By Phyllis
Some very important people have shaped my ideas of the world over the years. Let me share a few of the life lessons I have learned from these great men:
On the importance of the political process: "You can't change the world, but you can change the facts. And when you change the facts, you change points of view. If you change points of view, you may change a vote, and when you change a vote, you may change the world."
One the futility of figuring out one of life's great mysteries: "I've read more than a hundred books, seen love mentioned many thousand times. But despite all the places I've looked, it's still no clearer; it's just not enough. I'm still no nearer the meaning of love. Noted down all my observations. Spent an evening watching television. Still I couldn't say with precision."
On whether it is okay to tell lies: "You'll see your problems multiplied when you continually decide to faithfully pursue the policy of truth."
On keeping centered: "Be responsible, respectable, stable, but gullible. Concerned and caring, help the helpless, but always remain ultimately selfish. Get the balance right."
On what to tell my wife when she gets frustrated that I won't see things her way: "Take a look at unselected cases. You will find love has been wrecked by both sides compromising, amounting to a disastrous effect."
And perhaps my favorite, which is pretty much my credo: "Quickly, I remember. Fused and saw a face before. Timing, reason, understanding. Like association whore."
My only question is why these great men are ripping off these guys.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Come again?
By Phyllis
Yes, I am up at 11:30 watching the Hawaii-Idaho game. What else am I going to do?
Hawaii is up 42-10 and Idaho is looking a lot like...well, Idaho. Anyway, Idaho just ran a play and was half a yard short of the first down. So on 3rd and 1 they came out, lined up, and a couple of the offensive linemen jumped. Flags flew and whistles blew and players from both sides started pointing fingers--you've seen it before. Then the referee came out, clicked on his mic, and, arms akimbo, said:
"Disconcerting signals...on the defense. Five yard penalty. First down."
Yes, I am up at 11:30 watching the Hawaii-Idaho game. What else am I going to do?
Hawaii is up 42-10 and Idaho is looking a lot like...well, Idaho. Anyway, Idaho just ran a play and was half a yard short of the first down. So on 3rd and 1 they came out, lined up, and a couple of the offensive linemen jumped. Flags flew and whistles blew and players from both sides started pointing fingers--you've seen it before. Then the referee came out, clicked on his mic, and, arms akimbo, said:
"Disconcerting signals...on the defense. Five yard penalty. First down."
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
I.T. Snob
by Phyllis
It can scarcely be debated that IT professionals can sometimes come across as snobs. Today I am talking about the ones that come to your desk and fix your "computer" "problems" for you. Picture Jimmy Fallon as Nick Burns.
Even though I manage servers and networks, part of my job does include traveling to the workspace of the end user to see what is wrong. So count me as one of those snobs, with a few differences. You can't really get away with being really snotty and condescending (and least in person) or the big boss man (seriously, he's like 6'6' and 270 I would guess) will hear about it.
But beware, my beloved end users, I will be judging you, and mocking you, and thinking you are stupid, and talking about you with my co-workers later. We will laugh. Hard.
And here are a few of the questions and criteria I will use to judge you:
b. the screensaver
c. a screensaver
d. the desktop background
If you chose a, b, or c, congratulations! You are wrong! If you chose d, then I doubt you really are one of my end users. I would have also accepted 'desktop wallpaper' if you had been so bold to attempt a write-in vote. (And speaking of voting, I don't need to ask who you are voting for today. I already know. You talk to me about it like I share your opinions. I don't. Seriously, not in the least. Only I am courteous enough (in this case, anyway) not to tell you what I think about your views, even though you have just finished telling me what you think about mine. Thanks. You are a model of tolerance and understanding, just like you preach.)
There you go. A few things to think about. Forget it--who am I kidding? You will not learn, or even try to learn, as long as someone like me will be coming around to help you do the most simple task with your modem-or-monitor-or-processor-or-hard-drive-or-screen or whatever other name you have chosen today to call your PC.
