It's out there; everywhere I look. Every blasted magazine, newspaper, guidebook, handout, museum, billboard, and local newscast has the words plastered across some or another headline. I tried in vain to avoid it for a week, but that was like trying to avoid stepping on poop in the dog park, being runover by a mallwalker, or driving on a street named for a pop culture figure in Bricktown. The fact is I can run, but I can't hide. Because unfortunately it has become my job - my life.
Oklahoma Centennial
There, I said it. I am currently involved in no less than five regular gigs churning out state and local history. I was contributing a quarterly article to a magazine, but now it's monthly. I've been assigned to write 48 short vignettes on state history. Text for bookmarks, displays, statues soon followed. I'm also involved with two large grant projects.
It's only January 6th and already I'm sick of it. I get home from work, head straight for the toilet and puke up Sooner trivia for an hour. Family members bang on the door, "Are you alright, Dad? It smells like Conestoga wagons in there!" My doctor tells me to try and get some rest and lay off the Dust Bowl, "Take a couple of Will Rogers before bed; you'll be fine in a few days." Now my teen daughter won't be seen in public with me because my tirades about how we aren't Okies (the Okies were the weaklings who left!) embarrases her.
It's not like I didn't see the Centennial coming. Being a historically minded guy, I knew all about the semicentennial in 1957 and even lived through the depressing, obscure, trinket-generating Diamond Jubilee in 1982. But in the end, it was as though I had been standing on the curve of a railroad track - you can see and hear the 3:15 out of Ardmore coming, but it looks like it's heading in another direction until it plows you under.
I should be happy to part of all of it in the small way that I am. After all, I love my state and its unique history. We've got to be top ten all-time for state history. We might not be able to challenge New York, Texas, California and Massachusetts, and probably Virginia, but we're top ten. In fact I am happy to be part of it. I just want it to end.
To be honest, this all has to do with bad attitude. Mine. When I was one of a dozen or so people writing regularly it was fine, but now it's everywhere and I don't like sharing topics and even worse, I hate reading bad history. Myths and non sequiturs abound these days, not to mention squeaky clean (i.e. cutesy boring) politically correct revisionism. But, if I were a true Sooner patriot, I'd be excited about the attention history is getting. I would embrace it all and invoke the more-merrier directive. But the sad fact is I'm intensely competitive (internally) and I have that stubborn Gen-X trait of wanting to be a dazzling unique individual. So, there I am, engine of my own unhappiness.
Sigh...I guess I'll just write about land runs, cattle trails, removals, football glory and (ugh) oil until this all blows over like a hot wind in the Dirty Thirities.
Showing posts with label thinking too much. Show all posts
Showing posts with label thinking too much. Show all posts
Saturday, January 06, 2007
Friday, December 29, 2006
When Doves Cry
You may think you've had family game night, but you haven't had family game night unless you've squared off against wife and daughter in Disney Princess Spinning Wishes Game.
I was at a decided disadvantage before we even laced 'em up. Obviously, I didn't have the right equipment to play this game. Hey, guttermind, I'm talking about cognitive equipment! The game's box subtley states the only requirement for this game is that one has reached the age of four. It doesn't say anything to warn people who have glitter allergies, people who have an aversion to pink and purple blends, people who do not have a degree in quantum mechanics, or people who have mastered logic.
So the other night YHWH, Killer and I plopped down on the living room floor to play this soon-to-be-classic from Milton Br...er..Hasbro. When you play with Killer there are certain guidelines to follow when selecting a venue for game play: the play site must have an unobstructed path to the restroom to accomodate the frequent diversionary trips when it isn't her turn; the play site must be removed from the line of site of Barbies, Polly Pockets, etc. so as not to tempt her during the times when it isn't her turn (this also prevents cross-species interaction between brands; before long Polly Pocket would be introducing herself to Snow White and they would go to lunch to get to know each other better and then I would be called on to orchestrate the remaining three princesses and provide dialogue for their resentful vitriole at having been dumped for that little blonde b**** so that Polly and Snow could return and they would all make up and be BFF); finally, the play site must also be on the floor (this is so she can drape herself off the furniture or stand up and do a couple of karate moves when it isn't her turn.
