Since Brent and I are getting married one of the topics we have been discussing is children...some readers will be very excited by this development! Tee hee.
Anyway, an article was posted to my favorite blog, http://www.boingboing.net/, from the LA Times, about children being allowed to have free play time.
I think this is imperative to a child's growth...but I don't have any kids. What do you guys think about the article?
Here is a link (Click this line.)
Remember 'go outside and play?'
Overbearing parents have taken the fun out of childhood and turned it into a grind.
Rosa Brooks, LAtimes
May 15, 2008
Can you forgive her?In March, Lenore Skenazy, a New York City mother, gave her 9-year-old son, Izzy, a MetroCard, a subway map, a $20 bill and some quarters for pay phones. Then she let him make his own way home from Bloomingdale's department store -- by subway and bus.
Izzy survived unscathed. He wasn't abducted by a perverted stranger or pushed under an oncoming train by a homicidal maniac. He didn't even get lost. According to Skenazy, who wrote about it in a New York Sun column, he arrived home "ecstatic with independence."
His mother wasn't so lucky. Her column generated as much outrage as if she'd suggested that mothers make extra cash by hiring their kids out as child prostitutes.
But it also reinvigorated an important debate about children, safety and independence.
Reader, if you're much over 30, you probably remember what it used to be like for the typical American kid. Remember how there used to be this thing called "going out to play"?
For younger readers, I'll explain this archaic concept. It worked like this: The child or children in the house -- as long as they were over age 4 or so -- went to the door, opened it, and ... went outside. They braved the neighborhood pedophile just waiting to pounce, the rusty nails just waiting to be stepped on, the trees just waiting to be fallen out of, and they "played."
"Play," incidentally, is a mysterious activity children engage in when not compelled to spend every hour under adult supervision, taking soccer or piano lessons or practicing vocabulary words with computerized flashcards.
....(more at the link)....
8.26.2008
8.24.2008
"the lottery" by shirley jackson
Has everyone read this haunting short story? What a great piece of work. If you have not read it, I invite you do so now. Click on these sentences to go to the story.
Oh and I recently realized that commenting was more difficult than it should be...now, anyone can comment without signing in...just leave your name so I know who says what! :)
(Image taken in the GAO.)
8.22.2008
how do you size people up?
"I’ve learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he or she handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights." (Maya Angelou)
I have a good friend who will only date men who handle crisis well. Sometimes I drive Brent crazy because I will start shouting swear words...because I dropped an ice cube, or forgot to pick up the dry cleaning. I have explained over and over that if there is a real crisis, I am very calm. He did not believe me, until we had a real crisis.
I think Maya's three things are pretty good indicators as well. I might say "I've learned that you can tell a lot about a person by how they handle their kids having a melt down, how many credit cards they have in their wallet, and their shoes."
What do you use to size people up?
I have a good friend who will only date men who handle crisis well. Sometimes I drive Brent crazy because I will start shouting swear words...because I dropped an ice cube, or forgot to pick up the dry cleaning. I have explained over and over that if there is a real crisis, I am very calm. He did not believe me, until we had a real crisis.
I think Maya's three things are pretty good indicators as well. I might say "I've learned that you can tell a lot about a person by how they handle their kids having a melt down, how many credit cards they have in their wallet, and their shoes."
What do you use to size people up?
8.20.2008
etsy shop
Hi everyone. I just set up my new Etsy shop. I am officially starting a business. I have to get out of this 9to 5 gig...:)
Etsy is a website marketplace for selling personally made goods. I am going to start selling the putting together of Blurb wedding books. I just did my first one for my girl friend Maureen.
For a link to the book, click here.
For a link to my new Etsy store, click here.
I would love to make some books for my readers. I will even do it for free...to get some more sample books.
As always, comments and questions are requested.
(And in case you were wondering, no I did not take that awesome picture on the cover of their book! Maureen's fabulous photographer too it. Find her at www.bluebirdphotography.com.)
8.17.2008
vladmaster fun
So our latest party favor is the Vladmaster Viewmaster story. I ran across this guy's stuff a few weeks ago and ordered a set of viewmasters with a mini-cd. As luck would have it, I recently bought a Viewmaster of my own...before running across this guy's work. A description of the story we purchased is below. Now, when friends come over, we have them play with our Viewmaster! I just ordered four more stories.
Use the link above to get your own...and if you need your own viewmaster, they only cost $5.00. Nice, cheep, safe fun for the whole family. (www.vladmaster.com)
"On March 19th 1992 a recreational airplane flying low over the Cascade foothills noticed an unusual number of orange forms dotting the forest floor. Further investigation revealed 86 earthmoving vehicles, idle and overgrown with weeds, spread over five acres of forest. The Public Life of Jeremiah Barnes is a Vladmaster investigation of this occurance and the man who may or may not have been responsible for it. The story is told in dioramas built from tiny model railroad men and 55-cent plastic bulldozers. Almost none of the objects are larger than one inch in any dimension. Narration is included on a mini-cd accompanying the reels. It features sound effects, music, and a wonderful ding noise to cue the change from image to image.
This set consists of four handmade Vladmaster reels, the box to keep them in, and the mini-cd soundtrack. The story was written and photographed by Vladimir. The reels and box were designed by Vladimir. Toussaint Perrault narrates the story and also wrote and recorded the accompanying music."
Use the link above to get your own...and if you need your own viewmaster, they only cost $5.00. Nice, cheep, safe fun for the whole family. (www.vladmaster.com)
"On March 19th 1992 a recreational airplane flying low over the Cascade foothills noticed an unusual number of orange forms dotting the forest floor. Further investigation revealed 86 earthmoving vehicles, idle and overgrown with weeds, spread over five acres of forest. The Public Life of Jeremiah Barnes is a Vladmaster investigation of this occurance and the man who may or may not have been responsible for it. The story is told in dioramas built from tiny model railroad men and 55-cent plastic bulldozers. Almost none of the objects are larger than one inch in any dimension. Narration is included on a mini-cd accompanying the reels. It features sound effects, music, and a wonderful ding noise to cue the change from image to image.
This set consists of four handmade Vladmaster reels, the box to keep them in, and the mini-cd soundtrack. The story was written and photographed by Vladimir. The reels and box were designed by Vladimir. Toussaint Perrault narrates the story and also wrote and recorded the accompanying music."
8.13.2008
Why are the Olympics in China?
The Chinese are putting on a respectable Olympics, by all appearances. But I am beginning to question the appearance more and more.
First, the gymnasts. The girls don’t look 16 to me at all. They just don’t pass the laugh test.
Then, the opening ceremonies. I feel like I was had. The fireworks weren’t real (because of safety reasons they tell us, after the fact.) And the cute little girl singing was not the girl who really sang the song. A voice over at the Olympics? And the little girl singing did not know herself, because they wanted her to be pure of spirit?
And why aren’t the seats full? Where are all of the people? What is going on? And then they try to fill the seats with people all dress alike, telling the press that they are real spectators. Come on, this does not pass the laugh test either. Naturally, they admitted later that these were all cheerleaders. But they promise all of the 6.8 million tickets to the events are sold out.
Finally, I have a strong inkling that the reports in the media that “China is doing better, this is a really big country, and they are starting to respect personal rights, give them some time” is pure propaganda, or mis-information being spread by the Chinese government.
What else is going to turn out to be fake at these Olympics?
The end point is that any news or information coming out of China should be taken with a large grain of salt at this point, even when it relates to happy things, like little girls singing.
First, the gymnasts. The girls don’t look 16 to me at all. They just don’t pass the laugh test.
Then, the opening ceremonies. I feel like I was had. The fireworks weren’t real (because of safety reasons they tell us, after the fact.) And the cute little girl singing was not the girl who really sang the song. A voice over at the Olympics? And the little girl singing did not know herself, because they wanted her to be pure of spirit?
And why aren’t the seats full? Where are all of the people? What is going on? And then they try to fill the seats with people all dress alike, telling the press that they are real spectators. Come on, this does not pass the laugh test either. Naturally, they admitted later that these were all cheerleaders. But they promise all of the 6.8 million tickets to the events are sold out.
