The gigantic, disgusting, protruding mole just above my left eye is gone.
A dermatologist removed it this week, years after my wife, Jenny, started bugging me about seeing one to look at all the moles, growths and weird things growing throughout my body on my skin.
For years, I refused to give in to her wish for me to see a dermatologist. I’m stubborn – it’s in my family’s blood – and I figured it would be a waste of time, as well as money. I’ve always been a moley person, along with both my mother and grandmother – also in our blood. Fortunately, the bad things that sometimes come with moles, skin cancer and melanoma, are not in our blood, so I felt safe in not going to the dermatologist.
Jenny refused to put the issue to rest, telling me I should make an appointment. I was steadfast in my determination not to, mostly to retain my pride in being the most stubborn person in the marriage.
“I really wish you would see someone about those moles,” she would tell me.
“I’ve had them since I was a kid,” I would reply. “When you married me, you married my moles.”
“I guess that makes me Mrs. Mole Steuck.”
I realized late last summer I need to stop being stubborn, and for my wife’s happiness I should have my moles checked out. I had her make an appointment, which was scheduled for November.
Several weeks before the appointment, the dermatologist’s office called and said the doctor needed to reschedule, much to my pleasure. Even better, their next available date was not until March. I happily said yes to the new date.
My happiness turned to sadness when Jenny informed me the dermatologist could remove my giant mole above my eye during the appointment. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?” I asked. “I wouldn’t have argued with you about the appointment.”
“I assumed you knew that,” she said.
I didn’t. My stubbornness got in the way of me seeing some of the benefits to this appointment, and now I was left waiting for something I really wanted that I could have had done years before.
Fortunately, March came quickly. Normally apprehensive about any doctor appointments, I was eager to get to this one, arriving early and hoping they could get me in early. They did, and when the dermatologist saw me, she asked me why I was there.
“To get this thing (pointing to the giant mole above my eye) removed,” I said. “Oh yeah, and to have you look at all my other moles, per my wife’s request.”
And then she said something that almost crushed my spirit. “Well, I can’t just remove a mole because you find it ugly. We need a reason to remove it.”
I was too honest to make up any reason other than my intended reason – it’s ugly – so I immediately assumed my mole would remain. Thankfully, she found a reason. “Do you have an old driver’s license?” she asked.
In my wallet I had my current license, taken in October, as well as my old one, taken many years prior to that one. She had me take them out, and then compared the two photos, noting the mole had grown over the years, giving her a reason to remove it.
After examining my body, she found three other moles she wanted to remove, for precautionary reasons and to have them tested. As long as she was taking out the ugly one, I was fine with whatever she did.
Removing the moles was painless, and now those spots are healing. The dermatologist said she doesn’t think she’ll find anything wrong, but she’ll call in about a week to let me know for sure.
I’m not worried, and now Jenny and I are both happy. She’s no longer “Mrs. Mole Steuck” (technically, she still is, as my moles are still there – but she’s much happier about them), and I’m free of an ugly sight I never thought could be gone.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Burmese pythons invade Floriday; it's time to move Disney World
Burmese pythons invade Florida; it’s time to move Disney World
By SCOTT STEUCK
of The Gazette
After visiting Disney World in Florida in January, I found myself sort of wanting to move to the state. But after watching an episode of PBS’ “Nature” series, titled “Invasion of the Giant Pythons,” on Sunday, Feb. 21, I quickly changed my mind.
The episode focused on Florida’s growing Burmese python problem. The snake, which is not native to Florida, or anywhere in the western hemisphere for that matter, has become a nuisance in the Everglades and surrounding region, as owners who once had the snakes as pets have released them after they grew too big for their liking. Also, some exotic pet warehouses that once stored them were destroyed by hurricanes, setting many of them free.
Florida’s environment has allowed the snakes to thrive, and now environmentalists there are concerned the invasive species poses a threat to native wildlife. Alligators aren’t even safe, as the pythons, which can reach 20 feet in length and 200 pounds in weight, prey on them, along with any other animals that cross their paths.
I’ve always been a fan of all snakes, and before I watched the episode I thought it was kind of cool the state had pythons slithering around its swamps. I’ve always thought Wisconsin is lacking in the kinds of cool animals it has, and by cool I mean animals that could pose a danger to humans, such as alligators, scorpions, tarantulas, sharks, piranhas, grizzly bears, walruses, bison, bighorn sheep, gorillas, platypuses and killer whales. Wisconsin does have mountain lions now, as well as a few timber rattlers, but both are so rare here I’m pretty sure I’ll never see one in the wild. The state has plenty of black bears, along with a healthy wolf population up north, but neither is as menacing as some of the other animals I’ve mentioned.
