So last night's game, from a basketball standpoint, was frankly a debacle. The Cavs are clearly just a shell of their former selves. I could only stomach the first half of the game, really--I watched a bit of the third quarter and it was pretty clear that the Cavs as a team had just given up and decided to let D-Wade's Little Brother have his way with them. Sigh.
But the result of the game doesn't really matter much, nor was it that unexpected since obviously Miami is a more talented team than Cleveland. The whole reason that last night's game was the subject of such an outsized amount of media attention--more even than the Brett Favre Returns To Green Bay As A Viking Circus--was the walking hate show. From what national coverage I heard and read, I think people were expecting thousands of angry Clevelanders to storm the floor at the Q, burn LeBron in effigy, and then put out the fire by urinating on it. I can't imagine any national sportswriters or reporters thinking that Los Angeles would burn to the ground if Kobe Bryant were to return to the Staples Center in a Denver Nuggets uniform, but clearly half the reason all eyes were on Cleveland last night was to see whether there would be any riots before or after the game.
Sorry to disappoint. There was a large amount of hostility and some top-quality booing for the first half. It was entertaining and people needed to do it. At the end of the night, it appears that most people decided they actually didn't need to get arrested in the process, and people went home with the city intact, if extremely disheartened by the lack of effort by their team. And now some of the fever-pitch vitriol I referenced in my pregame post last night will be directed elsewhere, or will simply dissipate.
It won't go completely away, though. Never. As a sports town this is not a place that forgives and forgets. Ask Art Modell. LBJ just did too many things wrong: summoning all those team owners to his lair to kiss his ring while they were courting him this summer; not telling ownership his plans so they could make other ones; and that Worst TV Special Of All Time, "The Decision." People might have gotten over him deciding to leave, because after all, people leave. It happens. People will never get over how badly he handled it. And possibly the main reason people will never get over LBJ was that he didn't do the one thing he was supposed to do: win a championship. In a city that on some level believes its sports teams to be cursed by God, that was the worst sin of all. If he'd have just ended the drought, this might have gone down easier. Now, Clevelanders have to watch from the sidelines as LeBron in all likelihood wins a couple of titles for a city that's never in one million years going to care about it as deeply as his former city would. To continue with the jilted girlfriend analogy that's been played to death, he decided to get engaged to the girl who will never love him one-tenth as much as his ex.
But in the end, maybe the intensity with which his ex loved him was a little too much for him. Maybe he was afraid we'd become the Stalker Ex, and he couldn't handle it. I lived in Northern Ohio for a few years in the 80's when I went to college, the years the Browns were good. After I moved to Wisconsin and lived there for some years, I used to tell people that Packer fans were intensely devoted, and Browns fans were kind of mentally ill. I was joking, but I kind of wasn't.
Not too long ago, I was organizing some papers in a junk drawer and ran across some things--I guess you could call them fake letters--I'd held onto from a rough period in my life. Without getting into detail, let's just say they were nasty nasty lies. Laughable ones but expressed in a very ugly way. For a couple of years I had a legitimate reason to hang onto them, but the time during which I might actually have had some use for them had passed some time ago. But I kept them--why? I don't really know. Maybe to remind myself that even while I worked hard to get to where I no longer hated the writer, I could never afford to show him any compassion if I ever had to deal with him again. I had to convince myself I needed to hold a grudge, I guess. But as I looked through them again, I thought that it could not possibly be good karma to keep such tangibly ugly things in my personal belongings simply to remind me that I once had to deal with someone who lacked a conscience. So, I let out a deep breath, ripped the papers into pieces, and then threw them into the trash at a shopping center several miles away. That was probably overkill, but hey. So was hanging onto them in the first place.
So, Clevelanders are never going to forgive LeBron ever, but with any luck last night's hatefest will at least go some way towards putting some distance between him and the city. And after all, as I said last night, the Browns are playing Sunday--and tickets go on sale soon for Indians spring training.
There is, as always, next year.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Game Time
As I begin this post, we're a half-hour away from tipoff. This is going to be interesting for about 15 minutes. Frankly, the best part is going to be the player intros, and for maybe the first time ever the VERY most interesting part is going to be the introduction of the visiting team players. I spent some portion of the day listening to sports radio. It's really...kind of overwhelming. There were Cavs fans apparently bragging on Twitter and Facebook and wherever else that they had been saving up bail money just so that they could do something idiotic tonight. If I were the type of person to call into a sports radio show (and I'm actually really not), I'd have called in to ask all those people if they also saved up to pay a defense lawyer, and if they'd also made plans for the possible adverse impact on current or subsequent job searches that a really idiot criminal conviction might have. Mostly, I just shook my head. Planned crimes are one thing. Planned criminal drunken jackassery is another.
But honestly, completely fever-pitched vitriol is only interesting, or even sustainable, for a pretty limited period of time. This will be a good opportunity for Cav Fan to get some anger out and get some good old-fashioned hate on. But, then....after that, what? The Cavs still have to play a basketball game. And after the game, LeBron goes back to Miami and gets on with his season. And the Cavs move on to the next game and get on with however they're going to rebuild. And eventually the fever-pitch vitriol, even here, will die down.
After all, there's a Browns game Sunday.
But honestly, completely fever-pitched vitriol is only interesting, or even sustainable, for a pretty limited period of time. This will be a good opportunity for Cav Fan to get some anger out and get some good old-fashioned hate on. But, then....after that, what? The Cavs still have to play a basketball game. And after the game, LeBron goes back to Miami and gets on with his season. And the Cavs move on to the next game and get on with however they're going to rebuild. And eventually the fever-pitch vitriol, even here, will die down.
After all, there's a Browns game Sunday.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Poll Dancing
In 2008, I did voter protection for the Obama campaign. This involved going to a polling place and simply observing. My role was clear--don't interfere with anything, but have some emergency numbers on hand to report any problems. This was in the wake of the notorious problems in 2004 in Cuyahoga County in particular: plenty of voting machines in white suburban districts and far too few in populous (and largely African-American) Cleveland, problems with voting machines, and on and on. My experience, at a fairly sleepy suburban polling place, was blessedly dull in 2008. A few poll workers had some misunderstandings about who had to vote a provisional ballot, which resulted in a few people at the beginning of the day voting provisionally who should have been permitted to vote a regular ballot, but this was cleared up pretty quickly. There was a pretty big crush of voters when the polls first opened, but after about 8 a.m. it was dead the rest of the day, in a very high turnout election. The reason? Newly-minted early voting. For the first time, people could vote early in person at the Board of Elections or could vote by mail without having to ask for an absentee ballot and provide a reason why they needed one. So by the time election day rolled around, more than a third of the registered voters at that precinct had already voted. This came pretty close to reducing the clog of voters by half at the polls.
Following that experience, I was solicited by the county party to be a poll worker on election day, working for the Board of Elections as a partisan appointee. Ohio requires partisan appointees from each major party at every precinct to work along with the regular poll workers. So, I thought OK, and signed up. The whole experience was, sadly, very awful. I was assigned this time to a precinct in the City of Cleveland proper, not a suburb. By virtue of the process by which I was appointed, I was given the position of Presiding Judge--head poll worker of my particular ward (there were 6 wards at my precinct). Each ward had a presiding judge and several judges, and the head honcho for the entire precinct was the Polling Location Coordinator. So at least I wasn't overboss, but candidly Presiding Judge is no position for someone who's never worked at the polls. I didn't really know what I was doing well enough for that position, a problem that was exacerbated by the fact that my ward was definitely the busiest and had the highest vote count at the end of the night of all the wards there. We'd have all been better off had I either not been made a Presiding Judge, or if I'd at least been assigned to a sleepier ward. No major disasters but several snafus, most of which of course got pinned on me whether they were my fault or not (and some were).
And we had to arrive at 5:30 that morning and stay until all was done. So we'd all been there for 14 hours once the polls closed, and then things got bad. We were exhausted, people were grumbling and some were actually screaming at each other, and I couldn't seem to improve things. We had a discrepancy in some numbers that took a while to resolve--we were finally able to account for everything but the screaming didn't help. By the end of the night I was near frazzled tears. I'd been out of bed since 4:30 in the morning, I took no lunch break (just wolfed down a cold piece of disgusting Popeye's chicken at my table), hadn't had enough water and was badly dehydrated, and a few things had gone wrong at the polls and now my numbers weren't adding up. So I was exhausted, fried, and frustrated. Don't even get me started on the woman at my ward who spent the day complaining about everybody, complaining that the food was giving her gas, and loudly belching non-stop. The most positive contribution she made was at the end of the night remembering someone who'd left the polling area with her ballot without filling it out (something of which I was unaware when it happened), thus accounting for the missing ballot on which we'd expended massive emotional energy. As I told my husband when I got home, it was the worst day I'd had in years that didn't involve a loss at trial.
