- Find actuarial jobs for which to apply. (Actually, I can't seem to find those jobs at all.)
- Sign up for the CAA meeting, taking place in late March. (I asked a member of the Chicago Actuarial Association for advice and he suggested that I attend. It'll only cost me $50 to go as an unemployed person. I'll really have to be on my stuff that day. That's a definite thing to do, but I don't feel like signing up just yet.)
- Work on our next set. (It's my turn to create the set list for our March 12th gig. I have basic ideas on what should be played and what should take a rest, but it's so far away that I can wait on it.)
- Have another piece of gum. (Amanda, a long-lost college acquaintance who responded to my out-of-the-blue Facebook friend request, sent me a bunch of stuff in the mail. Most of it is edible, but there's a small bottle of Oxi Clean in there too. i can't yet figure why she did it, but it's very cool that she did, and the flavor from this stick of strawberry shortcake flavored gum is losing its flavor now.)
- Try to clean more of the carpet. (With what I thought were shows wet with clean snow, I went across our front room to look out the window and see more drama from across the street, where a nice guy is losing his fight with alcoholism. It was bad for me to snoop like that, and I'll probably continue to do it in the name of being a caring neighbor, but I dirtied the carpet and am trying to clean it up with a bottle of Resolve. I will not use the Oxi Clean on it. Looks like the Resolve is doing okay, and I have another spot or two that needs treatment. Guess I'll do that now.) (Okay, that's done.)
- Eat the rest of my sandwich. (I got a foot-long buffalo chicken sandwich at Subway, my attempt at finding a healthful food while still getting out of the house. I could've eaten the entire foot-long right away, but I'd be just as hungry at 3:00pm if I ate it all or just half of it. This way, I have a snack waiting for me. Too bad it's not very good.)
- Exercise. (It's nice out and the sidewalks are probably melted enough for me to go for a walk. There's also a nice elliptical machine and a pretty good exercise bike downstairs. I've been doing a pretty good job exercising lately, usually with Margie while listening to the iPod. But Margie's working right now and my lower back has been hurting today - no clue why - so I'll give the big exercising a rest. A walk? Later. Maybe.)
- Create a design for Tito's room. (That's the name of our third bedroom, which will hopefully be our child's room. I painted it vibrant green and white with a touch a green, and I picture the big wall as looking nice with a dark blue design. I just haven't yet created the design. I'm thinking late-era Matisse but can't find the right inspiration. Not the sitting girl. Maybe a few of those spongy creatures like the Jazz era. But they have no lines to them, so I'd have to freehand them. And that wouldn't require much prep work, just winging it. And I'm not in the mood to create like that and clean up afterwards, so no.)
- Blog.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Things I could do right now
... instead of dorking around on-line.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Paul
Today I closed the final chapter of a man that I've known sporadically for 15 years: let's call him Paul.
We first met at a radio station, where I worked part-time as many things, from Saturday night board operator to news desk fill-in to basketball announcer to classic pop host. There were a lot of great people at that station, though no one made any money. Paul became one of my better friends, and we'd share each other's company at work and at whatever place he'd be living at the time.
Everyone at the station disliked the GM and the owner. But maybe that was good, because it really helped morale; they all had something in common. Paul worked there six hours a night, every weeknight, for no more than six bucks an hour. A new guy took over the station with promises of buying the station for way more than it was worth. But he never came through, and Paul bought into this guy in hopes of landing a better position and becoming more financially stable. But he got burned as badly as anyone.
Paul got along very well with me and with Missy, my girlfriend at the time. (At this stage of my life, I had a four-month girlfriend every year. So it was not to last.) But something happened between the two of them - Missy would never tell me exactly what - and suddenly Paul was very mad at me. While I was giving play-by-play at a basketball game, Paul was working the board. He yelled at me and called me an idiot, then put me right back on the air, forcing me to swallow what he said. When I returned to the station later that night, I asked him if he wanted to talk about it. He said "I don't think so" in that breathy voice. And we stopped talking to each other for many months.
Paul could also play guitar. And bass. And keys. And he could sing great harmony. He was a fantastic musician. I don't know if that's what brought us back together, but eventually he got to play with other friends of mine, and eventually, that group became the band that played at my wedding reception. They did a great job, with a friend-of-a-friend filling in on drums. Since I no longer lived in Illinois, I was impressed at how well they organized and pulled it off.
From what I understand, Paul did most of the organizing, and his ways grated on the other members of the band, specifically the lead guitarist, who once called him a dick. Paul held a grudge in response and never hesitated to bring up the comment over and over again, as part of his overall complaint, as part of the chip he had on his shoulder.
A fellow radio friend once told me that Paul thought of himself as a "poor soul." To be sure, when I think of Paul, I think of two facial expressions: the "woe is me" look and the "what did I do?" look.
Two years ago, my wife and I moved back to Illinois. Plans were made to form a band, with Paul on guitar and keys, myself on drums, and the lead guitarist and bass player from before. After several practices, the lead guitarist had enough and wanted Paul gone. I argued against it. After a summer festival gig, the lead guitarist relented. But a fight ensued at the next practice, where he lost his cool for five minutes, and Paul would never let that go. A two-hour e-mail conversation between Paul and myself started at "let's cool down" and somehow ended up with Paul claiming I had questioned his mental stability and was no friend of his. And he was gone.