In watching “Invasion of the Giant Pythons,” I saw how the snake can latch onto its prey with its mouth full of jagged, piercing teeth; then wrap its bulky body around its victim, squeezing it to death; and finally swallowing it, letting its stomach acids dissolve it for digestive purposes over the course of the next several days. It’s a death I’ll never want to experience and one that could be avoided by not living there.
To combat the problem, Florida Fish and Wildlife will open a special season March 9-April 17 for Burmese pythons, along with one for two other invasive species that are also wreaking havoc, African rock pythons and Nile monitor lizards. Officials warn the meat from these species is probably too toxic to eat, due to high mercury levels, but their skins can be profitable, as cowboy boots made from python skin can be worth as much as $700.
An awful lot of hunters will be needed, because officials estimate the number of wild pythons to be in the tens of thousands. During the PBS show, the film crew visited an abandoned rocket testing site in the Everglades and found quite a few of the snakes crawling around the place. The crew also interviewed one snake hunter who said he’s killed more than 50 of the snakes on just one stretch of road.
I don’t think I could handle encountering just one of those snakes. As a teenager, I once came across a den of grass snakes in our back yard. I had fun catching them, and then freaking others out, including my sister, simply by dangling one in front of them.
A couple of summers ago my young son and I came across a dead grass snake on the road, and both of us wanted to take it back to my mother-in-law, as we knew she’s deathly afraid of snakes. We chose not to, a decision my wife says was wise because it may have brought a ban to our use of the lake house there. I still tease my mother-in-law that we’re going to find a live snake and bring it back to her.
If I ever came across a Burmese python, though, she can be assured I won’t bring it back because I’ll be running in the opposite direction as quickly as I can.
I know it’s highly unlikely that would ever happen in Wisconsin, but it’s possible. About 10 years ago, while working at a newspaper in Wautoma, someone’s pet alligator escaped from his house, and it stayed on the loose for quite a long time. The sheriff at the time, Pat Fox, caught it after getting summoned to its location by someone who spotted it. Like the late Steve Irwin, he had to wrestle the alligator in order to catch it, solidifying a legendary status in his place among the county’s sheriffs.
I’m assuming sheriffs and other officers don’t want to risk their lives and waste time catching these exotic animals, so it surprises me stricter ordinances and laws aren’t in place prohibiting people from owning them. Then again, our rule makers aren’t exactly known for passing laws that actually make sense, so it doesn’t really surprise me Florida is being invaded by pythons.
I’m just hoping they never reach Disney World. I don’t want to have to worry about finding a giant snake by my foot when I get in a Tea Cup.
By SCOTT STEUCK
of The Gazette
After visiting Disney World in Florida in January, I found myself sort of wanting to move to the state. But after watching an episode of PBS’ “Nature” series, titled “Invasion of the Giant Pythons,” on Sunday, Feb. 21, I quickly changed my mind.
The episode focused on Florida’s growing Burmese python problem. The snake, which is not native to Florida, or anywhere in the western hemisphere for that matter, has become a nuisance in the Everglades and surrounding region, as owners who once had the snakes as pets have released them after they grew too big for their liking. Also, some exotic pet warehouses that once stored them were destroyed by hurricanes, setting many of them free.
Florida’s environment has allowed the snakes to thrive, and now environmentalists there are concerned the invasive species poses a threat to native wildlife. Alligators aren’t even safe, as the pythons, which can reach 20 feet in length and 200 pounds in weight, prey on them, along with any other animals that cross their paths.
I’ve always been a fan of all snakes, and before I watched the episode I thought it was kind of cool the state had pythons slithering around its swamps. I’ve always thought Wisconsin is lacking in the kinds of cool animals it has, and by cool I mean animals that could pose a danger to humans, such as alligators, scorpions, tarantulas, sharks, piranhas, grizzly bears, walruses, bison, bighorn sheep, gorillas, platypuses and killer whales. Wisconsin does have mountain lions now, as well as a few timber rattlers, but both are so rare here I’m pretty sure I’ll never see one in the wild. The state has plenty of black bears, along with a healthy wolf population up north, but neither is as menacing as some of the other animals I’ve mentioned.