But, how did things go for the voters during the day? On the whole, OK I suppose. Wait times were not insane--it was a steady stream more or less throughout the day. But there were times when we were backed up. There was one woman at our ward (and someone else at another) who messed up her ballot three times. In Ohio, if you mess up your ballot in some way and it gets caught before the machine accepts it, you can give your ballot back to the poll worker and have a do-over, but we're limited to three ballots. If you mess up three times, that's it. You can't vote. So I felt horrible for those people. And there were other people who weren't prepared--didn't bring ID, had changed their names or precincts without updating their info with the Board of Elections, things of that nature, who had to vote a provisional ballot. And they got mad in some cases. Occasionally the machine jammed up. Our Polling Location Coordinator left on his lunch break and was gone well over two hours. But on the whole, it was not a nightmare, or at least it didn't seem to be. But it did not feel like a smoothly humming machine, either.
But the upshot is that any lingering sentimentality I have for going to the polls and voting is permanently dead. I know that you get to have your "I voted sticker" when you go to the polls, but in my opinion, the benefits of voting early far outweigh that. The more people who vote early--and thus, the fewer people at the polls--the better things go. Small snafus at the polling place become larger when it's crowded. Voting by mail is a pleasant process, too--you can fill out your ballot on your own time, with a glass of wine, in front of the computer to research ballot issues and candidates. And if you're a partisan player, whether Republican or Democrat, trust me when I say that YOUR PARTY WANTS YOU TO VOTE EARLY if it's an option for you. The more votes they have in the bank beforehand, the better they can use their resources going up to and on Election Day.
So that was my experience. I won't repeat it. I'll do GOTV on election day, or voter protection, but not this. This was awful. And please, next election, if you can vote early, do it.
Following that experience, I was solicited by the county party to be a poll worker on election day, working for the Board of Elections as a partisan appointee. Ohio requires partisan appointees from each major party at every precinct to work along with the regular poll workers. So, I thought OK, and signed up. The whole experience was, sadly, very awful. I was assigned this time to a precinct in the City of Cleveland proper, not a suburb. By virtue of the process by which I was appointed, I was given the position of Presiding Judge--head poll worker of my particular ward (there were 6 wards at my precinct). Each ward had a presiding judge and several judges, and the head honcho for the entire precinct was the Polling Location Coordinator. So at least I wasn't overboss, but candidly Presiding Judge is no position for someone who's never worked at the polls. I didn't really know what I was doing well enough for that position, a problem that was exacerbated by the fact that my ward was definitely the busiest and had the highest vote count at the end of the night of all the wards there. We'd have all been better off had I either not been made a Presiding Judge, or if I'd at least been assigned to a sleepier ward. No major disasters but several snafus, most of which of course got pinned on me whether they were my fault or not (and some were).
And we had to arrive at 5:30 that morning and stay until all was done. So we'd all been there for 14 hours once the polls closed, and then things got bad. We were exhausted, people were grumbling and some were actually screaming at each other, and I couldn't seem to improve things. We had a discrepancy in some numbers that took a while to resolve--we were finally able to account for everything but the screaming didn't help. By the end of the night I was near frazzled tears. I'd been out of bed since 4:30 in the morning, I took no lunch break (just wolfed down a cold piece of disgusting Popeye's chicken at my table), hadn't had enough water and was badly dehydrated, and a few things had gone wrong at the polls and now my numbers weren't adding up. So I was exhausted, fried, and frustrated. Don't even get me started on the woman at my ward who spent the day complaining about everybody, complaining that the food was giving her gas, and loudly belching non-stop. The most positive contribution she made was at the end of the night remembering someone who'd left the polling area with her ballot without filling it out (something of which I was unaware when it happened), thus accounting for the missing ballot on which we'd expended massive emotional energy. As I told my husband when I got home, it was the worst day I'd had in years that didn't involve a loss at trial.
But, how did things go for the voters during the day? On the whole, OK I suppose. Wait times were not insane--it was a steady stream more or less throughout the day. But there were times when we were backed up. There was one woman at our ward (and someone else at another) who messed up her ballot three times. In Ohio, if you mess up your ballot in some way and it gets caught before the machine accepts it, you can give your ballot back to the poll worker and have a do-over, but we're limited to three ballots. If you mess up three times, that's it. You can't vote. So I felt horrible for those people. And there were other people who weren't prepared--didn't bring ID, had changed their names or precincts without updating their info with the Board of Elections, things of that nature, who had to vote a provisional ballot. And they got mad in some cases. Occasionally the machine jammed up. Our Polling Location Coordinator left on his lunch break and was gone well over two hours. But on the whole, it was not a nightmare, or at least it didn't seem to be. But it did not feel like a smoothly humming machine, either.
But the upshot is that any lingering sentimentality I have for going to the polls and voting is permanently dead. I know that you get to have your "I voted sticker" when you go to the polls, but in my opinion, the benefits of voting early far outweigh that. The more people who vote early--and thus, the fewer people at the polls--the better things go. Small snafus at the polling place become larger when it's crowded. Voting by mail is a pleasant process, too--you can fill out your ballot on your own time, with a glass of wine, in front of the computer to research ballot issues and candidates. And if you're a partisan player, whether Republican or Democrat, trust me when I say that YOUR PARTY WANTS YOU TO VOTE EARLY if it's an option for you. The more votes they have in the bank beforehand, the better they can use their resources going up to and on Election Day.
So that was my experience. I won't repeat it. I'll do GOTV on election day, or voter protection, but not this. This was awful. And please, next election, if you can vote early, do it.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Opa!
Chris's folks are in from D.C. this weekend. It's always very nice to see them--pretty cool thing when you dig your in-laws. The girls are in Grandparent Paradise this summer: two weeks with Gramma in July, now hanging out with Papou and Yiayia. Makes you wonder how much spoiling kids can take. Anyway, John and Alice are of course here to see the family but one specific occasion that brings them out here is the annual Greek Festival, held at the Saints Helen and Constantine Greek Orthodox church in Cleveland Heights. It's quite the blowout. They've been to a number of Greek festivals over the years, what with John actually being from Greece and all. And they're pretty adamant that this one boasts the best food.
So last night we went, along with the girls' best buddy Lily from down the street and her mom Rachel. Rachel, being the game lass that she is, had a glass of retsina. I always warn people that it's an acquired taste, but she didn't hate it at all--though I'll say that the pine flavor on the bottle we had was pretty darn mild. (Side note: the linked article claims that the Greeks "pined up" their wine to protect it from the pillaging Romans--the version I heard substitutes marauding Turks.)
For those of you reading who are in the Cleveland Heights area who are looking for something to do this weekend, you should absolutely go. It's a great time. There are cooking and dancing demos, booths selling all kinds of stuff, a band, bounce-houses for the kids. But by far the main attraction is the food and it is fabulous. Last night we did the outside tent thing--meatballs, gyros, fried calamari, smelts, fries. Today we'll probably try to eat inside and sample more dinner-like fare. If you go, be sure to head inside the church and wander downstairs to hit my favorite spot, the pastry area: baklava, kataifi, koulourakia, and the girls' favorite are available in abundance.
One of the things I really like about this festival is how relatively well-organized it is. They enlist the help of the kids at Heights High to work alongside the church folks, and when you go you're likely to see smiling teens serving your food or clearing your table, sporting uniform tees: soccer, football, cheerleading, what have you. No getting around the fact that if you go and try to eat at peak times it's going to be pretty crowded and you're going to wait in line for a while, but given the very large number of people who attend every year it's really run very well. Be patient; it's worth the wait.
As we were wandering out of the building last night with our loukoumades, Rachel and I saw the spousal unit out in the middle of the dancing area with all three of the girls, channeling his inner Zorba. Very adorable--I wished I'd had the camera with me. Unfortunately, as we were waiting for the shuttle bus to leave, child #1 prevailed on him to hoist her over his head for a seat on his shoulders. Poor guy really strained something in his neck and he's not too mobile this morning as a result. So Zorba's probably going to be taking a rest when we go back today.
Anyway, we're all definitely enjoying our time this weekend hanging out with Papou and Yiayia. Looking forward to heading back today and getting our Greek on.
So last night we went, along with the girls' best buddy Lily from down the street and her mom Rachel. Rachel, being the game lass that she is, had a glass of retsina. I always warn people that it's an acquired taste, but she didn't hate it at all--though I'll say that the pine flavor on the bottle we had was pretty darn mild. (Side note: the linked article claims that the Greeks "pined up" their wine to protect it from the pillaging Romans--the version I heard substitutes marauding Turks.)