Finally, I have a strong inkling that the reports in the media that “China is doing better, this is a really big country, and they are starting to respect personal rights, give them some time” is pure propaganda, or mis-information being spread by the Chinese government.
What else is going to turn out to be fake at these Olympics?
The end point is that any news or information coming out of China should be taken with a large grain of salt at this point, even when it relates to happy things, like little girls singing.
8.08.2008
my book blurb
We had to come up with our book blurb this week. Please post comments or shoot me an email letting me know what you think...would you buy it?
Take two parts humor, one part sadness, three parts love, and then mix together with friends, laughter, and travel: together these ingredients form the recipe for my life. Added to the mix are stories of the strong women in my family who have eloped with a motorcycle riding carnival worker, ridden a beverage cart down the center aisle of a 747 wearing Mickey Mouse Ears, and dug up the last $1000 hidden in the rose bushes in the garden to clothe her children. Zany and caring stories from a life well lived will keep you, and maybe your partner, up at night as you laugh, cry, and share in the entrée that is my life.
Take two parts humor, one part sadness, three parts love, and then mix together with friends, laughter, and travel: together these ingredients form the recipe for my life. Added to the mix are stories of the strong women in my family who have eloped with a motorcycle riding carnival worker, ridden a beverage cart down the center aisle of a 747 wearing Mickey Mouse Ears, and dug up the last $1000 hidden in the rose bushes in the garden to clothe her children. Zany and caring stories from a life well lived will keep you, and maybe your partner, up at night as you laugh, cry, and share in the entrée that is my life.
8.06.2008
a worthy cause
I just donated $40 to these people and it would be great if you could do the same. I also helped them build a few outhouses this year!
RagsToPads.com
From their email:
"Pardada Pardadi is located in an area of Uttar Pradesh so poor that many women can't afford pads during their period. So they typically use rags torn off old saris to staunch their flow -- a practice that risks terrible infection every period from puberty to menopause.
We are raising $5000 to help Pardada Pardadi buy a machine that makes sanitary pads and support two of the school's graduates as they start a pad-making business. The goal is to create a self-sustaining business that sells pads at around 25 rupees for packs of ten -- simultaneously bringing an affordable and sanitary option to women on their periods while creating economic opportunities for women in an area that has next to none.
If 125 people donate $40 each (about what an American woman will spend on pads every year), we can make this happen. Once we reach $5,000, we'll stop collecting money -- this isn't a charity, this is a donation of seed capital.
Thanks for your help! Learn more and donate at RagsToPads.com."
RagsToPads.com
From their email:
"Pardada Pardadi is located in an area of Uttar Pradesh so poor that many women can't afford pads during their period. So they typically use rags torn off old saris to staunch their flow -- a practice that risks terrible infection every period from puberty to menopause.
We are raising $5000 to help Pardada Pardadi buy a machine that makes sanitary pads and support two of the school's graduates as they start a pad-making business. The goal is to create a self-sustaining business that sells pads at around 25 rupees for packs of ten -- simultaneously bringing an affordable and sanitary option to women on their periods while creating economic opportunities for women in an area that has next to none.
If 125 people donate $40 each (about what an American woman will spend on pads every year), we can make this happen. Once we reach $5,000, we'll stop collecting money -- this isn't a charity, this is a donation of seed capital.
Thanks for your help! Learn more and donate at RagsToPads.com."
7.27.2008
Vituary: Nicole S.
Because of my selective memory, I often remember things more by the way they made me feel than exactly what happened. I remember feeling apprehensive about having quit my job and the move to New York. I realized immediately that I could not live without both friends and a TV. And since I had no friends yet, I went to the Kmart in White Plains, New York to get an electronic friend of sorts, a TV. Luckily, the TV was not my only friend for long. In the first week of law school I met my friend Nicole.
We have the same name. Her mom thought our voice mail for our house line should have said, “If you want to speak to Nicole, press one. If you want to speak to Nicole, press 2.” We were so poor when we lived together, we did not have a house line, so this was a moot point.
Our first road trip together could have ruined our friendship. I made her ride with me in my little Jetta to my storage unit in Maryland. We got caught in traffic on the New Jersey turnpike. You discover quickly how you really feel about someone stuck in traffic. I liked her a lot. She must have liked me too, because I think my car was so full of my possessions (read: crap), she had stuff at her feet and could barely move.
I have never seen her use her black belt in tai kwon doe, but I know she could kick my ass. But you can’t really tell that at first glance. Behind her glowing smile and vaguely Texan accent, lies a person of great depth with a unique way of seeing the world and processing it. I think this is one of the things that drew me to her, because I, too, often lack the ability to see the world like everyone else does.
The day I drove off in my car, planning to leave New York for a year, Nicole started crying. Sometimes I don’t realize, or try not to think about leaving the people I love. Nicole knew I would be gone for a year, and I appreciated her expression of this. I, too, would miss her, and our bantering, and her continued efforts to get me to eat better, and my continued efforts to get her to eat crap.
Last weekend she threw the perfect wedding shower for me. My close friends from law school came together for an afternoon of un-rushed enjoyment of each others company. No one had any place to be and we could talk and lounge around the pool to our heart’s content.
These are a few of the events we have shared. I know there were many more, even if the only real memory I have of them is of the feeling of comfort. That comfortable feeling that comes with friends who are more like family, who you don’t mind seeing you without your bra on, who you know will keep loving you wherever you are. This is the feeling I associate with Nicole: comfort.
I am lucky to have such a good friend to share my life with. Thank you Nicole. Love, Nicole
Movie Review: Mama Mia
Starring: Meryl Streep, Pierce Brosnan, Stellan Skarsgård, Collin Firth
I get why Meryl Streep did the movie Mama Mia: she gets to make out with Pierce Brosnan, and it all takes place on a beautiful island in Greece. What I don’t get is why it sucks. The idea was cute, but the movie lacked that zing, that thing that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
Maybe it was because the people playing the parts were too old. I know they are acting, but that only gets you so far sometimes. And boy can Meryl move. She does not look like she is 59. She looks great. But she is supposed to be playing the mom of a twenty-year-old. Mind you the movie never mentions how old she was when she had her daughter, but because her mom would not let her come home after she got pregnant, I would guess she was around 20. That makes Meryl, even in great shape about twenty years too old for the part.
I think the other thing missing from the movie was a little more back-story about the daughter. Ostensibly, all of her mom’s ex-lovers are in town because of the daughter’s wedding. (Neither the viewer nor the daughter know which one is her dad.) Then we learn she is only 20. Oh and her best friends have British accents while the daughter sounds like an American. And what about college? I guess I don’t know where the daughter is coming from or where she is going or why she is getting married.
And just one more horrible thing: the singing. Meryl can. Pierce can’t. And the painful thing is that they have Pierce keep going and going. The man has a terrible voice and even with support from Meryl, it is a flop. Oh and he starts singing at the end of the movie. Everything is resolved and everyone is having a nice dinner. This song should have been left on the cutting floor, which I gather from the Wikipedia site about the movie is where a lot of the other ABBA songs in the movie ended up.
The best part of the film comes when the credits are rolling: Meryl, Pierce, and Collin, with the other three adult characters, all sing ABBA songs on a stage wearing typical ABBA outfits. They all look great. In fact, Collin Firth turned out to be the one with the biggest gut, and he is the youngest!
I would only recommend the movie if you are going with a group of good friends and are interested in a good laugh, at the movie.
I get why Meryl Streep did the movie Mama Mia: she gets to make out with Pierce Brosnan, and it all takes place on a beautiful island in Greece. What I don’t get is why it sucks. The idea was cute, but the movie lacked that zing, that thing that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
Maybe it was because the people playing the parts were too old. I know they are acting, but that only gets you so far sometimes. And boy can Meryl move. She does not look like she is 59. She looks great. But she is supposed to be playing the mom of a twenty-year-old. Mind you the movie never mentions how old she was when she had her daughter, but because her mom would not let her come home after she got pregnant, I would guess she was around 20. That makes Meryl, even in great shape about twenty years too old for the part.
