So once again, our brilliant U.S. federal government (with, sadly, probably the support of a majority of boneheaded citizens and ineffectual parents) strongarmed our students into the world of the Moral Majority.
Our kids are already forced to give up rights of search and seizure. Choir kids are forced to pee into cups for mandatory drug testing. And for years, student newspapers have enjoyed practically no first amendment protections.
Adding insult to injuries, now students' research efforts are being routinely hampered because the federal government has basically forced all but the wealthiest U.S. schools to install ridiculously bug-ridden Internet filters.
If you're student and trying to research breast cancer, forget it. And of course, anything dealing with information on contraception, sexually transmitted diseases, or -- probably in some cases -- even "sex discrimination" is undoubtedly more than the typical lame filters will allow. It's hard to know for sure, however, since the filter companies insist that info on what they block is strictly "proprietary." So heck, yeah, they say, we'll decide what your kids can and cannot access and study, but we're not going to let you, the parents, know any details!
But it's okay. Because Lord knows that if some of our children encountered a naked breast or saw the word "condom," they'd be scarred for life. And we all know that even sixteen-year-old students -- and for that matter, their local teachers and administrators -- simply can't be trusted to weigh the risks and benefits of filtering anyway.
Forgive my mock surprise here, but gee, you don't hear about Sweden or other European countries installing such filters. And unless I'm mistaken, their kids seem to turn out pretty well. They might even have a leg up on our children when it comes to studying Bucky Balls.
And boy, I guess THIS blog entry isn't gonna reach any American schoolkids, is it?
Sunday, September 15, 2002
So when's it okay to lie?
A very attractive acquaintance of mine, who once had beautiful flowing long hair, got her tresses cut, well, awful short :(
So short, in fact, that I wasn't sure it was her when she was in my arms tonight while dancing. "Hi, I'm Adam" I hesitatingly introduced myself, to which she replied with mock exasperation, "Uh, I'm [so-and-so], remember?"
She realized, of course, that I didn't recognize her because of her major crop job. And certainly, my expected response would have been "You look great."
But I didn't think that was true, so I just smiled and apologized for my doofish inability to recognize her.
She smiled back, but I'm wondering whether she was hurt that I didn't compliment her on her new doo.
I might even have considered saying something nice, but I'm a lousy liar.
This, indeed, also explains why I never became a lawyer.
So short, in fact, that I wasn't sure it was her when she was in my arms tonight while dancing. "Hi, I'm Adam" I hesitatingly introduced myself, to which she replied with mock exasperation, "Uh, I'm [so-and-so], remember?"
She realized, of course, that I didn't recognize her because of her major crop job. And certainly, my expected response would have been "You look great."
But I didn't think that was true, so I just smiled and apologized for my doofish inability to recognize her.
She smiled back, but I'm wondering whether she was hurt that I didn't compliment her on her new doo.
I might even have considered saying something nice, but I'm a lousy liar.
This, indeed, also explains why I never became a lawyer.
Wednesday, September 11, 2002
Flowers in Manhattan
Click to see a larger version of this photo, taken in October 2000 from a random a florist shop street offering. It was scenes like this that made me frequently stop and appreciate the surprising beauty of the crowded Manhattan on-the-way-to-work hustle and bustle during my week-long business trip.
Monday, September 9, 2002
More thoughts on 9/11
I'm faced with a balancing act here.
I have strong feelings about 9/11... about our government's reactions... and about individual responses. However, I also want to be sensitive to others who may feel that excessive questioning or cynicism about patriotism and similar issues are inappropriate at this time.
Let me just say, though, that I find it highly ironic that there's seemingly a nationwide push now for companies to go 'dark' on 9/11. Most recently, I read about how many telemarketing companies have pledged not to interrupt us on this Wednesday.
How strange. Wasn't it our very own president who suggested that there was nothing better we could do than SHOP after 9/11? Remember all those American-flag-as-shopping-bag stickers all around the place that proudly trumpted "America -- Open for Business"?
Okay, so most folks would agree that the telemarketing scum aren't self-imposing this moratorium out of the goodness of their hearts; they simply don't want the bad PR from selling Florida timeshare units and getting screamed at by indignant Americans.
But wouldn't it have made more sense to have the telemarketers not just go home and loaf around, but instead make telemarketing calls on behalf of bonafide charitable organizations for free?