Until two months ago, when I friended him on Facebook. After some minor discussion on baseball - Paul hates the Cubs, which is no surprise as I love them - it seemed as if we could finally have a decent friendship, even if it was only through Facebook.
Our band is going quite well; we replaced Paul with a guy that lived next door to the lead guitarist. After adding a female lead singer, we're pretty happy with where we are. We won't be opening for U2, but we get to play once or twice a month and make a little money for it.
Recently, Paul said (via Facebook) that he wondered "how much of that old stuff that was taken from me will be used at your gig." You see, Paul thought that that other members of the band had stolen some of his equipment before the prior break-up and didn't like it when we couldn't deliver any of it back to him.
What happened should come as no surprise. In fact, I'll post it here.
P: wonder how much of my old stuff that was taken from me will be used at your gig.....
D: I thought you meant songs at first, but you probably mean equipment. I don't know, Paul. No one intentionally took anything from you, I promise. I can ask again, if you remind me what equipment it was you lost. If not, tell me what I can do to put this right.
P: Well, it was a few guitar cords, a mic cord, a guitar stand, a mic and a boom mic stand. Don't worry about "making it right".
Digger told me a while ago he'd get the stuff back to me too.
Hey, I had 2 oncologists tell me I won't live to see another birthday so you can consider the stuff inherited
(At this point, I asked the bass player about it and he said he'd get back to me. I didn't reply right away, for I didn't know what to say. It's hard to say anything when his cancer prognosis comes up.)
A week later:
P: ahhh, over a week and no response. I'm very sad to say it doesn't surprise me.
Perhaps you tell the truth when you say no one intentionally took the stuff. But then again, no one made any effort to get the stuff back to me either, including people who said they would, and people who claim to be my friend.
Oh well, live and learn...
D: ahhh, boy.
I asked Digger about it right away, and he didn't remember that much stuff possibly being yours, but he thought he had a boom mic stand that might be yours. He said he would look around further and get back to me, and that's the last I've heard. But you decided to snipe at me once more, instead of simply asking where it's at. Paul, to be honest, you make it very hard to be your friend sometimes. You told me not to worry about making it right, then rip on me for not trying to make it right, when I was still trying to make it right. I just can't seem to ever make it right with you. You won't let me.
Paul, I'm very sorry for your illness and hope and pray that you overcome this.
P: There you fucking go again! Before whenever anything went wrong it's because of my supposed reactionary ways (despite others in your clan behaving worse than I ever did), now you're gonna blame my cancer for your not returning messages?
I do not need this.
Hard to be MY friend?
I don't turn my back on my friends...
D: I guess we'll never understand each other. Goodbye, Paul. Best of luck.
And that's it. I'll likely never talk with him again.
I can't blame his cancer for his lack of logical thought. He's done it this way before.
Paul is a porcupine, in a way. If you try to help, you'll get stung. But he can shoot a quill your way too. When he first told me abut his colon cancer, I offered in any way I could, but he said that there was nothing I could do.
He's had a rough life in many ways, and maybe he's never known where to vent his frustration. Too often, it came my way.
Goodbye, Paul. I sincerely hope you get better. But I don't think you will.
We first met at a radio station, where I worked part-time as many things, from Saturday night board operator to news desk fill-in to basketball announcer to classic pop host. There were a lot of great people at that station, though no one made any money. Paul became one of my better friends, and we'd share each other's company at work and at whatever place he'd be living at the time.
Everyone at the station disliked the GM and the owner. But maybe that was good, because it really helped morale; they all had something in common. Paul worked there six hours a night, every weeknight, for no more than six bucks an hour. A new guy took over the station with promises of buying the station for way more than it was worth. But he never came through, and Paul bought into this guy in hopes of landing a better position and becoming more financially stable. But he got burned as badly as anyone.
Paul got along very well with me and with Missy, my girlfriend at the time. (At this stage of my life, I had a four-month girlfriend every year. So it was not to last.) But something happened between the two of them - Missy would never tell me exactly what - and suddenly Paul was very mad at me. While I was giving play-by-play at a basketball game, Paul was working the board. He yelled at me and called me an idiot, then put me right back on the air, forcing me to swallow what he said. When I returned to the station later that night, I asked him if he wanted to talk about it. He said "I don't think so" in that breathy voice. And we stopped talking to each other for many months.
Paul could also play guitar. And bass. And keys. And he could sing great harmony. He was a fantastic musician. I don't know if that's what brought us back together, but eventually he got to play with other friends of mine, and eventually, that group became the band that played at my wedding reception. They did a great job, with a friend-of-a-friend filling in on drums. Since I no longer lived in Illinois, I was impressed at how well they organized and pulled it off.
From what I understand, Paul did most of the organizing, and his ways grated on the other members of the band, specifically the lead guitarist, who once called him a dick. Paul held a grudge in response and never hesitated to bring up the comment over and over again, as part of his overall complaint, as part of the chip he had on his shoulder.
A fellow radio friend once told me that Paul thought of himself as a "poor soul." To be sure, when I think of Paul, I think of two facial expressions: the "woe is me" look and the "what did I do?" look.