I think the other thing missing from the movie was a little more back-story about the daughter. Ostensibly, all of her mom’s ex-lovers are in town because of the daughter’s wedding. (Neither the viewer nor the daughter know which one is her dad.) Then we learn she is only 20. Oh and her best friends have British accents while the daughter sounds like an American. And what about college? I guess I don’t know where the daughter is coming from or where she is going or why she is getting married.
And just one more horrible thing: the singing. Meryl can. Pierce can’t. And the painful thing is that they have Pierce keep going and going. The man has a terrible voice and even with support from Meryl, it is a flop. Oh and he starts singing at the end of the movie. Everything is resolved and everyone is having a nice dinner. This song should have been left on the cutting floor, which I gather from the Wikipedia site about the movie is where a lot of the other ABBA songs in the movie ended up.
The best part of the film comes when the credits are rolling: Meryl, Pierce, and Collin, with the other three adult characters, all sing ABBA songs on a stage wearing typical ABBA outfits. They all look great. In fact, Collin Firth turned out to be the one with the biggest gut, and he is the youngest!
I would only recommend the movie if you are going with a group of good friends and are interested in a good laugh, at the movie.
7.26.2008
sniggle
snig·gle: [snig-uh l] verb, -gled, -gling, noun.
1. the act of inadvertent tickling of a partner while snuggling.
2. to lie or press closely, as for comfort or from affection; nestle; cuddle, coupled with inadvertent tickling.
[Origin: 2008, snickle.]
1. the act of inadvertent tickling of a partner while snuggling.
2. to lie or press closely, as for comfort or from affection; nestle; cuddle, coupled with inadvertent tickling.
[Origin: 2008, snickle.]
7.24.2008
Vituary
This profile embodies to me what a Vituary should be all about. You have to use the down arrow to see more.
Click here: Days With My Father
7.22.2008
Book Review: Nudge
Who couldn’t use a little help accomplishing a pesky goal every now and again? I know I need help sometimes to get going on a story or making it to the gym. Nudge, by Richard Thaler and Cass Sunstein (of the University of Chicago) wrote the book as a manifesto to “improve decisions about health, wealth, and happiness.” Seeking to foster what they call a new movement of “libertarian paternalism,” the idea of the book melds individual freedom with the promotion by government of socially optimal decisions, so that the citizen and the society both benefit.
If this sounds a bit different from the University of Chicago’s reputation as a libertarian, free-market school, the authors have no trouble admitting their lone-wolf status in the Economics department. According to them, because the people are only “nudged” into making better choices, their personal liberty (a paramount concern for economists) is preserved. The authors apply the Nudge model to a host of complex and seemingly intractable issues like Social Security, prescription drug coverage, and preserving the environment. For each issue, an alternative solution is explored and the reader is giving a glimpse of what life would be like if only we could be nudged into doing the right thing.
For example, how to get American workers to save more for retirement? Forget the intricate discussions on how people understand their disposable income or how America’s retirement system allocates costs to take care of the elderly; Nudge world simply makes retirement savings automatic, and forces people to opt out of the plans. Presumably, those too lazy to save (note the assumption) now would be too lazy to opt-out under the Nudge system.
The authors also show how people can use the Nudge model in their own lives. My personal favorite is their advocacy of the website stickk.com. It allows people to effectively nudge themselves. Say you want to lose 10 pounds and you think it will take a month to do so. Well, you go to stickk, sign-up for free, and set up your nudge. To motivate yourself, you offer to pay a friend of yours $10 week every week that you don’t hit your weight loss goal. After setting up a profile and putting $40 in your Stickk account, you weigh in once a week. If you make your goal, you get $10. If not, your friend gets a nice gift. Naturally, there are many permutations of this nudge. The key is making the nudge hurt enough so you feel beholden to it.
A quick read, the book offers some new and innovative ways at looking at public policy problems. Take this as your nudge to check it out from your library. For a counter view of the Nudge theory, check out Brent's blog at: LookBehindUsJane.
If this sounds a bit different from the University of Chicago’s reputation as a libertarian, free-market school, the authors have no trouble admitting their lone-wolf status in the Economics department. According to them, because the people are only “nudged” into making better choices, their personal liberty (a paramount concern for economists) is preserved. The authors apply the Nudge model to a host of complex and seemingly intractable issues like Social Security, prescription drug coverage, and preserving the environment. For each issue, an alternative solution is explored and the reader is giving a glimpse of what life would be like if only we could be nudged into doing the right thing.
For example, how to get American workers to save more for retirement? Forget the intricate discussions on how people understand their disposable income or how America’s retirement system allocates costs to take care of the elderly; Nudge world simply makes retirement savings automatic, and forces people to opt out of the plans. Presumably, those too lazy to save (note the assumption) now would be too lazy to opt-out under the Nudge system.
The authors also show how people can use the Nudge model in their own lives. My personal favorite is their advocacy of the website stickk.com. It allows people to effectively nudge themselves. Say you want to lose 10 pounds and you think it will take a month to do so. Well, you go to stickk, sign-up for free, and set up your nudge. To motivate yourself, you offer to pay a friend of yours $10 week every week that you don’t hit your weight loss goal. After setting up a profile and putting $40 in your Stickk account, you weigh in once a week. If you make your goal, you get $10. If not, your friend gets a nice gift. Naturally, there are many permutations of this nudge. The key is making the nudge hurt enough so you feel beholden to it.
A quick read, the book offers some new and innovative ways at looking at public policy problems. Take this as your nudge to check it out from your library. For a counter view of the Nudge theory, check out Brent's blog at: LookBehindUsJane.
7.20.2008
7.17.2008
7.08.2008
Driving
So this is one of the stories I want to use in my book...enjoy...
Pennsylvania is a big state. Really big. People don’t give it its due. New State Slogan: “Pennsylvania: It takes a long time to drive through our state.”
As I am driving, and possibly breaking the law by talking to my friend Ramona on the cell phone, I look down at my windshield and yell, “There is a mouse in my car!”
“There is a mouse in your car?!” she says rather calmly.
“Yes there is a mouse,” I say, sounding a bit like the mouse I bet.
“In your car?”
“In my car.”
“At your feet?”
“No.”
“Where in the car?”
“In the car.”
“Yes, but is it running around inside the car.”
“No, it is in the car.”
“Nicole, where is the mouse? Inside of the car?”
“No outside, on the windshield.”
“In your car or outside of the car?”
“Outside of the car.”
“Pull over.”
Right. I will call her back.
Who knows where this little guy came from. I started driving in Montana and now I was in Pennsylvania. The mouse was cute. It looked up at me while I was driving, turning its head around at me, and smiled with the wind rushing through his fur. Ralph the Mouse could not have been cuter, had he been in my car riding his motorcycle. The mouse then turned his head back around and, with ears back, looked happy to drive along sitting there. I swear he grabbed on. I wish I had a picture. No, no mice in the car, even cute mice.
I try to shoo it away.
I get back in the car. There the little guy is again, popping back up and looking up at me all innocent and happy to be sitting in my engine riding along.
I repeat the pull-over and try the shoo away exercise two more times. At one point a couple in a very large RV drive by and ask if they can help me. No, thank you, I have a cell phone, AAA, and it is only a mouse.
The reason I have AAA and a cell phone for driving across the country is not because I planned well for this trip or prepared at the beginning.
I had left Missoula around 4 in the afternoon three days earlier. I wanted to get on the road. My brother and sister tried to persuade me to stay home for another night: “you won’t get that far, just hangout with us.” I left anyway. The drive was not bad, even though I had not done much driving since I’d been in Germany and I therefore arrived in Billings late, around 9:30. It should have taken me only five hours. My Jetta was doing great. Before the drive someone had asked if I thought my eight year old, 125,000 miles already driven VW would make it across the country. Of course it would make it, why not?