In watching “Invasion of the Giant Pythons,” I saw how the snake can latch onto its prey with its mouth full of jagged, piercing teeth; then wrap its bulky body around its victim, squeezing it to death; and finally swallowing it, letting its stomach acids dissolve it for digestive purposes over the course of the next several days. It’s a death I’ll never want to experience and one that could be avoided by not living there.
To combat the problem, Florida Fish and Wildlife will open a special season March 9-April 17 for Burmese pythons, along with one for two other invasive species that are also wreaking havoc, African rock pythons and Nile monitor lizards. Officials warn the meat from these species is probably too toxic to eat, due to high mercury levels, but their skins can be profitable, as cowboy boots made from python skin can be worth as much as $700.
An awful lot of hunters will be needed, because officials estimate the number of wild pythons to be in the tens of thousands. During the PBS show, the film crew visited an abandoned rocket testing site in the Everglades and found quite a few of the snakes crawling around the place. The crew also interviewed one snake hunter who said he’s killed more than 50 of the snakes on just one stretch of road.
I don’t think I could handle encountering just one of those snakes. As a teenager, I once came across a den of grass snakes in our back yard. I had fun catching them, and then freaking others out, including my sister, simply by dangling one in front of them.
A couple of summers ago my young son and I came across a dead grass snake on the road, and both of us wanted to take it back to my mother-in-law, as we knew she’s deathly afraid of snakes. We chose not to, a decision my wife says was wise because it may have brought a ban to our use of the lake house there. I still tease my mother-in-law that we’re going to find a live snake and bring it back to her.
If I ever came across a Burmese python, though, she can be assured I won’t bring it back because I’ll be running in the opposite direction as quickly as I can.
I know it’s highly unlikely that would ever happen in Wisconsin, but it’s possible. About 10 years ago, while working at a newspaper in Wautoma, someone’s pet alligator escaped from his house, and it stayed on the loose for quite a long time. The sheriff at the time, Pat Fox, caught it after getting summoned to its location by someone who spotted it. Like the late Steve Irwin, he had to wrestle the alligator in order to catch it, solidifying a legendary status in his place among the county’s sheriffs.
I’m assuming sheriffs and other officers don’t want to risk their lives and waste time catching these exotic animals, so it surprises me stricter ordinances and laws aren’t in place prohibiting people from owning them. Then again, our rule makers aren’t exactly known for passing laws that actually make sense, so it doesn’t really surprise me Florida is being invaded by pythons.
I’m just hoping they never reach Disney World. I don’t want to have to worry about finding a giant snake by my foot when I get in a Tea Cup.
Favre vs. Schwarzenegger debate comes to self-ending conclusion
If Brett Favre, the quarterback the vast majority of this country thinks is the greatest of all time except for the people in Wisconsin, and Arnold Schwarzenegger were to get in a fight, who would win?
I’ll admit, it’s a stupid question that probably shouldn’t take up valuable space in a newspaper with limited space that could be used for better things, but I ask because it’s become a 13-year-long argument I’ve had with former co-workers at another newspaper, and I want it settled.
It began innocently enough in 1997, when the Green Bay Packers, under Favre’s leadership, were in the midst of a failed campaign to defend the Super Bowl title they had won earlier in the year. One of those co-workers, Bonnie, kept talking about Favre as though he was mankind’s salvation for all of its problems. This, of course, was before Bono from U2 unofficially took on that role.
I politely listened to her rhetoric, nodding approval to the things she said mainly because, as the new guy there, I didn’t want to get on her bad side, nor the bad side of our boss, Mary, who wholeheartedly agreed with everything she said. In fact, Mary often added points Bonnie may have missed to make the argument about Favre’s greatness stronger.
One day, in a bad mood about something I can’t recall, I finally spoke up when I couldn’t take their spiel anymore. “Brett Favre is not a god,” I said. “Practically anybody could beat him in a fight.”
“Name one?” they asked.
My brain immediately conjured up someone with some of the biggest muscles of all time: Arnold Schwarzenegger. At the time, he was already past his prime, and his films hadn’t been doing well at the box office. People suspected he had political aspirations, but he was still more than six years away from becoming governor of California. Thinking back, I should have chosen a better opponent for Favre, one they couldn’t have questioned, but it was still a solid choice any right-minded person wouldn’t question.
But they weren’t right-minded when it came to Favre, and they attacked my response. “He can barely speak English,” Bonnie said.
