Per Henningsgaard stands in front of the classroom, looking more Billie Jo Armstrong of Green Day than Sting, for those of us who humanize professors by comparing them to rock stars.
But the words out of his mouth are more Sting – a former English teacher – than Armstrong – a high school dropout. “For those of you who don’t like to do work, this class isn’t for you,” Henningsgaard warns students in his English 349/549: Editing and Publishing class at the University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point (UW-SP) on the first day. “You will work harder in this class than any other you take at UW-SP.”
After taking the class for my graduate studies, I’d agree with him. Students spend a lot of time doing work for the class, and any slacking off can have grave repercussions to the end mission, which the whole class strives to reach.
That end mission is a book, as the class staffs Cornerstone Press, UW-SP’s publishing house, during the semester, and it is responsible for publishing one by the time finals begin. Each student becomes an “employee,” with each required to take on a role that corresponds to an actual job at a publishing house. Students vie for roles early in the semester, with classmates selecting who fills them through an election process.
I sought out the role of publicity manager, as it would give me experience in public relations, which is the focus of my graduate studies in the Department of Communication. Substance editor and copy editor positions would have been more logical choices for me, given my editorial role at The Gazette. I do those jobs on a daily basis at the newspaper, though, and wanted to get experience in an area that I don’t have much in. Because I interact with public relations practitioners on an almost daily basis, I realized knowing how they operate could be beneficial to my current job.
As a class, our first task was to select a manuscript. We received more than two dozen to choose from, including books of poems, guidebooks, essay collections and a variety of novels in several different genres.
For me, selecting a manuscript was the best part of the process. I enjoyed reading what authors submitted – including the ones that weren’t so good – and thinking about the possibilities of what each manuscript would look like as a finished product. In the end, the class selected the manuscript I most wanted published, “Syncopation: A Memoir of Adèle Hugo,” written by Elizabeth Caulfield Felt, an associate lecturer in English at UW-SP.
To tout the book, it’s a historical fiction novel about poet and playwright Victor Hugo’s daughter Adèle, a woman in real life who was committed to a mental hospital. Felt uses known facts, combined with some fiction to show readers how Adèle may have gotten to this place in her life. She does so in an exciting, and literate, manner in a book I believe any local book clubs would be wise to select (Felt is willing to meet with any book clubs to talk about the novel; it’s not often the author is available to do that).
Getting back to the class, though, students were required to work a minimum of 2.5 hours each week outside of the classroom on job duties related to the book’s publication, although most of us probably spent many more each week. The majority of my time was spent writing press releases, contacting other media about the book, and meeting with the marketing team to come up with interesting ways to promote the book. People may have noted “Syncopation” written on chalk throughout this community, as well as several others. That guerilla marketing technique was a way for us to promote the book.
In addition to our roles with the publishing house, we had other homework related to book publishing but separate from Cornerstone. Each student was required to write a letter to one of the rejected authors explaining the good points about his or her manuscript, as well as the area that needed improvement; and each student had to design and copy edit a short manuscript from another source. Both were fun, but time-consuming projects.
Taking a class where the work we did generated actual results was eye-opening. It’s a model every class should strive for, as it reaches beyond what one normally learns in an English class and offers valuable skill-building tools, such as communication, teamwork and the ability to meet deadlines.
I’m still struggling with the deadline thing, though. That’s relatively new to me.
****
Originally published in The Portage County Gazette on Friday, May 4, 2012.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Weight race wasn’t successful for every person taking challenge
I don’t fail often, but my attempt at the Community Weight Race was a spectacular disaster for me.
I entered in late January, along with 924 other people in Ministry Health Care’s fifth annual race, with a goal of losing 30 pounds. My hope was to get to a weight I had only been once in my adult life.
Previous to entering, I had lost 50 pounds over the course of 18 months, dropping from 310 to 260 pounds. I ran daily, I ate well and I made good choices. The race would motivate me to do these things better, so I thought.
Not so. The minute I entered a little voice in the back of my head told me to stop trying. “You don’t want to run today, and you want to eat that delicious donut,” it kept telling me. “Mmmm… donut,” I replied.
I’m not a competitive person, so the prizes Ministry was giving away to the people and teams who lost the most weight didn’t motivate me. I was doing this for myself, plain and simple.
“Myself” wanted other things, though, like the desire to bathe in laziness and the opportunity to eat cookies at every chance that came along. I partly blame the Girl Scouts and their annual sale.
I also blamed my graduate studies, and the guy taking my final weight last week, which was 10 pounds more than I started, said it should be a “free pass.” It’s tempting to take the pass, but the blame solely belongs to me. I wasn’t motivated and let other things take precedence.