For those of you reading who are in the Cleveland Heights area who are looking for something to do this weekend, you should absolutely go. It's a great time. There are cooking and dancing demos, booths selling all kinds of stuff, a band, bounce-houses for the kids. But by far the main attraction is the food and it is fabulous. Last night we did the outside tent thing--meatballs, gyros, fried calamari, smelts, fries. Today we'll probably try to eat inside and sample more dinner-like fare. If you go, be sure to head inside the church and wander downstairs to hit my favorite spot, the pastry area: baklava, kataifi, koulourakia, and the girls' favorite are available in abundance.
One of the things I really like about this festival is how relatively well-organized it is. They enlist the help of the kids at Heights High to work alongside the church folks, and when you go you're likely to see smiling teens serving your food or clearing your table, sporting uniform tees: soccer, football, cheerleading, what have you. No getting around the fact that if you go and try to eat at peak times it's going to be pretty crowded and you're going to wait in line for a while, but given the very large number of people who attend every year it's really run very well. Be patient; it's worth the wait.
As we were wandering out of the building last night with our loukoumades, Rachel and I saw the spousal unit out in the middle of the dancing area with all three of the girls, channeling his inner Zorba. Very adorable--I wished I'd had the camera with me. Unfortunately, as we were waiting for the shuttle bus to leave, child #1 prevailed on him to hoist her over his head for a seat on his shoulders. Poor guy really strained something in his neck and he's not too mobile this morning as a result. So Zorba's probably going to be taking a rest when we go back today.
Anyway, we're all definitely enjoying our time this weekend hanging out with Papou and Yiayia. Looking forward to heading back today and getting our Greek on.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
On Diversity
Maureen Dowd--a columnist I frequently *don't* read despite her excellent writing, because in my opinion she's a glorified gossip--had a really good essay this morning. It was the second online piece I've read this week that got me started thinking about my college days and how things have definitely changed; the first one was this NPR blurb about the cost of college dorms, which had me reflecting with some amusement about the house where some friends of mine (hi, Mark and Ish!) lived. I seem to recall they patched holes in the wall using Crest, but I may be misremembering.
Anyway, I realize that we Old Fogies tend to think of today's youth as being coddled little hothouse flowers, and that our Old Fogie parents thought the same of us. And in fact, I know a number of people who went off to the same colleges as their high school friends and made arrangements to room with them at college. So this isn't entirely a new thing, of course. And there is something to be said for making sure in advance that if you're an asthmatic who has to work two jobs, you're not paired up with a chainsmoker who parties every night until 2 a.m.
Still, though, I have to agree with MoDo on this one. Being forced to mix it up with people you wouldn't choose on your own really is good for you. The girl who was my roommate my first three semesters of college is someone with whom I never in a million years would have been matched in any Facebook service. Me: Overly boisterous cheerleader from the middle of a wheatfield in Kansas, optimist, person whose study habits could best be described as Whatever Is Required To Get Your Assignments Done At The Last Minute. She: NYC-raised daughter of Korean immigrant parents, quiet, someone who I'm convinced studied 6 hours a day because she actually found it enjoyable. What's more, she had an extremely rough Freshman year. Her mother had committed suicide the previous spring, right before her high school graduation; shortly before Spring Break of our Freshman year, her father followed suit. But as unlikely a pair as we were, we got along very well. Well enough, in fact, to room together voluntarily for a semester the following year before she'd finally had enough of rowdy dorm life and transferred to different housing (and, eventually, to a campus closer to her home, which I think she needed). She wasn't my best friend at college, but we were definitely friends and we gained a lot from living together.
There's no question, I think, that I became a better person from being thrown into a cinderblock dormitory (a masterpiece of Neo-Stalinist architecture) and compelled to interact with a bunch of people from wildly diverse backgrounds--many of whom I would not necessarily have chosen as friends and roommates if left entirely to my own devices as an 18-year-old. Kids should have to spend at least a few years of their lives being forced to deal with people who are very unlike themselves, and who in fact sometimes are unpleasant and incompatible. I like to think that one of my better people skills is the ability to see things from perspectives other than my own, and the fact that while I certainly am opinionated I'm not especially judgmental. These are handy traits to have in general, and are actually pretty critical when one does criminal defense. Those traits were developed in part during my time at Oberlin.
And Dowd's point about a narcissistic and micro-targeted society in general is great. In fact, that's one of the things I'm convinced has completely ossified our political process. We as a population live in far more politically homogeneous communities than we did 20 or 30 years ago (full disclosure: this is very true of my own community, which is lovely and pretty uniformly liberal, and admittedly that's one of the things I like about it). I don't think that's entirely the reason that the past decade or so has seen the election of wild partisans who are less interested in getting anything accomplished than they are in base-pandering, but it has to be a contributing factor. Side note: One would think that it might occur to them that their chances of getting re-elected might improve if they, you know, actually accomplished stuff, but apparently not so much.
But in any event, all this does worry me a bit about when my girls go off to school. Will college be easier for them if they get to live with people whose backgrounds, study habits, housekeeping tendencies, and political/social viewpoints are exactly like theirs? Without question, just as it will be easier for them if their parents fork over for a dorm that has jacuzzis and a heated pool. So what? Whoever said it was supposed to be easy?
Anyway, I realize that we Old Fogies tend to think of today's youth as being coddled little hothouse flowers, and that our Old Fogie parents thought the same of us. And in fact, I know a number of people who went off to the same colleges as their high school friends and made arrangements to room with them at college. So this isn't entirely a new thing, of course. And there is something to be said for making sure in advance that if you're an asthmatic who has to work two jobs, you're not paired up with a chainsmoker who parties every night until 2 a.m.
Still, though, I have to agree with MoDo on this one. Being forced to mix it up with people you wouldn't choose on your own really is good for you. The girl who was my roommate my first three semesters of college is someone with whom I never in a million years would have been matched in any Facebook service. Me: Overly boisterous cheerleader from the middle of a wheatfield in Kansas, optimist, person whose study habits could best be described as Whatever Is Required To Get Your Assignments Done At The Last Minute. She: NYC-raised daughter of Korean immigrant parents, quiet, someone who I'm convinced studied 6 hours a day because she actually found it enjoyable. What's more, she had an extremely rough Freshman year. Her mother had committed suicide the previous spring, right before her high school graduation; shortly before Spring Break of our Freshman year, her father followed suit. But as unlikely a pair as we were, we got along very well. Well enough, in fact, to room together voluntarily for a semester the following year before she'd finally had enough of rowdy dorm life and transferred to different housing (and, eventually, to a campus closer to her home, which I think she needed). She wasn't my best friend at college, but we were definitely friends and we gained a lot from living together.
There's no question, I think, that I became a better person from being thrown into a cinderblock dormitory (a masterpiece of Neo-Stalinist architecture) and compelled to interact with a bunch of people from wildly diverse backgrounds--many of whom I would not necessarily have chosen as friends and roommates if left entirely to my own devices as an 18-year-old. Kids should have to spend at least a few years of their lives being forced to deal with people who are very unlike themselves, and who in fact sometimes are unpleasant and incompatible. I like to think that one of my better people skills is the ability to see things from perspectives other than my own, and the fact that while I certainly am opinionated I'm not especially judgmental. These are handy traits to have in general, and are actually pretty critical when one does criminal defense. Those traits were developed in part during my time at Oberlin.
And Dowd's point about a narcissistic and micro-targeted society in general is great. In fact, that's one of the things I'm convinced has completely ossified our political process. We as a population live in far more politically homogeneous communities than we did 20 or 30 years ago (full disclosure: this is very true of my own community, which is lovely and pretty uniformly liberal, and admittedly that's one of the things I like about it). I don't think that's entirely the reason that the past decade or so has seen the election of wild partisans who are less interested in getting anything accomplished than they are in base-pandering, but it has to be a contributing factor. Side note: One would think that it might occur to them that their chances of getting re-elected might improve if they, you know, actually accomplished stuff, but apparently not so much.
But in any event, all this does worry me a bit about when my girls go off to school. Will college be easier for them if they get to live with people whose backgrounds, study habits, housekeeping tendencies, and political/social viewpoints are exactly like theirs? Without question, just as it will be easier for them if their parents fork over for a dorm that has jacuzzis and a heated pool. So what? Whoever said it was supposed to be easy?
Sunday, August 8, 2010
The Most Wonderful Time...
So, I have very much enjoyed this summer. The girls had some great camps and I got a few good court results, plus of course I finally got to go on my honeymoon which was fantastic. All that said, I really like back to school time. The girls are of course not looking forward to homework, but I think they enjoy school also. Abra certainly does like the whole social aspect of it, and they're both good students who generally really like their teachers, at least so far. So this is helpful.
But one thing which is looming large is TIME. This is especially an issue with #1. God bless her, but she is the world champion dawdler. She is in a hurry to do exactly NOTHING, and has always been that way. She was an early talker (raise your hand if you're surprised), but with most of everything else she took her sweet time. Still does. The upside of this aspect of her personality is that she's generally pretty inflappable, and quite unlike her mother is not prone to the Big Freakout. She's pretty easygoing, and difficult to fluster or frustrate. This is all good.