“He’s foreign and English isn’t his native tongue. How many languages can you speak?” I retorted.
“He doesn’t have any brains,” Mary argued.
“Have you seen ‘Pumping Iron,’ the documentary in which he uses his sharp wit to torment Lou Ferigno, the Incredible Hulk, into losing the Mr. Universe contest? The guy is one of the sharpest minds in Hollywood,” I answered.
“He’s slow,” Bonnie said.
“Favre’s not much faster,” I said, not realizing 13 years later if he would have had any speed he could have ran a few yards, avoided an interception, and most likely returned to the Super Bowl for the third time.
“Favre is street smart,” said Bonnie.
I’m not sure what made her believe he was street smart, as he grew up in rural Mississippi, far away from any streets where he may have needed any such smarts. Most likely, he had a hunting rifle with him at all times, so the ability to defend himself did not rest with physical strength, but rather with the ability to fire a rifle accurately at a target. And judging by the lack of stories out there about Favre ever doing this, I’m sure he never even got in situations he needed to defend himself.
I decided I needed to end the argument.
“He was ‘Conan the Barbarian.’ He knocked out a camel with one punch.”
The argument should have ended with that statement, but Bonnie had to point out “Conan” was just a film.
“Yes, but people seeing it believed it could be real because Arnold had the muscles and looked like a person who could knock out a camel with one punch.”
Again, argument ended.
But, no. They kept insisting Favre’s “street smarts” and “speed” would take down Schwarzenegger’s muscles quickly.
It was clear neither of us was going to back down on our positions.
Relying on others hasn’t helped us settle the argument. Although the majority of people I’ve talked to about this argument agree with me, a few have taken their side.
I’m confident this argument could have ended several times, had they used a few opportunities in which they’ve had conversations with Favre himself to poise the question to him. I’m sure he would have agreed with me.
To this day, when I see my former co-workers, the argument continues to come up. Although they now feel betrayed and hurt by Favre, they still refuse to acknowledge I am the winner in the argument, just like I’ll refuse to ever concede victory to them.
I was supposed to go to the Wisconsin Newspaper Association Annual Convention last week with Mary, but she backed out at the last minute. I’m pretty sure she knew I may have been able to get her to accept my win in the debate. I’m not letting her off that easy, though. This column is my final say in the matter, as I use it to declare victory.
I’ll admit, it’s a stupid question that probably shouldn’t take up valuable space in a newspaper with limited space that could be used for better things, but I ask because it’s become a 13-year-long argument I’ve had with former co-workers at another newspaper, and I want it settled.
It began innocently enough in 1997, when the Green Bay Packers, under Favre’s leadership, were in the midst of a failed campaign to defend the Super Bowl title they had won earlier in the year. One of those co-workers, Bonnie, kept talking about Favre as though he was mankind’s salvation for all of its problems. This, of course, was before Bono from U2 unofficially took on that role.
I politely listened to her rhetoric, nodding approval to the things she said mainly because, as the new guy there, I didn’t want to get on her bad side, nor the bad side of our boss, Mary, who wholeheartedly agreed with everything she said. In fact, Mary often added points Bonnie may have missed to make the argument about Favre’s greatness stronger.
One day, in a bad mood about something I can’t recall, I finally spoke up when I couldn’t take their spiel anymore. “Brett Favre is not a god,” I said. “Practically anybody could beat him in a fight.”
“Name one?” they asked.
My brain immediately conjured up someone with some of the biggest muscles of all time: Arnold Schwarzenegger. At the time, he was already past his prime, and his films hadn’t been doing well at the box office. People suspected he had political aspirations, but he was still more than six years away from becoming governor of California. Thinking back, I should have chosen a better opponent for Favre, one they couldn’t have questioned, but it was still a solid choice any right-minded person wouldn’t question.
But they weren’t right-minded when it came to Favre, and they attacked my response. “He can barely speak English,” Bonnie said.
“He’s foreign and English isn’t his native tongue. How many languages can you speak?” I retorted.
“He doesn’t have any brains,” Mary argued.
“Have you seen ‘Pumping Iron,’ the documentary in which he uses his sharp wit to torment Lou Ferigno, the Incredible Hulk, into losing the Mr. Universe contest? The guy is one of the sharpest minds in Hollywood,” I answered.
“He’s slow,” Bonnie said.