The game requires extensive assembly, including a large sheet of small stickers which have to be applied to a number of small pieces. YHWH began reading the instructions while I placed the stickers on the die, markers and wish-spinner. The directions made no sense when read aloud. I assumed this was because I was distracted by the impossibility of determining where each sticker went or maybe the translation from Chinese was outsourced to India, but when I finally hit the wall and snatched the rule book from YHWH's hands, I realized the reason is that it was all written in princess lingo. Normally, I process rules with my left brain, but once I switched over it began to sink in. I just had no precognition of the Ray of Enchanting Light. Now I do.
One of the first mistakes I made was assuming that Disney Princess Spinning Wishes Game was in fact the same as Pretty Pretty Princess Game or any of the myriad other girl games I have played in which competition has been very carefully excised from the experience. Most girl games lead you on some labryinthine chase through a disorienting emotional...oh wait, that's real life. Therefore, I did not formulate a strategy to trounce my opponents. And let me just stop right here to announce I never 'let' anyone win. No quarter asked and none given. No victory is too cheap. Likewise, I also did not try and size up my opponents' strategies, although I knew YHWH would do what she could to enable Killer and I to somehow share a victory and Killer would cheat like a dog to win.
Here's how the game works. Four princes have hidden a gift for each of their princesses in one of four castle towers. Each princess leaves her Rapunzel-like encampment in a tower and parades Gideon-like around the castle wall until she accomplishes her task of getting her three wishes granted. This is done by spinning the wheel with a mesmerizing spiral lightning sticker until a wish lands within your Ray of Enchanting Light which emanates from below the wheel in the color corresponding to your princess' dress. The wishes are on little stands and they rise like pillars out cavities in the wheel. This is important because when you get down to the last wish or two, you have to understand centrifugal force (which I don't) in order to retrieve it because it always lands opposite you when the wheel stops. This fact adds about thirty minutes to the game. Once a princess has her wishes, she enters the castle and walks around inside it looking at all the presents until she finds the one intended for her by her prince.
I'm constantly criticized for thinking too much, and this was no exception. I still haven't come to grips with the unwieldy name. It seems like it should be Disney's Princesses' Spinning Wishes Game, but since the majority of the target market lisps from lack of front teeth, I guess I see why they sacrificed proper grammar for a less humiliating pronunciation. A lot of my overthinking, though, had to do with the lack of symmetry. That always bothers me. Take a gander at the game board:
You can see the Ray of Enchanting Light coming out from under the wheel, but only the blue light from Cinderella's ray bathes her castle in a glow. Also, the two gray miss-a-turn spaces are on the same half of the board and there are only three wish spaces on that side as opposed to five on the other, so Belle in her yellow castle has a statistically greater chance of going home empty-handed - probably because she was originally trailer trash unlike the high-born others. All the castle gates have spires, but only one set of towers does.
And then there are the philosophical questions. Why do your wishes have to be material objects? Why not an end to starvation, global domination, or a declining teen birthrate? Why are all four couples in one castle? Why is Snow White's gift from her prince an apple when the others get glass slippers, a gold crown and a rose? Hasn't Snow had enough of apples already? And if I'm anyone but Sleeping Beauty, I'm making off with crown. Screw the rose.
The good thing about thinking too much is that you can always find a way to rationalize. I finally just told myself it's only a game. It's not whether you win or lose, blah, blah, blah. After I relaxed, I then proceeded on two victorious marched through the magical kingdom. The first was a dramatic thriller in which Sleeping Beauty and I snatched victory on the final roll before Killer opened her prince's gift. Then Cinderella and I romped on the next game.
So here I sit undefeated in Disney Princess Spinning Wishes Game. I wish I could say the same for my college bowl pool. Makes me long for a glittery die roll.