Imagine this... you get a phone call from someone asking for donations to the Red Cross or for -- this'd be wild but sweet justice -- aid for International Terrorism victims (not just US folks!).
While I hate all telemarketing in general, at least this'd be for a good cause... and might even actually even raise MORE money than usual with people in a somber or reflective or giving mood!
What do you think?
I have strong feelings about 9/11... about our government's reactions... and about individual responses. However, I also want to be sensitive to others who may feel that excessive questioning or cynicism about patriotism and similar issues are inappropriate at this time.
Let me just say, though, that I find it highly ironic that there's seemingly a nationwide push now for companies to go 'dark' on 9/11. Most recently, I read about how many telemarketing companies have pledged not to interrupt us on this Wednesday.
How strange. Wasn't it our very own president who suggested that there was nothing better we could do than SHOP after 9/11? Remember all those American-flag-as-shopping-bag stickers all around the place that proudly trumpted "America -- Open for Business"?
Okay, so most folks would agree that the telemarketing scum aren't self-imposing this moratorium out of the goodness of their hearts; they simply don't want the bad PR from selling Florida timeshare units and getting screamed at by indignant Americans.
But wouldn't it have made more sense to have the telemarketers not just go home and loaf around, but instead make telemarketing calls on behalf of bonafide charitable organizations for free?
Imagine this... you get a phone call from someone asking for donations to the Red Cross or for -- this'd be wild but sweet justice -- aid for International Terrorism victims (not just US folks!).
While I hate all telemarketing in general, at least this'd be for a good cause... and might even actually even raise MORE money than usual with people in a somber or reflective or giving mood!
What do you think?
Sunday, September 8, 2002
Courtesy or lack thereof
Sometimes I'm really embarrassed to be a Democrat.
While I abhor much of the ideologies (or at least practiced ideologies) of the Right, I'm similarly distressed when those on the Left abandon all pretenses of civility and courtesy through their consistent heckling of those espousing contrary viewpoints.
I think back to my college days, when it was a common yet-still-disgusting occurrence to have conservative speakers booed and yelled at mid-speech by liberal protesters. I was particularly ashamed, because I knew of no similar instances of liberal guests being treated with such disrespect by conservative students.
As most of us sadly realize, angry and impetuous liberals don't miraculously mature after their heady pot-smoking college days. As fellow blogger Matt lamented recently, Colin Powell was soundly booed by protesters at the World Summit in South Africa.
Like Matt, I make no pretenses about supporting the viewpoints of Mr. Powell, and I sure as hell don't like our current President or his idiotic and damaging policies.
However, I feel that common human civility compels -- or should compel -- people to let others speak their mind. I also believe that it is through respectful dialogue that we learn about ourselves and the world around us, whether such learning challenges or solidifies our current beliefs.
How embarrassing and sad it is, then, that even at our most venerable institutions of learning such as Harvard and Northwestern University, even heads of state are unable to speak to an assembly without being screamed at.
Are these liberals so fearful that their viewpoints cannot be effectively communicated before, after, or in a different place concurrently with those ideas they rail against? Cannot their beliefs stand the scrutiny of rational and polite discussion?
Matt argues that civility is now just a "pipe dream" and "about as foreign an idea as a politician with integrity." But somehow it seems that the greatest loss of respect is highlighted by my fellow liberals.
I wish I knew why this was. And more importantly, I wish I could put an end to the nasty behavior.
While I abhor much of the ideologies (or at least practiced ideologies) of the Right, I'm similarly distressed when those on the Left abandon all pretenses of civility and courtesy through their consistent heckling of those espousing contrary viewpoints.
I think back to my college days, when it was a common yet-still-disgusting occurrence to have conservative speakers booed and yelled at mid-speech by liberal protesters. I was particularly ashamed, because I knew of no similar instances of liberal guests being treated with such disrespect by conservative students.
As most of us sadly realize, angry and impetuous liberals don't miraculously mature after their heady pot-smoking college days. As fellow blogger Matt lamented recently, Colin Powell was soundly booed by protesters at the World Summit in South Africa.
Like Matt, I make no pretenses about supporting the viewpoints of Mr. Powell, and I sure as hell don't like our current President or his idiotic and damaging policies.
However, I feel that common human civility compels -- or should compel -- people to let others speak their mind. I also believe that it is through respectful dialogue that we learn about ourselves and the world around us, whether such learning challenges or solidifies our current beliefs.
