I could. Some of the stuff from then was almost unintelligible, and these were the days of Vivarin and Ultra Pep-Back and chocolate covered espresso beans from Gloria Jean’s in the morning at my new job, Hunter and writing and Sominex at the end of the night.
In a wild bout of insecurity and overdramatization in my early 20s, I set everything I’d written up to then on fire. (Here’s a handy tip: ashes fly around a barbecue if you open the lid to watch, and you’re no less insecure after you set a ream or so of paper on fire.) Most of it deserved its fate, and in none of it did I write something as good as this:
“I remembered the girl. We’d had a problem with her on the elevator a few hours earlier: my attorney had made a fool of himself.
“You must be a rider,” she’d said. “What class are you in?”
“Class?” He snapped. “What do you mean?”
“What do you ride?” she asked with a quick smile. “We’re filming the race for a TV series – maybe we can use you.”
“Use me?”
Mother of God, I thought. Here it comes. The elevator was crowded with race people: it was taking a long time to get from floor to floor. By the time we’d stopped at Three, he was trembling badly. Five more to go…
““I ride the big ones!” he shouted suddenly. “The really big fuckers!”
I laughed, trying to defuse the scene. “The Vincent Black Shadow,” I said. We’re with the factory team.”
This brought a murmur of rude dissent from the crowd. “Bullshit,” somebody behind me muttered.
“Wait a minute!” my attorney shouted…and then to the girl: “Pardon me, lady, but I think there’s some kind of ignorant chicken-sucker in this car who needs his face cut open.” He plunged his hand into the pocket of his black plastic jacket and turned to face the people crowded into the rear of the elevator. “You cheap honky faggots,” he snarled. Which one of you wants to get cut?”
-Hunter Thompson, “Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas”
(I just opened my copy of Fear and Loathing to type that, the edition that has Generation of Swine as well, and not only did I find a note regarding a change to my Econ 121 schedule on one of the front pages, I saw a Post-It note in my ex-wife’s handwriting with three of my old phone numbers on it. I remember giving her the book early on, when we’d met up again. Wow, indeed.)
When Thompson committed suicide in 2005, I was saddened, but not devastated. His recent work had demonstrated that he had found a more lucrative life in being the cartoon character than the man who typed the Great Gatsby twice, for practice. I was a little wistful at the disappearance of that little writerly fantasy of standing there in his kitchen, reading his work aloud to him as he wondered if you could get the rhythm right, the cadence, betting on football and watching three satellite dishes in the middle of the Aspen night.
There’s a room in heaven where he and Warren Zevon and Artie Mitchell and Oscar Acosta and Ernest Hemingway and William Faulkner and F. Scott Fitzgerald are hanging out, and I imagine Ed Turner and Ed Bradley stop by every once in a while, just like they’d pop up in Generation of Swine, and the laughter is copious and the line for just a glimpse is probably thousands deep, and maybe I’ll get to elbow my way to the front to check it out.
Mahalo, Doc.
We were knee deep in booze at this point, somehow Certain that the next drink would be the discovery that we had been waiting our whole lives to find. Brian was leading the experiment.
“Fuck, this is terrible.”
“What’d you order?”
“Amaretto and cream.”
Christ, I thought, that doesn’t even make sense. Watching Logic get the better of our twisted little plan to try as many drinks as possible was discouraging.
It was 9 in the morning on a Sunday in Las Vegas, and that meant Football, on more screens than most of these rubes could count and nothing but nonstop speedy Action. The betting would be frenzied, and we had our share of action involved as well. We were the grist of the sports book, the people who think they have the slightest fucking idea what they’re doing.
The plan was to watch ALL of the games at once, darting our eyes back and forth like pinballs on fire to catch every play, fortifying ourselves with as many twisted chemicals as they would feed us for free. The sports book, the hotel, all of Vegas adored us. We were the tourists of their dreams: young, suffused in hubris and solid gold credit risks.
Ken looked on silently, taking it all in. Mark’s eyes were moving to glassy on the other side of his glasses. I had been fortified by a breakfast consisting of nothing but eight strips of bacon and Coca-Cola, shooting a savage look through bloodshot eyes at a senior citizen clutching her hands around a two-for-one coupon to the Fabulous Oz Buffet. With next to no sleep for my third day in a row at this point, I wasn’t in the mood for her grandmotherly gaze at my ignorance of the nutritional pyramid. Somewhere beyond the stubble and the pupils like rhesus monkeys, she declined to comment further.
We hunkered down for the first half, feeling like we were at a control panel for NASA. The yardage, the scores, everything up to the second, tearing through the games like crack addled mice, before DirectTV would stroll along a decade later and figure out this is what football should be about, not your fucking AFLAC trivia or the soul-crushing huddles and analysis by self-serving chuckleheads such as Dan Dierdorf.
They brought gin, beer, vodka, tequila, all manner of house-pour spirits in any combination we could think up. My stomach contemplated getting violently ill but hung on. By the second half, we had decided that we would be ill-served by such concepts as sunlight or doing anything outdoors. And travel proved entirely unnecessary; we were getting all of the action we needed right here.
In Chicago, I’d seen the crazed atavistic frenzy that was the Board of Trade open outcry pits; men hollering quotes for commodities through purple faces, a building that had a defibrillator since the Seventies, all with the sheer naked ambition towards getting Rich. The men had it here, too – cigars with baseball caps indoors, proclaiming loyalties and concealing baldness. And as quick as a flashbulb, a genuine Frenzy broke out.
The 1-15 Jets were going to beat the fucking spread. Mother of babbling Christ. Left and right, parlays that would have covered tuition were being driven to ruin. The Eagles were playing like winos and were headed to the playoffs that year, and held a one point lead. The spread favored them by 6 and they led, 21-20.
Cazart! A last-second interception! The bald, the fat, the unathletic, the doomed – they rose as one to cheer on the Eagles cornerback who’d intercepted the ball, headed for the end zone with less than a minute left! Hope! Payday! Redemption! GO! GO! GO! He was tackled at the 1, and that stone brute of a running back, Ricky Watters, would no doubt pound it into the end zone and deliver salvation to the wretches beneath the cathode ray masses at the MGM.
But the Eagles had a one point lead with less than a minute left.
I lingering sense of doom enveloped the masses. “NO!” a paunchy man shrieked as they took a knee. The Eagles would win but not cover.
We examined each other carefully, ensuring that none of us had been ensnared in Fortune’s trap. Then we began giggling hysterically, searching for Truth, Desire, and another free drink…
End Time: 11:59 PM
Word Count: 723 (not counting intro)
“Write a review of an event or story from your life from the perspective/voice of Hunter Thompson.”
Wow. First off, the intro doesn’t count.
My first exposure to the writing of Hunter Thompson was when I was about 14, through a collection of his newspaper columns he’d written for the San Francisco Examiner in the mid-80s, entitled “Generation of Swine: Tales Of Shame and Degradation in the Eighties,” individual lines of which I can still remember. At that time he was writing a mad pastiche of politics, football, and human interest stories. I think at the time he was working as night manager at the O’Farrell Theater in San Francisco, “the Carnegie Hall of public sex in America,” for a forthcoming book, The Night Manager.
I didn’t realize what “Gonzo” was. I knew a little about the Uncle Duke character in “Doonesbury,” and I remembered a Time magazine back page article showing him in the plaid flannel coat, picturing him shooting a typewriter and mentioning burning a Christmas tree in a fireplace.
It was the summer after high school that I discovered “Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas: A Savage Journey Into The Heart of The American Dream,” which about 98% of 18-year-olds pick up along with a Hendrix album, a Jim Morrison haircut, and an experimental attitude towards drugs. I spent the next few years after that reading nearly everything of his I could get my hands on. Everything the campus bookstore offered, I got. I’ve deliberately left some of it out there, because there’s one thing about reading Hunter Thompson: you, too, think that you should be able to throw yourself into any situation and find its essential truth through loutish behavior and two-fisted use of dangerous substances. And if you fancy yourself a writer type, you think, shit, I can do this.
And, being the impressionable young man that I was, I thought that I could. Some of the stuff from then was almost unintelligible, and these were the days of Vivarin and Ultra Pep-Back and chocolate covered espresso beans from Gloria Jean’s in the morning at my new job, Hunter and writing and Sominex at the end of the night.
In a wild bout of insecurity and overdramatization in my early 20s, I set everything I’d written up to then on fire. (Here’s a handy tip: ashes fly around a barbecue if you open the lid to watch, and you’re no less insecure after you set a ream or so of paper on fire.) Most of it deserved its fate, and in none of it did I write something as good as this:
“I remembered the girl. We’d had a problem with her on the elevator a few hours earlier: my attorney had made a fool of himself.
“You must be a rider,” she’d said. “What class are you in?”
“Class?” He snapped. “What do you mean?”
“What do you ride?” she asked with a quick smile. “We’re filming the race for a TV series – maybe we can use you.”
“Use me?”
Mother of God, I thought. Here it comes. The elevator was crowded with race people: it was taking a long time to get from floor to floor. By the time we’d stopped at Three, he was trembling badly. Five more to go…
““I ride the big ones!” he shouted suddenly. “The really big fuckers!”
I laughed, trying to defuse the scene. “The Vincent Black Shadow,” I said. We’re with the factory team.”
This brought a murmur of rude dissent from the crowd. “Bullshit,” somebody behind me muttered.
“Wait a minute!” my attorney shouted…and then to the girl: “Pardon me, lady, but I think there’s some kind of ignorant chicken-sucker in this car who needs his face cut open.” He plunged his hand into the pocket of his black plastic jacket and turned to face the people crowded into the rear of the elevator. “You cheap honky faggots,” he snarled. Which one of you wants to get cut?”
-Hunter Thompson, “Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas”
(I just opened my copy of Fear and Loathing to type that, the edition that has Generation of Swine as well, and not only did I find a note regarding a change to my Econ 121 schedule on one of the front pages, I saw a Post-It note in my ex-wife’s handwriting with three of my old phone numbers on it. I remember giving her the book early on, when we’d met up again. Wow, indeed.)
When Thompson committed suicide in 2005, I was saddened, but not devastated. His recent work had demonstrated that he had found a more lucrative life in being the cartoon character than the man who typed the Great Gatsby twice, for practice. I was a little wistful at the disappearance of that little writerly fantasy of standing there in his kitchen, reading his work aloud to him as he wondered if you could get the rhythm right, the cadence, betting on football and watching three satellite dishes in the middle of the Aspen night.
There’s a room in heaven where he and Warren Zevon and Artie Mitchell and Oscar Acosta and Ernest Hemingway and William Faulkner and F. Scott Fitzgerald are hanging out, and I imagine Ed Turner and Ed Bradley stop by every once in a while, just like they’d pop up in Generation of Swine, and the laughter is copious and the line for just a glimpse is probably thousands deep, and maybe I’ll get to elbow my way to the front to check it out.
Mahalo, Doc.
We were knee deep in booze at this point, somehow Certain that the next drink would be the discovery that we had been waiting our whole lives to find. Brian was leading the experiment.
“Fuck, this is terrible.”
“What’d you order?”
“Amaretto and cream.”
Christ, I thought, that doesn’t even make sense. Watching Logic get the better of our twisted little plan to try as many drinks as possible was discouraging.
It was 9 in the morning on a Sunday in Las Vegas, and that meant Football, on more screens than most of these rubes could count and nothing but nonstop speedy Action. The betting would be frenzied, and we had our share of action involved as well. We were the grist of the sports book, the people who think they have the slightest fucking idea what they’re doing.