I was at a decided disadvantage before we even laced 'em up. Obviously, I didn't have the right equipment to play this game. Hey, guttermind, I'm talking about cognitive equipment! The game's box subtley states the only requirement for this game is that one has reached the age of four. It doesn't say anything to warn people who have glitter allergies, people who have an aversion to pink and purple blends, people who do not have a degree in quantum mechanics, or people who have mastered logic.
So the other night YHWH, Killer and I plopped down on the living room floor to play this soon-to-be-classic from Milton Br...er..Hasbro. When you play with Killer there are certain guidelines to follow when selecting a venue for game play: the play site must have an unobstructed path to the restroom to accomodate the frequent diversionary trips when it isn't her turn; the play site must be removed from the line of site of Barbies, Polly Pockets, etc. so as not to tempt her during the times when it isn't her turn (this also prevents cross-species interaction between brands; before long Polly Pocket would be introducing herself to Snow White and they would go to lunch to get to know each other better and then I would be called on to orchestrate the remaining three princesses and provide dialogue for their resentful vitriole at having been dumped for that little blonde b**** so that Polly and Snow could return and they would all make up and be BFF); finally, the play site must also be on the floor (this is so she can drape herself off the furniture or stand up and do a couple of karate moves when it isn't her turn.
The game requires extensive assembly, including a large sheet of small stickers which have to be applied to a number of small pieces. YHWH began reading the instructions while I placed the stickers on the die, markers and wish-spinner. The directions made no sense when read aloud. I assumed this was because I was distracted by the impossibility of determining where each sticker went or maybe the translation from Chinese was outsourced to India, but when I finally hit the wall and snatched the rule book from YHWH's hands, I realized the reason is that it was all written in princess lingo. Normally, I process rules with my left brain, but once I switched over it began to sink in. I just had no precognition of the Ray of Enchanting Light. Now I do.
One of the first mistakes I made was assuming that Disney Princess Spinning Wishes Game was in fact the same as Pretty Pretty Princess Game or any of the myriad other girl games I have played in which competition has been very carefully excised from the experience. Most girl games lead you on some labryinthine chase through a disorienting emotional...oh wait, that's real life. Therefore, I did not formulate a strategy to trounce my opponents. And let me just stop right here to announce I never 'let' anyone win. No quarter asked and none given. No victory is too cheap. Likewise, I also did not try and size up my opponents' strategies, although I knew YHWH would do what she could to enable Killer and I to somehow share a victory and Killer would cheat like a dog to win.
Here's how the game works. Four princes have hidden a gift for each of their princesses in one of four castle towers. Each princess leaves her Rapunzel-like encampment in a tower and parades Gideon-like around the castle wall until she accomplishes her task of getting her three wishes granted. This is done by spinning the wheel with a mesmerizing spiral lightning sticker until a wish lands within your Ray of Enchanting Light which emanates from below the wheel in the color corresponding to your princess' dress. The wishes are on little stands and they rise like pillars out cavities in the wheel. This is important because when you get down to the last wish or two, you have to understand centrifugal force (which I don't) in order to retrieve it because it always lands opposite you when the wheel stops. This fact adds about thirty minutes to the game. Once a princess has her wishes, she enters the castle and walks around inside it looking at all the presents until she finds the one intended for her by her prince.
I'm constantly criticized for thinking too much, and this was no exception. I still haven't come to grips with the unwieldy name. It seems like it should be Disney's Princesses' Spinning Wishes Game, but since the majority of the target market lisps from lack of front teeth, I guess I see why they sacrificed proper grammar for a less humiliating pronunciation. A lot of my overthinking, though, had to do with the lack of symmetry. That always bothers me. Take a gander at the game board:
You can see the Ray of Enchanting Light coming out from under the wheel, but only the blue light from Cinderella's ray bathes her castle in a glow. Also, the two gray miss-a-turn spaces are on the same half of the board and there are only three wish spaces on that side as opposed to five on the other, so Belle in her yellow castle has a statistically greater chance of going home empty-handed - probably because she was originally trailer trash unlike the high-born others. All the castle gates have spires, but only one set of towers does.