It can scarcely be debated that IT professionals can sometimes come across as snobs. Today I am talking about the ones that come to your desk and fix your "computer" "problems" for you. Picture Jimmy Fallon as Nick Burns.
Even though I manage servers and networks, part of my job does include traveling to the workspace of the end user to see what is wrong. So count me as one of those snobs, with a few differences. You can't really get away with being really snotty and condescending (and least in person) or the big boss man (seriously, he's like 6'6' and 270 I would guess) will hear about it.
But beware, my beloved end users, I will be judging you, and mocking you, and thinking you are stupid, and talking about you with my co-workers later. We will laugh. Hard.
And here are a few of the questions and criteria I will use to judge you:
- Do you have the google toolbar installed? I will admit that this was a valuable tool--nay, essential--several years ago (which in PC years would put it in, what, the Jurassic age?) but now it is a nuisance and a pain. All it really means is that you don't pay attention when you are installing something, taking the defaults always, not caring what comes along with whatever you wanted in the first place. Additionally, the fact that you have the google toolbar increases the likelihood that you have even more of these ridiculous wastes of space: Yahoo toolbar, mysearch, ebay, weather channel, etc. Don't worry about it though; you probably won't ever get infected by spyware.
- Do you double-click on hyperlinks? The fact that there are people still doing this amazes me. But then again, it is always good for a (delayed) laugh, so I guess it's fine.
- Are you using the double-wide, stupid-looking, and utterly useless WindowsXP start menu? You know, not the classic one that we set for you on all our PCs. You deliberately changed it from the classic look to the new look? I am amazed for two reasons: you thought it was better and you figured out how to do it when you need my assistance to install a printer.
- Almost hand in hand with the last question is this one: did you move the taskbar to either of the sides or (worse yet) the top of your window? (And please don't let me set that you set it to auto hide.) This is one of the all-time stupid things to do. It shows me that you think you are smart and skilled enough to know what you want and that you have found a better way to operate, only you are decidedly mistaken. Put it back where it belongs, genius.
- Did you just say "Foxfire" to me without winking or chuckling, or elbowing your buddy? No? Learn to read. I mean, you do realize what you do for a living, right? And that goes for all you "Systematic" antivirus users out there.
- Pop quiz: What do you call the picture you chose for your desktop background?
b. the screensaver
c. a screensaver
d. the desktop background
If you chose a, b, or c, congratulations! You are wrong! If you chose d, then I doubt you really are one of my end users. I would have also accepted 'desktop wallpaper' if you had been so bold to attempt a write-in vote. (And speaking of voting, I don't need to ask who you are voting for today. I already know. You talk to me about it like I share your opinions. I don't. Seriously, not in the least. Only I am courteous enough (in this case, anyway) not to tell you what I think about your views, even though you have just finished telling me what you think about mine. Thanks. You are a model of tolerance and understanding, just like you preach.)
There you go. A few things to think about. Forget it--who am I kidding? You will not learn, or even try to learn, as long as someone like me will be coming around to help you do the most simple task with your modem-or-monitor-or-processor-or-hard-drive-or-screen or whatever other name you have chosen today to call your PC.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Calças Marrons
by Phyllis
"All this happened a good many years ago." - Maugham
My brother Joey also had a bedroom downstairs; the rest of the family was upstairs. Joey had watched most of the movie with me, but I didn’t see him after it was over. Perhaps I should have known what was coming.
I got to the bottom of the stairs, made the right turn to cross the large room with ugly orange carpet, and neared the hall, where the wall from the family room jutted out to make the entry to the hall about the size of a doorway. The hall was dark, and the instant I crossed the threshold into it, my brother jumped out from behind that jutting wall, wearing a ridiculous white plastic Halloween mask. He yelled “Ha!” or something like that.
Please keep the following in mind: In the first place, I had just recently finished watching the movie, so the images and scenes were fresh in my mind. Secondly, the mask, while not at all a close match to that worn by the killer in Halloween, was at the very least white, like in the movie. Thirdly, my brother appeared suddenly and mysteriously when I least expected it.