Two years ago, my wife and I moved back to Illinois. Plans were made to form a band, with Paul on guitar and keys, myself on drums, and the lead guitarist and bass player from before. After several practices, the lead guitarist had enough and wanted Paul gone. I argued against it. After a summer festival gig, the lead guitarist relented. But a fight ensued at the next practice, where he lost his cool for five minutes, and Paul would never let that go. A two-hour e-mail conversation between Paul and myself started at "let's cool down" and somehow ended up with Paul claiming I had questioned his mental stability and was no friend of his. And he was gone.
Until two months ago, when I friended him on Facebook. After some minor discussion on baseball - Paul hates the Cubs, which is no surprise as I love them - it seemed as if we could finally have a decent friendship, even if it was only through Facebook.
Our band is going quite well; we replaced Paul with a guy that lived next door to the lead guitarist. After adding a female lead singer, we're pretty happy with where we are. We won't be opening for U2, but we get to play once or twice a month and make a little money for it.
Recently, Paul said (via Facebook) that he wondered "how much of that old stuff that was taken from me will be used at your gig." You see, Paul thought that that other members of the band had stolen some of his equipment before the prior break-up and didn't like it when we couldn't deliver any of it back to him.
What happened should come as no surprise. In fact, I'll post it here.
P: wonder how much of my old stuff that was taken from me will be used at your gig.....
D: I thought you meant songs at first, but you probably mean equipment. I don't know, Paul. No one intentionally took anything from you, I promise. I can ask again, if you remind me what equipment it was you lost. If not, tell me what I can do to put this right.
P: Well, it was a few guitar cords, a mic cord, a guitar stand, a mic and a boom mic stand. Don't worry about "making it right".
Digger told me a while ago he'd get the stuff back to me too.
Hey, I had 2 oncologists tell me I won't live to see another birthday so you can consider the stuff inherited
(At this point, I asked the bass player about it and he said he'd get back to me. I didn't reply right away, for I didn't know what to say. It's hard to say anything when his cancer prognosis comes up.)
A week later:
P: ahhh, over a week and no response. I'm very sad to say it doesn't surprise me.
Perhaps you tell the truth when you say no one intentionally took the stuff. But then again, no one made any effort to get the stuff back to me either, including people who said they would, and people who claim to be my friend.
Oh well, live and learn...
D: ahhh, boy.
I asked Digger about it right away, and he didn't remember that much stuff possibly being yours, but he thought he had a boom mic stand that might be yours. He said he would look around further and get back to me, and that's the last I've heard. But you decided to snipe at me once more, instead of simply asking where it's at. Paul, to be honest, you make it very hard to be your friend sometimes. You told me not to worry about making it right, then rip on me for not trying to make it right, when I was still trying to make it right. I just can't seem to ever make it right with you. You won't let me.
Paul, I'm very sorry for your illness and hope and pray that you overcome this.
P: There you fucking go again! Before whenever anything went wrong it's because of my supposed reactionary ways (despite others in your clan behaving worse than I ever did), now you're gonna blame my cancer for your not returning messages?
I do not need this.
Hard to be MY friend?
I don't turn my back on my friends...
D: I guess we'll never understand each other. Goodbye, Paul. Best of luck.
And that's it. I'll likely never talk with him again.
I can't blame his cancer for his lack of logical thought. He's done it this way before.
Paul is a porcupine, in a way. If you try to help, you'll get stung. But he can shoot a quill your way too. When he first told me abut his colon cancer, I offered in any way I could, but he said that there was nothing I could do.
He's had a rough life in many ways, and maybe he's never known where to vent his frustration. Too often, it came my way.
Goodbye, Paul. I sincerely hope you get better. But I don't think you will.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Truth, part 2
It's amazing how good and timely "The Simpsons" has been over the years. Decades, I mean. A few years back, Homer got caught in a big lie, and Marge was livid. Homer's response?
"But Marge, I didn't mean for you to find out."
A great thing about the show is that occasional jokes mean different things to different groups of people. For example, the episode where Homer's accidental Las Vegas wife visits Springfield, and Marge kicks Homer out to live with her in the treehouse.
Stressed, the new wife helps him relax by making him a late-night sandwich. We find ourselves looking at Marge, lying in bed with the window open, listening to Homer's Freudian moans coming from the treehouse: "oh yeah," "oh god, that's it," "you're doing it like a pro." Even "use both hands."
Of course, that alone was the main humorous aspect of "Three's Company," and most other shows would stop there. It took the creative genius of "The Simpsons" to take it to another level, and we watch Marge staring at the ceiling and commenting to herself: "oh no, she's making him a sandwich."
Kids wouldn't get that joke. Others might not get past the sexual innuendo. But it was a fantastic moment.
The "I didn't mean for you to find out" joke was generational humor, I believe. Anyone Generation X or older got the humor, realizing how funny it was that Homer thought his treachery would be okay if he didn't get caught.
I bet a lot of teenagers, provided they watched something this intelligent, didn't get it.
"But Marge, I didn't mean for you to find out."