“Favre’s not much faster,” I said, not realizing 13 years later if he would have had any speed he could have ran a few yards, avoided an interception, and most likely returned to the Super Bowl for the third time.
“Favre is street smart,” said Bonnie.
I’m not sure what made her believe he was street smart, as he grew up in rural Mississippi, far away from any streets where he may have needed any such smarts. Most likely, he had a hunting rifle with him at all times, so the ability to defend himself did not rest with physical strength, but rather with the ability to fire a rifle accurately at a target. And judging by the lack of stories out there about Favre ever doing this, I’m sure he never even got in situations he needed to defend himself.
I decided I needed to end the argument.
“He was ‘Conan the Barbarian.’ He knocked out a camel with one punch.”
The argument should have ended with that statement, but Bonnie had to point out “Conan” was just a film.
“Yes, but people seeing it believed it could be real because Arnold had the muscles and looked like a person who could knock out a camel with one punch.”
Again, argument ended.
But, no. They kept insisting Favre’s “street smarts” and “speed” would take down Schwarzenegger’s muscles quickly.
It was clear neither of us was going to back down on our positions.
Relying on others hasn’t helped us settle the argument. Although the majority of people I’ve talked to about this argument agree with me, a few have taken their side.
I’m confident this argument could have ended several times, had they used a few opportunities in which they’ve had conversations with Favre himself to poise the question to him. I’m sure he would have agreed with me.
To this day, when I see my former co-workers, the argument continues to come up. Although they now feel betrayed and hurt by Favre, they still refuse to acknowledge I am the winner in the argument, just like I’ll refuse to ever concede victory to them.
I was supposed to go to the Wisconsin Newspaper Association Annual Convention last week with Mary, but she backed out at the last minute. I’m pretty sure she knew I may have been able to get her to accept my win in the debate. I’m not letting her off that easy, though. This column is my final say in the matter, as I use it to declare victory.
Dishonesty by child breaks parents' hearts
For nearly five years my son, Braden, has been a source of nothing but pure pleasure for my wife, Jenny, and me. Ever since he was born on St. Patrick’s Day during a snowstorm in 2005, we’ve taken joy with everything he has done, both good and naughty, as the innocence only a child could display through his actions has always made us smile or laugh, or it has allowed us to add one more story to our files we could taunt him with when he’s older.
But he did something last week that was not so innocent and made me realize he’s growing up faster than I want him to grow up. He blatantly lied to me.
The lie occurred when I picked him up from his daycare. Like I usually do, I asked both his teacher and him what type of day he had. The daycare uses a color system – green for good, yellow for not-so good and red for bad – to assign a behavior rating for each child every day. Braden is usually yellow, while occasionally green and sometimes red, and we’ve been working with him to become green all the time.
When I arrived, he immediately told me he had a green day, much to my happiness. His teacher, who only had him for an hour or so, did not dispute him.
But when I was putting him in my car, I simply asked if he was on green at both schools – one school being the daycare and the other being the 4K classroom he goes to in the afternoon. He hesitated before saying yes.
His hesitation caused me to dig a little further. “So, if I called Miss Lindsey,” I asked, “she would tell me you were on green at 4K?”
This is the point where his lie fell apart. He started crying and insisted I shouldn’t call her, mainly because I didn’t have her number. Of course, I lied and said I did, and that I was indeed going to call her.
I assumed he would come clean then, with my empty threat exposing his lie. He kept crying, insisting I shouldn’t call and that he wasn’t on green.
This continued for 20 minutes until we got home. I explained the situation to Jenny. She agreed his actions seemed suspicious, and we asked him numerous times whether or not he was lying about his color, explaining we couldn’t understand why he was so opposed to us calling his teacher.
We finally agreed that he may be telling the truth, and that the issue would be resolved the next morning when I could ask his teacher about his day. Braden agreed to the measure, which made us think he wasn’t lying and that we were being too hard on him.
The next day, when I asked his teacher, I learned he was indeed lying, as he was on yellow. She said he wasn’t listening to her when the kids were sitting on the carpet during story time, a minor offense had he been honest about would have merited just a stern “don’t do it again” from us.