Nonetheless, there are still certain things you have to learn to do and do ON TIME, and on your own. Over the summer, Dad and I have become frustrated by the fact that if you don't direct them to do their morning/evening chores, they won't do them. "Did you feed the fish?" "You didn't tell us to feed the fish!" "YOU HAVE TO FEED THE FISH EVERY &$!*ING NIGHT OF YOUR LIFE, WHY WOULD TONIGHT BE ANY DIFFERENT???" Grrr. I know that by the time we were the girls' age, and even before, my brother and I would get ourselves ready for bed and get into bed in a timely manner without being reminded, and we got ourselves up and ready for school without much nagging, either. So we've set up a Chore Chart. The idea is that the girls are supposed to pay attention to what time it is in the morning and after dinner, and are supposed to do their morning/evening tasks by a certain time. They earn checkmarks or X's based on performance, with negative consequences for X's and a weekly "Special Surprise!" for a full week of all checkmarks. Abra has yet to earn a Special Surprise, but we haven't been doing it very long (and had a couple weeks' haitus during vacation time). Back in the saddle again starting tomorrow. The hope is that by the time school starts in three weeks, they're doing things on their own. We'll see. Wish us luck.
But one thing which is looming large is TIME. This is especially an issue with #1. God bless her, but she is the world champion dawdler. She is in a hurry to do exactly NOTHING, and has always been that way. She was an early talker (raise your hand if you're surprised), but with most of everything else she took her sweet time. Still does. The upside of this aspect of her personality is that she's generally pretty inflappable, and quite unlike her mother is not prone to the Big Freakout. She's pretty easygoing, and difficult to fluster or frustrate. This is all good.
Nonetheless, there are still certain things you have to learn to do and do ON TIME, and on your own. Over the summer, Dad and I have become frustrated by the fact that if you don't direct them to do their morning/evening chores, they won't do them. "Did you feed the fish?" "You didn't tell us to feed the fish!" "YOU HAVE TO FEED THE FISH EVERY &$!*ING NIGHT OF YOUR LIFE, WHY WOULD TONIGHT BE ANY DIFFERENT???" Grrr. I know that by the time we were the girls' age, and even before, my brother and I would get ourselves ready for bed and get into bed in a timely manner without being reminded, and we got ourselves up and ready for school without much nagging, either. So we've set up a Chore Chart. The idea is that the girls are supposed to pay attention to what time it is in the morning and after dinner, and are supposed to do their morning/evening tasks by a certain time. They earn checkmarks or X's based on performance, with negative consequences for X's and a weekly "Special Surprise!" for a full week of all checkmarks. Abra has yet to earn a Special Surprise, but we haven't been doing it very long (and had a couple weeks' haitus during vacation time). Back in the saddle again starting tomorrow. The hope is that by the time school starts in three weeks, they're doing things on their own. We'll see. Wish us luck.
Helpful Instruction
So while we were back in Janesville last weekend, Abra visited her buddy since birth (almost literally--they were infants together at their day care), Abbey. Besides a sleepover they went to a friend's farm and played with the animals, where Abra received tutoring in the proper method of picking up a cat--something you'd think she'd know living with four of them.
So this morning, she was giving Thalia and Dad some pointers, using Pearl as her demo model.
"Step One. Gain their trust."
BWWAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
Apparently there is no Step Two.
So this morning, she was giving Thalia and Dad some pointers, using Pearl as her demo model.
"Step One. Gain their trust."
BWWAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
Apparently there is no Step Two.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Friend-iquette
In the past few days on Facebook, I've had invitations or "Like Suggestions" from a few friends for a site that purports to let you run a program and see who's blocked you, or "de-friended" (or is it "un-friended?" I still can't bring myself to get behind the concept of "friend" as a verb) you. At first I thought, Oh, this looks interesting, and I started to go for it. But then I stopped. First of all, it was an awfully long script and it made me nervous. But then I thought about it, and thought, I don't actually want to know that information. If someone's un-friended me, that's their business, right?
I've only ever removed one person from my friends list, myself. And actually it wasn't anything personal. But I think this person's computer got hacked or something, because I was getting near-constant chat messages from him challenging me to take this or that quiz (and he'd pay me varying amounts of money if I could beat his high score), or encouraging me to visit this "sweet" web offer where he got his girlfriend a computer, or some other such nonsense. This was someone who posted almost nothing on his Facebook, and I didn't truthfully know him well at all to begin with. So rather than track down his email and send him a personal communication about the Russian/Indonesian/Nigerian/whatever company that had hacked his computer and was spamming his Facebook, I just took him off my friends list. But if this guy ever uses that program, assuming it even works, and looks up who blocked him, he's going to see me. And wonder what he did to hack me off--or, just conclude (as a number of people have over the years, I'm sure) that I'm just a bitch. Which bothers me a little bit, but frankly not nearly as much as the Facebook Spam did.
And I haven't de-friended/un-friended anyone for political views, either. I have quite a few FB friends whose political views I don't share (the vast majority date from my elementary/high school years in bright red Kansas). I respect the fact that a number of them have views diametrically opposed to mine--well, except for that Fred Phelps thing. We're all unanimous on that one, I think. But other than that loathsome excuse for a carbon-based life form, there are plenty of other things about which we actively disagree. Posting some right-wing silliness isn't going to get you taken off my FB friends list (though it will get an eye roll and will likely get your posts hidden for a couple of days). But, that's fine, that shouldn't really bother anyone. The only time I came close to de-friending anyone for a FB post was when that thing was going around a couple months back about people praying for Obama to die. Did. Not. Like. Aside from the fact that I mostly dig the guy, in light of this country's nasty history of political assassinations of black leaders and left-of-center politicians, that was just not cool. But still, I didn't pull the plug because...well, let's face it. If I'd been on FB 4 years ago (was it even around then?) and something similar had gone around about Dick Cheney, I might have done the same thing. And even now would be sorely tempted if Antonin Scalia or Glenn Beck were substituted for Obama. Let you who is without sin cast the first stone, as the quote goes. So, I just hid those instead.
That's not to say I wouldn't ever do it, as the Spam incident illustrates. Status updates, comments, or re-posts/sharing of articles which are racist or homophobic, would get you knocked off. And of course personal attacks, that goes without saying. But really, other than that I'm OK. Just because I'm not myself going to Click Like If I Love My Daughter, or Re-post If I Love Jesus/America/My Husband, totally does not mean it bothers me that you post that stuff if in fact you do. It's 100% cool by me. And if you want to share the latest Ross Douthat column or a YouTube clip of Rush Limbaugh (that corpulent slug), go ahead and God bless, although I'll hide your posts for a bit until it's scrolled off my page. And if you've removed me from your friends list, I don't really need to know about it.
But really, don't spam me.
I've only ever removed one person from my friends list, myself. And actually it wasn't anything personal. But I think this person's computer got hacked or something, because I was getting near-constant chat messages from him challenging me to take this or that quiz (and he'd pay me varying amounts of money if I could beat his high score), or encouraging me to visit this "sweet" web offer where he got his girlfriend a computer, or some other such nonsense. This was someone who posted almost nothing on his Facebook, and I didn't truthfully know him well at all to begin with. So rather than track down his email and send him a personal communication about the Russian/Indonesian/Nigerian/whatever company that had hacked his computer and was spamming his Facebook, I just took him off my friends list. But if this guy ever uses that program, assuming it even works, and looks up who blocked him, he's going to see me. And wonder what he did to hack me off--or, just conclude (as a number of people have over the years, I'm sure) that I'm just a bitch. Which bothers me a little bit, but frankly not nearly as much as the Facebook Spam did.
And I haven't de-friended/un-friended anyone for political views, either. I have quite a few FB friends whose political views I don't share (the vast majority date from my elementary/high school years in bright red Kansas). I respect the fact that a number of them have views diametrically opposed to mine--well, except for that Fred Phelps thing. We're all unanimous on that one, I think. But other than that loathsome excuse for a carbon-based life form, there are plenty of other things about which we actively disagree. Posting some right-wing silliness isn't going to get you taken off my FB friends list (though it will get an eye roll and will likely get your posts hidden for a couple of days). But, that's fine, that shouldn't really bother anyone. The only time I came close to de-friending anyone for a FB post was when that thing was going around a couple months back about people praying for Obama to die. Did. Not. Like. Aside from the fact that I mostly dig the guy, in light of this country's nasty history of political assassinations of black leaders and left-of-center politicians, that was just not cool. But still, I didn't pull the plug because...well, let's face it. If I'd been on FB 4 years ago (was it even around then?) and something similar had gone around about Dick Cheney, I might have done the same thing. And even now would be sorely tempted if Antonin Scalia or Glenn Beck were substituted for Obama. Let you who is without sin cast the first stone, as the quote goes. So, I just hid those instead.