I pulled up to the fuel station, went to put in some fuel, and noticed the gas cap cover needed a key. While in Germany for the year, I had loaned my brother Montana my car. I looked at the key chain, no key to the gas cap. Hum, not good, I think. He must have lost the gas cap over the year someplace. So I go inside and look to see if the fuel station sells these gas cap covers.
I ask the girl at the counter, “Do you sell those gas cap covers with the keys? I have lost my key and want to try one.” She replies, “No, but I have an idea, why don’t you just use your key?” I am not making this response up. I ask the biker dude and truck driver outside having a beer if they have any ideas. Biker: “Well, I would take a flathead screwdriver and jam it into the key slot and turn really hard while doing it. That might work.” I’m not making that up either.
I call my brother who had been driving the car for the year.
“Montana did you forget to give me something when I left today?”
“No”
“Something to do with the gas?”
“Gas money?”
“No”
“Oh Shit! Oh SHIT! Oh shit!”
“Ok, so we need a new phrase,” I tell him.
“Call me back. I will look on the internet for a solution.”
I drive on to the Flying J Truck Stop. Very cool places, for the uninitiated. You can shower, eat, buy a TV and do just about everything else you might think of at this chain of truck stops found throughout the US. One of my friend’s truck driving stepfathers wanted to setup their driveway to look like one.
No gas cap covers with keys there, but I am offered a phone book. I call AAA and decide to join, at the pay phone. I’m at the pay phone because I did not think the sales rep at the cell phone store in Missoula, Montana was giving me a good enough deal. I wanted a free phone, she said they did not give out free phones anymore. What did she know? So, I don’t have a cell phone for my drive across the US with the early model VW. What could go wrong?
I finally get an AAA guy on the phone.
“Hi, I am in Billings, Montana and I need to join AAA and get a locksmith.”
“Ma’am, what is your address?”
“Which address?”
“Your billing address.”
“Stevensville, MD”
“I am sorry ma’m, I believe that office is closed, this is the national office and I do not think we can sign you up right now.”
“I need to join AAA and get a locksmith.”
“I am really pretty sure we cannot sign you up right now.”
“I really need to join.”
“Don’t you think calling to join AAA right now is a lot like trying to get homeowner’s insurance when the house is on fire?”
“Well, now I need to join AAA, get a locksmith and talk to your supervisor, because what I don’t need right now is a lecture.”
This was one of the few times in my life when the snappy response came to me when needed. Nice.
After a moment on hold, I am signed up and a locksmith is on the way. The locksmith mentions that I do not look like a big city attorney. Because I am not. He put law student with New York together and noticed right away that I did not seem to be what should have come out of that equation.
I get back on the road the next morning and everything goes well all the way to St. Louis. Yes, this is a detour. My grandmother lives there. I am shifting, not 15 miles from my grandmother’s house, when the car dies on the interstate. I pull over and notice the huge approaching summer storm. Thinking someone will stop to help, I sit there…watching the storm get closer. Realizing no help is on the way, I get out, a guy in a car stops. I hesitate for a moment, reminded of my mom telling us over and over never ever to get in the car of a stranger. I take the ride to the Cracker Barrel near by, and pray that if it comes to it, my mom can pull some strings to save me if this dude is an axe-murderer.
The tow truck driver is a trip. Young, nice, portly. He tows my car to a Ford dealership where the AAA people told me they could fix the Jetta. I paid $45 extra because it was outside of the 3 mile free AAA towing range.
I call the next morning, and the conversation with the Ford dealership goes something like this:
“Hi! Nicole Harkin here. I dropped off my Jetta. So how long will it take you to fix it up.”
“Well, we can’t fix it. This is a Ford dealership. But even if we weren’t a Ford dealer, it would be awhile, because all of the mechanics in St. Louis are on strike.”
“What?”
“The mechanics are on strike.”
Right. Right. AAA comes through once again. Why didn’t they mention this problem on the phone? And who has ever heard of unionized car mechanics?
I call around, finding the one VW dealer open. AAA pays to tow Jetta there. The general manager tells me he will try to work me in. I mention law school starts on Monday and, as this is Friday, I really need to go.
I get the call late Friday night that the car is done. I pick it up the next morning with Grammy. Naturally, the Jetta has a flat tire. It is sitting there on the lot with a flat tire. It did not have a flat tire when I brought it to them. After waiting two hours they fix that too, but for free. Oh and by this time, Grammy has decided that I cannot drive any further without a cell phone. I get one because she is mostly correct.
Back on the road.
Oh and I finally ended up using the windshield wiper fluid to encourage the mouse to get out of the car. I never saw him again, but felt bad. I hope nothing happened to him.
Pennsylvania is a big state. Really big. People don’t give it its due. New State Slogan: “Pennsylvania: It takes a long time to drive through our state.”
As I am driving, and possibly breaking the law by talking to my friend Ramona on the cell phone, I look down at my windshield and yell, “There is a mouse in my car!”
“There is a mouse in your car?!” she says rather calmly.
“Yes there is a mouse,” I say, sounding a bit like the mouse I bet.
“In your car?”
“In my car.”
“At your feet?”
“No.”
“Where in the car?”
“In the car.”
“Yes, but is it running around inside the car.”
“No, it is in the car.”
“Nicole, where is the mouse? Inside of the car?”
“No outside, on the windshield.”
“In your car or outside of the car?”
“Outside of the car.”
“Pull over.”
Right. I will call her back.
Who knows where this little guy came from. I started driving in Montana and now I was in Pennsylvania. The mouse was cute. It looked up at me while I was driving, turning its head around at me, and smiled with the wind rushing through his fur. Ralph the Mouse could not have been cuter, had he been in my car riding his motorcycle. The mouse then turned his head back around and, with ears back, looked happy to drive along sitting there. I swear he grabbed on. I wish I had a picture. No, no mice in the car, even cute mice.
I try to shoo it away.
I get back in the car. There the little guy is again, popping back up and looking up at me all innocent and happy to be sitting in my engine riding along.
I repeat the pull-over and try the shoo away exercise two more times. At one point a couple in a very large RV drive by and ask if they can help me. No, thank you, I have a cell phone, AAA, and it is only a mouse.
The reason I have AAA and a cell phone for driving across the country is not because I planned well for this trip or prepared at the beginning.
I had left Missoula around 4 in the afternoon three days earlier. I wanted to get on the road. My brother and sister tried to persuade me to stay home for another night: “you won’t get that far, just hangout with us.” I left anyway. The drive was not bad, even though I had not done much driving since I’d been in Germany and I therefore arrived in Billings late, around 9:30. It should have taken me only five hours. My Jetta was doing great. Before the drive someone had asked if I thought my eight year old, 125,000 miles already driven VW would make it across the country. Of course it would make it, why not?
I pulled up to the fuel station, went to put in some fuel, and noticed the gas cap cover needed a key. While in Germany for the year, I had loaned my brother Montana my car. I looked at the key chain, no key to the gas cap. Hum, not good, I think. He must have lost the gas cap over the year someplace. So I go inside and look to see if the fuel station sells these gas cap covers.
I ask the girl at the counter, “Do you sell those gas cap covers with the keys? I have lost my key and want to try one.” She replies, “No, but I have an idea, why don’t you just use your key?” I am not making this response up. I ask the biker dude and truck driver outside having a beer if they have any ideas. Biker: “Well, I would take a flathead screwdriver and jam it into the key slot and turn really hard while doing it. That might work.” I’m not making that up either.
I call my brother who had been driving the car for the year.
“Montana did you forget to give me something when I left today?”
“No”
“Something to do with the gas?”
“Gas money?”
“No”
“Oh Shit! Oh SHIT! Oh shit!”
“Ok, so we need a new phrase,” I tell him.
“Call me back. I will look on the internet for a solution.”
I drive on to the Flying J Truck Stop. Very cool places, for the uninitiated. You can shower, eat, buy a TV and do just about everything else you might think of at this chain of truck stops found throughout the US. One of my friend’s truck driving stepfathers wanted to setup their driveway to look like one.