The plan was to watch ALL of the games at once, darting our eyes back and forth like pinballs on fire to catch every play, fortifying ourselves with as many twisted chemicals as they would feed us for free. The sports book, the hotel, all of Vegas adored us. We were the tourists of their dreams: young, suffused in hubris and solid gold credit risks.
Ken looked on silently, taking it all in. Mark’s eyes were moving to glassy on the other side of his glasses. I had been fortified by a breakfast consisting of nothing but eight strips of bacon and Coca-Cola, shooting a savage look through bloodshot eyes at a senior citizen clutching her hands around a two-for-one coupon to the Fabulous Oz Buffet. With next to no sleep for my third day in a row at this point, I wasn’t in the mood for her grandmotherly gaze at my ignorance of the nutritional pyramid. Somewhere beyond the stubble and the pupils like rhesus monkeys, she declined to comment further.
We hunkered down for the first half, feeling like we were at a control panel for NASA. The yardage, the scores, everything up to the second, tearing through the games like crack addled mice, before DirectTV would stroll along a decade later and figure out this is what football should be about, not your fucking AFLAC trivia or the soul-crushing huddles and analysis by self-serving chuckleheads such as Dan Dierdorf.
They brought gin, beer, vodka, tequila, all manner of house-pour spirits in any combination we could think up. My stomach contemplated getting violently ill but hung on. By the second half, we had decided that we would be ill-served by such concepts as sunlight or doing anything outdoors. And travel proved entirely unnecessary; we were getting all of the action we needed right here.
In Chicago, I’d seen the crazed atavistic frenzy that was the Board of Trade open outcry pits; men hollering quotes for commodities through purple faces, a building that had a defibrillator since the Seventies, all with the sheer naked ambition towards getting Rich. The men had it here, too – cigars with baseball caps indoors, proclaiming loyalties and concealing baldness. And as quick as a flashbulb, a genuine Frenzy broke out.
The 1-15 Jets were going to beat the fucking spread. Mother of babbling Christ. Left and right, parlays that would have covered tuition were being driven to ruin. The Eagles were playing like winos and were headed to the playoffs that year, and held a one point lead. The spread favored them by 6 and they led, 21-20.
Cazart! A last-second interception! The bald, the fat, the unathletic, the doomed – they rose as one to cheer on the Eagles cornerback who’d intercepted the ball, headed for the end zone with less than a minute left! Hope! Payday! Redemption! GO! GO! GO! He was tackled at the 1, and that stone brute of a running back, Ricky Watters, would no doubt pound it into the end zone and deliver salvation to the wretches beneath the cathode ray masses at the MGM.
But the Eagles had a one point lead with less than a minute left.
I lingering sense of doom enveloped the masses. “NO!” a paunchy man shrieked as they took a knee. The Eagles would win but not cover.
We examined each other carefully, ensuring that none of us had been ensnared in Fortune’s trap. Then we began giggling hysterically, searching for Truth, Desire, and another free drink…
Friday, August 21, 2009
Writing Project Update
WORDS THIS WEEK: 1200. My biggest race of the year is next week and writing took a back seat to training for a bit. Most of what was there wasn't totally publishable.
COMMENTS ON LAST WEEK'S ITEMS: 4. (Thanks again for writing it for me, everybody!)
SUBMISSIONS THIS WEEK: 1 (Beth)
THIS WEEK'S QUESTION: "Write a review of an event or story from your life from the perspective/voice of Hunter S. Thompson."
Wow. It's time for some old school, no prisoners, straight no chaser. I assure you there will be a lengthy introduction.
If you're not already up to speed on the Gonzo Brand, familiarize yourselves with one of my heroes here. Cathc you in a few.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hunter_Thompson
500 WORDS DUE BY: Midnight 8/21-22
COMMENTS ON LAST WEEK'S ITEMS: 4. (Thanks again for writing it for me, everybody!)
SUBMISSIONS THIS WEEK: 1 (Beth)
THIS WEEK'S QUESTION: "Write a review of an event or story from your life from the perspective/voice of Hunter S. Thompson."
Wow. It's time for some old school, no prisoners, straight no chaser. I assure you there will be a lengthy introduction.
If you're not already up to speed on the Gonzo Brand, familiarize yourselves with one of my heroes here. Cathc you in a few.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hunter_Thompson
500 WORDS DUE BY: Midnight 8/21-22
Friday, August 14, 2009
Slaughterhouse 33 – The Runners-Up, January to June
Start compiling: 9:51 PM
Finish compiling: 10:22 PM
WORD COUNT: 773
“Last weekend you said: "It’s unfair of me to speculate on what a Cubs victory would do to the city, because there are certain lodestones that my life depends on, such as the Cubs won’t win, the compass will show me true north, Mick and Keith will outlive me by about ten minutes or so, and I won’t want to see the movie if Freddie Prinze Jr. is in it."
Other than your marriage, what is something you once felt was absolute - whether your life depended on it is up to you - but not anymore?”
“What are your 500 favorite nouns?”
“Do opposites really attract?”
“Topic: “Why 12? What's makes it so freakin' special? 12 months in a year. 12 inches in a foot. 12 days of Christmas. 12 Apostles. Why?”
“The Resolooters sounds like a band name to me. Please come up with 5 fictional band names, outfit them, give their members some personalities and explain their sorted histories/antics and discography. This may be a multi-part challenge or you may come up with 5 bands with short descriptions and dive deep on one of your choosing.”
“As I write this, I am staring at what was supposed to be 3-6” of snow. It is well on its way to 10” with no sign of stopping. This has been a very snowy winter and I normally get a lot of pride and joy as a Chicagoan from being able to withstand crazy weather patterns and triumph in the cold. Hell, some days its even fun. Today, I am just done. Done with the snow. Done with shoveling. Done with out of line forecasts. As an ex-Chicagoan and someone who lives in the desert, how do you view weather and where do you draw the line of endurance vs. pure irritation?”
“I've been thinking a lot lately about faith. Faith in other people, faith and how it relates to religions. Faith. So there's my topic for you. Faith, in any, or all of its forms.”
“Write an epic haiku.”
This could be a two-parter. “Women” – Do we really want it all? (career, family, wife, mom) Or, “When we have it all (career, family, wife, mother), does it change who we are?”
“Explain why going over the top to impress virtual strangers in effect nullifies when you do something special for those whom you really love and love you in return.”
“Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Discuss the differences and the reason imagination is more important.”
“I think you should write about whatever you want! :-)”
“Cultural axioms tell us that we’ll never be able to physically feel like we did when we were younger. Do you think it’s possible to feel physically younger as we grow older?”
“Choose any political topic. Choose any political representative, local or Federal. Write a letter on a cause you wish to see reformed.”
“We've talked about the Chuck Klosterman Alice in Chains/broken collarbone question and my deep hatred for Alice in Chains. Please come up with your own no-win question and then give your answer and explain why.”
“There’s a bunch of ratings systems reviewing everything these days. Movies, music, wines, student progress just to name a few. Of the systems out there, which do you feel are the most useful, accurate and applicable to what they are rating?“
“Using the dart scene from Roxanne as a template, please list a variety of misuses of the word “irony” in their context and share the alternate and appropriate vocabulary choice. Obvious points for snarkyness.”
“How do you write the perfect apology to someone who you have wronged inadvertently? What makes it sincere, believable, and hopefully accepted?”
“How has training for the tris and working out changed your perception and understanding of distance and time?”
“Write a travel essay about somewhere you haven't visited in at least ten years.”
“If you could spend New Year’s Eve with any 10 people currently living or already dead, whom would you select and why?”
“Pick the State of the Union that you would least like to live and write a PSA for the Tourism Board advocating relocation to that fine state.”
“Since we were kids, there have been umpteen new information channels added to our world. Can you justify any of them as necessary?”
“Write the conspiracy theory rant explaining why there is no cure for the common cold.”
“If you were charge of creating uniforms for all men in specific social caste or occupation, what would it be?”
Finish compiling: 10:22 PM
WORD COUNT: 773
“Last weekend you said: "It’s unfair of me to speculate on what a Cubs victory would do to the city, because there are certain lodestones that my life depends on, such as the Cubs won’t win, the compass will show me true north, Mick and Keith will outlive me by about ten minutes or so, and I won’t want to see the movie if Freddie Prinze Jr. is in it."
Other than your marriage, what is something you once felt was absolute - whether your life depended on it is up to you - but not anymore?”
“What are your 500 favorite nouns?”
“Do opposites really attract?”
“Topic: “Why 12? What's makes it so freakin' special? 12 months in a year. 12 inches in a foot. 12 days of Christmas. 12 Apostles. Why?”
“The Resolooters sounds like a band name to me. Please come up with 5 fictional band names, outfit them, give their members some personalities and explain their sorted histories/antics and discography. This may be a multi-part challenge or you may come up with 5 bands with short descriptions and dive deep on one of your choosing.”
“As I write this, I am staring at what was supposed to be 3-6” of snow. It is well on its way to 10” with no sign of stopping. This has been a very snowy winter and I normally get a lot of pride and joy as a Chicagoan from being able to withstand crazy weather patterns and triumph in the cold. Hell, some days its even fun. Today, I am just done. Done with the snow. Done with shoveling. Done with out of line forecasts. As an ex-Chicagoan and someone who lives in the desert, how do you view weather and where do you draw the line of endurance vs. pure irritation?”
“I've been thinking a lot lately about faith. Faith in other people, faith and how it relates to religions. Faith. So there's my topic for you. Faith, in any, or all of its forms.”
“Write an epic haiku.”
This could be a two-parter. “Women” – Do we really want it all? (career, family, wife, mom) Or, “When we have it all (career, family, wife, mother), does it change who we are?”
“Explain why going over the top to impress virtual strangers in effect nullifies when you do something special for those whom you really love and love you in return.”
“Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Discuss the differences and the reason imagination is more important.”
“I think you should write about whatever you want! :-)”
“Cultural axioms tell us that we’ll never be able to physically feel like we did when we were younger. Do you think it’s possible to feel physically younger as we grow older?”
“Choose any political topic. Choose any political representative, local or Federal. Write a letter on a cause you wish to see reformed.”
“We've talked about the Chuck Klosterman Alice in Chains/broken collarbone question and my deep hatred for Alice in Chains. Please come up with your own no-win question and then give your answer and explain why.”
“There’s a bunch of ratings systems reviewing everything these days. Movies, music, wines, student progress just to name a few. Of the systems out there, which do you feel are the most useful, accurate and applicable to what they are rating?“
“Using the dart scene from Roxanne as a template, please list a variety of misuses of the word “irony” in their context and share the alternate and appropriate vocabulary choice. Obvious points for snarkyness.”
“How do you write the perfect apology to someone who you have wronged inadvertently? What makes it sincere, believable, and hopefully accepted?”
“How has training for the tris and working out changed your perception and understanding of distance and time?”
“Write a travel essay about somewhere you haven't visited in at least ten years.”
“If you could spend New Year’s Eve with any 10 people currently living or already dead, whom would you select and why?”
“Pick the State of the Union that you would least like to live and write a PSA for the Tourism Board advocating relocation to that fine state.”
“Since we were kids, there have been umpteen new information channels added to our world. Can you justify any of them as necessary?”
“Write the conspiracy theory rant explaining why there is no cure for the common cold.”