That's not to say I wouldn't ever do it, as the Spam incident illustrates. Status updates, comments, or re-posts/sharing of articles which are racist or homophobic, would get you knocked off. And of course personal attacks, that goes without saying. But really, other than that I'm OK. Just because I'm not myself going to Click Like If I Love My Daughter, or Re-post If I Love Jesus/America/My Husband, totally does not mean it bothers me that you post that stuff if in fact you do. It's 100% cool by me. And if you want to share the latest Ross Douthat column or a YouTube clip of Rush Limbaugh (that corpulent slug), go ahead and God bless, although I'll hide your posts for a bit until it's scrolled off my page. And if you've removed me from your friends list, I don't really need to know about it.
But really, don't spam me.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
And Now for Something Completely Different
(Because I should probably get off sports for a little while...) As summer is now in full swing, I've thinking about my kids, as parents of course often do. And I was reflecting back on my own childhood summers, how I remember--accurately or otherwise--spending them, and contrasting them with my children's summers.
I should start by saying that our neighborhood in Cleveland Heights is a pretty safe (despite the string of burglaries on our street last week), reasonably quiet, and very beautiful place to live. No place is completely safe, of course, but I don't worry living here. That said, it's a LOT more urban than where I grew up. It's admittedly difficult not to be more urban than Nickerson, Kansas--population 1200. It sounds impressive to say that when I was 9 I was riding my bicycle all the way across town, except that that can be accomplished in about 15 minutes. Less if you're racing your friends.
My brother and I, when we were Abra and Thalia's age, were unquestionably fending for ourselves quite a bit more than Abra and Thalia do. That's no doubt a function of a lot of different factors. One is the different settings. When we were their age, Mom would often give Rob and me some cash and a grocery list and have us walk to the store. We didn't live any closer to the IGA than our family does now to our nearest grocery store. But if we'd grown up here in Cleveland Heights instead of Nickerson, I don't know that Mom would have sent us on that errand that young, simply because the streets bordering Zagara's are way busier than anything to be found in Nickerson. There's no way I'd send A and T right now, unsupervised, to Z's to do the grocery shopping. If I did, somebody would probably call the police.
Besides the differences between inner-ring suburban Cleveland and Nickerson, Kansas, there was also the fact that I grew up in a single parent household--a function of my mother's widowhood at a very young age. Particularly during the school year, Mom had to work a lot of long hours, so it made sense under the circumstances to get the kids to where they could take as much care of themselves as reasonably possible, as quickly as reasonably possible. Frankly, had I not married Chris a few years ago, I'm sure I'd have been working harder in that direction than I find myself doing.
But even those factors aside, it just seems to me that the minimum socially acceptable level of adult supervision of children has shot up considerably since the time that I was a kid. Parents are convinced that the world is an impossibly dangerous and complex place, and that their children will never be able to navigate it on their own. So it is the parents' responsibility to ensure their children's complete safety, at all times, and give constant praise and encouragement for everything they do, to provide them with never-ending intellectual stimulation. It's kind of exhausting.
This summer in particular, Chris and I have been doing a bit of wrestling with how much to be having them do. On the responsibility side of the ledger, it seems clear to me that the girls could manage a few more regular chores around the house. In fact, this weekend, one of their weekly duties became cleaning the bathroom sinks and toilets. The inspiration for this is that recently we seem to be having a rather consistent backslide in remembering to, um, flush. They actually were kind of excited about it yesterday during the training session, arguing about who got to do what. But it wasn't really intended as a punishment, more a reminder that remembering to flush makes that job a lot easier and less gross. And I've also been letting them help me out a bit more in the kitchen, because I figure it's not too early for Abra in particular to start learning how to do some simple food preparation. But it also seems fair and rational that, along with the increased responsibility of becoming older and better able to contribute to your own care and upkeep, comes increased freedom to do fun things on your own without your parents hovering over you. So we've been working to teach them bicycle safety, how to ride safely in the streets versus when you really need to be up on the sidewalks, that type of thing. This is with an eye toward letting them ride their bikes unaccompanied around the neighborhood, down to the library or the playground. But other than up and down our street, they haven't gone anywhere alone yet.
All of this brings me around to the sometimes conflicting nature of our two main jobs as parents. The first is to try to keep our kids safe and out of danger as much as possible. The second is to train them to be self-reliant adults who are responsible members of society and, hopefully, good people in the bargain. On the whole I think we as a society do a great job of carrying out the first responsibility. We're so afraid of something awful happening to our kids that we make everything safe for them and constantly watch over them, far more than when I was growing up. Mind you, I don't advocate a return to the safety standards of 1972. Car seats? Pfft, most of the time we didn't even wear seat belts as we hurtled down the highway. And neither I nor any of my friends even owned a bike helmet, while Abra and Thalia basically aren't allowed to get on their bikes if they're not wearing a brain bucket.
But on some level, the more you protect and shield your children from dangers and potentially disastrous consequences of what they do, the harder time they have learning how to navigate those dangers and learn that their actions have consequences as they get older. Eventually, no matter how hard you try to prevent it, bad crappy stuff is going to happen to your kids, because bad crappy stuff happens to people in life. Part of getting along in life is learning for yourself how to avoid the avoidable bad stuff, and how to cope when bad stuff happens despite your best efforts.
So, we sort of plug along, wrestling a bit every now and then with what new levels of freedom we think they can handle and what new responsibilities we think they should shoulder. We, or at least I, worry along the way that we're not always making the right call. But we do our best and hope for the best, which is kind of what parenting is anyway.
I should start by saying that our neighborhood in Cleveland Heights is a pretty safe (despite the string of burglaries on our street last week), reasonably quiet, and very beautiful place to live. No place is completely safe, of course, but I don't worry living here. That said, it's a LOT more urban than where I grew up. It's admittedly difficult not to be more urban than Nickerson, Kansas--population 1200. It sounds impressive to say that when I was 9 I was riding my bicycle all the way across town, except that that can be accomplished in about 15 minutes. Less if you're racing your friends.
My brother and I, when we were Abra and Thalia's age, were unquestionably fending for ourselves quite a bit more than Abra and Thalia do. That's no doubt a function of a lot of different factors. One is the different settings. When we were their age, Mom would often give Rob and me some cash and a grocery list and have us walk to the store. We didn't live any closer to the IGA than our family does now to our nearest grocery store. But if we'd grown up here in Cleveland Heights instead of Nickerson, I don't know that Mom would have sent us on that errand that young, simply because the streets bordering Zagara's are way busier than anything to be found in Nickerson. There's no way I'd send A and T right now, unsupervised, to Z's to do the grocery shopping. If I did, somebody would probably call the police.
Besides the differences between inner-ring suburban Cleveland and Nickerson, Kansas, there was also the fact that I grew up in a single parent household--a function of my mother's widowhood at a very young age. Particularly during the school year, Mom had to work a lot of long hours, so it made sense under the circumstances to get the kids to where they could take as much care of themselves as reasonably possible, as quickly as reasonably possible. Frankly, had I not married Chris a few years ago, I'm sure I'd have been working harder in that direction than I find myself doing.
But even those factors aside, it just seems to me that the minimum socially acceptable level of adult supervision of children has shot up considerably since the time that I was a kid. Parents are convinced that the world is an impossibly dangerous and complex place, and that their children will never be able to navigate it on their own. So it is the parents' responsibility to ensure their children's complete safety, at all times, and give constant praise and encouragement for everything they do, to provide them with never-ending intellectual stimulation. It's kind of exhausting.
This summer in particular, Chris and I have been doing a bit of wrestling with how much to be having them do. On the responsibility side of the ledger, it seems clear to me that the girls could manage a few more regular chores around the house. In fact, this weekend, one of their weekly duties became cleaning the bathroom sinks and toilets. The inspiration for this is that recently we seem to be having a rather consistent backslide in remembering to, um, flush. They actually were kind of excited about it yesterday during the training session, arguing about who got to do what. But it wasn't really intended as a punishment, more a reminder that remembering to flush makes that job a lot easier and less gross. And I've also been letting them help me out a bit more in the kitchen, because I figure it's not too early for Abra in particular to start learning how to do some simple food preparation. But it also seems fair and rational that, along with the increased responsibility of becoming older and better able to contribute to your own care and upkeep, comes increased freedom to do fun things on your own without your parents hovering over you. So we've been working to teach them bicycle safety, how to ride safely in the streets versus when you really need to be up on the sidewalks, that type of thing. This is with an eye toward letting them ride their bikes unaccompanied around the neighborhood, down to the library or the playground. But other than up and down our street, they haven't gone anywhere alone yet.