And then there are the philosophical questions. Why do your wishes have to be material objects? Why not an end to starvation, global domination, or a declining teen birthrate? Why are all four couples in one castle? Why is Snow White's gift from her prince an apple when the others get glass slippers, a gold crown and a rose? Hasn't Snow had enough of apples already? And if I'm anyone but Sleeping Beauty, I'm making off with crown. Screw the rose.
The good thing about thinking too much is that you can always find a way to rationalize. I finally just told myself it's only a game. It's not whether you win or lose, blah, blah, blah. After I relaxed, I then proceeded on two victorious marched through the magical kingdom. The first was a dramatic thriller in which Sleeping Beauty and I snatched victory on the final roll before Killer opened her prince's gift. Then Cinderella and I romped on the next game.
So here I sit undefeated in Disney Princess Spinning Wishes Game. I wish I could say the same for my college bowl pool. Makes me long for a glittery die roll.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
I Want To Be A Football He-ro
Adjective Queen likes to joke that I am her son Sport's Football Dad. Actually what she says is he is my Football Son. This isn't usurpation of Sport's bio-dad or an attempt at compensating for my having only girls, but rather a simple meeting of minds - he and I are the only members of our circle of friends who like football and sports in general. In our respective nuclear familial units, football is a bane of the first order up there with Dubbya and evangelicals.
I have never fully understood the loathsome regard blue-staters have toward football. I can name several reasons why I believe it to be, but I always come away feeling like I've diagnosed the symptoms rather than the disease. I think they don't like it because athletes are ascendant in most American high schools and the most dominant, almost iconically so, are football players and their female counterparts, cheerleaders and by contrast blue-staters, as individualistic, geeky, brainy, and largely unathletic, tend to be quite a bit south of there hierarchically. They prefer baseball because it has a solid literary tradition. They prefer soccer because they can comfortably root for the snobby Europeans or the noble post-colonial indigenous peoples' teams.
Probably most telling is they don't like it because 'everyone else' likes it, especially unthinking red-staters. It's also violent and there are those pesky cheerleaders to remind women of their eons of subjugation.
I'm confused because I think they should like it. In both the way it is played and the way its league is structured, it embodies the very community ideals and socialist economics they often tout in their ideology. In baseball, individual contributions are toted up to arrive at the final result. In football, everyone moves down the field together or not at all. The teams are made up of players with diverse skills and abilities. The professional league is structured so that revenues are split evenly among all teams, parity is highly desired and achieved so that all the teams and their fans have fair chance at glory, and players have both a minimum wage and a salary cap to prevent any one player or team too great a share of that society's riches. These seem like a blue-state dream, but I rarely see it celebrated.
I really didn't mean to go off on that tangent. It just occured to me as a thought about this post. I mainly just wanted to report that I took Sport to several local small college football games this year and he seems to have enjoyed it, as did I. We talked about plays and strategies and had some dogs and stuff. I almost asked him about the cheerleaders, one of whom looked like a dead-ringer for Kirsten Dunst, but I stopped myself because I thought he was probably too young to have checked them out and my own particular living arrangements have drubbed out any habit I might have of making public comments about a female's appearance - unless I am telling my three how spectacular they look.
I mentioned that Queen calls me Football Dad and I have to admit it makes me feel weird because it makes wonder sometimes how I would do if I had also had a son. I always wanted to have girl children because I knew how hard it was to grow up as a boy. Of course now I have the perspective that they both have their own brand of hellishness. The main thing I figured would be hard about raising boys is that they never talk. Girls talk constantly, so I figure I will at least know what is going on most of the time.
So anyway I was reminded of this during halftime at Saturday's game. We were sitting back shootin' the breeze and I started asking him stuff:
"So have you thought about where you want to go to high school?"
"Nah."
A plane flies over.