“If you were charge of creating uniforms for all men in specific social caste or occupation, what would it be?”
Writing Project Update
Words this week - 4100, but it was thrown at the book proposal, which I can't excerpt for proprietary reasons. (A book proposal attempts to convince a publisher that they should give me money and sign a contract for an idea that will take me a while to flesh out, and if I don't, they want it back.) So I need to come up with something else.
I also redesigned my website; you should check it out solely for the home page graphic that accompanies the link to Slaughterhouse. Those of you who know me wouldn't doubt that's what the process is like.
Responses to last weeks' items: 3.
Submissions this week: 0.
This week's question:
Folks, this week I'm beat. I hit my number, there's nothing waiting in the Inbox, and I could scrounge for an excerpt, but I have another idea.
This week's question wasn't yours, but it may as well have been. At present there are 162 emails in the Slaughterhouse Inbox. Less than 30 have made the cut, because I've given weeks to charity and posted excerpts. So there are dozens of worthy topics that I've never answered.
The following are Slaughterhouse losers from January to June. I'll keep the submissions anonymous, but for all of the topics that I did write about, you'll see what you missed out on me writing about.
TOPIC DUE BY: Midnight 8/14-15
I also redesigned my website; you should check it out solely for the home page graphic that accompanies the link to Slaughterhouse. Those of you who know me wouldn't doubt that's what the process is like.
Responses to last weeks' items: 3.
Submissions this week: 0.
This week's question:
Folks, this week I'm beat. I hit my number, there's nothing waiting in the Inbox, and I could scrounge for an excerpt, but I have another idea.
This week's question wasn't yours, but it may as well have been. At present there are 162 emails in the Slaughterhouse Inbox. Less than 30 have made the cut, because I've given weeks to charity and posted excerpts. So there are dozens of worthy topics that I've never answered.
The following are Slaughterhouse losers from January to June. I'll keep the submissions anonymous, but for all of the topics that I did write about, you'll see what you missed out on me writing about.
TOPIC DUE BY: Midnight 8/14-15
Friday, August 07, 2009
Slaughterhouse 32 - Book Excerpt
Slaughterhouse 32
Book Excerpt
641 words
HEROES - Richard Simmons
Forget, for a moment, the striped shorts, the tank tops, the perm that's traveled decades, the high voice, the talk show appearances, and the cliches. (Forget that you already know who I'm talking about even with that one sentence.)
What you need to know is that Richard Simmons started out as Milton Teagle, selling pralines in New Orleans, and before you knew him from television, he'd lost 123 pounds to get where he is. He hated the fact that gyms were devoted to pretty people and people who were already in shape, creating one more barrier to the average person starting out. It didn't matter to him that someone was heavy or what they looked like in their workout clothes. He wanted to help them anyway. His fitness center, originally called the Anatomy Asylum and now called Slimmons, continues to teach aerobics and fitness to damn near anybody who wants to show up, and he’s teaching two nights a week when he’s in town.
His website claims “30 years and 30 million pounds.” Tens of thousands of people have collectively lost literal tons of weight through working with him. You may gag at the pathos or make fun of the methods, but the guy gets results. He reaches out to people who wouldn't feel comfortable walking into Bally's or Gold's, striated palaces of Lycra and bulk where the top one percent are attempting to make themselves the top one-half percent.
Sweatin' To The Oldies may not be for you. It's not SUPPOSED to be. It's for someone your mom's age, who's one slip and fall away from being bedridden and in a nursing home - or better after a weekend's rest on the couch. Someone who isn't going to feel comfortable next to an aspiring MMA fighter and some stripper-type on the elliptical machines next to her. And if someone is uncomfortable going to the gym, it makes it that much harder to go in the first place. And Mr. Simmons doesn't act like he's any better than these people, or that they don't have the power to change. He's been there. Some of the people who follow his program start at over 400 pounds and get AMAZING results; quite frankly, I'm hoping if you're reading, you're half as driven as some of his clients.
I'm from Las Vegas, and I've seen it all when it comes to health club denizens. I've seen people on so many steroids they look like they're going to pop like weenies on the grill. I've seen women wearing tops that look like they came out of fortune cookies. And during the peak of the nightclub boom out here, there were always postcards under my windshield wiper inviting me to parties at Prive, OPM, Light, and Rain - thinking that I looked like one of those other type of people, the sort of bodies that people go to nightclubs to see. I imagine they would have been rather surprised if I showed up in my typical "industry night" outfit of khakis and a polo shirt.
The only reason I kept going to that gym is what I've already told you; I had a crazy goal and I wasn't going to let anybody stop me from achieving it. The reason that I was in that gym with all of those people had nothing to do with the fact I didn't look like any of them, it's that I didn't want to look like ME any more, and nothing would change if I didn't show up. There are occasionally people there now who recognize me from before and ask how much weight I've lost. Those are nice moments. You deserve them too.
Eat sensibly and exercise, don't take yourself too seriously and have a great time. Does any of that sound like bad advice?
Book Excerpt
641 words
HEROES - Richard Simmons
Forget, for a moment, the striped shorts, the tank tops, the perm that's traveled decades, the high voice, the talk show appearances, and the cliches. (Forget that you already know who I'm talking about even with that one sentence.)
What you need to know is that Richard Simmons started out as Milton Teagle, selling pralines in New Orleans, and before you knew him from television, he'd lost 123 pounds to get where he is. He hated the fact that gyms were devoted to pretty people and people who were already in shape, creating one more barrier to the average person starting out. It didn't matter to him that someone was heavy or what they looked like in their workout clothes. He wanted to help them anyway. His fitness center, originally called the Anatomy Asylum and now called Slimmons, continues to teach aerobics and fitness to damn near anybody who wants to show up, and he’s teaching two nights a week when he’s in town.
His website claims “30 years and 30 million pounds.” Tens of thousands of people have collectively lost literal tons of weight through working with him. You may gag at the pathos or make fun of the methods, but the guy gets results. He reaches out to people who wouldn't feel comfortable walking into Bally's or Gold's, striated palaces of Lycra and bulk where the top one percent are attempting to make themselves the top one-half percent.
Sweatin' To The Oldies may not be for you. It's not SUPPOSED to be. It's for someone your mom's age, who's one slip and fall away from being bedridden and in a nursing home - or better after a weekend's rest on the couch. Someone who isn't going to feel comfortable next to an aspiring MMA fighter and some stripper-type on the elliptical machines next to her. And if someone is uncomfortable going to the gym, it makes it that much harder to go in the first place. And Mr. Simmons doesn't act like he's any better than these people, or that they don't have the power to change. He's been there. Some of the people who follow his program start at over 400 pounds and get AMAZING results; quite frankly, I'm hoping if you're reading, you're half as driven as some of his clients.
I'm from Las Vegas, and I've seen it all when it comes to health club denizens. I've seen people on so many steroids they look like they're going to pop like weenies on the grill. I've seen women wearing tops that look like they came out of fortune cookies. And during the peak of the nightclub boom out here, there were always postcards under my windshield wiper inviting me to parties at Prive, OPM, Light, and Rain - thinking that I looked like one of those other type of people, the sort of bodies that people go to nightclubs to see. I imagine they would have been rather surprised if I showed up in my typical "industry night" outfit of khakis and a polo shirt.
The only reason I kept going to that gym is what I've already told you; I had a crazy goal and I wasn't going to let anybody stop me from achieving it. The reason that I was in that gym with all of those people had nothing to do with the fact I didn't look like any of them, it's that I didn't want to look like ME any more, and nothing would change if I didn't show up. There are occasionally people there now who recognize me from before and ask how much weight I've lost. Those are nice moments. You deserve them too.
Eat sensibly and exercise, don't take yourself too seriously and have a great time. Does any of that sound like bad advice?
Writing Project Update
Words this week: 6800, between the diet book and a proposal for same; there's an interesting story with this that I'll be able to tell everyone someday. Hoping the proposal can be finished this weekend, but the training is starting to peak, so it'll be an interesting mix between potential and kinetic energy.
Responses to last week's topic: 2.
This week's entries: 5 (Sam, Sam, Sam, Ken, Ken)
This week's entry: An excerpt from "You've Got Right Now" one of the "Heroes" sections from real-life people who proved inspiring.
500 WORDS ON THIS TOPIC DUE BY: Midnight 8/7-8/8.
Responses to last week's topic: 2.
This week's entries: 5 (Sam, Sam, Sam, Ken, Ken)
This week's entry: An excerpt from "You've Got Right Now" one of the "Heroes" sections from real-life people who proved inspiring.
500 WORDS ON THIS TOPIC DUE BY: Midnight 8/7-8/8.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Slaughterhouse 31
START TIME: 9:36 PM
END TIME: 11:17 PM
WORD COUNT: 598
“Name five instances where weather changed American history.” –Sam Gold
OK, first let’s get the list out of the way so that I don’t have to worry about listing everything before we start slugging out the word count. Now I’m not going to rank these or say that any one is more significant than the other; they’re just the ones that popped into my head.
1. D-Day, June 6, 1944.
2. Hurricane Katrina, August 2005.
3. September 11, 2001.
4. Dust Bowl, 1933.
5. Chicago Fire put out by light drizzle, October 10, 1871.
The rationale:
1. D-Day, June 6, 1944.
The odds were against Operation Overlord and the invasion of Normandy from the start. Two things were required: a full moon, to illuminate navigational beacons for the aircraft, and spring tides to keep the water as deep as possible to make it around the defenses placed in the surf. The weather had been so lousy at the beginning of June that a number of the German defense leadership was on leave (General Rommel was on leave celebrating his wife’s birthday) so it wasn’t the starters that were out there when the invasion started. If this nearly impossible task had failed, America’s expansion of interests through the 20th century and rise as a true world power would have been impossible.
2. Hurricane Katrina, August 2005.
The costliest disaster in the history of the United States and its deadliest hurricane since 1928 created a diaspora in the southern united States away from a vital shipping and tourism center from which the city has never fully recovered. Hurricane Katrina also demonstrated the terrifying incompetence of the federal disaster recovery apparatus. Upon being given six days notice that the storm would be catastrophic, the mayor did not issue the order to evacuate the city until 19 hours before the storm made landfall. At least 1,836 people were killed in the wake of the storm’s destruction and subsequent floods.
3. September 11, 2001.
“The weather was perfect.” While bad weather affected D-Day and Katrina was a meteorological event, the lack of any weather patterns on 9/11 meant that the flights would not be delayed, the passengers would not have been present in greater numbers after their flights the night before had been cancelled, thus providing more resistance against a mere four “muscle” hijackers who had chosen flights that were light on passengers and heavy on fuel. Flight 93, which crashed in Pennsylvania, was delayed out of Newark. The disparities in time between the crashes would have been greater and could have minimized the loss of life on a day with more difficult visibility.
4. Dust Bowl, 1933.
I picked this for encouraging soil conservation and the rise of agribusiness in the wake of the expansion of the Great Depression. This also created the current Department of Agriculture Setup, which hands over great piles of money to small family farmers like ADM’s Andreas family. But it also contributed mightily to making California the most populous state in the nation, which will affect you all; a state with that many Congressional members has a lot of clot and the ability to say, “We would rather you provided Great Lakes water to us so we can continue to grow vegetables” and “The clean air standards for the vehicles that the American public is balking at buying will be raised if you’d like to sell cars here.”