So my reaction, very vivid to me more than twenty years later, was extreme. But also strange. I was immediately aware that this was my brother playing a trick on me. As tired as I was, my brain quickly synthesized important information: the apparition I now saw was nearly six inches shorter than me, and he was wearing a silly plastic mask of an old man with a melted face. His hair was thin, stringy, and white, just like the mask I had seen (and worn myself) hundreds of times before in our home. Notwithstanding all of this, I was scared nearly senseless. I shrieked--yes, shrieked, so picture what that sounds like--in horror, but instantly moved toward him, calling him by name, while pathetically and miserably crying. “Joey! Joey! Tell me it’s you! Say it is you! Say my name!”
As I continued to walk toward him, I reached for him, and grabbed on to him, desperately hugging and bawling and begging for him to allay my fears. The more he spoke, now scared himself at such a reaction by me, the more I calmed down. But this continued for nearly half a minute, as I labored to convince myself of what I indeed already knew, and had known from the start: this was only little brother Joey.
Nowadays I don't get frightened by "scary" movies. I mean, come on, people, they just aren't. But Halloween scares me. Still. And if you ask me what some of my favorite movies are, I will include Halloween in them. But sometimes I wonder if that is true.
"All this happened a good many years ago." - Maugham
I was young, maybe thirteen or so, the first time I saw the movie Halloween. It had been a couple of years since it had been shown in the theaters, and I watched it one night when it was broadcast on television. After I finished watching the movie, it was late and time for me to go to bed. I sleepily loafed around upstairs for a few minutes, and then trudged downstairs to my bedroom.
My brother Joey also had a bedroom downstairs; the rest of the family was upstairs. Joey had watched most of the movie with me, but I didn’t see him after it was over. Perhaps I should have known what was coming.
I got to the bottom of the stairs, made the right turn to cross the large room with ugly orange carpet, and neared the hall, where the wall from the family room jutted out to make the entry to the hall about the size of a doorway. The hall was dark, and the instant I crossed the threshold into it, my brother jumped out from behind that jutting wall, wearing a ridiculous white plastic Halloween mask. He yelled “Ha!” or something like that.
Please keep the following in mind: In the first place, I had just recently finished watching the movie, so the images and scenes were fresh in my mind. Secondly, the mask, while not at all a close match to that worn by the killer in Halloween, was at the very least white, like in the movie. Thirdly, my brother appeared suddenly and mysteriously when I least expected it.
So my reaction, very vivid to me more than twenty years later, was extreme. But also strange. I was immediately aware that this was my brother playing a trick on me. As tired as I was, my brain quickly synthesized important information: the apparition I now saw was nearly six inches shorter than me, and he was wearing a silly plastic mask of an old man with a melted face. His hair was thin, stringy, and white, just like the mask I had seen (and worn myself) hundreds of times before in our home. Notwithstanding all of this, I was scared nearly senseless. I shrieked--yes, shrieked, so picture what that sounds like--in horror, but instantly moved toward him, calling him by name, while pathetically and miserably crying. “Joey! Joey! Tell me it’s you! Say it is you! Say my name!”
As I continued to walk toward him, I reached for him, and grabbed on to him, desperately hugging and bawling and begging for him to allay my fears. The more he spoke, now scared himself at such a reaction by me, the more I calmed down. But this continued for nearly half a minute, as I labored to convince myself of what I indeed already knew, and had known from the start: this was only little brother Joey.
Nowadays I don't get frightened by "scary" movies. I mean, come on, people, they just aren't. But Halloween scares me. Still. And if you ask me what some of my favorite movies are, I will include Halloween in them. But sometimes I wonder if that is true.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Lucky #7
by Phyllis
I read a blog recently here, and I felt almost compelled to respond. Well, not respond, so much as I felt I had a story of my own to tell. And, oddly enough, it is about #7 as well. I, too, had to bid him a (not so) fond farewell. In a different way.