How embarrassing and sad it is, then, that even at our most venerable institutions of learning such as Harvard and Northwestern University, even heads of state are unable to speak to an assembly without being screamed at.
Are these liberals so fearful that their viewpoints cannot be effectively communicated before, after, or in a different place concurrently with those ideas they rail against? Cannot their beliefs stand the scrutiny of rational and polite discussion?
Matt argues that civility is now just a "pipe dream" and "about as foreign an idea as a politician with integrity." But somehow it seems that the greatest loss of respect is highlighted by my fellow liberals.
I wish I knew why this was. And more importantly, I wish I could put an end to the nasty behavior.
When it just clicks
Don't you love it when stuff just clicks?
I take Lindy Hop lessons every Thursday from two of the world's top swing dancers, and afterwards, I generally stay for their three hour dance party. Sometimes I stay because I just don't want to go home, not because I'm having a particularly stellar night.
But last night, my dancing just seemed to click into place. I was having fun. My partners were enthusiastic. And I was feeling MUSICAL!
It didn't hurt that I got very high compliments from two respectable follows, either.
One of them was shocked to hear that I had been dancing for just a bit over a year. "It seems like you've been dancing, well, maybe three years!" she gushed. When I told her at the end of the dance that it had been (honestly) a pleasure dancing with her, she responded, "Please ask me again!"
Another follow asked me for a third dance during the course of the evening, and apologized humbly saying, "I don't mean to monopolize you, but you're so much fun!"
That, indeed, is one of the top compliments you can get from a follow in Lindy Hop... anything with the word "fun" in it. That, and being asked for additional dances :-)
* * *
It's only recently that I've been finally reaching that point where I can play with the music, move my body a bit more gracefully, and lead with more assertiveness and confidence. In fact, it was merely a few months ago when I mercifully crossed over a particular line... when Lindy Hop became filled with more regular joy than regular stress... stress over whom I could ask to dance, stress about whether my partner was enjoying spending a three minute eternity with me, and so on. Now I'm finding more things to smile about... compliments, achievements (wow that double spin was smooth!), and an increase in the number of love affairs, at least on the dance floor.
Yes, it's about loving each other for those three minutes... connecting with your partner... forgetting about everyone else (well, aside from watching out for collisions ;-)... and just sensing your partner, their movements, and how you balance and move together. It really is a kind of love that's hard to describe unless you experience it.
It's also about loving yourself, as crude as that may sound out of context. Earlier in the evening last night, I had actually made peace with the realization that I was never going to be a Lindy Rockstar.
"And that's okay!" I told myself. And I think for one of the first times in my life, I really believed it. I could still enjoy dancing, and -- of equal importance -- women could still enjoy dancing with me with all my special nuances and quirks and foibles and "special" moves and all. I could still be somebody on the dance floor -- myself -- and be happy with that.
Sure, I had grown used to being a "Rockstar" in academics when I was younger... a Rockstar in music... and in many other things I set my mind to.
I just didn't -- and don't -- have a natural brilliance in dance. It's not me. But I can accept that.
I wonder if it's perhaps more than irony that I had some of the best dancing in my life when I finally learned to accept my dancing for what it is and what I'm capable of.
Of course, I don't plan to just rest on my laurels. I will continue to practice, to improve, to push myself. But the goal will be to better myself... not in comparison with others (because they will get better, too, and always be ahead of me), not in comparison with an official yardstick (can I win competitions? can I do four spins in a row?) but rather, what can I learn that makes me happy?
Because once dance stops making me happy, that's when I'll stop dancing.
But as I wrote in a journal entry perhaps half a year ago, I just hope that day never comes. Music and movement... beget some of the greatest joys one can hope to have :-)
I take Lindy Hop lessons every Thursday from two of the world's top swing dancers, and afterwards, I generally stay for their three hour dance party. Sometimes I stay because I just don't want to go home, not because I'm having a particularly stellar night.
But last night, my dancing just seemed to click into place. I was having fun. My partners were enthusiastic. And I was feeling MUSICAL!
It didn't hurt that I got very high compliments from two respectable follows, either.
One of them was shocked to hear that I had been dancing for just a bit over a year. "It seems like you've been dancing, well, maybe three years!" she gushed. When I told her at the end of the dance that it had been (honestly) a pleasure dancing with her, she responded, "Please ask me again!"
Another follow asked me for a third dance during the course of the evening, and apologized humbly saying, "I don't mean to monopolize you, but you're so much fun!"