5. Chicago Fire put out by light drizzle, October 10, 1871.
A sop to my hometown and the quintessentially American city. If the collection of wooden shanties and obvious violations of common sense that would ultimately make up the bulk of American zoning and fire prevention principles in the new century had stayed, Chicago would have stayed nondescript, without having the ability to undergo a complete redesign of its central core nearly 40 years after its establishment. It established that wood had been overused as a building material and inspired a spate of new design and construction techniques, which led to an appreciation for modern design and structure (and regrettably, an early lack of respect for tradition cast against the tide of progress).
END TIME: 11:17 PM
WORD COUNT: 598
“Name five instances where weather changed American history.” –Sam Gold
OK, first let’s get the list out of the way so that I don’t have to worry about listing everything before we start slugging out the word count. Now I’m not going to rank these or say that any one is more significant than the other; they’re just the ones that popped into my head.
1. D-Day, June 6, 1944.
2. Hurricane Katrina, August 2005.
3. September 11, 2001.
4. Dust Bowl, 1933.
5. Chicago Fire put out by light drizzle, October 10, 1871.
The rationale:
1. D-Day, June 6, 1944.
The odds were against Operation Overlord and the invasion of Normandy from the start. Two things were required: a full moon, to illuminate navigational beacons for the aircraft, and spring tides to keep the water as deep as possible to make it around the defenses placed in the surf. The weather had been so lousy at the beginning of June that a number of the German defense leadership was on leave (General Rommel was on leave celebrating his wife’s birthday) so it wasn’t the starters that were out there when the invasion started. If this nearly impossible task had failed, America’s expansion of interests through the 20th century and rise as a true world power would have been impossible.
2. Hurricane Katrina, August 2005.
The costliest disaster in the history of the United States and its deadliest hurricane since 1928 created a diaspora in the southern united States away from a vital shipping and tourism center from which the city has never fully recovered. Hurricane Katrina also demonstrated the terrifying incompetence of the federal disaster recovery apparatus. Upon being given six days notice that the storm would be catastrophic, the mayor did not issue the order to evacuate the city until 19 hours before the storm made landfall. At least 1,836 people were killed in the wake of the storm’s destruction and subsequent floods.
3. September 11, 2001.
“The weather was perfect.” While bad weather affected D-Day and Katrina was a meteorological event, the lack of any weather patterns on 9/11 meant that the flights would not be delayed, the passengers would not have been present in greater numbers after their flights the night before had been cancelled, thus providing more resistance against a mere four “muscle” hijackers who had chosen flights that were light on passengers and heavy on fuel. Flight 93, which crashed in Pennsylvania, was delayed out of Newark. The disparities in time between the crashes would have been greater and could have minimized the loss of life on a day with more difficult visibility.
4. Dust Bowl, 1933.
I picked this for encouraging soil conservation and the rise of agribusiness in the wake of the expansion of the Great Depression. This also created the current Department of Agriculture Setup, which hands over great piles of money to small family farmers like ADM’s Andreas family. But it also contributed mightily to making California the most populous state in the nation, which will affect you all; a state with that many Congressional members has a lot of clot and the ability to say, “We would rather you provided Great Lakes water to us so we can continue to grow vegetables” and “The clean air standards for the vehicles that the American public is balking at buying will be raised if you’d like to sell cars here.”
5. Chicago Fire put out by light drizzle, October 10, 1871.
A sop to my hometown and the quintessentially American city. If the collection of wooden shanties and obvious violations of common sense that would ultimately make up the bulk of American zoning and fire prevention principles in the new century had stayed, Chicago would have stayed nondescript, without having the ability to undergo a complete redesign of its central core nearly 40 years after its establishment. It established that wood had been overused as a building material and inspired a spate of new design and construction techniques, which led to an appreciation for modern design and structure (and regrettably, an early lack of respect for tradition cast against the tide of progress).
Writing Project Update
Words this week: 2200. It wasn't happening this week. I was up for 37 straight hours Saturday in to Sunday, had the usual drastic training schedule, and had some items there that were non-negotiable. Through all of this, I got 2200 words into Implosion, mostly because there were some related topics occurring and it made sense. Sam was alerted he would probably get a topic answered tonight as early as Tuesday.
Responses to last week's topic: 3.
This week's entries: 11 (Johnny, 10 entries by Sam in less than a minute after midnight)
This week's question: From Sam Gold: Name five instances where weather potentially changed American history.
500 WORDS ON THIS TOPIC DUE BY: Midnight 7/31-8/1.
Responses to last week's topic: 3.
This week's entries: 11 (Johnny, 10 entries by Sam in less than a minute after midnight)
This week's question: From Sam Gold: Name five instances where weather potentially changed American history.
500 WORDS ON THIS TOPIC DUE BY: Midnight 7/31-8/1.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Slaughterhouse 30
START TIME: 9:55 PM
END TIME: 11:01 PM
WORD COUNT: 840
“Is it possible to live the life of both an athlete and a connoisseur well? What compromises might one be required to make that invalidate being considered one or the other? This presumes that you are not being held to the level of a Michael Phelps as an athlete or have an income that requires your toilet paper be made by Prada.”
I have weird dichotomies in my life.
As many of you know, a great deal of my time and energy is devoted to being a triathlete. Right now I have anywhere from 16 to 19 workouts a week, spanning anywhere from one-half to two and a half hours, as many as three times a day. It’s not uncommon for me to burn 2400 calories in a day, lose five pounds from morning to night (don’t worry, it comes back), and generally push my body through a lot of physical grief.
This means a lot of steamed spinach, a lot of vitamins, grilled chicken, hot sauce, tortillas, turkey burgers, celery sticks, and a weakness for Diet Coke. This is food for fuel and not for pleasure. (And when you exercise like I do, you’re allowed the occasional piece of pepper jack cheese.) Lunch is usually a can of soup, loaded with hot sauce, eaten at my desk. All of this is focused on an equation of calories consumed minus calories burned equals expected weight loss. This is all viewed against a backdrop of several spreadsheets that track my overall weight, lean mass, body fat and water percentage, and expected caloric maintenance, as well as training times over the past three years. It’s a very right-brained exercise.
And a few of you know that I’m “the human Rolodex,” the one who can ask three questions and determine the perfect place for you to eat, and who extends this knowledge base over five or six cities. My years with Four Seasons had me comparing notes with people who understood food and prepared this sort of thing for a living, and I got that job based on the fact I was a regular in The Café at the Ritz-Carlton, Chicago. The whole reason I work in Las Vegas is because of a French onion soup in Chicago. I have spent time in professional kitchens and have nothing but awe for chefs and their talents. I’ve been a training evaluator when they opened Four Seasons Las Vegas, making sure that a brand-new waitress correctly served me a Bombay Sapphire and tonic, chatting with my boss and senior management in a hotel that wasn’t open and didn’t have any guests, all the while thinking, “If I weren’t so tired, I’d be laughing my ass off that they’re paying me to do this.” I was 23 at the time.
So really, how can I be both? Foie gras and wind sprints don’t mix, do they?
Well, no, not at the same time. Some of the more decadent pleasures in my life need to be scheduled; you will not find me at the Irish pub across the street on a whim. I make sure that I don’t train as seriously from my last race in December to about mid-March. This lets me get any indulgences out of my system before I get down to the serious business of preparing for the racing season. My diet does not become absolute law until April or so, and there are always exceptions. It’s not unusual for me to run for four miles before going home to shower and head out for a wine tasting. As long as I get the requisite amount of work in, I don’t care. Life is not always about numbers on a spreadsheet. When I decide that I've earned something that's a little bit over the top and have had just about enough of living small, I have to jettison the expectation that I will continue to progress forward at the same rate. It's the same as taking a couple days off.
And that’s why one of the rules I follow with dogged determination is the tradition of the Last Supper. My meal the night before a race is always the same; shrimp cocktail, grilled swordfish, a vegetable, two slices of bread, and a large bottle of San Pellegrino, as hydration is key the day before a race. Since I want to make sure the seafood doesn’t make me sick, I have to be at a very credible seafood restaurant. In Tempe it’s Eddie V’s Edgewater Grille in Scottsdale. San Diego always finds me at Blue Point Coastal Cuisine.
Chicago, in a very short while, will be Parker’s Ocean Grill. Fully aware of what I’m going to do the next morning, I make sure to enjoy the lights, the calm, and the laughter of good company or the quiet of dining alone. In Tempe one of the waiters is also a triathlete and we wish each other luck, same as we have for the past four years.
I always close my eyes for a second and take my brain away from the thrashing pile of limbs that is the swim start, usually a little more than twelve hours away. The other patrons can’t see the permanent marker drawn onto my arms under my blazer, and neither can I. In the space of 24 hours both sides of my mind are satisfied. I couldn’t ask for anything more.
END TIME: 11:01 PM
WORD COUNT: 840
“Is it possible to live the life of both an athlete and a connoisseur well? What compromises might one be required to make that invalidate being considered one or the other? This presumes that you are not being held to the level of a Michael Phelps as an athlete or have an income that requires your toilet paper be made by Prada.”
I have weird dichotomies in my life.
As many of you know, a great deal of my time and energy is devoted to being a triathlete. Right now I have anywhere from 16 to 19 workouts a week, spanning anywhere from one-half to two and a half hours, as many as three times a day. It’s not uncommon for me to burn 2400 calories in a day, lose five pounds from morning to night (don’t worry, it comes back), and generally push my body through a lot of physical grief.
This means a lot of steamed spinach, a lot of vitamins, grilled chicken, hot sauce, tortillas, turkey burgers, celery sticks, and a weakness for Diet Coke. This is food for fuel and not for pleasure. (And when you exercise like I do, you’re allowed the occasional piece of pepper jack cheese.) Lunch is usually a can of soup, loaded with hot sauce, eaten at my desk. All of this is focused on an equation of calories consumed minus calories burned equals expected weight loss. This is all viewed against a backdrop of several spreadsheets that track my overall weight, lean mass, body fat and water percentage, and expected caloric maintenance, as well as training times over the past three years. It’s a very right-brained exercise.
And a few of you know that I’m “the human Rolodex,” the one who can ask three questions and determine the perfect place for you to eat, and who extends this knowledge base over five or six cities. My years with Four Seasons had me comparing notes with people who understood food and prepared this sort of thing for a living, and I got that job based on the fact I was a regular in The Café at the Ritz-Carlton, Chicago. The whole reason I work in Las Vegas is because of a French onion soup in Chicago. I have spent time in professional kitchens and have nothing but awe for chefs and their talents. I’ve been a training evaluator when they opened Four Seasons Las Vegas, making sure that a brand-new waitress correctly served me a Bombay Sapphire and tonic, chatting with my boss and senior management in a hotel that wasn’t open and didn’t have any guests, all the while thinking, “If I weren’t so tired, I’d be laughing my ass off that they’re paying me to do this.” I was 23 at the time.
So really, how can I be both? Foie gras and wind sprints don’t mix, do they?
Well, no, not at the same time. Some of the more decadent pleasures in my life need to be scheduled; you will not find me at the Irish pub across the street on a whim. I make sure that I don’t train as seriously from my last race in December to about mid-March. This lets me get any indulgences out of my system before I get down to the serious business of preparing for the racing season. My diet does not become absolute law until April or so, and there are always exceptions. It’s not unusual for me to run for four miles before going home to shower and head out for a wine tasting. As long as I get the requisite amount of work in, I don’t care. Life is not always about numbers on a spreadsheet. When I decide that I've earned something that's a little bit over the top and have had just about enough of living small, I have to jettison the expectation that I will continue to progress forward at the same rate. It's the same as taking a couple days off.