All of this brings me around to the sometimes conflicting nature of our two main jobs as parents. The first is to try to keep our kids safe and out of danger as much as possible. The second is to train them to be self-reliant adults who are responsible members of society and, hopefully, good people in the bargain. On the whole I think we as a society do a great job of carrying out the first responsibility. We're so afraid of something awful happening to our kids that we make everything safe for them and constantly watch over them, far more than when I was growing up. Mind you, I don't advocate a return to the safety standards of 1972. Car seats? Pfft, most of the time we didn't even wear seat belts as we hurtled down the highway. And neither I nor any of my friends even owned a bike helmet, while Abra and Thalia basically aren't allowed to get on their bikes if they're not wearing a brain bucket.
But on some level, the more you protect and shield your children from dangers and potentially disastrous consequences of what they do, the harder time they have learning how to navigate those dangers and learn that their actions have consequences as they get older. Eventually, no matter how hard you try to prevent it, bad crappy stuff is going to happen to your kids, because bad crappy stuff happens to people in life. Part of getting along in life is learning for yourself how to avoid the avoidable bad stuff, and how to cope when bad stuff happens despite your best efforts.
So, we sort of plug along, wrestling a bit every now and then with what new levels of freedom we think they can handle and what new responsibilities we think they should shoulder. We, or at least I, worry along the way that we're not always making the right call. But we do our best and hope for the best, which is kind of what parenting is anyway.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Jesus to Judas in the Blink of an Eye
Cleveland, like some other cities with pro sports teams, has its arenas in relatively close proximity to each other. Browns stadium sits right downtown on the shore of Lake Erie. About a half-mile up Ontario Street from Browns Stadium sits Jacobs--er, I mean, Progressive Field, where the Indians allegedly play Major League baseball. And practically butting up against the outfield is Quicken Loans Arena, a.k.a. The Q, home of the Cavaliers. Directly across the street from The Q and The Jake sits a large, urban downtown building that since I've moved here has had a giant picture covering its side. It's a 3- or 4-story tall picture of LeBron James. His eyes are closed and his head reared back, facing skyward. His arms are outstretched, showing off his wingspan. I've always told out of towners that it's not by accident that they made him look like Jesus.
Obviously if the owners of that building want to avoid possible arson, they're now in the process of removing that picture. As everyone not living in a Tibetan cave now knows, LeBron James is no longer a Cleveland Cavalier. And to say that people here are angry doesn't begin to cover it. I just can't help thinking that he handled this whole thing unbelievably badly. One could say that in the space of 11 seconds, the time it actually took him after all the hype to announce his decision, he went in most places not Miami from being one of the NBA's favorite players to the guy you most love to hate. And in his home town, he went from Jesus to Judas almost instantly.
Except that at least here, it really wasn't instant. It started in the playoffs, frankly. LeBron looked, by his outsized standards, bad. He looked vulnerable late in the series against the Bulls. For the most part the Celtics took his (and everybody else's) lunch money. He looked outclassed and overmatched. And particularly in the critical Game 5, it really looked to everyone watching like the guy just quit. To this day, nobody really knows why, though of course the locals' favorite rumor is that it was because he found out before that game that teammate Delonte West had sex with his (LeBron's) mother. But for whatever reason, the superstar choked. And when your superstar chokes, the rest of the team loses its way--or, the rest of this team did anyway. The championship we were finally supposed to win, the one that has eluded the city since 1965 (the year after the Browns won), evaporated in front of us. And a lot of people grumbled that it was in no small part LeBron's fault.
And then everything really went down the crapper. He did that weird interview with Larry King during the NBA finals, which even a lot of local LeBron lovers felt was a pretty bush league, transparent attempt to turn the spotlight from Kobe back onto himself, since he wasn't going to get the chance to do it on the court where it should have happened. And once the finals were over, the three-ring circus started in earnest. There was the ridiculous business with Tom Izzo, whose phone calls LeBron wouldn't even return when he was trying to decide whether to take the Cavs' coaching job. And then, good Lord, July 1 hit and free agency became official. He summoned all the teams in the running to his lair to kiss his ring, and the streets lined with diehard Cleveland fans begging their superstar to stay as he surely knew they would. The fans did this even though they also knew he was playing all these teams--they just hoped hard that the teams he was playing were the Knicks, Nets, Clippers, Bulls, and Heat.
Then the cherry on top of the bull___t sundae was that ridiculous, overhyped, fake-drama ESPN special. When it was first announced, most people around here thought the same thing that people everywhere else thought: A one-hour special? Really? What the hell are you going to do for an hour? But then, that made nervous Cleveland fans take heart. He's the home town boy. He KNOWS what he means to this place and how bad it will be if he goes. The only reason to do this is to add some admittedly unnecessary drama to his decision to stay right here and win us some championships. He cannot possibly be setting up a whole one-hour special to give the finger to the place that loves him more than any other place possibly could, with a desperation unknown anywhere else. Obviously, the fans were wrong. And beyond that, it's become clear that before the special started, he didn't let teams where he wasn't going know his decision. They got to find out on national TV along with all of his fans. This hurt Cleveland in particular, because with their bloated payroll they weren't in a position to start looking around for other people until after they knew what LeBron was doing. But, that wasn't important to LeBron. And the resulting vitriol around here is jaw-dropping.
Owner Dan Gilbert posted a well publicized open letter to the fans calling out his former superstar in no uncertain terms. Local sports radio this morning has an anger on the air that is unbelievable. It's tempting to say that it approaches what I remember hearing on the air after 9/11; this of course isn't 9/11 and I don't want to draw a potentially offensive comparison, but in terms of the on-air reaction right now anyway, the fierce and fearsome anger does almost approach it.
A refrain I'm hearing a lot is, "I'm not mad he's leaving, I'm mad about the way he did it." It's patently absurd for Cavs Fan/Local Sports Announcer to say that you're not mad he's leaving--of course you are. You'd be angry and disappointed that he's leaving even if he'd handled himself in a more circumspect, mature, businesslike fashion, just as you'd forgive this dog and pony show he put on if at the end of it he'd decided to stay. But the fact is that the dog and pony show has added a layer of serious, kind of frightening hatred to it, that honestly might not be there if he'd just behaved better. I said before that if he was going to break up with the city, he should do it quickly and not string everybody along. We now feel not only like he broke up with us, but did it at the prom in front of the entire school and then laughed at us. So now, we hate him and I think it's permanent.
It will be sort of interesting to see how this plays out. He undoubtedly has a better chance of winning a championship, or several, now. He did have a strong supporting cast here--a cast that owner Dan Gilbert spent hand over fist trying to assemble to his specifications, leaving the team with its aforementioned bloated payroll. But Mo Williams and Antawn Jamison are indisputably not Dwayne Wade and Chris Bosh. And maybe he can make The Heat into His Team--but I doubt it. It's Dwayne Wade's team. His numbers aren't going to be what they were here, and assuming he does win some rings it's going to be because he ran to where the other superstars were. As I said before: Have fun being D-Wade's little brother, the guy whose total number of rings will always be Wade's Minus One. And have fun being the most hated guy in the history of the hometown you supposedly love and understand. You can't come back here. You can't bring your family back here. You can't.
A fond little video goodbye to close out what should for my sanity be my last sports rant for a little while.
Obviously if the owners of that building want to avoid possible arson, they're now in the process of removing that picture. As everyone not living in a Tibetan cave now knows, LeBron James is no longer a Cleveland Cavalier. And to say that people here are angry doesn't begin to cover it. I just can't help thinking that he handled this whole thing unbelievably badly. One could say that in the space of 11 seconds, the time it actually took him after all the hype to announce his decision, he went in most places not Miami from being one of the NBA's favorite players to the guy you most love to hate. And in his home town, he went from Jesus to Judas almost instantly.
Except that at least here, it really wasn't instant. It started in the playoffs, frankly. LeBron looked, by his outsized standards, bad. He looked vulnerable late in the series against the Bulls. For the most part the Celtics took his (and everybody else's) lunch money. He looked outclassed and overmatched. And particularly in the critical Game 5, it really looked to everyone watching like the guy just quit. To this day, nobody really knows why, though of course the locals' favorite rumor is that it was because he found out before that game that teammate Delonte West had sex with his (LeBron's) mother. But for whatever reason, the superstar choked. And when your superstar chokes, the rest of the team loses its way--or, the rest of this team did anyway. The championship we were finally supposed to win, the one that has eluded the city since 1965 (the year after the Browns won), evaporated in front of us. And a lot of people grumbled that it was in no small part LeBron's fault.