That, indeed, is one of the top compliments you can get from a follow in Lindy Hop... anything with the word "fun" in it. That, and being asked for additional dances :-)
* * *
It's only recently that I've been finally reaching that point where I can play with the music, move my body a bit more gracefully, and lead with more assertiveness and confidence. In fact, it was merely a few months ago when I mercifully crossed over a particular line... when Lindy Hop became filled with more regular joy than regular stress... stress over whom I could ask to dance, stress about whether my partner was enjoying spending a three minute eternity with me, and so on. Now I'm finding more things to smile about... compliments, achievements (wow that double spin was smooth!), and an increase in the number of love affairs, at least on the dance floor.
Yes, it's about loving each other for those three minutes... connecting with your partner... forgetting about everyone else (well, aside from watching out for collisions ;-)... and just sensing your partner, their movements, and how you balance and move together. It really is a kind of love that's hard to describe unless you experience it.
It's also about loving yourself, as crude as that may sound out of context. Earlier in the evening last night, I had actually made peace with the realization that I was never going to be a Lindy Rockstar.
"And that's okay!" I told myself. And I think for one of the first times in my life, I really believed it. I could still enjoy dancing, and -- of equal importance -- women could still enjoy dancing with me with all my special nuances and quirks and foibles and "special" moves and all. I could still be somebody on the dance floor -- myself -- and be happy with that.
Sure, I had grown used to being a "Rockstar" in academics when I was younger... a Rockstar in music... and in many other things I set my mind to.
I just didn't -- and don't -- have a natural brilliance in dance. It's not me. But I can accept that.
I wonder if it's perhaps more than irony that I had some of the best dancing in my life when I finally learned to accept my dancing for what it is and what I'm capable of.
Of course, I don't plan to just rest on my laurels. I will continue to practice, to improve, to push myself. But the goal will be to better myself... not in comparison with others (because they will get better, too, and always be ahead of me), not in comparison with an official yardstick (can I win competitions? can I do four spins in a row?) but rather, what can I learn that makes me happy?
Because once dance stops making me happy, that's when I'll stop dancing.
But as I wrote in a journal entry perhaps half a year ago, I just hope that day never comes. Music and movement... beget some of the greatest joys one can hope to have :-)
Saturday, September 7, 2002
Is it really snobbery?
It's so easy to assume the worst in people.
That woman who won't look me in the eye? She thinks she's too good for me.
That guy who barely grunts two words in response to my compliment? Arrogant asshole.
And that woman who never asks me to dance and just ignores me when I walk past? What a snob!
By assuming the worst, I can always be pleasantly surprised when I'm wrong.
And... I usually am. Both wrong, and pleasantly surprised.
There's this one woman in the dance world, "Jaya," who moves with incredible grace and sensuality... always dances with the same few hot guys... and is, unsurprisingly, drop-dead gorgeous.
Doesn't take much of a stretch of the imagination to pin the "SNOB!" label on her, does it?
Imagine my surprise then, when one of my friends ("Mark") spoke well of her, and indeed confided in me that he even went on a few dates with her some years back and she was "a total sweetheart."
Understandably incredulous, I asked Mark how he ever ended up talking with Jaya, much less going out on dates with her.
He lowered his voice, and said with some embarrassment, "Uh... the tele-personals."
"The tele-what?!?" I said, not believing what I heard. Images of 1-900 sex line late-night ads popped into my head.
Well, the reality of the situation was less raunchy but no less strange. Five years ago, before Internet dating had really taken off, there were apparently actual "personals" lines you could phone up, punch in your stats and preferences, with the goal of meeting one or more single people in your area who'd be compatible to date. San Francisco's a big place and Mark -- a handsome and successful businessman who had just moved to an outside sleepy suburb -- was simply not having luck meeting women in bars or anywhere else for that matter.
Okay, so I could understand this guy, despite his fine qualities, hitting the telepersonals in desperation. After all, women are -- no matter what the numbers -- almost always the 'hunted' while we're the frustrated hunters.
But what about this dream woman? When Jaya could probably get 100 guys to her side with a flick of her eyelashes, what the heck would she be doing on a service featuring down-on-their-luck male suitors?
"She's shy, Adam. Really, really, really shy" Mark insisted. "She hides it, yeah, I mean, she dresses nice and is a killer dancer. But she's afraid of rejection, and guys are intimidated by her anyway."