And that’s why one of the rules I follow with dogged determination is the tradition of the Last Supper. My meal the night before a race is always the same; shrimp cocktail, grilled swordfish, a vegetable, two slices of bread, and a large bottle of San Pellegrino, as hydration is key the day before a race. Since I want to make sure the seafood doesn’t make me sick, I have to be at a very credible seafood restaurant. In Tempe it’s Eddie V’s Edgewater Grille in Scottsdale. San Diego always finds me at Blue Point Coastal Cuisine.
Chicago, in a very short while, will be Parker’s Ocean Grill. Fully aware of what I’m going to do the next morning, I make sure to enjoy the lights, the calm, and the laughter of good company or the quiet of dining alone. In Tempe one of the waiters is also a triathlete and we wish each other luck, same as we have for the past four years.
I always close my eyes for a second and take my brain away from the thrashing pile of limbs that is the swim start, usually a little more than twelve hours away. The other patrons can’t see the permanent marker drawn onto my arms under my blazer, and neither can I. In the space of 24 hours both sides of my mind are satisfied. I couldn’t ask for anything more.
Writing Project Update
Words this week: 1500. I was working on sleep, working on training, working on other stuff. I wrote a lot but it isn't anything I can count, or could publish.
Responses to last week's topic: 1.
This week's entries: 16 (Beth, Beth, Beth, Beth, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Beth, Ken, and Ken)
It's getting impressive out there. And I'll issue anybody the same challenge I also issued Sam: get me 30 Google followers and I'll write a one-off on a Wednesday night just for you.
This week's question: From Beth Badrov:
"Is it possible to live the life of both an athlete and a connoisseur well? What compromises might one be required to make that invalidate being considered one or the other?
This presumes that you are not being held to the level of a Michael Phelps as an athlete or have an income that requires your toilet paper be made by Prada."
RESPONSE DUE BY 7/24-25 midnight
Responses to last week's topic: 1.
This week's entries: 16 (Beth, Beth, Beth, Beth, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Beth, Ken, and Ken)
It's getting impressive out there. And I'll issue anybody the same challenge I also issued Sam: get me 30 Google followers and I'll write a one-off on a Wednesday night just for you.
This week's question: From Beth Badrov:
"Is it possible to live the life of both an athlete and a connoisseur well? What compromises might one be required to make that invalidate being considered one or the other?
This presumes that you are not being held to the level of a Michael Phelps as an athlete or have an income that requires your toilet paper be made by Prada."
RESPONSE DUE BY 7/24-25 midnight
Friday, July 17, 2009
Slaughterhouse 30 Excerpt - "You've Got Right Now"
NOTE: Part of a longer chapter on measurement tools.
WORD COUNT: 610 words
Numbers Are King
“No, we don’t want to think. We want to know.” – Marcellus Wallace, “Pulp Fiction”
The equation for losing weight, like I explained before, is very simple. You need to expend more calories than you take in. This will burn the fat your body has stored for just such a situation, and you will lose weight.
In order to do this correctly, you don’t want to spend a lot of time guessing about what you did each day, or what you ate each day. If you’re going to make this a goal you can accomplish, you can’t guess. You have to know.
Here are some ways to know the answers to these questions:
CalorieKing
I’ve used this software for three years and point it out to anyone who is looking to lose weight. With a food database of over 65,000 items, you enter a name, a serving size, and click on the meal that you had it with, and it shows up in a table and adds up all sorts of nutritional information. It helps you create a diet to achieve your goals and tells you what your calorie, fat, protein and carbohydrate targets should be to achieve it. Since it already tracks what you’re eating, you’ll see a bar graph at the bottom of the screen of how close you are to hitting, or exceeding the established targets.
There’s more.
It will also track how many calories you’ve burned through exercise. These calories will be subtracted from the calorie total that appears on the CalorieKing screen. Feel like going to the Cheesecake Factory tonight? A lot of their menu is in CalorieKing, so you can look beforehand how much work you’ve done today and what you can eat and still expect to lose weight or hold steady. They have everything from lawn mowing to skiing and multiple speeds of running and cycling, so as long as you have a watch and, in some cases, a way to measure the distance you’ve traveled, you’ll know what your calorie burn is.
Now, there will be days when you don’t meet CalorieKing’s thresholds. A successful day has two green check marks at the top of it – you were under your calorie budget and did more than 30 minutes of exercise in a day. But here’s the deal, and it’s right at the core of the program: if you spend a day where you don’t switch your diet or do some exercise, it’s foolish to think you’re going to lose any weight. And the way our program is set up, you know how important it is to do as much as you can TODAY to reach your goal. CalorieKing is a great visual tool that helps me see how I’m doing, and knowing how that data translates into results.
At my desk I have a quote from Dizzy Gillespie:
“If I lay off the horn for a day, I know it. If I lay off for two days, my peers know it. And if I lay off for three days, the whole world knows it.”
He was one of the greatest and most distinctive trumpeters of all time, and knew that he had to continuously work to get better. Lance Armstrong and Team Astana ride on off days in the Tour de France, even though there’s only three off days during a race that lasts 2100 miles. Eventually, the fitness program that you’ve undertaken, the one that made you swear at the alarm clock and hate this book’s author with the intensity of a thousand suns, will become routine. Your day will feel strange if you don’t work out. I promise.
WORD COUNT: 610 words
Numbers Are King
“No, we don’t want to think. We want to know.” – Marcellus Wallace, “Pulp Fiction”
The equation for losing weight, like I explained before, is very simple. You need to expend more calories than you take in. This will burn the fat your body has stored for just such a situation, and you will lose weight.
In order to do this correctly, you don’t want to spend a lot of time guessing about what you did each day, or what you ate each day. If you’re going to make this a goal you can accomplish, you can’t guess. You have to know.
Here are some ways to know the answers to these questions:
CalorieKing
I’ve used this software for three years and point it out to anyone who is looking to lose weight. With a food database of over 65,000 items, you enter a name, a serving size, and click on the meal that you had it with, and it shows up in a table and adds up all sorts of nutritional information. It helps you create a diet to achieve your goals and tells you what your calorie, fat, protein and carbohydrate targets should be to achieve it. Since it already tracks what you’re eating, you’ll see a bar graph at the bottom of the screen of how close you are to hitting, or exceeding the established targets.
There’s more.
It will also track how many calories you’ve burned through exercise. These calories will be subtracted from the calorie total that appears on the CalorieKing screen. Feel like going to the Cheesecake Factory tonight? A lot of their menu is in CalorieKing, so you can look beforehand how much work you’ve done today and what you can eat and still expect to lose weight or hold steady. They have everything from lawn mowing to skiing and multiple speeds of running and cycling, so as long as you have a watch and, in some cases, a way to measure the distance you’ve traveled, you’ll know what your calorie burn is.
Now, there will be days when you don’t meet CalorieKing’s thresholds. A successful day has two green check marks at the top of it – you were under your calorie budget and did more than 30 minutes of exercise in a day. But here’s the deal, and it’s right at the core of the program: if you spend a day where you don’t switch your diet or do some exercise, it’s foolish to think you’re going to lose any weight. And the way our program is set up, you know how important it is to do as much as you can TODAY to reach your goal. CalorieKing is a great visual tool that helps me see how I’m doing, and knowing how that data translates into results.
At my desk I have a quote from Dizzy Gillespie:
“If I lay off the horn for a day, I know it. If I lay off for two days, my peers know it. And if I lay off for three days, the whole world knows it.”
He was one of the greatest and most distinctive trumpeters of all time, and knew that he had to continuously work to get better. Lance Armstrong and Team Astana ride on off days in the Tour de France, even though there’s only three off days during a race that lasts 2100 miles. Eventually, the fitness program that you’ve undertaken, the one that made you swear at the alarm clock and hate this book’s author with the intensity of a thousand suns, will become routine. Your day will feel strange if you don’t work out. I promise.
Writing Project Update
Words this week: 4100. Significant progress on "You've Got Right Now."
Responses to last week's topic: 1.
This week's entries: 6 (Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, and Ken)
This week's question: An excerpt from "You've Got Right Now" on the importance of numbers. This should be pretty close to midnight as I'm doing stuff with the kids.
RESPONSE DUE BY 7/17-18 midnight
Responses to last week's topic: 1.
This week's entries: 6 (Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, and Ken)
This week's question: An excerpt from "You've Got Right Now" on the importance of numbers. This should be pretty close to midnight as I'm doing stuff with the kids.
RESPONSE DUE BY 7/17-18 midnight
Friday, July 10, 2009
Slaughterhouse 29 - Excerpt - "You've Got Right Now"
Excerpt - 1,343 words
Please send all comments (good, bad, or disinterested) and feedback to slaughterhouse@jameslyden.com.
Author's Note:
This is from an early, introductory chapter of the book. A lot of what's in place right now is a bare-bones structure that will be filled in over the next few months. I hope you enjoy it. Think of this like standing next to a bubbling stock pot and the chef hands you a spoon. What's it missing? Is it any good? What would you change?
The book is at a very embryonic phase right now, and your feedback is greatly appreciated. Thank you for your help!
________________________________________________
You may be 20, 50 or 100 pounds overweight. I cannot control or change how you arrived at whatever number that is. I cannot go back in time and take the bacon double cheeseburger out of your hand, or tell you why you shouldn’t skip that workout, or tell you that it’s OK for you to say that you’ll start the diet tomorrow. I didn’t even have the power to go back in time and do this for myself.
And in things that you couldn’t control either, like injury and illness, that isn’t anything I can change. This book is not a magic wand. What you weigh right now is something that I don’t have any control over at all. The diets that you tried that didn’t work, the exercise videos you bought and didn’t even watch all the way through, the treadmill that you’re drying laundry on – I can’t fix those.
So we can forget about the past.
As for the future, you and you alone can decide what you’re going to do with it. You’re reading this book and you’re doing the crunches in your mind, looking forward to being the next person to smoke me as we head toward the finish line at the Chicago Triathlon. You’re seeing yourself there waving at my family and friends, maybe pumping your fist a little, getting a few strides ahead of the guy in the yellow shirt. And yes, that scenario’s entirely possible. Another scenario is you reading this book and staying motivated for three days, or two weeks, or three months. And at that point, it doesn’t matter how fast you were GOING to be at the race where you were going to outrun me. You lost because you never showed up.
So if we knock out the past and we knock out the future, we’re only left with the present. And the present is not always your friend. The present is where the meeting runs late, and the kids have stuff to do after school, and you don’t have time to exercise in the morning because you didn’t get to sleep until 1 the night before, and there’s just no time. There’s an old saying, “Life is what happens while you’re making other plans.”
Here’s a good example of the present. Do you know who said this?
“He’d always say “Tomorrow. I’m going to start tomorrow, doc, I know what I have to do and I’m going to start tomorrow.”
The quote was Dr. Michael Newman. He was Tim Russert’s doctor. Now Mr. Russert was in the middle of covering an election of momentous significance. He had said three weeks earlier that Barack Obama would be the Democratic nominee. This was the year that EVERYONE was interested in his field of expertise. The young people who had abandoned politics in droves were involved again, more so than ever.
And he was gone. The reason we know about that quote was Tim Russert’s doctor was on NBC News telling us about it after he’d died of a heart attack.