A great thing about the show is that occasional jokes mean different things to different groups of people. For example, the episode where Homer's accidental Las Vegas wife visits Springfield, and Marge kicks Homer out to live with her in the treehouse.
Stressed, the new wife helps him relax by making him a late-night sandwich. We find ourselves looking at Marge, lying in bed with the window open, listening to Homer's Freudian moans coming from the treehouse: "oh yeah," "oh god, that's it," "you're doing it like a pro." Even "use both hands."
Of course, that alone was the main humorous aspect of "Three's Company," and most other shows would stop there. It took the creative genius of "The Simpsons" to take it to another level, and we watch Marge staring at the ceiling and commenting to herself: "oh no, she's making him a sandwich."
Kids wouldn't get that joke. Others might not get past the sexual innuendo. But it was a fantastic moment.
The "I didn't mean for you to find out" joke was generational humor, I believe. Anyone Generation X or older got the humor, realizing how funny it was that Homer thought his treachery would be okay if he didn't get caught.
I bet a lot of teenagers, provided they watched something this intelligent, didn't get it.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Putting a song together
When I was younger, I was only a drummer. Apart from figuring out a nice beat, I had no songwriting skill, at least from the musical angle.
But in college and in my twenties, I wrote a lot. I think I wrote some pretty good stuff. Sure, most of it was about girls I couldn't have or could no longer have - and I apologize for the use of "have," as if the girls in question were mere objects for me to possess and use - but even today, I still find what I wrote entertaining, and not just because my pain of the times shines through.
Nowadays, as I'm more familiar with music theory and can find my way around a guitar neck, I can come up with some basic song patterns. Last night, I found that putting the capo on the third fret and playing Em - G - D - A in a moderate tempo with a deliberate dampening of the strings sounded pleasant. Coming up with the words to accompany this pattern is a major problem, though.
Do I simply take what I wrote as a younger man and add them to my older musical designs?
The only problem is that I'm still at a loss for a melody line. Most of the time.
I did write one song a few years ago. It was called "It's Academic!" and was written for the TV quiz show of the same name. (It's a Saturday morning east-coast thing.) Our teacher-band, Big Daddy and the Slurpies, performed it on the show, and Mac McGarry, the LONG-time host of the show, told me that he'd like for it to be the closing theme. But it never went anywhere after that, either because we never made a clean copy or because I hoped to make a little money off it. Lot a lot; $100 would've done fine. I just wanted to get paid as a songwriter.
It's a pretty good song, sounding like early Elvis Costello listening to an early John Mellencamp song while thinking about Randy Newman. I made sure that four teachers in the band had chances to sing the lead vocal. And I liked the rhyme-play that I had going. The next year, a student who has at the taping told me that she couldn't get the song out of her head. That's good, right?
There were ground rules set up for me. It had to be about education being essential to a good life after school is done. It had to use basic chords, since our overall musicianship in the band wasn't strong, and have the show's title as the chorus, where it would stick in your head like putty.
My current band would be more than willing to do an original of mine, but "It's Academic" is way too niche for our classic-rock audience. The chord structure is too pop-centric, the message is too wholesome.
What we could dearly use is a sound-check song. One that starts with drums, then bass, then rhythm guitar. One that offers lead vocals to Eileen and Digger and myself, and maybe even John and Paul. One with a nice little guitar solo part.
The only theme I have is "Rock and Roll Depends," based on a band member's small bladder when beer is drunk and how it puts us in a bind when nature keeps calling during a gig. I could certainly play off of that theme and make it more about the energy of the music coming from the fans, rather than the musicians. But put enough double-meaning in there as a wink-wink to the mini-bladder.
In what key would be good for both Eileen and us guys to sing? I'd like to avoid G, as "It's Academic!" is in that key. Maybe A? If I then use "red," "knife" and "meander" but avoid "she," I'll finally get to write that song that Margie wanted me to write.
You see, she gave me those parameters a decade ago but I never wrote the song. I keep wanting to stick "meander" at the end of a line, and good luck rhyming that one in a meaningful way. Gander? Pander? Coriander? Also, how do you use "red" and "knife" without turning the song into a bloodbath?
But in college and in my twenties, I wrote a lot. I think I wrote some pretty good stuff. Sure, most of it was about girls I couldn't have or could no longer have - and I apologize for the use of "have," as if the girls in question were mere objects for me to possess and use - but even today, I still find what I wrote entertaining, and not just because my pain of the times shines through.
Nowadays, as I'm more familiar with music theory and can find my way around a guitar neck, I can come up with some basic song patterns. Last night, I found that putting the capo on the third fret and playing Em - G - D - A in a moderate tempo with a deliberate dampening of the strings sounded pleasant. Coming up with the words to accompany this pattern is a major problem, though.
Do I simply take what I wrote as a younger man and add them to my older musical designs?
The only problem is that I'm still at a loss for a melody line. Most of the time.
I did write one song a few years ago. It was called "It's Academic!" and was written for the TV quiz show of the same name. (It's a Saturday morning east-coast thing.) Our teacher-band, Big Daddy and the Slurpies, performed it on the show, and Mac McGarry, the LONG-time host of the show, told me that he'd like for it to be the closing theme. But it never went anywhere after that, either because we never made a clean copy or because I hoped to make a little money off it. Lot a lot; $100 would've done fine. I just wanted to get paid as a songwriter.