No gas cap covers with keys there, but I am offered a phone book. I call AAA and decide to join, at the pay phone. I’m at the pay phone because I did not think the sales rep at the cell phone store in Missoula, Montana was giving me a good enough deal. I wanted a free phone, she said they did not give out free phones anymore. What did she know? So, I don’t have a cell phone for my drive across the US with the early model VW. What could go wrong?
I finally get an AAA guy on the phone.
“Hi, I am in Billings, Montana and I need to join AAA and get a locksmith.”
“Ma’am, what is your address?”
“Which address?”
“Your billing address.”
“Stevensville, MD”
“I am sorry ma’m, I believe that office is closed, this is the national office and I do not think we can sign you up right now.”
“I need to join AAA and get a locksmith.”
“I am really pretty sure we cannot sign you up right now.”
“I really need to join.”
“Don’t you think calling to join AAA right now is a lot like trying to get homeowner’s insurance when the house is on fire?”
“Well, now I need to join AAA, get a locksmith and talk to your supervisor, because what I don’t need right now is a lecture.”
This was one of the few times in my life when the snappy response came to me when needed. Nice.
After a moment on hold, I am signed up and a locksmith is on the way. The locksmith mentions that I do not look like a big city attorney. Because I am not. He put law student with New York together and noticed right away that I did not seem to be what should have come out of that equation.
I get back on the road the next morning and everything goes well all the way to St. Louis. Yes, this is a detour. My grandmother lives there. I am shifting, not 15 miles from my grandmother’s house, when the car dies on the interstate. I pull over and notice the huge approaching summer storm. Thinking someone will stop to help, I sit there…watching the storm get closer. Realizing no help is on the way, I get out, a guy in a car stops. I hesitate for a moment, reminded of my mom telling us over and over never ever to get in the car of a stranger. I take the ride to the Cracker Barrel near by, and pray that if it comes to it, my mom can pull some strings to save me if this dude is an axe-murderer.
The tow truck driver is a trip. Young, nice, portly. He tows my car to a Ford dealership where the AAA people told me they could fix the Jetta. I paid $45 extra because it was outside of the 3 mile free AAA towing range.
I call the next morning, and the conversation with the Ford dealership goes something like this:
“Hi! Nicole Harkin here. I dropped off my Jetta. So how long will it take you to fix it up.”
“Well, we can’t fix it. This is a Ford dealership. But even if we weren’t a Ford dealer, it would be awhile, because all of the mechanics in St. Louis are on strike.”
“What?”
“The mechanics are on strike.”
Right. Right. AAA comes through once again. Why didn’t they mention this problem on the phone? And who has ever heard of unionized car mechanics?
I call around, finding the one VW dealer open. AAA pays to tow Jetta there. The general manager tells me he will try to work me in. I mention law school starts on Monday and, as this is Friday, I really need to go.
I get the call late Friday night that the car is done. I pick it up the next morning with Grammy. Naturally, the Jetta has a flat tire. It is sitting there on the lot with a flat tire. It did not have a flat tire when I brought it to them. After waiting two hours they fix that too, but for free. Oh and by this time, Grammy has decided that I cannot drive any further without a cell phone. I get one because she is mostly correct.
Back on the road.
Oh and I finally ended up using the windshield wiper fluid to encourage the mouse to get out of the car. I never saw him again, but felt bad. I hope nothing happened to him.
6.10.2008
dad's vituary
This has been a hard week for me. My dad had a heart attack and his brain went without oxygen for 15 minutes. He is brain dead.
…
I remember him driving us skiing on Saturday mornings, turning off the heat half way up the hill so we could be come “acclimated to the cold.”
…
Like most children, I love my father very much. But in the past 12 years we have not gotten along. That is my euphemism which seeks to encompass the actual state of our relationship, or lack thereof. He got a second chance at life all those years ago and for various reasons we stopped talking.
…
I remember sitting by his bedside holding his hand and praying to God that he would live so my brother Montana would get to know him.
…
That does not mean that I stopped thinking about him or did not miss his presence in my life. I did. I do. A few years ago a work colleague told me that he did not talk to his dad. I felt so sad for him. And then I realized that I did not talk to my dad either.
…
I remember him driving me and my best friend to school – our first day of high school –with the windows down and Dire Straights’ “Money for Nothing” playing really loud, to embarrass us.
…
I look a lot like my dad. He looks like a mixture of William Shatner and Fred Flintstone. Once I realized this I told him. He did not find it as funny as I did. But in telling you this I realize I must bear some resemblance to both of those characters as well, since we share the same features.
…
I remember navigating on our trip across the country and barely rolling into the fuel station on fumes because I was in charge of calculating how far we could go on one tank of gas, and I miscalculated.
…
I think like my dad as well. He is a critical thinker, largely self educated, and extremely likeable. I don’t know any person when they first meet him who did not immediately fall under his spell. And he can lie really well. I can do the same, though I have sworn it off for the most part.
…
I remember the time I opted not to take my last ride on his shoulders, preferring to save that last chance until later. I grew too fast to ever use that last ride.
…
These are the things I know to be true about my dad: He is deathly afraid of spiders. He does not drink because if gives him really bad headaches. He loves flying and Garfield. He is beloved by many people. He loves pepperoni and green pepper pizza. He cannot suffer fools easily. He loves chocolate chip cookies and chocolate cake.
…
I remember he and my mom sewing the ski racing uniforms for my siblings together.
…
I wondered if the people in his life knew I existed. My photo was no where to be found in his house, save his wallet. I wonder if he told people about me or the kids, my siblings. We are all so successful; John is a pilot married to a great wife; Erica is a mom and a pharmacist; and Montana is a computer scientist also with a great wife. We love each other and support each other and would have given anything to be a complete family again. But please don’t feel that we are not a family, because we are a strong family made up of disparate parts scattered throughout the country.
…
I remember calling him in college because I could not find my wallet, and he being at his wits end with this eldest daughter and finally explaining to me that he was 2000 miles away and I would have to find the wallet myself.
…
I regret not having instant messaged with my dad last week when he tried to talk to me. I was busy at work. And I regret not having written his Vituary before he got sick.
…
I remember waking up to him making us frozen Pepperidge Farms raspberry turnovers on Sunday mornings.
…
I admire that he lived his life on his terms. He lived out of town because he did not want to be in the city. He decided not to get a pace maker and defibrillator implanted in his chest because he wanted to keep flying gliders. A day before he died he was soaring.
We never finished a conversation without telling each other we loved each other. And I do love him. Very much. And I miss him.
6.03.2008
pet worms
This is another piece I wrote for class...it is funnier now...
I woke up around midnight with the thought that my bum was itching and I had no earthly idea why such a thing would be happening because I was up until then unacquainted with my bum.
Now how could that be asks the reader, don’t we all go to the bathroom everyday? And isn’t she part of everybody?
And to the reader I say yes to both questions, with the caveat that my bum and I had a don’t ask, don’t bother me relationship which until now had served us well. But unfortunately, my bum had taken this midnight moment to break our truce.
It was not long after noticing my bum that I realized that our relationship had escalated quickly. My bum needed a lot more of my attention at that moment than I really felt ready to give to it. But to anyone who has ever had an itchy mosquito bite much less an itchy bum you will realize the immediacy of my need to scratch vigorously and find some alternative relief.
We moved into the kitchen, where I scooped a very large glob of white yogurt onto a wash cloth, which I then proceeded, post haste, to sit down on. With the yogurt in place, the itching assuaged for the moment I turned to that great equalizer, the internet, for more information about what could be causing this inconvenience at two in the morning. There, I learned with the help of the masses that three possibilities existed: yeast infection, hemorrhoids, or pin worms.
A yeast infection is a rather common occurrence for women and causes itching in the general “privates area.” And while I had experienced my share of these infections, I tried to convince myself that I did indeed have a yeast infection, mainly because the other two options were unthinkable: hemorrhoids was something only people in commercials ever got and worms coming out of my bum was the only thing I could think of that would be worse than actually having an itchy bum.