Like Koozown (my name for the author of that post), I lived in a town with a very popular orthodontist. Indeed, I cannot get past the feeling I know the town he is speaking of. Only this man never put braces on my teeth. I am relatively certain I needed them, but it never happened.
And I don't really know why. I am sure my parents were much like Koozown's: nice, middle-class folks living in a small town, probably had their share (or more) of children. I imagine they lived in a fairly large house with a big back yard, a pasture maybe, and perhaps a few farm animals. Just a guess.
But my parents decided not to get me braces. I watched all my brothers and sisters (all six, mind you) get braces--the complaining, the pain, the retainers, the replacement retainers for lost or broken ones, the retainers used to cut popsicles to pieces--and thought I hadn't missed out on much.
Except that in high school I started to notice something: I used to stick my finger in my mouth. Don't ask me why--I supposed it was just a nervous habit. A bad habit, maybe, but not the worst thing that could be done with a finger and a mouth. But I would place my left hand index finger directly behind my two front teeth. And if I turned it sideways I could just feel the edge of #7 and whatever number is on the other side of your front teeth on each side of my finger. Only as I got older, this gap was narrowing. I didn't have to turn my finger all the way sideways anymore. And then finally, not at all.
I had said farewell to #7. Or rather, he had said goodbye to me. But he is still in there, chilling out behind the front line, poking my tongue everyday. Look closely--he's back there.
So, yes, I pity Koozown; I don't want pain, pus, or a root canal with a limited warranty. But I have gone to dentists and requested that #7 be pulled, and no one will do it. They claim that sort of problem can be fixed (only at my age it would require oral surgery and breaking my jaw and palate--no, thank you), and I can assume from Koozown's experience there could be other issues down the road.
Indeed, for some of us, #7 has not been so lucky.
I read a blog recently here, and I felt almost compelled to respond. Well, not respond, so much as I felt I had a story of my own to tell. And, oddly enough, it is about #7 as well. I, too, had to bid him a (not so) fond farewell. In a different way.
Like Koozown (my name for the author of that post), I lived in a town with a very popular orthodontist. Indeed, I cannot get past the feeling I know the town he is speaking of. Only this man never put braces on my teeth. I am relatively certain I needed them, but it never happened.
And I don't really know why. I am sure my parents were much like Koozown's: nice, middle-class folks living in a small town, probably had their share (or more) of children. I imagine they lived in a fairly large house with a big back yard, a pasture maybe, and perhaps a few farm animals. Just a guess.
But my parents decided not to get me braces. I watched all my brothers and sisters (all six, mind you) get braces--the complaining, the pain, the retainers, the replacement retainers for lost or broken ones, the retainers used to cut popsicles to pieces--and thought I hadn't missed out on much.
Except that in high school I started to notice something: I used to stick my finger in my mouth. Don't ask me why--I supposed it was just a nervous habit. A bad habit, maybe, but not the worst thing that could be done with a finger and a mouth. But I would place my left hand index finger directly behind my two front teeth. And if I turned it sideways I could just feel the edge of #7 and whatever number is on the other side of your front teeth on each side of my finger. Only as I got older, this gap was narrowing. I didn't have to turn my finger all the way sideways anymore. And then finally, not at all.
I had said farewell to #7. Or rather, he had said goodbye to me. But he is still in there, chilling out behind the front line, poking my tongue everyday. Look closely--he's back there.
So, yes, I pity Koozown; I don't want pain, pus, or a root canal with a limited warranty. But I have gone to dentists and requested that #7 be pulled, and no one will do it. They claim that sort of problem can be fixed (only at my age it would require oral surgery and breaking my jaw and palate--no, thank you), and I can assume from Koozown's experience there could be other issues down the road.
Indeed, for some of us, #7 has not been so lucky.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Jay Clocker
by Phyllis
And you know I have no bias when it comes to this.
Ten things the end of the BYU-UW game made me think about:
1. Jake Locker threw the ball high enough in the air that anyone would expect a penalty to be called. Take away the situation (end of the game, [potential] tying touchdown) and would that call be made? Yes.