It's a pretty good song, sounding like early Elvis Costello listening to an early John Mellencamp song while thinking about Randy Newman. I made sure that four teachers in the band had chances to sing the lead vocal. And I liked the rhyme-play that I had going. The next year, a student who has at the taping told me that she couldn't get the song out of her head. That's good, right?
There were ground rules set up for me. It had to be about education being essential to a good life after school is done. It had to use basic chords, since our overall musicianship in the band wasn't strong, and have the show's title as the chorus, where it would stick in your head like putty.
My current band would be more than willing to do an original of mine, but "It's Academic" is way too niche for our classic-rock audience. The chord structure is too pop-centric, the message is too wholesome.
What we could dearly use is a sound-check song. One that starts with drums, then bass, then rhythm guitar. One that offers lead vocals to Eileen and Digger and myself, and maybe even John and Paul. One with a nice little guitar solo part.
The only theme I have is "Rock and Roll Depends," based on a band member's small bladder when beer is drunk and how it puts us in a bind when nature keeps calling during a gig. I could certainly play off of that theme and make it more about the energy of the music coming from the fans, rather than the musicians. But put enough double-meaning in there as a wink-wink to the mini-bladder.
In what key would be good for both Eileen and us guys to sing? I'd like to avoid G, as "It's Academic!" is in that key. Maybe A? If I then use "red," "knife" and "meander" but avoid "she," I'll finally get to write that song that Margie wanted me to write.
You see, she gave me those parameters a decade ago but I never wrote the song. I keep wanting to stick "meander" at the end of a line, and good luck rhyming that one in a meaningful way. Gander? Pander? Coriander? Also, how do you use "red" and "knife" without turning the song into a bloodbath?
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Truth, part 1
Soon I'll start to write about "truth," which used to have a clear and absolute definition. From what I'm seeing, the word is becoming more and more subjective, open to interpretation by those who want to find an easier passage through life and aren't happy with what's really going on around them.
I was a high school math teacher for seven years. The definition of "truth" from my students became further apart than my own. In short, they would lie and lie about the lie, and when presented with overwhelming evidence against their case, lie even more.
They equated "preference" with "reality." Whatever they wanted to believe, that is what they chose to believe.
No responsibility for their actions. No admittance to falsehoods or poorly-attempted deceit.
It got to the point that I realized not to bother with asking them for the truth, because I wouldn't get it. At least, I wouldn't get what I defined as "truth."
So sad.
And I'm the "out-liar." But only because "outlier" was already taken. But I like the portmanteau, as I do notice different realities for different people, especially in politics. And religion. And education. And everywhere else. And I like seeing how statistics describes the world. And though I don't like the feeling of an outsider, which is what I have been in most categories of mankind's self-categorization, being an outlier has an appeal.
I was a high school math teacher for seven years. The definition of "truth" from my students became further apart than my own. In short, they would lie and lie about the lie, and when presented with overwhelming evidence against their case, lie even more.
They equated "preference" with "reality." Whatever they wanted to believe, that is what they chose to believe.
No responsibility for their actions. No admittance to falsehoods or poorly-attempted deceit.
It got to the point that I realized not to bother with asking them for the truth, because I wouldn't get it. At least, I wouldn't get what I defined as "truth."
So sad.
And I'm the "out-liar." But only because "outlier" was already taken. But I like the portmanteau, as I do notice different realities for different people, especially in politics. And religion. And education. And everywhere else. And I like seeing how statistics describes the world. And though I don't like the feeling of an outsider, which is what I have been in most categories of mankind's self-categorization, being an outlier has an appeal.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Paint
My next painting will be on a bedroom's wall. Not as glamorous, but more appreciated in the long run.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Fillmore: inked, not colored
Couldn't scan this, or at least couldn't get my very old graphics program to stitch the two pieces together. So I ended up going to Office Depot in order to scan it. Next up is coloring, which I hope to easily do via computer.
Baseball
Pitchers and catchers for my favorite team, the Cubs, report tomorrow. Forget the groundhog; this news is what gives me hope of spring.
It doesn't appear that the Cubs have much of a chance to win their division, with the Cardinals staying solid, the Reds looking to continue their impressive 2010 season and the Brewers going all-in. But the Cubs like being the underdog, so who knows. Anyway, if a fan of any team is well-adjusted to not winning, it's a fan of the Cubs.
Does it always have to be about winning? The Bears had an amazing season for their lack of talent, coming pretty close to going to the Super Bowl. Is their loss to the eventual champion Packers enough to spoil the entire year? For many, yes. For me, no. It should always be about the journey, not the destination. Enjoy the trip.
Anyway, I'm in a bit of a pickle when it comes to following the Cubs. I don't go to many games; for the last decade, I've seen the Cubs in DC more than in Chicago. I usually follow their exploits by reading and occasionally posting on a Cubs message board. A somewhat-obscure board has always been very informative and comprehensive, and I've visited it routinely over the last eight years. However, the personalities on the board have become more and more confrontational and argumentative, and when I was taken to task for not "defending" a simple opinion, I decided to stop visiting.