I proceeded to read more about the potential worms. Pinworms are often traded among small children who go to kindergarten and the worms live out their lives in the darkest and possibly most un-inviting (unless you are into that kind of thing) part of a human body: your anus. At night the worms leave their cozy abode to come out and lay eggs. This is typically when a person begins to notice that the worms have begun to co-habitate with you in your private areas. Typically children scratch themselves because of the itching caused by the worms and thereby the pinworm eggs find their way under the fingernails of these children. Unless the kids are treated, this cycle continues and often adults working with children also get them.
The fact that my 18-year-old roommate worked at a kindergarten came to mind slowly, as I was falling asleep.
The next morning I wasted no time in calling the English-speaking doctor. Her receptionist only spoke German. Below is my side of the conversation I had with her about my little problems:
“Hi, my name is Nicole Harkin. I am experiencing a minor discomfort in my private area and would like to see the doctor as soon as possible.”
“Um no, three weeks from now will not do. I would prefer to see the doctor about my private privates problem today. Would that be possible?”
“Perhaps I can come in and just wait in the waiting room?”
“I would prefer to talk to the doctor about it.”
Upon arriving at the doctors office and waiting the requisite three hours to see the doctor, I informed her that I had pinworms. As any self-respecting German doctor would do, though, she sent me home not with a prescription, but with a roll of scotch tape. To make sure I actually had pinworms, I was to tape this to my private areas to see if I caught any worms that night while attempting to sleep.
I was less than pleased with this outcome, needless to say. Luckily, about an hour later there was a worm sighting. I will not bore you with the details, but suffice to say I called the doctor’s office as soon as possible and picked up the prescription equally quickly.
The rest of the day was spent washing everything I owned in very hot water, as directed by the internet. I scrubbed the kitchen, and cut my fingernails, very short.
Even now, writing this story, I sometimes notice my bum again, and th en start to get worried that I might be having a re-occurrence. The symptoms are rather like psychosomatic pinworm symptoms.
Luckily, with the prescription the pinworms moved out quickly and my only advice to the reader is to remember to wash your hands very thoroughly, especially if you spend anytime near children or near people with children.
I woke up around midnight with the thought that my bum was itching and I had no earthly idea why such a thing would be happening because I was up until then unacquainted with my bum.
Now how could that be asks the reader, don’t we all go to the bathroom everyday? And isn’t she part of everybody?
And to the reader I say yes to both questions, with the caveat that my bum and I had a don’t ask, don’t bother me relationship which until now had served us well. But unfortunately, my bum had taken this midnight moment to break our truce.
It was not long after noticing my bum that I realized that our relationship had escalated quickly. My bum needed a lot more of my attention at that moment than I really felt ready to give to it. But to anyone who has ever had an itchy mosquito bite much less an itchy bum you will realize the immediacy of my need to scratch vigorously and find some alternative relief.
We moved into the kitchen, where I scooped a very large glob of white yogurt onto a wash cloth, which I then proceeded, post haste, to sit down on. With the yogurt in place, the itching assuaged for the moment I turned to that great equalizer, the internet, for more information about what could be causing this inconvenience at two in the morning. There, I learned with the help of the masses that three possibilities existed: yeast infection, hemorrhoids, or pin worms.
A yeast infection is a rather common occurrence for women and causes itching in the general “privates area.” And while I had experienced my share of these infections, I tried to convince myself that I did indeed have a yeast infection, mainly because the other two options were unthinkable: hemorrhoids was something only people in commercials ever got and worms coming out of my bum was the only thing I could think of that would be worse than actually having an itchy bum.
I proceeded to read more about the potential worms. Pinworms are often traded among small children who go to kindergarten and the worms live out their lives in the darkest and possibly most un-inviting (unless you are into that kind of thing) part of a human body: your anus. At night the worms leave their cozy abode to come out and lay eggs. This is typically when a person begins to notice that the worms have begun to co-habitate with you in your private areas. Typically children scratch themselves because of the itching caused by the worms and thereby the pinworm eggs find their way under the fingernails of these children. Unless the kids are treated, this cycle continues and often adults working with children also get them.
The fact that my 18-year-old roommate worked at a kindergarten came to mind slowly, as I was falling asleep.
The next morning I wasted no time in calling the English-speaking doctor. Her receptionist only spoke German. Below is my side of the conversation I had with her about my little problems:
“Hi, my name is Nicole Harkin. I am experiencing a minor discomfort in my private area and would like to see the doctor as soon as possible.”
“Um no, three weeks from now will not do. I would prefer to see the doctor about my private privates problem today. Would that be possible?”
“Perhaps I can come in and just wait in the waiting room?”
“I would prefer to talk to the doctor about it.”
Upon arriving at the doctors office and waiting the requisite three hours to see the doctor, I informed her that I had pinworms. As any self-respecting German doctor would do, though, she sent me home not with a prescription, but with a roll of scotch tape. To make sure I actually had pinworms, I was to tape this to my private areas to see if I caught any worms that night while attempting to sleep.
I was less than pleased with this outcome, needless to say. Luckily, about an hour later there was a worm sighting. I will not bore you with the details, but suffice to say I called the doctor’s office as soon as possible and picked up the prescription equally quickly.
The rest of the day was spent washing everything I owned in very hot water, as directed by the internet. I scrubbed the kitchen, and cut my fingernails, very short.
Even now, writing this story, I sometimes notice my bum again, and th en start to get worried that I might be having a re-occurrence. The symptoms are rather like psychosomatic pinworm symptoms.
Luckily, with the prescription the pinworms moved out quickly and my only advice to the reader is to remember to wash your hands very thoroughly, especially if you spend anytime near children or near people with children.
5.04.2008
Artomatic
Come out and see some of my art and some art from all over DC!
My pictures will be on the fourth floor of the building.
I have checked out the art of other artists and much of it is very cool.
Let me know when you are going, and we can meet you there!
Artomatic 2008 (click here for more info!)
My pictures will be on the fourth floor of the building.
I have checked out the art of other artists and much of it is very cool.
Let me know when you are going, and we can meet you there!
Artomatic 2008 (click here for more info!)
Updated Fri, 04/11/2008 - 11:06am
May 9 – June 15, 2008Capitol Plaza I
1200 First Street, NE
Washington, DC 20002
Metro: Red Line, New York Ave., M St exit
Events every day! For more info check here:
http://www.artomatic.org/event
5.02.2008
4.13.2008
4.07.2008
Nicole: Writing Assignment
In my new writing class we were given the assignment to write our life up in 150 words, 30 words, and then six words. Here was my response:
150 Words
Green: The color of falling in love. Added to wardrobe because of adorable black leather purse with Kelly green stitching. Worn on the day Brent and I fell in love walking around Berlin.
Red: The color of the lamps, pillows, nano, bike, and duvet in my life. Added to Dupont Circle home after moving in together with Brent. Both Brent and red have had a long stretch.
Orange: The color of my favorite clothes before law school and Linda’s death. “Where do you find so many orange clothes?” she once asked. No longer present in wardrobe.
Yellow: The color of my first new car, a geo Metro convertible, almost perfect for a teenager in Montana. But for the snow…
Black: The color of my clothes since I read a book in law school about simplifying my life. Always looks good and goes with everything. Wait, did I get the idea from the book or from living in New York?
Blue: Reserved for future life periods.
30 Words
She grew up in Montana, fell in love in and with Berlin, has a job in Washington DC, and yearns to work fulltime doing what her personal business card says: Nicole Harkin, writer/photographer.
Sentence
Note: life was/is not a burden.
150 Words
Green: The color of falling in love. Added to wardrobe because of adorable black leather purse with Kelly green stitching. Worn on the day Brent and I fell in love walking around Berlin.
Red: The color of the lamps, pillows, nano, bike, and duvet in my life. Added to Dupont Circle home after moving in together with Brent. Both Brent and red have had a long stretch.
Orange: The color of my favorite clothes before law school and Linda’s death. “Where do you find so many orange clothes?” she once asked. No longer present in wardrobe.