And that’s just his career, which I’m sure as important as it was and as talented as he was, wasn’t the most important thing in his life. He had a son who just graduated from college. Luke Russert had a national radio program and had shown some interest in working in journalism. You think Mr. Russert – who had written two books on the importance of the relationship of his own father – would have liked to have been around to offer similar guidance to his son?
But that’s OK. He had tomorrow to do it. So do you, right? You can’t die now, with all of these obligations and people to care about. Not you.
Bullshit. You know the answer.
You’ve got right now.
But maybe you’re not worried that you’re going to die of a heart attack because you’re younger. They will invent some pill that will allow you to eat chicken wings at 11 at night and you have nothing to worry about. That’s a great idea. And I can assure you, there are researchers looking at it even as we speak. In fact, let me give you a few names:
Fen-Phen
Ephedra
Hydroxycut
Redux
Those WERE the pills, people. Do you know what they did? They KILLED some people when they took them. Those people who were desperately trying to get skinny and not have a heart attack? Bad news. It happened anyway. And it happened faster than it needed to because when given the choice between working hard and taking pills, they thought the easy way wouldn’t kill them.
Now I’m not exempting myself from this level of stupidity. I’ve taken ephedra in the beginning and found it to be effective, but I could understand where it was not a good idea. I’ve taken Redline, drank a whole lot of black coffee, and done other things with my workout program that while they may have been legal, they may not always have been considered safe. I can assure you, though, that those were not the choices that allowed me to lose the weight in the first place.
What I had to learn early on, though, was that there would be days where I was not perfect, where I desperately wanted food that was awful for me, where I didn’t want to put my body through yet another workout, where life would intervene. And it was only when I acknowledged my humanity that I succeeded.
Too many people start that diet with one last blowout meal, sometimes even a few days of them, before they finally decide to get it started. This is like a NASCAR driver showing up to a race and deliberately letting the air out of his tires before beginning. Look, your goal is not to create any more negative past. You are merely sabotaging yourself when you do this. If you’ve decided that this is the direction you’re going, don’t start it off with one more empty “tomorrow for sure.”
You don’t know if you have tomorrow - you’ve got right now! So let me explain what I mean by “acknowledging your humanity.”
Too often our belief is that dieting has to be absolutely perfect or it isn’t going to work. That the only way that the weight is going to disappear is if we eat nothing but carrots and celery sticks and drink nothing with more calories than Crystal Light, to work out three times a day and swear off anything that may ever have been considered delicious.
Well, I have a serious issue with this. I’m a human being, and therefore I will make mistakes. I also love food and wine and laughter and fun. Many of my mistakes will revolve around these things. But if given the choice between being absolutely perfect and saying “no” to anything that isn’t in a very narrow range of my diet, all of the time – or every once in a while treating myself to something that’s not necessarily good for me but makes me smile, knowing that it might take one more day or another week to get where I want to go – I take the second option. Your life and mine is a series of choices just like this; how you manage them will determine your results.
Now I don’t take the second option every time. When you get on these sorts of missions to change yourself, and I’ve been on mine for nearly four and a half years, frequent exercise and watching your diet becomes a significant part your life. I have friends of mine who realize that, “Wow, you look GREAT!! How did you DO it?” and “Are you SURE you don’t want any onion rings?” are questions that answer each other.
And I also had people who liked asking, “When are you going to slow down?” “When is this going to stop?” and “When are you going to give this up?” They have moved on.
I – like them – have realized, you’ve got right now.
Please send all comments (good, bad, or disinterested) and feedback to slaughterhouse@jameslyden.com.
Author's Note:
This is from an early, introductory chapter of the book. A lot of what's in place right now is a bare-bones structure that will be filled in over the next few months. I hope you enjoy it. Think of this like standing next to a bubbling stock pot and the chef hands you a spoon. What's it missing? Is it any good? What would you change?
The book is at a very embryonic phase right now, and your feedback is greatly appreciated. Thank you for your help!
________________________________________________
You may be 20, 50 or 100 pounds overweight. I cannot control or change how you arrived at whatever number that is. I cannot go back in time and take the bacon double cheeseburger out of your hand, or tell you why you shouldn’t skip that workout, or tell you that it’s OK for you to say that you’ll start the diet tomorrow. I didn’t even have the power to go back in time and do this for myself.
And in things that you couldn’t control either, like injury and illness, that isn’t anything I can change. This book is not a magic wand. What you weigh right now is something that I don’t have any control over at all. The diets that you tried that didn’t work, the exercise videos you bought and didn’t even watch all the way through, the treadmill that you’re drying laundry on – I can’t fix those.
So we can forget about the past.
As for the future, you and you alone can decide what you’re going to do with it. You’re reading this book and you’re doing the crunches in your mind, looking forward to being the next person to smoke me as we head toward the finish line at the Chicago Triathlon. You’re seeing yourself there waving at my family and friends, maybe pumping your fist a little, getting a few strides ahead of the guy in the yellow shirt. And yes, that scenario’s entirely possible. Another scenario is you reading this book and staying motivated for three days, or two weeks, or three months. And at that point, it doesn’t matter how fast you were GOING to be at the race where you were going to outrun me. You lost because you never showed up.
So if we knock out the past and we knock out the future, we’re only left with the present. And the present is not always your friend. The present is where the meeting runs late, and the kids have stuff to do after school, and you don’t have time to exercise in the morning because you didn’t get to sleep until 1 the night before, and there’s just no time. There’s an old saying, “Life is what happens while you’re making other plans.”
Here’s a good example of the present. Do you know who said this?
“He’d always say “Tomorrow. I’m going to start tomorrow, doc, I know what I have to do and I’m going to start tomorrow.”
The quote was Dr. Michael Newman. He was Tim Russert’s doctor. Now Mr. Russert was in the middle of covering an election of momentous significance. He had said three weeks earlier that Barack Obama would be the Democratic nominee. This was the year that EVERYONE was interested in his field of expertise. The young people who had abandoned politics in droves were involved again, more so than ever.
And he was gone. The reason we know about that quote was Tim Russert’s doctor was on NBC News telling us about it after he’d died of a heart attack.
And that’s just his career, which I’m sure as important as it was and as talented as he was, wasn’t the most important thing in his life. He had a son who just graduated from college. Luke Russert had a national radio program and had shown some interest in working in journalism. You think Mr. Russert – who had written two books on the importance of the relationship of his own father – would have liked to have been around to offer similar guidance to his son?
But that’s OK. He had tomorrow to do it. So do you, right? You can’t die now, with all of these obligations and people to care about. Not you.
Bullshit. You know the answer.
You’ve got right now.
But maybe you’re not worried that you’re going to die of a heart attack because you’re younger. They will invent some pill that will allow you to eat chicken wings at 11 at night and you have nothing to worry about. That’s a great idea. And I can assure you, there are researchers looking at it even as we speak. In fact, let me give you a few names:
Fen-Phen
Ephedra
Hydroxycut
Redux
Those WERE the pills, people. Do you know what they did? They KILLED some people when they took them. Those people who were desperately trying to get skinny and not have a heart attack? Bad news. It happened anyway. And it happened faster than it needed to because when given the choice between working hard and taking pills, they thought the easy way wouldn’t kill them.
Now I’m not exempting myself from this level of stupidity. I’ve taken ephedra in the beginning and found it to be effective, but I could understand where it was not a good idea. I’ve taken Redline, drank a whole lot of black coffee, and done other things with my workout program that while they may have been legal, they may not always have been considered safe. I can assure you, though, that those were not the choices that allowed me to lose the weight in the first place.
What I had to learn early on, though, was that there would be days where I was not perfect, where I desperately wanted food that was awful for me, where I didn’t want to put my body through yet another workout, where life would intervene. And it was only when I acknowledged my humanity that I succeeded.
Too many people start that diet with one last blowout meal, sometimes even a few days of them, before they finally decide to get it started. This is like a NASCAR driver showing up to a race and deliberately letting the air out of his tires before beginning. Look, your goal is not to create any more negative past. You are merely sabotaging yourself when you do this. If you’ve decided that this is the direction you’re going, don’t start it off with one more empty “tomorrow for sure.”
You don’t know if you have tomorrow - you’ve got right now! So let me explain what I mean by “acknowledging your humanity.”
Too often our belief is that dieting has to be absolutely perfect or it isn’t going to work. That the only way that the weight is going to disappear is if we eat nothing but carrots and celery sticks and drink nothing with more calories than Crystal Light, to work out three times a day and swear off anything that may ever have been considered delicious.
Well, I have a serious issue with this. I’m a human being, and therefore I will make mistakes. I also love food and wine and laughter and fun. Many of my mistakes will revolve around these things. But if given the choice between being absolutely perfect and saying “no” to anything that isn’t in a very narrow range of my diet, all of the time – or every once in a while treating myself to something that’s not necessarily good for me but makes me smile, knowing that it might take one more day or another week to get where I want to go – I take the second option. Your life and mine is a series of choices just like this; how you manage them will determine your results.
Now I don’t take the second option every time. When you get on these sorts of missions to change yourself, and I’ve been on mine for nearly four and a half years, frequent exercise and watching your diet becomes a significant part your life. I have friends of mine who realize that, “Wow, you look GREAT!! How did you DO it?” and “Are you SURE you don’t want any onion rings?” are questions that answer each other.
And I also had people who liked asking, “When are you going to slow down?” “When is this going to stop?” and “When are you going to give this up?” They have moved on.
I – like them – have realized, you’ve got right now.
Writing Project Update
Words this week: 4500. Significant progress on the fitness book, which I'm tentatively titling "You've Got Right Now: Losing Weight and Getting Fit in the Real World."
Responses to last week's topic: 5.
This week's entries: 5 (Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam) asking questions about various aspects of US History. You'll want to go the to 6:19 mark of this video to see what my response is to that.
This week's question: There's only one question this week, but this time YOU'RE going to answer it.
I'm posting an excerpt from an early chapter of You've Got Right Now. If you're a Slaughterhouse reader, you may or may not know that over the past four years, I've lost 114 pounds. No drugs, no surgery, just a process that changed how I think about the relationship between food, and exercise, and life. I alluded to this philosophy in the Silverman movie, but I'm pretty certain that I can turn this into a book.
It will be well-researched and comprehensive. It will take a good bit of time to write, but as opposed to thinking about three projects at once, this will be the one project I stay with, and I will hammer at it until it's a manuscript. I think with what I've accomplished I've earned the right to write about how I did it, because I think I can help people. I'm shooting for Thanksgiving to have a first draft of it finished.
Here's the deal: if you read this, tell me what you think at either slaughterhouse@jameslyden.com or james@jameslyden.com. I know some of you see this on Facebook; you're under no obligation to comment there unless you want to. Even if you send me an email that says "Not interested; not my thing," I'll understand. If you have any suggestions or ways that I can look at this a little bit differently, from drastic oversights to a better title, I understand that too and would appreciate your feedback. While the book is not a democracy, I'm interested in helping people and hearing what you have to say.
Thank you for your consideration.
Responses to last week's topic: 5.
This week's entries: 5 (Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam) asking questions about various aspects of US History. You'll want to go the to 6:19 mark of this video to see what my response is to that.
This week's question: There's only one question this week, but this time YOU'RE going to answer it.
I'm posting an excerpt from an early chapter of You've Got Right Now. If you're a Slaughterhouse reader, you may or may not know that over the past four years, I've lost 114 pounds. No drugs, no surgery, just a process that changed how I think about the relationship between food, and exercise, and life. I alluded to this philosophy in the Silverman movie, but I'm pretty certain that I can turn this into a book.