And then everything really went down the crapper. He did that weird interview with Larry King during the NBA finals, which even a lot of local LeBron lovers felt was a pretty bush league, transparent attempt to turn the spotlight from Kobe back onto himself, since he wasn't going to get the chance to do it on the court where it should have happened. And once the finals were over, the three-ring circus started in earnest. There was the ridiculous business with Tom Izzo, whose phone calls LeBron wouldn't even return when he was trying to decide whether to take the Cavs' coaching job. And then, good Lord, July 1 hit and free agency became official. He summoned all the teams in the running to his lair to kiss his ring, and the streets lined with diehard Cleveland fans begging their superstar to stay as he surely knew they would. The fans did this even though they also knew he was playing all these teams--they just hoped hard that the teams he was playing were the Knicks, Nets, Clippers, Bulls, and Heat.
Then the cherry on top of the bull___t sundae was that ridiculous, overhyped, fake-drama ESPN special. When it was first announced, most people around here thought the same thing that people everywhere else thought: A one-hour special? Really? What the hell are you going to do for an hour? But then, that made nervous Cleveland fans take heart. He's the home town boy. He KNOWS what he means to this place and how bad it will be if he goes. The only reason to do this is to add some admittedly unnecessary drama to his decision to stay right here and win us some championships. He cannot possibly be setting up a whole one-hour special to give the finger to the place that loves him more than any other place possibly could, with a desperation unknown anywhere else. Obviously, the fans were wrong. And beyond that, it's become clear that before the special started, he didn't let teams where he wasn't going know his decision. They got to find out on national TV along with all of his fans. This hurt Cleveland in particular, because with their bloated payroll they weren't in a position to start looking around for other people until after they knew what LeBron was doing. But, that wasn't important to LeBron. And the resulting vitriol around here is jaw-dropping.
Owner Dan Gilbert posted a well publicized open letter to the fans calling out his former superstar in no uncertain terms. Local sports radio this morning has an anger on the air that is unbelievable. It's tempting to say that it approaches what I remember hearing on the air after 9/11; this of course isn't 9/11 and I don't want to draw a potentially offensive comparison, but in terms of the on-air reaction right now anyway, the fierce and fearsome anger does almost approach it.
A refrain I'm hearing a lot is, "I'm not mad he's leaving, I'm mad about the way he did it." It's patently absurd for Cavs Fan/Local Sports Announcer to say that you're not mad he's leaving--of course you are. You'd be angry and disappointed that he's leaving even if he'd handled himself in a more circumspect, mature, businesslike fashion, just as you'd forgive this dog and pony show he put on if at the end of it he'd decided to stay. But the fact is that the dog and pony show has added a layer of serious, kind of frightening hatred to it, that honestly might not be there if he'd just behaved better. I said before that if he was going to break up with the city, he should do it quickly and not string everybody along. We now feel not only like he broke up with us, but did it at the prom in front of the entire school and then laughed at us. So now, we hate him and I think it's permanent.
It will be sort of interesting to see how this plays out. He undoubtedly has a better chance of winning a championship, or several, now. He did have a strong supporting cast here--a cast that owner Dan Gilbert spent hand over fist trying to assemble to his specifications, leaving the team with its aforementioned bloated payroll. But Mo Williams and Antawn Jamison are indisputably not Dwayne Wade and Chris Bosh. And maybe he can make The Heat into His Team--but I doubt it. It's Dwayne Wade's team. His numbers aren't going to be what they were here, and assuming he does win some rings it's going to be because he ran to where the other superstars were. As I said before: Have fun being D-Wade's little brother, the guy whose total number of rings will always be Wade's Minus One. And have fun being the most hated guy in the history of the hometown you supposedly love and understand. You can't come back here. You can't bring your family back here. You can't.
A fond little video goodbye to close out what should for my sanity be my last sports rant for a little while.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
The Long, Hot Summer of LeBron
So, if you follow the NBA and very possibly even if you don't, you undoubtedly know that this is the Very Most Amazing Free Agent Class In NBA History. Quite an impressive collection is about to go on the open market. Chris Bosch. Dwayne Wade. Paul Pierce. And, of course, the very biggest of the big names. The King. LBJ. LeBron James.
I was always a fair-weather follower of the NBA, until I moved to Cleveland. Love them or hate them, and I love them, the Cleveland Cavaliers are a hell of a lot of fun to watch. And, love him or hate him, the biggest reason why is LeBron James. He's unbelievable. Physically, he's absolutely a beast. He does stuff that's just not possible. He has spent the past 6 years being this most sports-beleaguered of all cities' Great White Hope, the promise of the championship that Cleveland is finally going to get. And this year was going to be the year they finally did it. Brought home a ring. It would have been perfect, too. He's the hometown boy. He's intensely loyal and he loves this place. And although the fans of every city with an NBA franchise want him, and promise to love him forever if he will just come there, nobody loves him with the desperation of Clevelanders.
And so, tomorrow, the period of free agency begins. In reality, it began as soon as the Cavaliers were unceremonious eliminated from the playoffs in the second round (!) by the didn't-think-they-still-had-it-in-'em Celtics. LeBron, shockingly, didn't play all that well by his standards, and essentially didn't show up at all in the pivotal Game 5. He looked like he did something we around here have almost never seen him do--choked. This year's loss was far more painful than the last three--last year and two years ago in the conference finals, three years ago in the championship finals, those were painful but there was definite hope there. Now, it seems, there's none.
A month and a half ago, most people assumed LeBron would be staying in Cleveland, even if they didn't bring home a championship to this starved city. Now, most people assume he's leaving, and though opinions vary as to where people think he'll go the betting favorite is division rival Chicago. Hard to say whether that would be good or not. Everybody was raving about what a great ensemble Cleveland had finally managed to put around LeBron this year, too, until they once again didn't win. I was having this discussion with a Chicago-based friend of mine not too long ago, who said that if he came to Chicago, LeBron would be Superman. Pffft. He's already Jesus here. Almost literally. The building across from the Q has a 3-story high picture of LeBron on the side, head pointed skyward and arms outstretched. I always say that it's not by accident that they made him look like Jesus. Superman would be a downgrade. Plus, let's face it--it's too soon after their amazing run. Unless LeBron wins 7 or 8 championships in Chicago, and he won't, he's never going to be Michael Jordan. Chicago fans may love him, and without a doubt they want him to go there, but he can't be Jordan in Chicago. He's got a healthy ego but on some level he has to know that.
I don't know what he should do, honestly. I hope he stays, but really, I can't take much more of The Summer Of LeBron. If he's going to break up, he should just do it quickly and not string us along. And the broken-hearted city with the massive inferiority complex can move along--and hope against hope that maybe the Browns won't suck this year.
I was always a fair-weather follower of the NBA, until I moved to Cleveland. Love them or hate them, and I love them, the Cleveland Cavaliers are a hell of a lot of fun to watch. And, love him or hate him, the biggest reason why is LeBron James. He's unbelievable. Physically, he's absolutely a beast. He does stuff that's just not possible. He has spent the past 6 years being this most sports-beleaguered of all cities' Great White Hope, the promise of the championship that Cleveland is finally going to get. And this year was going to be the year they finally did it. Brought home a ring. It would have been perfect, too. He's the hometown boy. He's intensely loyal and he loves this place. And although the fans of every city with an NBA franchise want him, and promise to love him forever if he will just come there, nobody loves him with the desperation of Clevelanders.
And so, tomorrow, the period of free agency begins. In reality, it began as soon as the Cavaliers were unceremonious eliminated from the playoffs in the second round (!) by the didn't-think-they-still-had-it-in-'em Celtics. LeBron, shockingly, didn't play all that well by his standards, and essentially didn't show up at all in the pivotal Game 5. He looked like he did something we around here have almost never seen him do--choked. This year's loss was far more painful than the last three--last year and two years ago in the conference finals, three years ago in the championship finals, those were painful but there was definite hope there. Now, it seems, there's none.
A month and a half ago, most people assumed LeBron would be staying in Cleveland, even if they didn't bring home a championship to this starved city. Now, most people assume he's leaving, and though opinions vary as to where people think he'll go the betting favorite is division rival Chicago. Hard to say whether that would be good or not. Everybody was raving about what a great ensemble Cleveland had finally managed to put around LeBron this year, too, until they once again didn't win. I was having this discussion with a Chicago-based friend of mine not too long ago, who said that if he came to Chicago, LeBron would be Superman. Pffft. He's already Jesus here. Almost literally. The building across from the Q has a 3-story high picture of LeBron on the side, head pointed skyward and arms outstretched. I always say that it's not by accident that they made him look like Jesus. Superman would be a downgrade. Plus, let's face it--it's too soon after their amazing run. Unless LeBron wins 7 or 8 championships in Chicago, and he won't, he's never going to be Michael Jordan. Chicago fans may love him, and without a doubt they want him to go there, but he can't be Jordan in Chicago. He's got a healthy ego but on some level he has to know that.