Instead, knowing he had been dishonest with us and that he tried until the last second to get away with it, I felt my heart being pulled apart in 12 different directions. One part was upset with the lie, the second part mad he couldn’t come clean with us when given the opportunity, the third part angry he was old enough to lie, the fourth part sad he wasn’t young enough to not lie, the fifth part disturbed he was naughty in the first place, the sixth part concerned we may have forced him to tell the fib, the seventh part irritated he wasn’t smart enough to lie in a way we could have remained oblivious to it, and the eighth part annoyed I’ve had to come up with so many synonyms to “upset” in describing my feelings without repeating myself.
Braden knew I was disappointed with him, so he became quiet, refusing to look me in the eye, give me a hug or say goodbye when I left.
In my car, on the way to work, I realized he was human, like the rest of us, and that I couldn’t expect perfection from him. I also realized we needed to address the situation, as we didn’t want him to think it was acceptable behavior.
After talking about it with Jenny, we decided we weren’t going to make him feel bad for his behavior by lecturing him about it. Instead, we decided, we were going to set up a consistent award-and-punishment system that would make our expectations clear to him.
On green days he would receive a quarter for his piggy bank, and on red days we’d take a quarter away. His piggy bank, which he can spend however he wishes when he has enough money, would neither increase nor decrease on yellow days.
He could only watch television in the evening if he had a green day, making it a reward for good behavior.
He crabbed at the rules at first, as we did not allow him to watch television that evening for his behavior the day before. He quickly realized, though, he was getting off easy for the crime, so he accepted it and had a good night playing with his toys.
After a week with these new rules, he seems to understand them. He’s avoided red days, but he’s only had a couple of green days. I’m hopeful that as we grow and learn as parents we’ll help him produce more of them. And I’m hopeful he won’t try pulling a fast one on us again until he’s at least a little older. I don’t want him perfecting his technique now, because then he may get away with bigger and scarier lies as a teen. I want to be able to stop them then, too.
But he did something last week that was not so innocent and made me realize he’s growing up faster than I want him to grow up. He blatantly lied to me.
The lie occurred when I picked him up from his daycare. Like I usually do, I asked both his teacher and him what type of day he had. The daycare uses a color system – green for good, yellow for not-so good and red for bad – to assign a behavior rating for each child every day. Braden is usually yellow, while occasionally green and sometimes red, and we’ve been working with him to become green all the time.
When I arrived, he immediately told me he had a green day, much to my happiness. His teacher, who only had him for an hour or so, did not dispute him.
But when I was putting him in my car, I simply asked if he was on green at both schools – one school being the daycare and the other being the 4K classroom he goes to in the afternoon. He hesitated before saying yes.
His hesitation caused me to dig a little further. “So, if I called Miss Lindsey,” I asked, “she would tell me you were on green at 4K?”
This is the point where his lie fell apart. He started crying and insisted I shouldn’t call her, mainly because I didn’t have her number. Of course, I lied and said I did, and that I was indeed going to call her.
I assumed he would come clean then, with my empty threat exposing his lie. He kept crying, insisting I shouldn’t call and that he wasn’t on green.
This continued for 20 minutes until we got home. I explained the situation to Jenny. She agreed his actions seemed suspicious, and we asked him numerous times whether or not he was lying about his color, explaining we couldn’t understand why he was so opposed to us calling his teacher.
We finally agreed that he may be telling the truth, and that the issue would be resolved the next morning when I could ask his teacher about his day. Braden agreed to the measure, which made us think he wasn’t lying and that we were being too hard on him.
The next day, when I asked his teacher, I learned he was indeed lying, as he was on yellow. She said he wasn’t listening to her when the kids were sitting on the carpet during story time, a minor offense had he been honest about would have merited just a stern “don’t do it again” from us.
Instead, knowing he had been dishonest with us and that he tried until the last second to get away with it, I felt my heart being pulled apart in 12 different directions. One part was upset with the lie, the second part mad he couldn’t come clean with us when given the opportunity, the third part angry he was old enough to lie, the fourth part sad he wasn’t young enough to not lie, the fifth part disturbed he was naughty in the first place, the sixth part concerned we may have forced him to tell the fib, the seventh part irritated he wasn’t smart enough to lie in a way we could have remained oblivious to it, and the eighth part annoyed I’ve had to come up with so many synonyms to “upset” in describing my feelings without repeating myself.
Braden knew I was disappointed with him, so he became quiet, refusing to look me in the eye, give me a hug or say goodbye when I left.
In my car, on the way to work, I realized he was human, like the rest of us, and that I couldn’t expect perfection from him. I also realized we needed to address the situation, as we didn’t want him to think it was acceptable behavior.