It will be well-researched and comprehensive. It will take a good bit of time to write, but as opposed to thinking about three projects at once, this will be the one project I stay with, and I will hammer at it until it's a manuscript. I think with what I've accomplished I've earned the right to write about how I did it, because I think I can help people. I'm shooting for Thanksgiving to have a first draft of it finished.
Here's the deal: if you read this, tell me what you think at either slaughterhouse@jameslyden.com or james@jameslyden.com. I know some of you see this on Facebook; you're under no obligation to comment there unless you want to. Even if you send me an email that says "Not interested; not my thing," I'll understand. If you have any suggestions or ways that I can look at this a little bit differently, from drastic oversights to a better title, I understand that too and would appreciate your feedback. While the book is not a democracy, I'm interested in helping people and hearing what you have to say.
Thank you for your consideration.
Friday, July 03, 2009
Slaughterhouse 28
START TIME: 9:15 PM
END TIME: 10:30
WORD COUNT: 637
What is the role of US firearms in Latin American Politics in the 20th Century? –Sam Gold
Fellow Space Monkey Sam Gold pointed out to me this week that in many of the conflicts in Latin America during the 20th Century, the United States had armed both sides – Batista and Castro in Cuba as well as a number of uprisings owing to rural revolts.
At first I thought this was one of those interesting tidbits that you always hear regarding war, such as the rule of thumb that the country who is going to win the war has the worst coffee (it speaks to a level of luxury among a citizenry that could be called upon to defend themselves and their leadership; good coffee means you have a standard of living that you may be unwilling to sacrifice your life for) or Thomas Friedman’s “The Golden Arches Theory of Conflict Prevention” in which he observed that no two countries with a McDonald's franchise had ever gone to war with one another (this theory was blown to bits during the NATO bombing of Serbia, but it’s also more dependent on the more nebulous definition of war)
But then I thought about it a little more, and I realized that the weapons themselves were probably secondary to our foreign policy regarding Latin America during the 20th century. I had to do some light Wikipedia-ish reading on this because I hadn’t paid sufficient attention to these sorts of topics when they emerged in my AP Comparative Government class, but everybody’s pal Teddy Roosevelt elected to take up the white man’s burden by establishing the Roosevelt Corollary to the Monroe Doctrine, which provided for the defense of Latin America, as well as openly granted the United States to power of intervention in Latin America’s affairs.
So if you factor in the idea that, right or wrong, the march through the cold war consisted of rural areas rising up to take on the established military juntas; the suppliers of arms in these conflicts had to be from whoever the nearest and most reliable provider was. In nearly every instance that would have been the United States. To say that US firearms meant we had a puppet-master like desire to control Latin America…well, yeah, but it stretched far beyond our desire to have them shoot each other with our stuff.
We installed right-wing dictators to battle insurgent communists and when some of those people proved insufficiently pliant, we bumped them off (which is why we won’t see that Henry Kissinger jetting overseas anytime soon, because a Spanish court would like to ask him a couple questions about excessively ventilated, popularly elected left-wing Salvador Allende). Over a century we behaved only slightly better than the Spanish Empire that used to control the entire region before the Spanish-American War. Hundreds of thousands of people simply disappeared. The whole story is sordid and highly unflattering, particularly on the eve of America’s birthday, as the kids remind me. Our attempts to establish a set of colonies without being colonizers did not always leave us on the side of the angels. Against this backdrop, it’s easy to allude to the use of American ordnance as the countries waged a dirty war against each other as prima facie evidence of Krushcchev’s rantings of capitalism selling itself the noose to hang itself with.
I liken the whole situation to soda fountain licensing. Lewis Black talked about, when he was doing a show in Atlanta, the soft drink people lock up category exclusivity, so if you walk into a restaurant and ask for Pepsi, and they don’t carry it, no one starts ranting about how they’ll go across the street instead. I figured both rebel and puppet government grabbed US firearms for the same reason people order popcorn at the movies; because it’s there, it’s easy, and it would be more of a surprise if it WASN’T there.
END TIME: 10:30
WORD COUNT: 637
What is the role of US firearms in Latin American Politics in the 20th Century? –Sam Gold
Fellow Space Monkey Sam Gold pointed out to me this week that in many of the conflicts in Latin America during the 20th Century, the United States had armed both sides – Batista and Castro in Cuba as well as a number of uprisings owing to rural revolts.
At first I thought this was one of those interesting tidbits that you always hear regarding war, such as the rule of thumb that the country who is going to win the war has the worst coffee (it speaks to a level of luxury among a citizenry that could be called upon to defend themselves and their leadership; good coffee means you have a standard of living that you may be unwilling to sacrifice your life for) or Thomas Friedman’s “The Golden Arches Theory of Conflict Prevention” in which he observed that no two countries with a McDonald's franchise had ever gone to war with one another (this theory was blown to bits during the NATO bombing of Serbia, but it’s also more dependent on the more nebulous definition of war)
But then I thought about it a little more, and I realized that the weapons themselves were probably secondary to our foreign policy regarding Latin America during the 20th century. I had to do some light Wikipedia-ish reading on this because I hadn’t paid sufficient attention to these sorts of topics when they emerged in my AP Comparative Government class, but everybody’s pal Teddy Roosevelt elected to take up the white man’s burden by establishing the Roosevelt Corollary to the Monroe Doctrine, which provided for the defense of Latin America, as well as openly granted the United States to power of intervention in Latin America’s affairs.
So if you factor in the idea that, right or wrong, the march through the cold war consisted of rural areas rising up to take on the established military juntas; the suppliers of arms in these conflicts had to be from whoever the nearest and most reliable provider was. In nearly every instance that would have been the United States. To say that US firearms meant we had a puppet-master like desire to control Latin America…well, yeah, but it stretched far beyond our desire to have them shoot each other with our stuff.
We installed right-wing dictators to battle insurgent communists and when some of those people proved insufficiently pliant, we bumped them off (which is why we won’t see that Henry Kissinger jetting overseas anytime soon, because a Spanish court would like to ask him a couple questions about excessively ventilated, popularly elected left-wing Salvador Allende). Over a century we behaved only slightly better than the Spanish Empire that used to control the entire region before the Spanish-American War. Hundreds of thousands of people simply disappeared. The whole story is sordid and highly unflattering, particularly on the eve of America’s birthday, as the kids remind me. Our attempts to establish a set of colonies without being colonizers did not always leave us on the side of the angels. Against this backdrop, it’s easy to allude to the use of American ordnance as the countries waged a dirty war against each other as prima facie evidence of Krushcchev’s rantings of capitalism selling itself the noose to hang itself with.
I liken the whole situation to soda fountain licensing. Lewis Black talked about, when he was doing a show in Atlanta, the soft drink people lock up category exclusivity, so if you walk into a restaurant and ask for Pepsi, and they don’t carry it, no one starts ranting about how they’ll go across the street instead. I figured both rebel and puppet government grabbed US firearms for the same reason people order popcorn at the movies; because it’s there, it’s easy, and it would be more of a surprise if it WASN’T there.
Writing Project Update
Words this week: 400, tops. I was busy doing everything but writing this past week. I couldn’t even tell you where those words went. Momma said there’d be days like this. (Mom also wondered why I haven’t been published yet…thanks Mom!)
Responses to last week's topic: 2.
This week's entries: 7 (Sam, Sam, Sam, Ken, Ken, Beth, Beth) Sam used the “Silver Bullet” approach of sending the same question three times over the space of 30 seconds. As you can see, this is going to be a MAJOR change of pace, but let’s slug it out anyway. Life can’t always be fun and games, and if I wanted to write what I wanted to I should have dragged out an excerpt.
This week's question: What is the role of US firearms in Latin American Politics in the 20th Century?
Ain’t this a beauty?
500 WORDS ON THIS TOPIC DUE BY: 7/3-7/4 midnight Friday/Saturday
Responses to last week's topic: 2.
This week's entries: 7 (Sam, Sam, Sam, Ken, Ken, Beth, Beth) Sam used the “Silver Bullet” approach of sending the same question three times over the space of 30 seconds. As you can see, this is going to be a MAJOR change of pace, but let’s slug it out anyway. Life can’t always be fun and games, and if I wanted to write what I wanted to I should have dragged out an excerpt.
This week's question: What is the role of US firearms in Latin American Politics in the 20th Century?
Ain’t this a beauty?
500 WORDS ON THIS TOPIC DUE BY: 7/3-7/4 midnight Friday/Saturday
Friday, June 26, 2009
Slaughterhouse 27
Start time: 7:48 PM
End time: 11:39 PM (got to meet up with friends, so I started early and closed late after a 3.5 hour break)
Word count: 590, not counting the hyperlink and intro
Your birthday is Tuesday, so how would you choose to spend it? - Ken Faikus
The man's right. In four days, God willing, I'll turn 34. (For some details on what I thought about birthdays in general, check out Slaughterhouse 21 at http://jameslyden.blogspot.com/2009/05/slaughterhouse-21.html.)
I would wake up early, around 7 or so, and head to the edge of the couch, because the sun would rise in such a place that the light would shine through the aquarium and create a rainbow on the wall behind it (1979-1992) unless I had a race the day before, which would be a reason to sleep (2008). I would go play tennis (1989) and would make sure to spend as much of the day possible outside. I would not work (1991-2002, 2004-2008) because it's not a day to be spent in those pursuits. I would check out my horoscope (1984-2008) and wonder about the days of the celebrities who had the same birthdays as mine (1986-2008). The main comparison would be to one Michael Gerard Tyson. A clear eyed assessment is done.
Midday would be dependent on the evening's plans. I might be unable to sleep on an airplane, wondering why in the hell I had to bring wire clippers, AAA batteries, and a baseball cap to France (2007), or driving a BMW Z3 convertible at 135 MPH towards Searchlight (2001), or browsing through Marie Laveau's voodoo shop in New Orleans (2000), or even swimming in the Caribbean after an all-day excursion around the pitons of St. Lucia (1999), or at an amusement park on a season pass (1995). The day may be more subdued, like heading to the movies for the first time in forever (2008) or playing basketball at Waiola Park (1993). One year it was a trip to the DMV for one of those coveted blue border driver’s licenses (1996) even though I hadn’t exactly had a problem procuring drinks beforehand, sometimes to excess (1995). If Brian was working, we’d try to meet for lunch (2001-2006, 2008)
But there would be a lot going on in the evening, and since everybody else would usually be working, I would need to be prepared early. Dinner was my choice, wherever I wanted it to be, so we were off to Giordano's (1985-1990) or, as I got older, J. Alexanders (1994) Riva (1997) or Gibsons (1996), where I had the great good fortune to see a horse-drawn carriage dragged down State Street at high speed after the right wheel had broken off. My memory for the look on the face of the couple being dragged before the carriage was spun into the back of a taxicab has kept me from ever setting foot into a hansom cab for 13 years and counting. There were always terrific crowds of friends at El Torito (1993) and Lalo's (1991-1992) and I always had a chance to spend time with my family. If I was in the country, they would either sing to me obnoxiously or call to do so, as would my aunt and uncle (1978-2008).