Another member of my team did much better than me. Matthew Brown, an associate editor at The Gazette, lost 13 pounds during the contest, which was only three short of his 16-pound goal. He worked out, ate right and played a lot of indoor soccer during the duration of the race, noting the soccer was what allowed him to do well.
Overall, most people in the contest succeeded, with the average weight loss during the three-month race being 5.78-percent of body weight.
I have no idea how the other three members of my team did. At the halfway mark, I emailed them to see how they were doing, and none of them responded. Their lack of response indicated to me that they had either dropped out or they weren’t doing well.
It would be easy for me to not write about this, as I definitely would rather write about something else, but, as many of you know, the attempt to lose weight can often be a failure, such as my attempt.
Instead of ignoring it, though, I want people to know that failure does occur, and it should be used as motivation to succeed. I’m hoping my failure will be a catalyst to put me on the right track, especially since I know tomorrow will be a great day for a run.
****
Originally published in The Portage County Gazette on Friday, April 27, 2012.
I entered in late January, along with 924 other people in Ministry Health Care’s fifth annual race, with a goal of losing 30 pounds. My hope was to get to a weight I had only been once in my adult life.
Previous to entering, I had lost 50 pounds over the course of 18 months, dropping from 310 to 260 pounds. I ran daily, I ate well and I made good choices. The race would motivate me to do these things better, so I thought.
Not so. The minute I entered a little voice in the back of my head told me to stop trying. “You don’t want to run today, and you want to eat that delicious donut,” it kept telling me. “Mmmm… donut,” I replied.
I’m not a competitive person, so the prizes Ministry was giving away to the people and teams who lost the most weight didn’t motivate me. I was doing this for myself, plain and simple.
“Myself” wanted other things, though, like the desire to bathe in laziness and the opportunity to eat cookies at every chance that came along. I partly blame the Girl Scouts and their annual sale.
I also blamed my graduate studies, and the guy taking my final weight last week, which was 10 pounds more than I started, said it should be a “free pass.” It’s tempting to take the pass, but the blame solely belongs to me. I wasn’t motivated and let other things take precedence.
Another member of my team did much better than me. Matthew Brown, an associate editor at The Gazette, lost 13 pounds during the contest, which was only three short of his 16-pound goal. He worked out, ate right and played a lot of indoor soccer during the duration of the race, noting the soccer was what allowed him to do well.
Overall, most people in the contest succeeded, with the average weight loss during the three-month race being 5.78-percent of body weight.
I have no idea how the other three members of my team did. At the halfway mark, I emailed them to see how they were doing, and none of them responded. Their lack of response indicated to me that they had either dropped out or they weren’t doing well.
It would be easy for me to not write about this, as I definitely would rather write about something else, but, as many of you know, the attempt to lose weight can often be a failure, such as my attempt.
Instead of ignoring it, though, I want people to know that failure does occur, and it should be used as motivation to succeed. I’m hoping my failure will be a catalyst to put me on the right track, especially since I know tomorrow will be a great day for a run.
****
Originally published in The Portage County Gazette on Friday, April 27, 2012.
Friday, April 20, 2012
‘Bro Code’ allows men to believe they are somewhat macho
A CBS television show I’ve casually watched for the past few years, “How I Met Your Mother,” cemented itself as a great show, in my opinion, after a recent episode.
The show focuses on a man telling his children how he met their mother. Each episode moves the story forward just a little bit as the man, Ted Mosby (Josh Radnor), recounts an event in his life that allowed him to eventually meet the mother, a woman viewers have yet to meet in seven seasons.
These events he recounts take place with his four best friends – married couple Marshall (Jason Segel) and Lily (Alyson Hannigan), former girlfriend Robin (Cobie Smulders), and ladies’ man Barney Stinson, played by the great Neil Patrick Harris (formerly known as Doogie Howser).
Ted, an architect, meets and dates many women, many who are meant to make viewers think will be the mother. Sometimes he breaks their hearts, but more often than not they break his, as one woman even left him at the altar.
Throughout most of the series, Barney has often bragged about the fact he doesn’t allow relationships to mess with his life like Ted allows them to do. Instead, he allows the “Bro Code” to guide most decisions he makes.
The “Bro Code” is a book, written by Barney, that contains the rules men, or bros, should follow to make sure they don’t obstruct other men from living a life that isn’t messed up by women. It currently contains 32 Articles, ranging from “Bro’s (sic) before Ho’s (sic)” to a “Bro doesn’t allow another Bro to get married until he’s at least thirty.” All of these Articles are available online at www.brocode.com.