Yellow: The color of my first new car, a geo Metro convertible, almost perfect for a teenager in Montana. But for the snow…
Black: The color of my clothes since I read a book in law school about simplifying my life. Always looks good and goes with everything. Wait, did I get the idea from the book or from living in New York?
Blue: Reserved for future life periods.
30 Words
She grew up in Montana, fell in love in and with Berlin, has a job in Washington DC, and yearns to work fulltime doing what her personal business card says: Nicole Harkin, writer/photographer.
Sentence
Note: life was/is not a burden.
11.20.2007
The Wire Review
Every person I tell to watch The Wire says almost the same thing: “There have not been any good cop shows since Homicide, Life on the Streets.” My response is that “Homicide” and “The Wire” are both creations of writer David Simon.
The truth is “The Wire” is just like the crack at the center of the story: the more you have, the more you want. It is the thinking person’s cop show that you mull around and want to talk about hours later. It shows the complexity of inner city life, unknown not only to many rural Americans, but arguably many urban Americans. The destructiveness of drugs, however, is a theme that many Americans can relate to.
The story revolves around the drug trade in Baltimore, Maryland and the various influences on this trade. The focus of Season 1 is the police and the drug gangs. The day-to-day life of both is explored, from the carousing “PO-lice,” as they refer to themselves, to the minor drug dealer with a heart. Both organizations are run in much the same manner: like the McDonald’s corporation, with the small fry franchises having little or no influence on those up the food chain.
What keeps you watching is not cliffhanger endings, because there really aren’t any, but rather the humanity in the show. Just when you start to have a hero, that person goes on a bender, or cheats on his wife. For example, at one point the viewer starts to root for Stringer Bell, one of the main drug dealers, because we see him taking business classes at the community college. We want him to get ahead. But instead of “going legit”, Bell is using his knowledge to bring together the main drug dealers in Baltimore, using Robert’s Rules in meetings, and teaching his corner guys about profit margins. And then three scenes later Bell is planning how to kill one of the corner guys doing time because he is worried he might snitch.
Season 2 finds the police investigating the longshoremen, the linchpins needed to get the drugs in to Baltimore. But as you watch, you are drawn into the drama of life as a longshoreman today, the loss of jobs, the difficulty finding honest work. Take, for instance, Ziggy, the adopted son of the head of the Longshoremen’s Union. Ziggy is an idiot, getting mixed up in every imaginable mess, selling drugs and flaunting the proceeds on a diamond studded collar for his blue-collar pet duck. We learn later on that Ziggy should have gone to community college to work in computers, but his dad could not afford to send him. So instead, Ziggy started working down at the docks without much success because of this small stature and his penchant for annoying everyone around him.
It’s the dark side of globalization, the part that’s destroying the possibility of the blue-collar middle-class, but doing so only inch-by-inch providing just enough hope for the players to cling to, but not enough to change the reality. The drug dealers play a less prominent role in the show, but you still check in on them every so often. The viewer also gets a glimpse of who the really big players in the international drug trade are, but not much more than that.
Season 3 finds us back in the thick of things with the drug dealers, but this time the politicians act as the counter balance in the story. The police are under extreme pressure to reduce the crime rate. One police major seeks to make a difference at the price of legalizing drugs in three central blocks of his district, an area soon named Hamsterdam. The crime rate does drop, but the cost is the creation of three blocks of Hell. In most parts of the district people are out on their front stoops again, children are playing, but a few blocks away the drug trade is plied and free market economics take hold, reducing the cost of drugs, while increasing the drugs’ efficacy.
The director Simon says that he is seeking to create a new kind of drama for the typical consumer, less Shakespearian and more Greek tragedy. In The Wire the characters, try as they may, cannot overcome the wishes of the gods: be they City Hall, globalization, or the Chief of Police. The world is less black and white. The cops aren’t always good, the drug dealers aren’t always bad, but the politicians behave as expected. Simon says they “create doomed and fated protagonists who confront a rigged game and their own mortality.” (The Believer, August 2007)
As a viewer, I can’t wait to get more of these flawed characters, even if they are not going to evolve. The characters are real just because of this lack of growth. We can see ourselves in their decisions.
Some critics of the show might find that it too violent, and I agree - the violence makes me uncomfortable. But the show becomes more authentic through the violence, jolting the viewer out of her complacency. We may be able to understand how difficult living and going to school are when your home is without running water, but what many of us do not understand is how difficult doing this is when bullets are flying through your house.
Season 4 of The Wire is out in December. But you can get your fix off the first three seasons from Netflix until then.
Every person I tell to watch The Wire says almost the same thing: “There have not been any good cop shows since ‘Homicide, Life on the Streets’.” My response is that “Homicide” and “The Wire” are both creations of writer, David Simon.
The truth is “The Wire” is just like the crack at the center of the story: the more you have, the more you want. It is the thinking person’s show that you mull around and want to talk about hours later. It shows the complexity of inner city life, unknown not only to many rural Americans, but arguably many urban Americans. The destructiveness of drugs, however, is a theme that many Americans can relate to.
The story revolves around the drug trade in Baltimore, Maryland and the various influences on this trade. The focus of Season 1 is the police and the drug gangs. The day-to-day life of both is explored, from the carousing “PO-lice,” as they refer to themselves, to the minor drug dealer with a heart. Both organizations are run in much the same manner: like the McDonald’s corporation, with the small fry franchises having little or no influence on those up the food chain.
What keeps you watching is not cliffhanger endings, because there really aren’t any, but rather the humanity in the show. Just when you start to have a hero, that person goes on a bender, or cheats on his wife. For example, at one point the viewer starts to root for Stringer Bell, one of the main drug dealers, because we see him taking business classes at the community college. We want him to get ahead. But instead of “going legit”, Bell is using his knowledge to bring together the main drug dealers in Baltimore, using Robert’s Rules in meetings, and teaching his corner guys about profit margins. And then three scenes Bell is planning how to kill one of the corner guys doing time because he is worried he might snitch.
Season 2 finds the police investigating the longshoremen, the linchpins needed to get the drugs in to Baltimore. But as you watch, you are drawn into the drama of life as a longshoreman today, the loss of jobs, the difficulty finding honest work. Take for instance Ziggy, the adopted son of the head of the Longshoremen’s Union. Ziggy is an idiot, getting mixed up in every imaginable mess, selling drugs and flaunting the proceeds on a diamond studded collar for his blue-collar pet duck. We learn later on that Ziggy should have gone to community college to work in computers, but his dad could not afford to send him. So instead, Ziggy started working down at the docks without much success because of this small stature and his pension for annoying everyone around him. Ziggy ends up dead.
It’s the dark side of globalization, the part that’s destroying the possibility of the blue-collar middle-class, but doing so only inch-by-inch providing just enough hope for the players to cling to, but not enough to change the reality. The drug dealers play a less prominent role in the show, but you still check in on them every so often. The viewer also gets a glimpse of who the really big players in the international drug trade are, but not much more than that.
Season 3 finds us back in the thick of things with the drug dealers, but this time the politicians act as the counter balance in the story. The police are under extreme pressure to reduce the crime rate. One police major seeks to make a difference at the price of legalizing drugs in three central blocks of his district, Hamsterdam. The crime rate does drop, but the cost is the creation of three blocks of Hell. In most parts of the district people are out on their front stoops again, children are playing, but a few blocks away the drug trade is plied and free market economics take hold, reducing the cost of drugs, while increasing the drugs’ efficacy.
The director Simon says that he is seeking to create a new kind of drama for the typical consumer, less Shakespearian and more Greek tragedy. In The Wire the characters, try as they may, cannot overcome the wishes of the gods: be they City Hall, globalization, or the Chief of Police. The world is less black and white. The cops aren’t always good, the drug dealers aren’t always bad, but the politicians behave as expected. Simon says they are “create doomed and fated protagonists who confront a rigged game and their own mortality.”
As a viewer, I can’t wait to get more of these flawed characters, even if they are not going to evolve. The characters are real just because of this lack of growth. We can see ourselves in their decisions. Interesting.