The problem is that I haven't found another place to get as much information on the team.
I could go back to reading the board without posting, but too many members grate on me. It's not that they don't like me. It's that the environment there has become no nasty that they don't seem to like anyone. Perhaps not even themselves.
So where do I go? bleedcubbieblue.com is getting a good rep. Or maybe I should stop visiting any blogs regarding the Cubs. I might become a better fan by getting unbiased info on the Cubs... if that's even possible. Sports writers in Chicago have become more and more slanted in their reporting, even when not writing an opinion column. Carlos Zambrano can do no right with these guys anymore, never mind his fantastic final two months. He ticked off too many of them in the past and they won't give him a fair shake. Jay Cutler has the same issue. What does it matter if he's a bit aloof and less than gracious to these guys? Why should sports figures have to kiss the asses of the media? It should be the other way around.
Change that. No butts should be kissed at all. Players should play and journalists should cover what happened. End of story.
The best thing would be to go to every game and only get info that way, from what I see on the field. But this won't happen. I do have lots of time on my hands now, but bums can't afford to sit in the Wrigley bleachers anymore.
It doesn't appear that the Cubs have much of a chance to win their division, with the Cardinals staying solid, the Reds looking to continue their impressive 2010 season and the Brewers going all-in. But the Cubs like being the underdog, so who knows. Anyway, if a fan of any team is well-adjusted to not winning, it's a fan of the Cubs.
Does it always have to be about winning? The Bears had an amazing season for their lack of talent, coming pretty close to going to the Super Bowl. Is their loss to the eventual champion Packers enough to spoil the entire year? For many, yes. For me, no. It should always be about the journey, not the destination. Enjoy the trip.
Anyway, I'm in a bit of a pickle when it comes to following the Cubs. I don't go to many games; for the last decade, I've seen the Cubs in DC more than in Chicago. I usually follow their exploits by reading and occasionally posting on a Cubs message board. A somewhat-obscure board has always been very informative and comprehensive, and I've visited it routinely over the last eight years. However, the personalities on the board have become more and more confrontational and argumentative, and when I was taken to task for not "defending" a simple opinion, I decided to stop visiting.
The problem is that I haven't found another place to get as much information on the team.
I could go back to reading the board without posting, but too many members grate on me. It's not that they don't like me. It's that the environment there has become no nasty that they don't seem to like anyone. Perhaps not even themselves.
So where do I go? bleedcubbieblue.com is getting a good rep. Or maybe I should stop visiting any blogs regarding the Cubs. I might become a better fan by getting unbiased info on the Cubs... if that's even possible. Sports writers in Chicago have become more and more slanted in their reporting, even when not writing an opinion column. Carlos Zambrano can do no right with these guys anymore, never mind his fantastic final two months. He ticked off too many of them in the past and they won't give him a fair shake. Jay Cutler has the same issue. What does it matter if he's a bit aloof and less than gracious to these guys? Why should sports figures have to kiss the asses of the media? It should be the other way around.
Change that. No butts should be kissed at all. Players should play and journalists should cover what happened. End of story.
The best thing would be to go to every game and only get info that way, from what I see on the field. But this won't happen. I do have lots of time on my hands now, but bums can't afford to sit in the Wrigley bleachers anymore.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Fillmore
I spent a big part of last night, including two hours in the middle of the night, working on a new poster for the band. This one is based on a Fillmore design and I'm very happy with it. The coloring will be a worry, but right now, it's looking great.
My favorite is that, for a subject in the poster, I used my wife. A sketch of a drawing of an eleven year-old photo of my wife, to be exact. But she's still gorgeous, trust me.
My favorite is that, for a subject in the poster, I used my wife. A sketch of a drawing of an eleven year-old photo of my wife, to be exact. But she's still gorgeous, trust me.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
How can most of the children be above average?
To paraphrase Garrison Keillor's description of Lake Wobegon, that is.
During a morning trip to McDonald's - a place I boycotted and managed to avoid for six years, but now occasionally visit for a breakfast sandwich and shake disguised as coffee - I found the following bit of info from the delightful "Coffee News" rag:
"The IQ of the average person is 109."
This is mind-boggling, no matter the mind.
The average IQ is intended to be 100, with the standard deviation of about 15. That's how it's set up. You can already see the fallacy of the 109 average, but let me give a little more explanation to IQ scores.
When used with children, older IQ tests would measure the child's intellectual age, then compare it to his/her physical age, for the IQ. In other words, if an eight year-old child had a measured intellectual age of 6, the IQ would be 75, since 6 is 75% of 8. If that child's intellectual age was 10, the corresponding IQ would 125. An IQ of 100 meant that the child was right where we expected him/her to be, right on schedule.
This system of measuring IQ has its pitfalls, of course. Only a certain range of ages will work within the system. Funny to imagine a two day-old baby being saddled with an IQ of 50 because they didn't learn anything yesterday, or a guy my age having an IQ of 200 because he's thinking like a 78 year-old.
IQ measurement is now based on a bell curve, where a subject's measured score on an IQ test is compared against other registered scores from that age group. The subject's place on the bell curve is found and the IQ score is then obtained. I don't know how age groups are determined, but I imagine that most adults are in the same group.