I don't know what he should do, honestly. I hope he stays, but really, I can't take much more of The Summer Of LeBron. If he's going to break up, he should just do it quickly and not string us along. And the broken-hearted city with the massive inferiority complex can move along--and hope against hope that maybe the Browns won't suck this year.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
I Have Some Issues
Or, "Can I be a feminist and still like to listen to sports radio?"
This post started life as a long, penetrating dissertation on sports and gender relations in society. It worked in Tiger Woods, Ben Roethlisberger, Lawrence Taylor, Yeardley Love (the LaCrosse player allegedly murdered by her boyfriend), sports radio, and beer commercials. But, it was too much and kind of boring. Maybe I'll break it down into several different posts. Or, maybe I'll only get around to this one rant.
So I listen to a lot of sports radio. Really, it's not good for my brain but it's fun. I like listening to sports pundits better than I like listening to political ones. Sports Guys are frequently smart and well-informed, and even though they also frequently aren't, when they aren't then at least the silly gossip-mongering is relatively harmless.
I should make a few things clear from the outset. First, when I listen to sports radio, I'm not looking for lefty political correctness (in fact, sports fandom cuts so thoroughly across political lines that sports talk radio in general is studiously apolitical, because it has to be). I'm certainly not looking for a Take Back the Night rally or serious discussions of female empowerment. When I want those things, I know where to find them, and it's definitely not on ESPN, and I'm fine with that. Second, I'm not actually all that easily offended anymore. That's probably a function of my job. I've been a criminal lawyer for so many years and seen so many serious outrages against people (done both by and to my clients) that having some lawyer or judge call me "Sweetheart" barely even registers on the Slight Annoyance Meter anymore. Plus, it's still true that the legal field is majority male, if no longer overwhelmingly so. Being able to be "one of the guys" and put up with a certain amount of locker room talk has been pretty adaptive behavior in my line of work.
Lastly, I understand that I'm not the primary demographic for sports talk radio. If women, particularly women over 40, represent much more than 15 or 20% of the listening audience, I'd be pretty surprised. So, let's be conservative and estimate that 90% of the listening audience is male and the other 10% is female.
Still, it's also fair to assume (just extrapolating from the percentages of the general population and the demographics of this area) that somewhere in the neighborhood of one-third of the listening audience is non-white. And in the neighborhood of ten percent of the listening audience is (gasp!) gay. But it goes without saying that anyone in sports radio making any public comment that's even close to racially offensive would be instantly fired, or at least loudly reprimanded and forced to apologize publicly. And regardless of what individual personalities' attitudes might be about gay folks, homophobic remarks aren't considered OK anymore either. If some local sports team were to make a trade that the host considered bad or run a play that was boneheaded, it would not be OK for that host to describe it as "gay." And yet, gender-based insults are rampant in sports radio and I admit it's kind of starting to bug the crap out of me. The whole bit about insulting men by referring to them as women is starting to make me tired. It's not considered OK to call something "gay" as a pejorative term (and it should go without saying that I agree it isn't OK), but it's more than OK to insult guys by calling them girls.
Can we please be done with that? I'm kind of over that horseshit. I've heard that insult all my life. I don't want to get mad and fly in a huff over it and be the stereotypical feminist (Joke: How many feminists does it take to screw in a light bulb? Answer: THAT'S NOT FUNNY!!). But still, really, enough already. Maybe women aren't the majority of the listening audience, but some of us are listening. When you use my entire gender as the basis to insult someone, why does it never for one nanosecond occur to you that I might find that, well, insulting?
In the scheme of things I admit this is pretty minor. As I said, my much deeper and more far-reaching discussion of this petered out. But seriously, it is totally possible to discuss--ad nauseum, in fact--whether LeBron James is going to stay in Cleveland without behaving like a bunch of giggling fifth-grade boys insulting the girls. And some of the girls might want to listen, boys.
This post started life as a long, penetrating dissertation on sports and gender relations in society. It worked in Tiger Woods, Ben Roethlisberger, Lawrence Taylor, Yeardley Love (the LaCrosse player allegedly murdered by her boyfriend), sports radio, and beer commercials. But, it was too much and kind of boring. Maybe I'll break it down into several different posts. Or, maybe I'll only get around to this one rant.
So I listen to a lot of sports radio. Really, it's not good for my brain but it's fun. I like listening to sports pundits better than I like listening to political ones. Sports Guys are frequently smart and well-informed, and even though they also frequently aren't, when they aren't then at least the silly gossip-mongering is relatively harmless.
I should make a few things clear from the outset. First, when I listen to sports radio, I'm not looking for lefty political correctness (in fact, sports fandom cuts so thoroughly across political lines that sports talk radio in general is studiously apolitical, because it has to be). I'm certainly not looking for a Take Back the Night rally or serious discussions of female empowerment. When I want those things, I know where to find them, and it's definitely not on ESPN, and I'm fine with that. Second, I'm not actually all that easily offended anymore. That's probably a function of my job. I've been a criminal lawyer for so many years and seen so many serious outrages against people (done both by and to my clients) that having some lawyer or judge call me "Sweetheart" barely even registers on the Slight Annoyance Meter anymore. Plus, it's still true that the legal field is majority male, if no longer overwhelmingly so. Being able to be "one of the guys" and put up with a certain amount of locker room talk has been pretty adaptive behavior in my line of work.
Lastly, I understand that I'm not the primary demographic for sports talk radio. If women, particularly women over 40, represent much more than 15 or 20% of the listening audience, I'd be pretty surprised. So, let's be conservative and estimate that 90% of the listening audience is male and the other 10% is female.
Still, it's also fair to assume (just extrapolating from the percentages of the general population and the demographics of this area) that somewhere in the neighborhood of one-third of the listening audience is non-white. And in the neighborhood of ten percent of the listening audience is (gasp!) gay. But it goes without saying that anyone in sports radio making any public comment that's even close to racially offensive would be instantly fired, or at least loudly reprimanded and forced to apologize publicly. And regardless of what individual personalities' attitudes might be about gay folks, homophobic remarks aren't considered OK anymore either. If some local sports team were to make a trade that the host considered bad or run a play that was boneheaded, it would not be OK for that host to describe it as "gay." And yet, gender-based insults are rampant in sports radio and I admit it's kind of starting to bug the crap out of me. The whole bit about insulting men by referring to them as women is starting to make me tired. It's not considered OK to call something "gay" as a pejorative term (and it should go without saying that I agree it isn't OK), but it's more than OK to insult guys by calling them girls.
Can we please be done with that? I'm kind of over that horseshit. I've heard that insult all my life. I don't want to get mad and fly in a huff over it and be the stereotypical feminist (Joke: How many feminists does it take to screw in a light bulb? Answer: THAT'S NOT FUNNY!!). But still, really, enough already. Maybe women aren't the majority of the listening audience, but some of us are listening. When you use my entire gender as the basis to insult someone, why does it never for one nanosecond occur to you that I might find that, well, insulting?
In the scheme of things I admit this is pretty minor. As I said, my much deeper and more far-reaching discussion of this petered out. But seriously, it is totally possible to discuss--ad nauseum, in fact--whether LeBron James is going to stay in Cleveland without behaving like a bunch of giggling fifth-grade boys insulting the girls. And some of the girls might want to listen, boys.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Dialogue with Child #2
About 45 minutes ago, Thalia came downstairs, panicked and sobbing.
Thalia: Mom, I accidentally swallowed a dime!
Me: Oh, Honey, I'm sorry, does it hurt?
Thalia: Yes!
Me: Would a drink of water help?
Thalia: No, I just think I have to go to the doctor.
Me: Sweetie, you don't need to go to the doctor. Dimes aren't poisonous. You'll be OK, we'll just keep an eye on you to make sure you feel all right and then some time in the next few days you'll probably just poop it out.
Thalia: (sniffing, but perhaps feeling slightly better) That's disgusting.
Dad, at this point, is working hard at swallowing his laughter, and is only partially successful. Also wants to know if it's OK to serve Thalia a little plate of coins as a side dish to her dinner. I convince him that perhaps waiting until tomorrow would be better.
Thalia: Mom, I accidentally swallowed a dime!
Me: Oh, Honey, I'm sorry, does it hurt?
Thalia: Yes!
Me: Would a drink of water help?
Thalia: No, I just think I have to go to the doctor.
Me: Sweetie, you don't need to go to the doctor. Dimes aren't poisonous. You'll be OK, we'll just keep an eye on you to make sure you feel all right and then some time in the next few days you'll probably just poop it out.
Thalia: (sniffing, but perhaps feeling slightly better) That's disgusting.
Dad, at this point, is working hard at swallowing his laughter, and is only partially successful. Also wants to know if it's OK to serve Thalia a little plate of coins as a side dish to her dinner. I convince him that perhaps waiting until tomorrow would be better.
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