After talking about it with Jenny, we decided we weren’t going to make him feel bad for his behavior by lecturing him about it. Instead, we decided, we were going to set up a consistent award-and-punishment system that would make our expectations clear to him.
On green days he would receive a quarter for his piggy bank, and on red days we’d take a quarter away. His piggy bank, which he can spend however he wishes when he has enough money, would neither increase nor decrease on yellow days.
He could only watch television in the evening if he had a green day, making it a reward for good behavior.
He crabbed at the rules at first, as we did not allow him to watch television that evening for his behavior the day before. He quickly realized, though, he was getting off easy for the crime, so he accepted it and had a good night playing with his toys.
After a week with these new rules, he seems to understand them. He’s avoided red days, but he’s only had a couple of green days. I’m hopeful that as we grow and learn as parents we’ll help him produce more of them. And I’m hopeful he won’t try pulling a fast one on us again until he’s at least a little older. I don’t want him perfecting his technique now, because then he may get away with bigger and scarier lies as a teen. I want to be able to stop them then, too.
Grammy performances all about spectacle, not about music
Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m getting old.
But this year’s Grammy Awards Sunday night was a big bore, despite being orchestrated by its producers to be anything but.
It was designed to feature unique collaborations that will never be duplicated again, and each performance was made to be a spectacle for peoples’ eyes.
The show included Green Day performing with the Broadway cast of “American Idiot,” Lady GaGa and Elton John hooking up for a duet, Pink drenching the audience with aerial acrobats, and the Black Eyed Peas getting robotic.
And judging by the ratings, the show was a huge success, because more people watched it than the previous six Grammys, demonstrating people do like the orchestration.
But ratings don’t mean a thing to me when I don’t enjoy the show. This weekend’s Super Bowl could garner the highest ratings ever, but if one team wins 45-0, then to me it won’t be worth the four hours I wasted watching it.
This year’s Grammys were a 45-0 blowout because the collaborations and eye candy completely drowned out the reason for holding the show in the first place – the music.
I haven’t missed a Grammy Show since high school, and I usually eagerly wait for it as it provides an opportunity for me to hear and see great performances from artists I like and also a chance for me to discover other artists I know little to nothing about. That even means Ricky Martin, an artist who, for a moment, became a household name after his career-making Grammy performance in 1999.
Through the years, artists like Michael Jackson, Bruce Springsteen, U2, Stevie Wonder, Eminem, Tina Turner and Madonna have owned the Grammy stage, using it as a podium to demonstrate their greatness. Nearly every time they performed, it was usually about the music. Once in a while they did something special to enhance the song, but whatever they did, it didn’t take precedence over the song.
But a funny thing happened in 1998: “Soy Bomb.” While Bob Dylan was performing, a half-naked man unexpectedly joined him on stage with the words “Soy Bomb” written on his chest. It was crazy, but made even crazier because Dylan kept performing either unaware of the guy’s presence or unfazed by it, as though he’s seen stranger things in his storied career.
The next day “Soy Bomb” was the most talked about aspect of the show, giving show producers for the last 11 years a light-bulb moment they are still using. If an artist is paired with either an unimaginable collaborator, like Eminem and Elton John in 2001, or with interesting visuals, like Pink with a trapeze swing, water and a revealing outfit this year, then people won’t ever want to miss the Grammys.
It worked for a while, but now producers have forgotten the most important element: the music. Pink’s song was okay, but it didn’t blow me away. I was too busy thinking about the poor people below her who probably got quite wet. Green Day has always been enjoyable to watch, but with what seemed like 1,200 other people on stage, I could barely see where the band was. And the Black Eyed Peas. Don’t even get me started.
The one performance that wasn’t about the spectacle, Taylor Swift’s, featured, well, bad music. Once again, maybe I’m too old, but I don’t get her. She can’t sing. Her voice is weak and some of her notes verve into bad “American Idol” audition territory. Stevie Nicks, who joined her in the performance, quickly made people realize how terrible Swift is.
I know it’s horrible for me to say this, but I was hoping Nicks would push her off the stage and continue alone. Or if she would have been too nice to do this, Kanye West could have jumped on stage and done so, proving to the world he was right when he interrupted her acceptance speech at last year’s MTV Video Awards Show in saying others were better than her. Not just others, I’ll say, but pretty much everybody, even the guys who sang “Who Let the Dogs Out?”