Many guys from my generation would probably agree with many of these Articles, as they give some an opportunity to be macho, even though we live in an era where being macho is a bit outdated. Let’s face it – Fonzie stopped being cool in the early 1980s, and Tom Cruise will never get his “Top Guns” swagger back no matter how hard he tries.
Geeks and freaks have been the new cool for a good part of the last decade. If you don’t believe me, there’s a reason “The Big Bang Theory” is one of television’s top-rated shows.
The “Bro Code” allows men to at least pretend they are a little bit cool, especially around other men. Women will naturally laugh at them, as they should, but in our minds we can at least give ourselves a little dignity by following these rules.
I haven’t always been sold on “How I Met Your Mother,” mainly because the entire frame of Ted telling his children how he met their mother is taking forever. A recent episode in which the guys on the show had “Trilogy Night” made me realize the greatness of it, though.
“Trilogy Night” is something people are either going to understand immediately, or it’s something that will require explanation. To explain for those who don’t know: it’s a night in which people, usually guys, gather to watch the original three “Star Wars” movies. It’s spent talking about the greatness of those three movies, quoting lines right before they happen, and throwing out “What if” scenarios to the others in the group. “What if Luke had taken his relationship with Leia a little further?” would be a typical question people would talk about.
In the episode, Ted takes his children through five “Trilogy Nights” the gang had over a 12-year period in which each of them talks about how their lives will be three years in the future when they have the next “Trilogy Night.” Ambitions for future goals are much bigger when they are younger, but it’s Barney’s vision in 2012 for his future in 2015 that is a stunner. I won’t spoil it, but by making something as awesome as “Trilogy Night” so poignant is simply great television.
Someday, I hope Ted actually tells his children about the exact moment he meets their mother, but until then I’ll enjoy the narrative as I think about how macho the “Bro Code” makes me believe I am.
****
Originally published in The Portage County Gazette on Friday, April 20, 2012.
The show focuses on a man telling his children how he met their mother. Each episode moves the story forward just a little bit as the man, Ted Mosby (Josh Radnor), recounts an event in his life that allowed him to eventually meet the mother, a woman viewers have yet to meet in seven seasons.
These events he recounts take place with his four best friends – married couple Marshall (Jason Segel) and Lily (Alyson Hannigan), former girlfriend Robin (Cobie Smulders), and ladies’ man Barney Stinson, played by the great Neil Patrick Harris (formerly known as Doogie Howser).
Ted, an architect, meets and dates many women, many who are meant to make viewers think will be the mother. Sometimes he breaks their hearts, but more often than not they break his, as one woman even left him at the altar.
Throughout most of the series, Barney has often bragged about the fact he doesn’t allow relationships to mess with his life like Ted allows them to do. Instead, he allows the “Bro Code” to guide most decisions he makes.
The “Bro Code” is a book, written by Barney, that contains the rules men, or bros, should follow to make sure they don’t obstruct other men from living a life that isn’t messed up by women. It currently contains 32 Articles, ranging from “Bro’s (sic) before Ho’s (sic)” to a “Bro doesn’t allow another Bro to get married until he’s at least thirty.” All of these Articles are available online at www.brocode.com.
Many guys from my generation would probably agree with many of these Articles, as they give some an opportunity to be macho, even though we live in an era where being macho is a bit outdated. Let’s face it – Fonzie stopped being cool in the early 1980s, and Tom Cruise will never get his “Top Guns” swagger back no matter how hard he tries.
Geeks and freaks have been the new cool for a good part of the last decade. If you don’t believe me, there’s a reason “The Big Bang Theory” is one of television’s top-rated shows.
The “Bro Code” allows men to at least pretend they are a little bit cool, especially around other men. Women will naturally laugh at them, as they should, but in our minds we can at least give ourselves a little dignity by following these rules.
I haven’t always been sold on “How I Met Your Mother,” mainly because the entire frame of Ted telling his children how he met their mother is taking forever. A recent episode in which the guys on the show had “Trilogy Night” made me realize the greatness of it, though.
“Trilogy Night” is something people are either going to understand immediately, or it’s something that will require explanation. To explain for those who don’t know: it’s a night in which people, usually guys, gather to watch the original three “Star Wars” movies. It’s spent talking about the greatness of those three movies, quoting lines right before they happen, and throwing out “What if” scenarios to the others in the group. “What if Luke had taken his relationship with Leia a little further?” would be a typical question people would talk about.