Nights consisted of miniature golf with wagering (1993), or Lyle Lovett in concert at Ravinia (2004), or walking through the rain on Bourbon Street (2000), or playing tennis on the side of the house and hoping not to be eaten alive by mosquitoes (1989). They’d also involved shots of tequila (1997) and illicitly imported Cuban cigars (1994) but one of the things I remember most clearly is driving home sometime in July after 3 in the morning, listening with a broad smile to Brian’s car playing “Today Was A Good Day” by Ice Cube (1993)
So, the key components are simple. Friends. Food. Laughter. If my years include those, I don’t care if I live to be a thousand; I’ll be just fine.
End time: 11:39 PM (got to meet up with friends, so I started early and closed late after a 3.5 hour break)
Word count: 590, not counting the hyperlink and intro
Your birthday is Tuesday, so how would you choose to spend it? - Ken Faikus
The man's right. In four days, God willing, I'll turn 34. (For some details on what I thought about birthdays in general, check out Slaughterhouse 21 at http://jameslyden.blogspot.com/2009/05/slaughterhouse-21.html.)
I would wake up early, around 7 or so, and head to the edge of the couch, because the sun would rise in such a place that the light would shine through the aquarium and create a rainbow on the wall behind it (1979-1992) unless I had a race the day before, which would be a reason to sleep (2008). I would go play tennis (1989) and would make sure to spend as much of the day possible outside. I would not work (1991-2002, 2004-2008) because it's not a day to be spent in those pursuits. I would check out my horoscope (1984-2008) and wonder about the days of the celebrities who had the same birthdays as mine (1986-2008). The main comparison would be to one Michael Gerard Tyson. A clear eyed assessment is done.
Midday would be dependent on the evening's plans. I might be unable to sleep on an airplane, wondering why in the hell I had to bring wire clippers, AAA batteries, and a baseball cap to France (2007), or driving a BMW Z3 convertible at 135 MPH towards Searchlight (2001), or browsing through Marie Laveau's voodoo shop in New Orleans (2000), or even swimming in the Caribbean after an all-day excursion around the pitons of St. Lucia (1999), or at an amusement park on a season pass (1995). The day may be more subdued, like heading to the movies for the first time in forever (2008) or playing basketball at Waiola Park (1993). One year it was a trip to the DMV for one of those coveted blue border driver’s licenses (1996) even though I hadn’t exactly had a problem procuring drinks beforehand, sometimes to excess (1995). If Brian was working, we’d try to meet for lunch (2001-2006, 2008)
But there would be a lot going on in the evening, and since everybody else would usually be working, I would need to be prepared early. Dinner was my choice, wherever I wanted it to be, so we were off to Giordano's (1985-1990) or, as I got older, J. Alexanders (1994) Riva (1997) or Gibsons (1996), where I had the great good fortune to see a horse-drawn carriage dragged down State Street at high speed after the right wheel had broken off. My memory for the look on the face of the couple being dragged before the carriage was spun into the back of a taxicab has kept me from ever setting foot into a hansom cab for 13 years and counting. There were always terrific crowds of friends at El Torito (1993) and Lalo's (1991-1992) and I always had a chance to spend time with my family. If I was in the country, they would either sing to me obnoxiously or call to do so, as would my aunt and uncle (1978-2008).
Nights consisted of miniature golf with wagering (1993), or Lyle Lovett in concert at Ravinia (2004), or walking through the rain on Bourbon Street (2000), or playing tennis on the side of the house and hoping not to be eaten alive by mosquitoes (1989). They’d also involved shots of tequila (1997) and illicitly imported Cuban cigars (1994) but one of the things I remember most clearly is driving home sometime in July after 3 in the morning, listening with a broad smile to Brian’s car playing “Today Was A Good Day” by Ice Cube (1993)
So, the key components are simple. Friends. Food. Laughter. If my years include those, I don’t care if I live to be a thousand; I’ll be just fine.
Writing Project Update
Words this week: 600 or so, varied media and some good summary ideas, but nothing to the projects in terms of raw word count, other than relaying an idea of about 200 words that will make the diet book.
Responses to last week's topic: 1
This week's entries: 2 (Ken, Ken)
This week's question: Your birthday is Tuesday, so how would you choose to spend it? - Ken Faikus
500 WORDS ON THIS TOPIC DUE BY: 6/26-27 midnight Friday/Saturday
Responses to last week's topic: 1
This week's entries: 2 (Ken, Ken)
This week's question: Your birthday is Tuesday, so how would you choose to spend it? - Ken Faikus
500 WORDS ON THIS TOPIC DUE BY: 6/26-27 midnight Friday/Saturday
Friday, June 19, 2009
Slaughterhouse 26
Slaughterhouse #26
START TIME: 9:46 PM
END TIME: 11:06 PM
WORD COUNT: 698
“So I was thinking, what if one of the best baseball prospects in the minors
was named Bartman and the Cubs had an option to sign him. Would they? What
position? Successful? Would he be on the team that actually took them to
and won a World Series? Would his decisive series play come in the same
game as the original Bartman incident? Would he have any relation to the
original Bartman?"
There were three people that popped into my head when I first saw this question.
The first was a young man named Jeffrey Maier, who was a 12-year-old Yankees fan who reached over the right field wall during Game 1 of the American League Championship Series in 1996 and deflected a ball into the stands. The play was called a home run for Derek Jeter and the Yankees went on to win the series. (Yes, this happened so long ago that the Orioles were actually contenders.)
So we have here a Bartmanesque character, though this one’s reach created a positive gain for the home team. The home run tied the game at 4 and the Yankees won in the 11th inning. The funny part was, there was some news drummed up in 2006, when he became the leading career hits leader in his university’s history and was featured on ESPN. Two sources reported Baltimore might draft him. This may be a match for the scenario described above.
The next person I thought of was last year’s Rookie of the Year, Evan Longoria. The guy hits 27 homers and bats .272 his rookie season with the Rays and they go to the World Series. Now, if his name was “Steve Longoria”, or hers was “Emily Longoria”, or even if she had the human compassion to change her FIRST name, rather than just tacking on Tony Parker’s surname, he wouldn’t have to hear a surfeit of jokes or awful Desperate Housewives puns. Anyone named Bartman would be better off pretending their middle name is their last name, and if there’s anyone by the name of Bartman playing in the majors now they have escaped the attention of Baseball Reference.
The third person was actor David Herman, who you probably know better as Michael Bolton in “Office Space,” who, when it was suggested he change his name, responded, “Why should I change it? He’s the one who sucks.”
So much of success in sport is based on confidence, and I would be willing to bet that anyone who could make it all the way up through the minors would have had to survive the inevitable, insufferable ESPN profile (you know Kenny Mayne is just licking his chops for the day something like this occurs), the jeers from fans, the night after night of the local sportscaster making leaden jokes, and still manage to overcome any of the million little things that affect an athlete would probably be a credit to whatever organization he wound up with.
I don’t think it could happen, though. I don’t think it could happen for the same reason that Joe DiMaggio’s 56-game hitting streak won’t be broken. We are too immersed, too aware, and too bombarded by the opinions and summaries of others, furtively trying to explain what it all means. Joe D had the same group of a dozen or so newspaper guys. Their work showed up in the newspaper, and that was it. Now, with television everywhere – nowadays by the time someone gets to 30 there’s cameras at batting practice – there’s no way the process doesn’t interfere.
I wouldn’t see an MLB Bartman being related to our man in the blue sweatshirt. I think any hope of him being a baseball enthusiast in a normal manner has been dashed. If he ever has kids – and that’s really got to be the match.com profile of a lifetime – I could see him wanting to make them cage fighters or defensive tackles. I couldn’t think of anything crueler than having to sit at a Little League game and you hear your name, announced over the loudspeaker, and some bozo has to make a smart remark. About something you did by mistake 6 years ago. Position? He’d catch. (And when I thought of that I was thinking of the fact he’d wear equipment and feel sort of protected and concealed; but when I wrote it down I realized the heckles wrote themselves.)
Though personally, I’d love to see a line of Cubs jerseys that would be specifically sold to irritate Cubs fans – “SIANIS 45”, “BARTMAN 03”, “MAC 03”, or “CAT 69.” Then again, I’m a White Sox fan.
START TIME: 9:46 PM
END TIME: 11:06 PM
WORD COUNT: 698
“So I was thinking, what if one of the best baseball prospects in the minors
was named Bartman and the Cubs had an option to sign him. Would they? What
position? Successful? Would he be on the team that actually took them to
and won a World Series? Would his decisive series play come in the same
game as the original Bartman incident? Would he have any relation to the
original Bartman?"
There were three people that popped into my head when I first saw this question.
The first was a young man named Jeffrey Maier, who was a 12-year-old Yankees fan who reached over the right field wall during Game 1 of the American League Championship Series in 1996 and deflected a ball into the stands. The play was called a home run for Derek Jeter and the Yankees went on to win the series. (Yes, this happened so long ago that the Orioles were actually contenders.)
So we have here a Bartmanesque character, though this one’s reach created a positive gain for the home team. The home run tied the game at 4 and the Yankees won in the 11th inning. The funny part was, there was some news drummed up in 2006, when he became the leading career hits leader in his university’s history and was featured on ESPN. Two sources reported Baltimore might draft him. This may be a match for the scenario described above.
The next person I thought of was last year’s Rookie of the Year, Evan Longoria. The guy hits 27 homers and bats .272 his rookie season with the Rays and they go to the World Series. Now, if his name was “Steve Longoria”, or hers was “Emily Longoria”, or even if she had the human compassion to change her FIRST name, rather than just tacking on Tony Parker’s surname, he wouldn’t have to hear a surfeit of jokes or awful Desperate Housewives puns. Anyone named Bartman would be better off pretending their middle name is their last name, and if there’s anyone by the name of Bartman playing in the majors now they have escaped the attention of Baseball Reference.
The third person was actor David Herman, who you probably know better as Michael Bolton in “Office Space,” who, when it was suggested he change his name, responded, “Why should I change it? He’s the one who sucks.”
So much of success in sport is based on confidence, and I would be willing to bet that anyone who could make it all the way up through the minors would have had to survive the inevitable, insufferable ESPN profile (you know Kenny Mayne is just licking his chops for the day something like this occurs), the jeers from fans, the night after night of the local sportscaster making leaden jokes, and still manage to overcome any of the million little things that affect an athlete would probably be a credit to whatever organization he wound up with.
I don’t think it could happen, though. I don’t think it could happen for the same reason that Joe DiMaggio’s 56-game hitting streak won’t be broken. We are too immersed, too aware, and too bombarded by the opinions and summaries of others, furtively trying to explain what it all means. Joe D had the same group of a dozen or so newspaper guys. Their work showed up in the newspaper, and that was it. Now, with television everywhere – nowadays by the time someone gets to 30 there’s cameras at batting practice – there’s no way the process doesn’t interfere.
I wouldn’t see an MLB Bartman being related to our man in the blue sweatshirt. I think any hope of him being a baseball enthusiast in a normal manner has been dashed. If he ever has kids – and that’s really got to be the match.com profile of a lifetime – I could see him wanting to make them cage fighters or defensive tackles. I couldn’t think of anything crueler than having to sit at a Little League game and you hear your name, announced over the loudspeaker, and some bozo has to make a smart remark. About something you did by mistake 6 years ago. Position? He’d catch. (And when I thought of that I was thinking of the fact he’d wear equipment and feel sort of protected and concealed; but when I wrote it down I realized the heckles wrote themselves.)
Though personally, I’d love to see a line of Cubs jerseys that would be specifically sold to irritate Cubs fans – “SIANIS 45”, “BARTMAN 03”, “MAC 03”, or “CAT 69.” Then again, I’m a White Sox fan.
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