It'll be hard for me to better explain how bell curves and standardized scores work without drawings here, but I'll give it a try.
Imagine that your IQ is one standard deviation above the average IQ score of people your age. On a bell curve, this would be the point on the right side where it changes concavity - where the shape of the curve, instead of curving down, flattens and is about to start curving up. (Very cool that a bell curve's inflection points are exactly one standard deviation from the mean. Calculus and statistics have their Promissory Point here!) According to statistics, you would have a standardized score, or z-score, of +1. You would have an IQ of 115, since the average IQ score plus one standard deviation of it is 100 + 15. Your percentile, or percentage of people with scores at or below your score, would be 84.1%. (Finding the percentile requires some calculation and a normal distribution table or one of them fancy graphing calculators.)
84th percentile? That's pretty high, amongst the top 16% in your age group, and a likely candidate for being labeled "smart." Mensa, known as the High IQ Society, allows membership if candidates measure in the top two percent of any standardized (and recognized) IQ test. If only they would ask for a z-score of +2 or above instead, to appease us math geeks!
Back to the "Coffee News" meme. An IQ score of 109 would translate into a standardized score of +0.6, since 9 is six-tenths of 15. The percentile of someone with an IQ of 109 is 72.6%, meaning that such an IQ ranks in the top 27.4% of all people in that age group. Maybe not Mensa material, but definitely someone "ahead of the curve." Someone considered above average, to be sure, as an "average" IQ would correspond to a 50th percentile.
So how can the claim be true? How can the average IQ score have a percentile higher than 50? Since the bell curve is symmetric, and the median (middle score) is the same as the mean, how can more than 50% of the populace be above average?
Is my McDonald's within the Lake Wobegon boundaries?
During a morning trip to McDonald's - a place I boycotted and managed to avoid for six years, but now occasionally visit for a breakfast sandwich and shake disguised as coffee - I found the following bit of info from the delightful "Coffee News" rag:
"The IQ of the average person is 109."
This is mind-boggling, no matter the mind.
The average IQ is intended to be 100, with the standard deviation of about 15. That's how it's set up. You can already see the fallacy of the 109 average, but let me give a little more explanation to IQ scores.
When used with children, older IQ tests would measure the child's intellectual age, then compare it to his/her physical age, for the IQ. In other words, if an eight year-old child had a measured intellectual age of 6, the IQ would be 75, since 6 is 75% of 8. If that child's intellectual age was 10, the corresponding IQ would 125. An IQ of 100 meant that the child was right where we expected him/her to be, right on schedule.
This system of measuring IQ has its pitfalls, of course. Only a certain range of ages will work within the system. Funny to imagine a two day-old baby being saddled with an IQ of 50 because they didn't learn anything yesterday, or a guy my age having an IQ of 200 because he's thinking like a 78 year-old.
IQ measurement is now based on a bell curve, where a subject's measured score on an IQ test is compared against other registered scores from that age group. The subject's place on the bell curve is found and the IQ score is then obtained. I don't know how age groups are determined, but I imagine that most adults are in the same group.
It'll be hard for me to better explain how bell curves and standardized scores work without drawings here, but I'll give it a try.
Imagine that your IQ is one standard deviation above the average IQ score of people your age. On a bell curve, this would be the point on the right side where it changes concavity - where the shape of the curve, instead of curving down, flattens and is about to start curving up. (Very cool that a bell curve's inflection points are exactly one standard deviation from the mean. Calculus and statistics have their Promissory Point here!) According to statistics, you would have a standardized score, or z-score, of +1. You would have an IQ of 115, since the average IQ score plus one standard deviation of it is 100 + 15. Your percentile, or percentage of people with scores at or below your score, would be 84.1%. (Finding the percentile requires some calculation and a normal distribution table or one of them fancy graphing calculators.)
84th percentile? That's pretty high, amongst the top 16% in your age group, and a likely candidate for being labeled "smart." Mensa, known as the High IQ Society, allows membership if candidates measure in the top two percent of any standardized (and recognized) IQ test. If only they would ask for a z-score of +2 or above instead, to appease us math geeks!
Back to the "Coffee News" meme. An IQ score of 109 would translate into a standardized score of +0.6, since 9 is six-tenths of 15. The percentile of someone with an IQ of 109 is 72.6%, meaning that such an IQ ranks in the top 27.4% of all people in that age group. Maybe not Mensa material, but definitely someone "ahead of the curve." Someone considered above average, to be sure, as an "average" IQ would correspond to a 50th percentile.
So how can the claim be true? How can the average IQ score have a percentile higher than 50? Since the bell curve is symmetric, and the median (middle score) is the same as the mean, how can more than 50% of the populace be above average?
Is my McDonald's within the Lake Wobegon boundaries?
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Wednesday
Again, I'm unable to find a lunch partner.
I asked Kip, Eileen, Digger and Brett. All have more important things to do.
I spent the morning making a new poster for the band. It's not in the Fillmore design but based on a chocolate advertisement en francais, of which you may be familiar. I'm happy with it and feel that it was a good waste of time.
Not bad for Microsoft Paint, eh?