In the episode, Ted takes his children through five “Trilogy Nights” the gang had over a 12-year period in which each of them talks about how their lives will be three years in the future when they have the next “Trilogy Night.” Ambitions for future goals are much bigger when they are younger, but it’s Barney’s vision in 2012 for his future in 2015 that is a stunner. I won’t spoil it, but by making something as awesome as “Trilogy Night” so poignant is simply great television.
Someday, I hope Ted actually tells his children about the exact moment he meets their mother, but until then I’ll enjoy the narrative as I think about how macho the “Bro Code” makes me believe I am.
****
Originally published in The Portage County Gazette on Friday, April 20, 2012.
Parents may love egg hunts more than their kids
Kids like Easter egg hunts, but I’m beginning to think parents like them more.
I came to this conclusion after watching the Stevens Point/Plover Area Breakfast Optimists Club’s 26th Annual Easter Egg Hunts Saturday, April 7, at Pfiffner Pioneer Park in Stevens Point.
I attended the event so my 7-year-old son, Braden, could participate in the hunt for his age category, but also to take some pictures for The Gazette. I’ve been at past ones, although I never paid close attention to the parents like I did this year.
Waiting for the 0 to 4 hunt to begin, parents and kids took up every bit of space and then some surrounding the egg rink. Occasionally, a child broke through the rope barriers and started collecting eggs early, but in every case either the parent or a volunteer stopped them. As these were younger children, that type of behavior isn’t only acceptable, but kind of expected. What kid wants to wait when they are so readily available?
As a result, there were a lot of crying kids. The really young ones didn’t understand what all the commotion was about, and the older ones just wanted to collect eggs.
Crying kids meant unhappy parents. Several of the ones around me said the organizers should start it early so the kids can have their fun. I silently disagree with them, though, as it’s not fair to parents who don’t arrive early, and because the announcer talked about all the sponsors for the event – businesses and organizations that generously donated items so it can happen. They definitely deserved a few seconds of the parents’ time.
Once the event started, parents and kids collected eggs in a matter of a minute. Taking photos was difficult due to the shear amount of people.
The 4 to 6 hunt featured the craziest parents. I observed some telling their children to ignore the rule about not using baskets or bags to collect eggs. After the hunt began, some parents went into the ring with their kids, despite being told that was not allowed.
The announcer took notice of this blatant rule breaking. “Will the lady in pink please get out of the ring,” he nicely asked. After she didn’t comply, he repeated himself. After repeating it for more times, he finally said, “Will an adult volunteer please get the lady in pink out of the ring.”
I looked for the lady in pink, as I thought she would make for a good photo on the “What did you expect for a buck?” page, but I couldn’t find her. There were too many people around me, coaching their kids.
The 7 to 8 hunt was the most civil, and also the quickest. That’s probably because parents could coach their kids more easily, much like I did for my son. I told Braden to not be selective about the eggs he chooses, as he has been in the past.
To my surprise, he wasn’t. Any egg he came across he collected. Another parent told him prior to the start to tuck in his shirt and put the eggs down it. He followed these instructions perfectly and came away with a bunch of eggs, most of which contained jelly beans but two of which contained restaurant freebies.
Such freebies can explain parents’ crazy behavior. Had I known such great prizes were in those eggs, I would have made my kid practice prior to coming to the event, as I believe he could have gotten a lot more eggs.
****
Originally published in The Portage County Gazette on Friday, April 13, 2012.
I came to this conclusion after watching the Stevens Point/Plover Area Breakfast Optimists Club’s 26th Annual Easter Egg Hunts Saturday, April 7, at Pfiffner Pioneer Park in Stevens Point.
I attended the event so my 7-year-old son, Braden, could participate in the hunt for his age category, but also to take some pictures for The Gazette. I’ve been at past ones, although I never paid close attention to the parents like I did this year.
Waiting for the 0 to 4 hunt to begin, parents and kids took up every bit of space and then some surrounding the egg rink. Occasionally, a child broke through the rope barriers and started collecting eggs early, but in every case either the parent or a volunteer stopped them. As these were younger children, that type of behavior isn’t only acceptable, but kind of expected. What kid wants to wait when they are so readily available?
As a result, there were a lot of crying kids. The really young ones didn’t understand what all the commotion was about, and the older ones just wanted to collect eggs.
Crying kids meant unhappy parents. Several of the ones around me said the organizers should start it early so the kids can have their fun. I silently disagree with them, though, as it’s not fair to parents who don’t arrive early, and because the announcer talked about all the sponsors for the event – businesses and organizations that generously donated items so it can happen. They definitely deserved a few seconds of the parents’ time.
Once the event started, parents and kids collected eggs in a matter of a minute. Taking photos was difficult due to the shear amount of people.