"Hey, that could be Lego Guy someday."
"Yeah."
"Do you think he'll fly someday?"
"I dunno."
"So, does he have a girlfriend?"
"Nah."
"What about you?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, yeah. Do you talk to her and stuff?"
"Some times."
"Is she pretty?"
Shrug.
"What's her name?"
"I'm not tellin' you!"
"You're not? I thought we were friends!"
That pretty well sums up my history with my dad, too. We would drive for two hours and not say a word and he'd say, "Enjoyed being with you, son." So, I hope I did OK this season, Queen, in my limited capacity as Football Dad. Oh, and by the way, he hasn't ever heard of Jim Thorpe. What the hell kind of family are you running over there, anyway? Never heard of Jim Thorpe, sheesh.
I have never fully understood the loathsome regard blue-staters have toward football. I can name several reasons why I believe it to be, but I always come away feeling like I've diagnosed the symptoms rather than the disease. I think they don't like it because athletes are ascendant in most American high schools and the most dominant, almost iconically so, are football players and their female counterparts, cheerleaders and by contrast blue-staters, as individualistic, geeky, brainy, and largely unathletic, tend to be quite a bit south of there hierarchically. They prefer baseball because it has a solid literary tradition. They prefer soccer because they can comfortably root for the snobby Europeans or the noble post-colonial indigenous peoples' teams.
Probably most telling is they don't like it because 'everyone else' likes it, especially unthinking red-staters. It's also violent and there are those pesky cheerleaders to remind women of their eons of subjugation.
I'm confused because I think they should like it. In both the way it is played and the way its league is structured, it embodies the very community ideals and socialist economics they often tout in their ideology. In baseball, individual contributions are toted up to arrive at the final result. In football, everyone moves down the field together or not at all. The teams are made up of players with diverse skills and abilities. The professional league is structured so that revenues are split evenly among all teams, parity is highly desired and achieved so that all the teams and their fans have fair chance at glory, and players have both a minimum wage and a salary cap to prevent any one player or team too great a share of that society's riches. These seem like a blue-state dream, but I rarely see it celebrated.
I really didn't mean to go off on that tangent. It just occured to me as a thought about this post. I mainly just wanted to report that I took Sport to several local small college football games this year and he seems to have enjoyed it, as did I. We talked about plays and strategies and had some dogs and stuff. I almost asked him about the cheerleaders, one of whom looked like a dead-ringer for Kirsten Dunst, but I stopped myself because I thought he was probably too young to have checked them out and my own particular living arrangements have drubbed out any habit I might have of making public comments about a female's appearance - unless I am telling my three how spectacular they look.
I mentioned that Queen calls me Football Dad and I have to admit it makes me feel weird because it makes wonder sometimes how I would do if I had also had a son. I always wanted to have girl children because I knew how hard it was to grow up as a boy. Of course now I have the perspective that they both have their own brand of hellishness. The main thing I figured would be hard about raising boys is that they never talk. Girls talk constantly, so I figure I will at least know what is going on most of the time.
So anyway I was reminded of this during halftime at Saturday's game. We were sitting back shootin' the breeze and I started asking him stuff:
"So have you thought about where you want to go to high school?"
"Nah."
A plane flies over.
"Hey, that could be Lego Guy someday."
"Yeah."
"Do you think he'll fly someday?"
"I dunno."
"So, does he have a girlfriend?"
"Nah."
"What about you?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, yeah. Do you talk to her and stuff?"
"Some times."
"Is she pretty?"
Shrug.
"What's her name?"
"I'm not tellin' you!"
"You're not? I thought we were friends!"
That pretty well sums up my history with my dad, too. We would drive for two hours and not say a word and he'd say, "Enjoyed being with you, son." So, I hope I did OK this season, Queen, in my limited capacity as Football Dad. Oh, and by the way, he hasn't ever heard of Jim Thorpe. What the hell kind of family are you running over there, anyway? Never heard of Jim Thorpe, sheesh.
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