Going out to lunch is also a nice time-suck. The job market for me looks bleak and I try to avoid starting at it whenever I can. I'm great at math. I've been a fine teacher. I've worked in the communications field as well. I'm a member of Mensa. Why can't I land a job?
If not a job, at least a purpose. It's very difficult to see my peers on Facebook, all of which are apparently doing better and living happier lives. Apart from my marriage, which is wonderful, I have very little going for me.
This is boring copy to read, but it's what goes through my head every single day. Maybe if I get it in writing, I won't have to replay it every day and can actually get down to tackling my issues.
But first - lunch.
I asked Kip, Eileen, Digger and Brett. All have more important things to do.
I spent the morning making a new poster for the band. It's not in the Fillmore design but based on a chocolate advertisement en francais, of which you may be familiar. I'm happy with it and feel that it was a good waste of time.
Not bad for Microsoft Paint, eh?
Going out to lunch is also a nice time-suck. The job market for me looks bleak and I try to avoid starting at it whenever I can. I'm great at math. I've been a fine teacher. I've worked in the communications field as well. I'm a member of Mensa. Why can't I land a job?
If not a job, at least a purpose. It's very difficult to see my peers on Facebook, all of which are apparently doing better and living happier lives. Apart from my marriage, which is wonderful, I have very little going for me.
This is boring copy to read, but it's what goes through my head every single day. Maybe if I get it in writing, I won't have to replay it every day and can actually get down to tackling my issues.
But first - lunch.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Tuesday, 8 February
I've decided to make a poster for my band, Ted From Accounting. We're a five-piece classic rock band that plays in the northwest suburbs.
Our current poster design is looking a little long in the tooth, and I have time on my hands (thanks, economy) and a yen for an artistic creative outlet, so I think I'll follow the Fillmore design.
The lettering looks easy enough - I wonder which came first, the name "Fillmore" or the font that fills more of the surface - but I need a subject to catch the eye. I'm hoping that an old sketch/study I drew of my wife will suffice. It's in my parents' house, somewhere. I hope. The plan is to Nagel-ify that sketch, then Fillmore the background.
Hope the band likes it. If not, at least it's something I can put on my wall in the basement.
If I can attach a picture of it, here's a study of Paul Klee's "Kettledrummer" that I painted last week. It could be better, as his right arm is too thick, but I don't have any white paint. Just red and black. It matches the colors in our living room.
Hm. Can't figure out how to add an image yet. Maybe this...
Our current poster design is looking a little long in the tooth, and I have time on my hands (thanks, economy) and a yen for an artistic creative outlet, so I think I'll follow the Fillmore design.
The lettering looks easy enough - I wonder which came first, the name "Fillmore" or the font that fills more of the surface - but I need a subject to catch the eye. I'm hoping that an old sketch/study I drew of my wife will suffice. It's in my parents' house, somewhere. I hope. The plan is to Nagel-ify that sketch, then Fillmore the background.
Hope the band likes it. If not, at least it's something I can put on my wall in the basement.
If I can attach a picture of it, here's a study of Paul Klee's "Kettledrummer" that I painted last week. It could be better, as his right arm is too thick, but I don't have any white paint. Just red and black. It matches the colors in our living room.
Monday, February 7, 2011
First: test
New blog. Occasional thoughts.
I'll call it "the outliar" because other permutations were taken. I'll try not to lie, but maybe I will.
I'm starting this blog to be able to comment on my friend Tom's blog. Good enough reason?
I also started this to find a reason to write again. Looking through old journals (okay, diaries), I wasn't too bad of a writer. Then I went into computer networking, where your vocabulary was supposed to be small and clear. And seven years of math teaching followed. That wasn't necessarily bad for my ability to converse, but it was to a different audience. I wasn't speaking to me. Maybe now I will.
I play guitar and drums and like to sing. My band would love to play some original material. It's time for me to write those songs. But when I start, I'm way too formulaic about it, worried about getting something wrong. So I never get anything right, because I never get anything at all.
I need a creative outlet. Maybe this'll be it.
If you read anything I write, feel free to say hi. Don't creep me out and get too inquisitive, though, since this is primarily for me. Better to start your own blog. How sad that people have to communicate this way, instead of chatting in public places. Maybe people still do that but I stare at my burger instead.
I'll call it "the outliar" because other permutations were taken. I'll try not to lie, but maybe I will.
I'm starting this blog to be able to comment on my friend Tom's blog. Good enough reason?
I also started this to find a reason to write again. Looking through old journals (okay, diaries), I wasn't too bad of a writer. Then I went into computer networking, where your vocabulary was supposed to be small and clear. And seven years of math teaching followed. That wasn't necessarily bad for my ability to converse, but it was to a different audience. I wasn't speaking to me. Maybe now I will.
I play guitar and drums and like to sing. My band would love to play some original material. It's time for me to write those songs. But when I start, I'm way too formulaic about it, worried about getting something wrong. So I never get anything right, because I never get anything at all.
I need a creative outlet. Maybe this'll be it.
If you read anything I write, feel free to say hi. Don't creep me out and get too inquisitive, though, since this is primarily for me. Better to start your own blog. How sad that people have to communicate this way, instead of chatting in public places. Maybe people still do that but I stare at my burger instead.
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