The 4 to 6 hunt featured the craziest parents. I observed some telling their children to ignore the rule about not using baskets or bags to collect eggs. After the hunt began, some parents went into the ring with their kids, despite being told that was not allowed.
The announcer took notice of this blatant rule breaking. “Will the lady in pink please get out of the ring,” he nicely asked. After she didn’t comply, he repeated himself. After repeating it for more times, he finally said, “Will an adult volunteer please get the lady in pink out of the ring.”
I looked for the lady in pink, as I thought she would make for a good photo on the “What did you expect for a buck?” page, but I couldn’t find her. There were too many people around me, coaching their kids.
The 7 to 8 hunt was the most civil, and also the quickest. That’s probably because parents could coach their kids more easily, much like I did for my son. I told Braden to not be selective about the eggs he chooses, as he has been in the past.
To my surprise, he wasn’t. Any egg he came across he collected. Another parent told him prior to the start to tuck in his shirt and put the eggs down it. He followed these instructions perfectly and came away with a bunch of eggs, most of which contained jelly beans but two of which contained restaurant freebies.
Such freebies can explain parents’ crazy behavior. Had I known such great prizes were in those eggs, I would have made my kid practice prior to coming to the event, as I believe he could have gotten a lot more eggs.
****
Originally published in The Portage County Gazette on Friday, April 13, 2012.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
One day can be full of a lot of surprises
Tuesday, April 3, was one strange day for me – the kind that comes with some expected happenings but also with some out-of-the-blue occurrences.
It started with a presentation I had to give in a graduate class I’m taking at the University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point (UW-SP). My partner and I were well prepared for the presentation, so it went well. The unusual part for me was how much at ease I was in giving it. Public speaking has never been my forte. I usually sweat fear and hope for a cancellation, but in this case those worries never came. I was comfortable. It gives me hope that I’ll live a long life because I may be able to choose speaking in public rather than dying, when I confront that choice.
After working for a couple of hours, I met my wife, Jenny, at our home where we met with a guy about installing a lawn, something we’ve been lacking since building our new home last summer. He walked through the details and set a date, April 16. To our surprise, he said I’ll be mowing a lawn this summer. I haven’t done that in four years, and I will be happy to do so, despite the fact it technically is a chore.
From there, Jenny and I went to Ministry St. Michael’s Hospital for an ultrasound to determine the sex of the baby we are having in August. Doctors need the ultrasound at 20 weeks for other purposes – make sure the baby is healthy, is growing correctly, etc. – but for us it was all about finding out whether or not we are going to have another son, or our first daughter.
I’d reveal what we are having, but since this column is all about surprises, I’m going to wait the reveal the sex until after we have the baby in August.
That didn’t stop us from revealing it to family and friends. Facebook came in handy for that endeavor, but our moms can spread the word just as quickly as the social network. Both our mothers informed non-Facebook relatives quicker than this year’s maple sugar harvest, which was over before it even started.
Facebook was part of another surprise for me. The news editor at the Waushara Argus, where I previously worked and which is in my hometown of Wautoma, posted a news story to my Facebook timeline about an endeavor I’m a part of at UW-SP. I’ll write more about this in the future, but it was a pleasant surprise that generated some “Friend” feedback – like our reveal of the baby’s sex – that made me feel good the rest of the day.
The last surprise of the day was both bad and good. It was bad for the people directly involved, but good for me because I was called something I never thought anyone would ever call me. I’ll explain.
After picking up my son from school, he and I decided to go out to eat, since Jenny had left for Minocqua for an overnight work trip. I turned from Center Street onto Michigan Avenue, following a long line of traffic. Immediately after turning, I witnessed the car directly in front of me rear end the vehicle in front of it, which was stopping for the long line of vehicles in front of it at a traffic light.
It wasn’t a typical rear-end collision in which both vehicles drive away unscathed. The colliding vehicle hit the other vehicle quite hard, rendering both vehicles unfit for driving. Both of the drivers said they were OK, although the driver of the colliding vehicle was expectedly emotional about the incident.
The driver of the vehicle that got hit was rather calm, though. An older gentleman, he didn’t get worked up about the accident and took it more as part of his day rather than an unwanted surprise. In fact, he was so calm about it he actually recognized me from my little photo in this column. “Hey, aren’t you the guy that writes for The Gazette?” he asked.
That surprised me, because I didn’t think anybody would ever recognize me from that little photo. “That’s me,” I told him, introducing him to the son I always write about. The gentleman was a little worried about how he’d get home, so I offered to take him home after the vehicles were towed away and the police officers got all the statements, including mine, they needed.