Some critics of the show might find that the show too violent, and I agree the violence makes me uncomfortable. But the show becomes more authentic through the violence, jolting the viewer out of her complacency. We understand how difficult living and going to school are when your home is without running water, but what many in the public do not understand is how difficult doing this is when bullets are flying through your house.
Season 4 of The Wire is out in December. But you can get your fix off the first three seasons from Netflix until then.
The truth is “The Wire” is just like the crack at the center of the story: the more you have, the more you want. It is the thinking person’s cop show that you mull around and want to talk about hours later. It shows the complexity of inner city life, unknown not only to many rural Americans, but arguably many urban Americans. The destructiveness of drugs, however, is a theme that many Americans can relate to.
The story revolves around the drug trade in Baltimore, Maryland and the various influences on this trade. The focus of Season 1 is the police and the drug gangs. The day-to-day life of both is explored, from the carousing “PO-lice,” as they refer to themselves, to the minor drug dealer with a heart. Both organizations are run in much the same manner: like the McDonald’s corporation, with the small fry franchises having little or no influence on those up the food chain.
What keeps you watching is not cliffhanger endings, because there really aren’t any, but rather the humanity in the show. Just when you start to have a hero, that person goes on a bender, or cheats on his wife. For example, at one point the viewer starts to root for Stringer Bell, one of the main drug dealers, because we see him taking business classes at the community college. We want him to get ahead. But instead of “going legit”, Bell is using his knowledge to bring together the main drug dealers in Baltimore, using Robert’s Rules in meetings, and teaching his corner guys about profit margins. And then three scenes later Bell is planning how to kill one of the corner guys doing time because he is worried he might snitch.
Season 2 finds the police investigating the longshoremen, the linchpins needed to get the drugs in to Baltimore. But as you watch, you are drawn into the drama of life as a longshoreman today, the loss of jobs, the difficulty finding honest work. Take, for instance, Ziggy, the adopted son of the head of the Longshoremen’s Union. Ziggy is an idiot, getting mixed up in every imaginable mess, selling drugs and flaunting the proceeds on a diamond studded collar for his blue-collar pet duck. We learn later on that Ziggy should have gone to community college to work in computers, but his dad could not afford to send him. So instead, Ziggy started working down at the docks without much success because of this small stature and his penchant for annoying everyone around him.
It’s the dark side of globalization, the part that’s destroying the possibility of the blue-collar middle-class, but doing so only inch-by-inch providing just enough hope for the players to cling to, but not enough to change the reality. The drug dealers play a less prominent role in the show, but you still check in on them every so often. The viewer also gets a glimpse of who the really big players in the international drug trade are, but not much more than that.
Season 3 finds us back in the thick of things with the drug dealers, but this time the politicians act as the counter balance in the story. The police are under extreme pressure to reduce the crime rate. One police major seeks to make a difference at the price of legalizing drugs in three central blocks of his district, an area soon named Hamsterdam. The crime rate does drop, but the cost is the creation of three blocks of Hell. In most parts of the district people are out on their front stoops again, children are playing, but a few blocks away the drug trade is plied and free market economics take hold, reducing the cost of drugs, while increasing the drugs’ efficacy.
The director Simon says that he is seeking to create a new kind of drama for the typical consumer, less Shakespearian and more Greek tragedy. In The Wire the characters, try as they may, cannot overcome the wishes of the gods: be they City Hall, globalization, or the Chief of Police. The world is less black and white. The cops aren’t always good, the drug dealers aren’t always bad, but the politicians behave as expected. Simon says they “create doomed and fated protagonists who confront a rigged game and their own mortality.” (The Believer, August 2007)
As a viewer, I can’t wait to get more of these flawed characters, even if they are not going to evolve. The characters are real just because of this lack of growth. We can see ourselves in their decisions.
Some critics of the show might find that it too violent, and I agree - the violence makes me uncomfortable. But the show becomes more authentic through the violence, jolting the viewer out of her complacency. We may be able to understand how difficult living and going to school are when your home is without running water, but what many of us do not understand is how difficult doing this is when bullets are flying through your house.
Season 4 of The Wire is out in December. But you can get your fix off the first three seasons from Netflix until then.
Every person I tell to watch The Wire says almost the same thing: “There have not been any good cop shows since ‘Homicide, Life on the Streets’.” My response is that “Homicide” and “The Wire” are both creations of writer, David Simon.
The truth is “The Wire” is just like the crack at the center of the story: the more you have, the more you want. It is the thinking person’s show that you mull around and want to talk about hours later. It shows the complexity of inner city life, unknown not only to many rural Americans, but arguably many urban Americans. The destructiveness of drugs, however, is a theme that many Americans can relate to.
The story revolves around the drug trade in Baltimore, Maryland and the various influences on this trade. The focus of Season 1 is the police and the drug gangs. The day-to-day life of both is explored, from the carousing “PO-lice,” as they refer to themselves, to the minor drug dealer with a heart. Both organizations are run in much the same manner: like the McDonald’s corporation, with the small fry franchises having little or no influence on those up the food chain.
What keeps you watching is not cliffhanger endings, because there really aren’t any, but rather the humanity in the show. Just when you start to have a hero, that person goes on a bender, or cheats on his wife. For example, at one point the viewer starts to root for Stringer Bell, one of the main drug dealers, because we see him taking business classes at the community college. We want him to get ahead. But instead of “going legit”, Bell is using his knowledge to bring together the main drug dealers in Baltimore, using Robert’s Rules in meetings, and teaching his corner guys about profit margins. And then three scenes Bell is planning how to kill one of the corner guys doing time because he is worried he might snitch.
Season 2 finds the police investigating the longshoremen, the linchpins needed to get the drugs in to Baltimore. But as you watch, you are drawn into the drama of life as a longshoreman today, the loss of jobs, the difficulty finding honest work. Take for instance Ziggy, the adopted son of the head of the Longshoremen’s Union. Ziggy is an idiot, getting mixed up in every imaginable mess, selling drugs and flaunting the proceeds on a diamond studded collar for his blue-collar pet duck. We learn later on that Ziggy should have gone to community college to work in computers, but his dad could not afford to send him. So instead, Ziggy started working down at the docks without much success because of this small stature and his pension for annoying everyone around him. Ziggy ends up dead.
It’s the dark side of globalization, the part that’s destroying the possibility of the blue-collar middle-class, but doing so only inch-by-inch providing just enough hope for the players to cling to, but not enough to change the reality. The drug dealers play a less prominent role in the show, but you still check in on them every so often. The viewer also gets a glimpse of who the really big players in the international drug trade are, but not much more than that.
Season 3 finds us back in the thick of things with the drug dealers, but this time the politicians act as the counter balance in the story. The police are under extreme pressure to reduce the crime rate. One police major seeks to make a difference at the price of legalizing drugs in three central blocks of his district, Hamsterdam. The crime rate does drop, but the cost is the creation of three blocks of Hell. In most parts of the district people are out on their front stoops again, children are playing, but a few blocks away the drug trade is plied and free market economics take hold, reducing the cost of drugs, while increasing the drugs’ efficacy.
The director Simon says that he is seeking to create a new kind of drama for the typical consumer, less Shakespearian and more Greek tragedy. In The Wire the characters, try as they may, cannot overcome the wishes of the gods: be they City Hall, globalization, or the Chief of Police. The world is less black and white. The cops aren’t always good, the drug dealers aren’t always bad, but the politicians behave as expected. Simon says they are “create doomed and fated protagonists who confront a rigged game and their own mortality.”
As a viewer, I can’t wait to get more of these flawed characters, even if they are not going to evolve. The characters are real just because of this lack of growth. We can see ourselves in their decisions. Interesting.
Some critics of the show might find that the show too violent, and I agree the violence makes me uncomfortable. But the show becomes more authentic through the violence, jolting the viewer out of her complacency. We understand how difficult living and going to school are when your home is without running water, but what many in the public do not understand is how difficult doing this is when bullets are flying through your house.
Season 4 of The Wire is out in December. But you can get your fix off the first three seasons from Netflix until then.
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