2. He did not throw the ball in the air when he scored a touchdown in the first quarter. So he knew not to.
3. The emotion and situation caused him to throw it up 25 feet in the air? Please.
4. People who are saying it is a stupid rule and shouldn't have been called are missing the point: it IS a rule.
5. Come on, teams out there. You have to make him throw the football. He will kill you running it. He will not even hurt you throwing it. Try it and see.
6. Hey, Washington placekicker, you are welcome to make the PAT, even if it is from 35 yards. But to do so, you might want to get the kick at least three feet off the ground. I'm serious. At the trajectory he kicked it, the ball might have been going down when it was blocked.
7. Please, BYU, could you at least once blow out an inferior team? And if you do suck out a victory at home against UCLA, would you mind NOT losing to UNLV or SDSU later in the season?
8. Tyrone Willingham is a wussy. At least be planning to go for two. Ride the momentum and emotion and beat the favorite when you can. Seems like a team from a school I went to did that once.
9. Jim Caple is a wingnut and a whiny homer. Check out what he said here: "It was one of the absolute worst calls I've ever seen in football." Really? Then I hope you never saw the Oregon-Oklahoma game in 2006. This is a good one, too. And that only took me five minutes.
10. The pass Locker threw after he scored the last touchdown is the most accurate pass I have ever seen him throw. For reals.
And you know I have no bias when it comes to this.
Ten things the end of the BYU-UW game made me think about:
1. Jake Locker threw the ball high enough in the air that anyone would expect a penalty to be called. Take away the situation (end of the game, [potential] tying touchdown) and would that call be made? Yes.
2. He did not throw the ball in the air when he scored a touchdown in the first quarter. So he knew not to.
3. The emotion and situation caused him to throw it up 25 feet in the air? Please.
4. People who are saying it is a stupid rule and shouldn't have been called are missing the point: it IS a rule.
5. Come on, teams out there. You have to make him throw the football. He will kill you running it. He will not even hurt you throwing it. Try it and see.
6. Hey, Washington placekicker, you are welcome to make the PAT, even if it is from 35 yards. But to do so, you might want to get the kick at least three feet off the ground. I'm serious. At the trajectory he kicked it, the ball might have been going down when it was blocked.
7. Please, BYU, could you at least once blow out an inferior team? And if you do suck out a victory at home against UCLA, would you mind NOT losing to UNLV or SDSU later in the season?
8. Tyrone Willingham is a wussy. At least be planning to go for two. Ride the momentum and emotion and beat the favorite when you can. Seems like a team from a school I went to did that once.
9. Jim Caple is a wingnut and a whiny homer. Check out what he said here: "It was one of the absolute worst calls I've ever seen in football." Really? Then I hope you never saw the Oregon-Oklahoma game in 2006. This is a good one, too. And that only took me five minutes.
10. The pass Locker threw after he scored the last touchdown is the most accurate pass I have ever seen him throw. For reals.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
English Degree
by Sue Modray
Yes, Phyllis asked me some time ago if I would post on his blog and I am sorry it has taken me so long. I am nervous and afraid that someone will think what I write is dumb. I am afraid of offending someone, too. Phyllis has assured me his readership is small, possibly less than ten. I don't know if he is serious but it makes me feel better. He also told me he was not going to post again until I did. I thought he was kidding, but I think I believe him now. So here goes.
Phyllis asked me to write about going to BSU. He has posted about how we met in one of our first classes, and saw each other frequently as we both worked toward a degree in English literature. We are a lot alike and wanted about the same thing from our educational experience, only he likes Maugham and I love Austen. My only real problem with Phyllis is that he uses colons and parentheses too much in his writing. He is also always correcting people in their pronunciation and grammar. I am not sure he is always right.