In the car, I learned the Whiting resident moved here about nine years ago to take care of his mother, and his employer allowed him to work from home rather than resigning, as he had initially planned to do. After dropping him off, he thanked me and said he’ll have to tell everybody he was given a ride home by someone “famous.”
Being called “famous” was the biggest surprise of a day full of surprises. I like to keep my ego in check, but surprises like that make it difficult. Seriously, when I’m grouped with famous people like Brad Pitt and George Clooney, how am I supposed to not smile?
****
Originally published in The Portage County Gazette Friday, April 6, 2012.
It started with a presentation I had to give in a graduate class I’m taking at the University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point (UW-SP). My partner and I were well prepared for the presentation, so it went well. The unusual part for me was how much at ease I was in giving it. Public speaking has never been my forte. I usually sweat fear and hope for a cancellation, but in this case those worries never came. I was comfortable. It gives me hope that I’ll live a long life because I may be able to choose speaking in public rather than dying, when I confront that choice.
After working for a couple of hours, I met my wife, Jenny, at our home where we met with a guy about installing a lawn, something we’ve been lacking since building our new home last summer. He walked through the details and set a date, April 16. To our surprise, he said I’ll be mowing a lawn this summer. I haven’t done that in four years, and I will be happy to do so, despite the fact it technically is a chore.
From there, Jenny and I went to Ministry St. Michael’s Hospital for an ultrasound to determine the sex of the baby we are having in August. Doctors need the ultrasound at 20 weeks for other purposes – make sure the baby is healthy, is growing correctly, etc. – but for us it was all about finding out whether or not we are going to have another son, or our first daughter.
I’d reveal what we are having, but since this column is all about surprises, I’m going to wait the reveal the sex until after we have the baby in August.
That didn’t stop us from revealing it to family and friends. Facebook came in handy for that endeavor, but our moms can spread the word just as quickly as the social network. Both our mothers informed non-Facebook relatives quicker than this year’s maple sugar harvest, which was over before it even started.
Facebook was part of another surprise for me. The news editor at the Waushara Argus, where I previously worked and which is in my hometown of Wautoma, posted a news story to my Facebook timeline about an endeavor I’m a part of at UW-SP. I’ll write more about this in the future, but it was a pleasant surprise that generated some “Friend” feedback – like our reveal of the baby’s sex – that made me feel good the rest of the day.
The last surprise of the day was both bad and good. It was bad for the people directly involved, but good for me because I was called something I never thought anyone would ever call me. I’ll explain.
After picking up my son from school, he and I decided to go out to eat, since Jenny had left for Minocqua for an overnight work trip. I turned from Center Street onto Michigan Avenue, following a long line of traffic. Immediately after turning, I witnessed the car directly in front of me rear end the vehicle in front of it, which was stopping for the long line of vehicles in front of it at a traffic light.
It wasn’t a typical rear-end collision in which both vehicles drive away unscathed. The colliding vehicle hit the other vehicle quite hard, rendering both vehicles unfit for driving. Both of the drivers said they were OK, although the driver of the colliding vehicle was expectedly emotional about the incident.
The driver of the vehicle that got hit was rather calm, though. An older gentleman, he didn’t get worked up about the accident and took it more as part of his day rather than an unwanted surprise. In fact, he was so calm about it he actually recognized me from my little photo in this column. “Hey, aren’t you the guy that writes for The Gazette?” he asked.
That surprised me, because I didn’t think anybody would ever recognize me from that little photo. “That’s me,” I told him, introducing him to the son I always write about. The gentleman was a little worried about how he’d get home, so I offered to take him home after the vehicles were towed away and the police officers got all the statements, including mine, they needed.
In the car, I learned the Whiting resident moved here about nine years ago to take care of his mother, and his employer allowed him to work from home rather than resigning, as he had initially planned to do. After dropping him off, he thanked me and said he’ll have to tell everybody he was given a ride home by someone “famous.”
Being called “famous” was the biggest surprise of a day full of surprises. I like to keep my ego in check, but surprises like that make it difficult. Seriously, when I’m grouped with famous people like Brad Pitt and George Clooney, how am I supposed to not smile?
****
Originally published in The Portage County Gazette Friday, April 6, 2012.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Yoda voice can make difficult readings easier to understand
When something is difficult to read, give it a Yoda voice. I guarantee you that it will make much more sense. Yoda, being the wise, old Jedi master he is, can make even the most difficult items understandable.
A former co-worker devised this theory in dealing with a writer that often was difficult to read. “Read it out loud in a Yoda voice,” he told me. “You can decipher it then.”