Seriously, though, I don’t know why I should even care that the performance portion of the show is no longer relevant. After all, the awards portion stopped being relevant long ago. To prove this, I just need to provide one fact: the great Neil Young – one of the greatest artists of all time – finally received his first Grammy ever this year. Of course, it was for the most minor award possible, Best Boxed or Special Limited Edition Package. The packaging of this year’s Archives Box Set, not his music, was honored.
Good job Grammys. Here’s hoping next year will find you pairing Celine Dion with Smokey Robinson in a 3-D Michael Jackson tribute. Oops. You did that this year. Congratulations.
But this year’s Grammy Awards Sunday night was a big bore, despite being orchestrated by its producers to be anything but.
It was designed to feature unique collaborations that will never be duplicated again, and each performance was made to be a spectacle for peoples’ eyes.
The show included Green Day performing with the Broadway cast of “American Idiot,” Lady GaGa and Elton John hooking up for a duet, Pink drenching the audience with aerial acrobats, and the Black Eyed Peas getting robotic.
And judging by the ratings, the show was a huge success, because more people watched it than the previous six Grammys, demonstrating people do like the orchestration.
But ratings don’t mean a thing to me when I don’t enjoy the show. This weekend’s Super Bowl could garner the highest ratings ever, but if one team wins 45-0, then to me it won’t be worth the four hours I wasted watching it.
This year’s Grammys were a 45-0 blowout because the collaborations and eye candy completely drowned out the reason for holding the show in the first place – the music.
I haven’t missed a Grammy Show since high school, and I usually eagerly wait for it as it provides an opportunity for me to hear and see great performances from artists I like and also a chance for me to discover other artists I know little to nothing about. That even means Ricky Martin, an artist who, for a moment, became a household name after his career-making Grammy performance in 1999.
Through the years, artists like Michael Jackson, Bruce Springsteen, U2, Stevie Wonder, Eminem, Tina Turner and Madonna have owned the Grammy stage, using it as a podium to demonstrate their greatness. Nearly every time they performed, it was usually about the music. Once in a while they did something special to enhance the song, but whatever they did, it didn’t take precedence over the song.
But a funny thing happened in 1998: “Soy Bomb.” While Bob Dylan was performing, a half-naked man unexpectedly joined him on stage with the words “Soy Bomb” written on his chest. It was crazy, but made even crazier because Dylan kept performing either unaware of the guy’s presence or unfazed by it, as though he’s seen stranger things in his storied career.
The next day “Soy Bomb” was the most talked about aspect of the show, giving show producers for the last 11 years a light-bulb moment they are still using. If an artist is paired with either an unimaginable collaborator, like Eminem and Elton John in 2001, or with interesting visuals, like Pink with a trapeze swing, water and a revealing outfit this year, then people won’t ever want to miss the Grammys.
It worked for a while, but now producers have forgotten the most important element: the music. Pink’s song was okay, but it didn’t blow me away. I was too busy thinking about the poor people below her who probably got quite wet. Green Day has always been enjoyable to watch, but with what seemed like 1,200 other people on stage, I could barely see where the band was. And the Black Eyed Peas. Don’t even get me started.
The one performance that wasn’t about the spectacle, Taylor Swift’s, featured, well, bad music. Once again, maybe I’m too old, but I don’t get her. She can’t sing. Her voice is weak and some of her notes verve into bad “American Idol” audition territory. Stevie Nicks, who joined her in the performance, quickly made people realize how terrible Swift is.
I know it’s horrible for me to say this, but I was hoping Nicks would push her off the stage and continue alone. Or if she would have been too nice to do this, Kanye West could have jumped on stage and done so, proving to the world he was right when he interrupted her acceptance speech at last year’s MTV Video Awards Show in saying others were better than her. Not just others, I’ll say, but pretty much everybody, even the guys who sang “Who Let the Dogs Out?”
Seriously, though, I don’t know why I should even care that the performance portion of the show is no longer relevant. After all, the awards portion stopped being relevant long ago. To prove this, I just need to provide one fact: the great Neil Young – one of the greatest artists of all time – finally received his first Grammy ever this year. Of course, it was for the most minor award possible, Best Boxed or Special Limited Edition Package. The packaging of this year’s Archives Box Set, not his music, was honored.
Good job Grammys. Here’s hoping next year will find you pairing Celine Dion with Smokey Robinson in a 3-D Michael Jackson tribute. Oops. You did that this year. Congratulations.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)