I am not really sure I know what Phyllis wants me to write about, although we talked a lot about what the experience studying English at BSU was like. Maybe he means for me to write about how I felt so different sometimes. I did not fit into the group of 19-year-olds apologizing to each other before class started for forgetting to record Smallville, or how much fun it was last year to dress up as Hermione and go down to Borders for the release of the latest Harry Potter book.
Am I supposed to talk about the skills we were being taught in our English classes? We read many novels, short stories, and plays, and our instructors taught us skills to interpret, criticize, and respond to the works we read. But it seemed my interpretations and criticisms were only valid as they fell in line with those the instructor had. I wondered at times if the interpretations of my instructors were really theirs or just those of some great professor from long ago. It reminded me of The Wizard of Oz, almost complete with loud crashes and flashing lights. "Who are YOU to question to Great and Powerful Oz?!??"
But I was not a sponge, like, I believe, many others I saw. Just because the professor liked Evelyn Waugh, or Salman Rushdie, or D.H. Lawrence, I did not decide to. And even though we were assigned to read only one small piece by Nietzsche, I did not immediately latch on to "God is dead" and announce my intention to change my major to Philosophy and explore my new-found atheism.
I don't know what I expected studying for an English literature degree. I love reading and found many new authors and books to read. But I did not so much enjoy the interpretation and criticism. It seemed forced and planned out. I wanted more history and biography of the authors. I don't suppose that kind of English degree really exists, the one where you read a lot, learn a lot about the authors, and talk about it with others. No, not a book club. A way to become an expert about a certain author, know his works, know his characters, know him. And then move on to the next author.
Now I just need to find a graduate program that offers that. Or I can just do it myself.
Yes, Phyllis asked me some time ago if I would post on his blog and I am sorry it has taken me so long. I am nervous and afraid that someone will think what I write is dumb. I am afraid of offending someone, too. Phyllis has assured me his readership is small, possibly less than ten. I don't know if he is serious but it makes me feel better. He also told me he was not going to post again until I did. I thought he was kidding, but I think I believe him now. So here goes.
Phyllis asked me to write about going to BSU. He has posted about how we met in one of our first classes, and saw each other frequently as we both worked toward a degree in English literature. We are a lot alike and wanted about the same thing from our educational experience, only he likes Maugham and I love Austen. My only real problem with Phyllis is that he uses colons and parentheses too much in his writing. He is also always correcting people in their pronunciation and grammar. I am not sure he is always right.
I am not really sure I know what Phyllis wants me to write about, although we talked a lot about what the experience studying English at BSU was like. Maybe he means for me to write about how I felt so different sometimes. I did not fit into the group of 19-year-olds apologizing to each other before class started for forgetting to record Smallville, or how much fun it was last year to dress up as Hermione and go down to Borders for the release of the latest Harry Potter book.
Am I supposed to talk about the skills we were being taught in our English classes? We read many novels, short stories, and plays, and our instructors taught us skills to interpret, criticize, and respond to the works we read. But it seemed my interpretations and criticisms were only valid as they fell in line with those the instructor had. I wondered at times if the interpretations of my instructors were really theirs or just those of some great professor from long ago. It reminded me of The Wizard of Oz, almost complete with loud crashes and flashing lights. "Who are YOU to question to Great and Powerful Oz?!??"
But I was not a sponge, like, I believe, many others I saw. Just because the professor liked Evelyn Waugh, or Salman Rushdie, or D.H. Lawrence, I did not decide to. And even though we were assigned to read only one small piece by Nietzsche, I did not immediately latch on to "God is dead" and announce my intention to change my major to Philosophy and explore my new-found atheism.
I don't know what I expected studying for an English literature degree. I love reading and found many new authors and books to read. But I did not so much enjoy the interpretation and criticism. It seemed forced and planned out. I wanted more history and biography of the authors. I don't suppose that kind of English degree really exists, the one where you read a lot, learn a lot about the authors, and talk about it with others. No, not a book club. A way to become an expert about a certain author, know his works, know his characters, know him. And then move on to the next author.
Now I just need to find a graduate program that offers that. Or I can just do it myself.
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