I laughed at his theory, but being a big fan of Yoda, I did so. Not only did my co-workers get a good laugh from my wicked Yoda impression, all of us were able to understand what was written.
For some reason I can’t understand, a Yoda voice adds a dimension to undecipherable writing that slows it down, brings the necessary words to the front and minimizes the unimportant ones. It takes the fear out of reading bad writing, and we all know fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering. No one wants to suffer when they read.
I wish I knew about this theory back in college. Reading Chaucer, “The Last of the Mohicans” and Thomas Paine would have been much easier. I could have saved myself hundreds of dollars by buying less Mountain Dew, which I needed to keep myself awake when I read this material for my many English classes.
The Yoda theory works great for me now, not just with some of the material I have to read for the paper, but also with instruction manuals in putting together things. That’s probably because many of these manuals are actually written in Yoda dialect, so reading them the way they were written makes sense.
I put together a portable basketball hoop two weekends ago, and the first sentence was an entire paragraph long, referring to numbers for nouns instead of the actual part that was needed. Yoda voice made it easier to understand, especially since the illustrations included with it were made in Egyptian hieroglyphics.
Yoda may be a fictional character – undoubtedly George Lucas’ ultimate creation – but his value will extend centuries, especially if this theory becomes commonly used, as I propose it should. Schools could offer Yoda courses.
I can imagine it now: “OK class, today we are going to learn why size matters not, and why there is no try. But first, pull out your copy of ‘War and Peace.’ Today, when you read, make sure you put enough gruff in your ‘mmmmm’s at the beginning of each sentence.”
I hope people will make more use of Yoda, as it will make the world a better place. I just hope nobody comes up with a Jar Jar Binks theory. Then we will be in trouble.
****
Originally published in The Portage County Gazette on Friday, March 31, 2012.
A former co-worker devised this theory in dealing with a writer that often was difficult to read. “Read it out loud in a Yoda voice,” he told me. “You can decipher it then.”
I laughed at his theory, but being a big fan of Yoda, I did so. Not only did my co-workers get a good laugh from my wicked Yoda impression, all of us were able to understand what was written.
For some reason I can’t understand, a Yoda voice adds a dimension to undecipherable writing that slows it down, brings the necessary words to the front and minimizes the unimportant ones. It takes the fear out of reading bad writing, and we all know fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering. No one wants to suffer when they read.
I wish I knew about this theory back in college. Reading Chaucer, “The Last of the Mohicans” and Thomas Paine would have been much easier. I could have saved myself hundreds of dollars by buying less Mountain Dew, which I needed to keep myself awake when I read this material for my many English classes.
The Yoda theory works great for me now, not just with some of the material I have to read for the paper, but also with instruction manuals in putting together things. That’s probably because many of these manuals are actually written in Yoda dialect, so reading them the way they were written makes sense.
I put together a portable basketball hoop two weekends ago, and the first sentence was an entire paragraph long, referring to numbers for nouns instead of the actual part that was needed. Yoda voice made it easier to understand, especially since the illustrations included with it were made in Egyptian hieroglyphics.
Yoda may be a fictional character – undoubtedly George Lucas’ ultimate creation – but his value will extend centuries, especially if this theory becomes commonly used, as I propose it should. Schools could offer Yoda courses.
I can imagine it now: “OK class, today we are going to learn why size matters not, and why there is no try. But first, pull out your copy of ‘War and Peace.’ Today, when you read, make sure you put enough gruff in your ‘mmmmm’s at the beginning of each sentence.”
I hope people will make more use of Yoda, as it will make the world a better place. I just hope nobody comes up with a Jar Jar Binks theory. Then we will be in trouble.
****
Originally published in The Portage County Gazette on Friday, March 31, 2012.
Friday, March 23, 2012
March Madness has little meaning for tall, clumsy people
I’m 6’4” but of no use to anyone on a basketball court. Any team with me on its side would be doomed to failure because basketball and I go together like Jon Hamm and Kim Kardashian.
It’s not that I don’t like the sport, because I do believe it’s one of the better ones. It takes skill, it’s physical and it’s one that provides plenty of excitement to watch or play.
Growing up and watching Michael Jordan, Magic Johnson, Larry Bird, Kareem Abdul Jabbar, Karl Malone and Charles Barkley in the prime of their careers was akin to a thousand Jeremy Lins or Lebron James today. I even bought a pair of Michael Jordan Nike shoes with my first real paycheck, as I liked him enough to do so.
Part of the reason I’m no good at basketball is because I’m a naturally clumsy person. I need to practice a lot to acquire the right balance to be just adequate at anything, and I’ve never practiced basketball to the extent most others have. My wife will attest to my clumsiness, as she got a good chuckle last week when I attempted to ride my son’s scooter and I flipped it and myself over during a walk.