I was stunned. I always thought Jaya had it all... total cool confidence, everything / everyone her heart desired, and so on.
And here she was, actually scared guyless in the dating world.
Mark also told me about other women he had gotten to know who were -- contrary to popular opinion -- actually insecure and/or shy and not snots at all. And over the last few weeks, I've made my own similar discoveries... learning that many "cold fish" are actually scaredy cats who open up when they get to know someone.
And sometimes all it takes is a random event or issue to bridge the gap.
I played a silly piano medley at a swing dance "talent night" and to my amazement, I got a standing ovation. Even more startling, however, was when one of the ice queens came up to me later, gave me a huge hug and said, "Wow, you are AMAZING!" And she's been relatively friendly ever since!
This isn't to say, of course, that I haven't encountered people who have -- quite consistently -- proven that they are indeed unrepentant snobs. But strangely, this has turned out to be the exception, not the rule.
Will this change my behavior, prompting me to assume the best in aloof folks, rather than the worst?
It should, yes, but I doubt I'll change anytime soon. After all, despite my generally optimistic and sunny disposition, it's just too much of a pleasant surprise being proven wrong in this context, again and again :D
That woman who won't look me in the eye? She thinks she's too good for me.
That guy who barely grunts two words in response to my compliment? Arrogant asshole.
And that woman who never asks me to dance and just ignores me when I walk past? What a snob!
By assuming the worst, I can always be pleasantly surprised when I'm wrong.
And... I usually am. Both wrong, and pleasantly surprised.
There's this one woman in the dance world, "Jaya," who moves with incredible grace and sensuality... always dances with the same few hot guys... and is, unsurprisingly, drop-dead gorgeous.
Doesn't take much of a stretch of the imagination to pin the "SNOB!" label on her, does it?
Imagine my surprise then, when one of my friends ("Mark") spoke well of her, and indeed confided in me that he even went on a few dates with her some years back and she was "a total sweetheart."
Understandably incredulous, I asked Mark how he ever ended up talking with Jaya, much less going out on dates with her.
He lowered his voice, and said with some embarrassment, "Uh... the tele-personals."
"The tele-what?!?" I said, not believing what I heard. Images of 1-900 sex line late-night ads popped into my head.
Well, the reality of the situation was less raunchy but no less strange. Five years ago, before Internet dating had really taken off, there were apparently actual "personals" lines you could phone up, punch in your stats and preferences, with the goal of meeting one or more single people in your area who'd be compatible to date. San Francisco's a big place and Mark -- a handsome and successful businessman who had just moved to an outside sleepy suburb -- was simply not having luck meeting women in bars or anywhere else for that matter.
Okay, so I could understand this guy, despite his fine qualities, hitting the telepersonals in desperation. After all, women are -- no matter what the numbers -- almost always the 'hunted' while we're the frustrated hunters.
But what about this dream woman? When Jaya could probably get 100 guys to her side with a flick of her eyelashes, what the heck would she be doing on a service featuring down-on-their-luck male suitors?
"She's shy, Adam. Really, really, really shy" Mark insisted. "She hides it, yeah, I mean, she dresses nice and is a killer dancer. But she's afraid of rejection, and guys are intimidated by her anyway."
I was stunned. I always thought Jaya had it all... total cool confidence, everything / everyone her heart desired, and so on.
And here she was, actually scared guyless in the dating world.
Mark also told me about other women he had gotten to know who were -- contrary to popular opinion -- actually insecure and/or shy and not snots at all. And over the last few weeks, I've made my own similar discoveries... learning that many "cold fish" are actually scaredy cats who open up when they get to know someone.
And sometimes all it takes is a random event or issue to bridge the gap.
I played a silly piano medley at a swing dance "talent night" and to my amazement, I got a standing ovation. Even more startling, however, was when one of the ice queens came up to me later, gave me a huge hug and said, "Wow, you are AMAZING!" And she's been relatively friendly ever since!
This isn't to say, of course, that I haven't encountered people who have -- quite consistently -- proven that they are indeed unrepentant snobs. But strangely, this has turned out to be the exception, not the rule.
Will this change my behavior, prompting me to assume the best in aloof folks, rather than the worst?
It should, yes, but I doubt I'll change anytime soon. After all, despite my generally optimistic and sunny disposition, it's just too much of a pleasant surprise being proven wrong in this context, again and again :D
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