But the main reason I’m no good at basketball, despite my height, is I never fully understood the game. I was never on a team, so I never learned the fine intricacies of the sport. Fouls confuse me, as do other rule violations. I can’t tell the difference between a well-played game and a sloppy, what-are-rules one.
Over the years I’ve tried to educate myself more about basketball. But playing “Double Dribble” on the original Nintendo Entertainment System doesn’t work well in those regards. I’m usually successful when I get myself in a mindset to learn about something more, but basketball truly stumps me.
As a result, when March Madness rolls around, I cross my fingers that bracket seedings are somewhat accurate because the majority of my picks are based on which team has the higher seed. I don’t want to be the guy that picks more wrong games than right ones, and someday I’d like to win a pool to at least claim back a little of the money I’ve spent on them over the years.
This past weekend, my son, Braden, received a portable basketball hoop from his grandmother and aunts for his seventh birthday. After putting the thing together with some help (as they are almost more complicated than the sport itself), I promptly missed nearly every basket I attempted. I was worse than Marquette in the first half of its game against Murray State Saturday. I do hope they improve in their coming games, as I picked them to win it all in the work pool.
Braden, on the other hand, was hitting every shot like it was second nature to him. His aunts on his mother’s side were both good basketball players in high school, so maybe he inherited some skills I never received. I’m hoping he inherits my height, because combining the two could be good for Stevens Point basketball in the not-so-distant future.
If he isn’t, I’ll completely understand. One more awkward basketball player isn’t going to hurt anyone. Unless he’s clumsy, accidentally knocks someone over on the court and prevents a future star from ever playing again. I’m almost sure I never did that, but my memory isn’t always the best. I’ve flipped over on a lot of scooters, bicycles and skateboards in my life.
****
Originally published in The Portage County Gazette Friday, March 23, 2012.
It’s not that I don’t like the sport, because I do believe it’s one of the better ones. It takes skill, it’s physical and it’s one that provides plenty of excitement to watch or play.
Growing up and watching Michael Jordan, Magic Johnson, Larry Bird, Kareem Abdul Jabbar, Karl Malone and Charles Barkley in the prime of their careers was akin to a thousand Jeremy Lins or Lebron James today. I even bought a pair of Michael Jordan Nike shoes with my first real paycheck, as I liked him enough to do so.
Part of the reason I’m no good at basketball is because I’m a naturally clumsy person. I need to practice a lot to acquire the right balance to be just adequate at anything, and I’ve never practiced basketball to the extent most others have. My wife will attest to my clumsiness, as she got a good chuckle last week when I attempted to ride my son’s scooter and I flipped it and myself over during a walk.
But the main reason I’m no good at basketball, despite my height, is I never fully understood the game. I was never on a team, so I never learned the fine intricacies of the sport. Fouls confuse me, as do other rule violations. I can’t tell the difference between a well-played game and a sloppy, what-are-rules one.
Over the years I’ve tried to educate myself more about basketball. But playing “Double Dribble” on the original Nintendo Entertainment System doesn’t work well in those regards. I’m usually successful when I get myself in a mindset to learn about something more, but basketball truly stumps me.
As a result, when March Madness rolls around, I cross my fingers that bracket seedings are somewhat accurate because the majority of my picks are based on which team has the higher seed. I don’t want to be the guy that picks more wrong games than right ones, and someday I’d like to win a pool to at least claim back a little of the money I’ve spent on them over the years.
This past weekend, my son, Braden, received a portable basketball hoop from his grandmother and aunts for his seventh birthday. After putting the thing together with some help (as they are almost more complicated than the sport itself), I promptly missed nearly every basket I attempted. I was worse than Marquette in the first half of its game against Murray State Saturday. I do hope they improve in their coming games, as I picked them to win it all in the work pool.
Braden, on the other hand, was hitting every shot like it was second nature to him. His aunts on his mother’s side were both good basketball players in high school, so maybe he inherited some skills I never received. I’m hoping he inherits my height, because combining the two could be good for Stevens Point basketball in the not-so-distant future.
If he isn’t, I’ll completely understand. One more awkward basketball player isn’t going to hurt anyone. Unless he’s clumsy, accidentally knocks someone over on the court and prevents a future star from ever playing again. I’m almost sure I never did that, but my memory isn’t always the best. I’ve flipped over on a lot of scooters, bicycles and skateboards in my life.
****
Originally published in The Portage County Gazette Friday, March 23, 2012.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)