Cruel and Insignificant

That's how I felt on my walk in to work this morning.

On my way to the subway, I passed two homeless guys in their sleeping bags. They were just lying there asleep in this tunnel on the side of the road. Hundreds of people were walking right by them not giving them a second thought. I looked into the face of one of them as I passed -- haggard, worn -- greasy black hair. I imagined what he must smell like, and I was immediately repulsed.

But that repulsion quickly turned on to me, to myself -- to all the judgmental thoughts I have ever had about what it means to be homeless – the possible mental illness, or drug addictions, or simple laziness. How cruel I am to walk by and judge them like that?

When I was a teenager – a very sheltered, privileged teenager – I took a trip with a church group down to ride ATVs in the Yuma sand dunes. We were at a McDonalds and some of the guys were hopping around and jumping over the top of a big pile of rags, blankets, garbage, and clothes – just ‘cuz it was there. Suddenly the pile moved, and the guy inside it sat up. It startled us, but we just laughed – especially when the guy proceeded to stumble step-by-step into the middle of the busy road and start directing traffic. He didn’t have a name, or a family, or a story. He wasn’t even a real person, as far as we were concerned. He was just a joke -- an untidy ornament placed in our path for the sake of our own entertainment on the way to the dunes. Funny stuff, huh.

A year or so later I was driving with my friends in their car. I must have been 15 years old. For reasons I no longer understand, we thought it was funny to throw raw eggs out of the window at cars and buildings and people while driving by at about 45 miles-per-hour (a drive-by egging – thank you Mrs. Doubtfire). When we hit some random guy in the face as we drove by and then turned around to see him staggering aimlessly in the middle of the road behind us, we just laughed. It’s an image that is burned into my mind over 20 years later. But it's not nearly as vivid as the homeless guy sitting on the side of the road with his cardboard sign and his sleeping bag – a bright red one – a nice easy target. As the egg left my hand, his eyes met mine, and then WHAP! Too late for me to take it back. It was Christmas time.

Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these…

Merry Christmas brother, I thought to myself. I felt awful. Ashamed. And although I have had far more than my share of thoughtless cruel moments in my life since that day, I never did anything even remotely close to that again.

But that thought gave me little comfort on my walk to work this morning. Maybe I’m not hopping around and jumping over their piles of clothes. Maybe I’m not throwing eggs at them from a moving car. But I didn’t stop. I didn’t help them. I don’t really even believe that I could if I tried. Cruel. That’s what I am. Cruel and insignificant.

Good vs. Smart

So I am having a conversation with my mom, and she is telling me about a guy she knows at church, and she says, "he's a really good guy, but he's also really smart..." I just started laughing. She wasn't even able to finish her thought. It was just too hilarious to me.

Okay, so what does this mean?

Are smart people not good?

Are good people not smart?

I don't think this is something just isolated to my mom (don't ask about the mariachi music), cuz I see it all around. Is it that people are intimidated by intelligence? Or is it that intelligence leads to inquiry which leads to criticism which isn't nice or good? Or is it harsh agressive criticism masquarading as intelligence? What is going on here? I would hope I could be both good and smart. Is that even possible?

I am clairvoyant... or however you spell it.

Okay, so explain this to me (if you can).

Last night I had a dream about a basketball game. And Greg Oden was running the floor, moving really well, jumping up and blocking a couple of shots. I have no idea why I dreamed this. I don't really know anything about Greg Oden. I haven't seen anything lately about Greg Oden. He has been injured and out of the spotlight all year. There is absolutely no good reason why I should be dreaming about Greg Oden.

So I wake up this morning and log on to espn.com. There is an article that Greg Oden played a pick-up game yesterday and his team is upset with him for it.

If that isn't proof of my magnificent clairvoyanescency, I don't know what is.

Happy Life Day

This is one of the funniest things I have ever seen -- I guess it's how they celebrate Christmas on Tatooine. Of course, as I kid, I would have gone nuts over it. The look on Harrison Ford's face says it all. How much do you think they paid Carrie Fisher to do this? May the force stay in that galaxy far far away.

Paul is Dead

Well, not really... not yet. But this is a bit of folklore that has interested me for many years -- all the supposed "clues" and the suggestion of conspiracy. I put this little documentary together a few years ago for my F101: Intro to Folklore classes when I taught at Indiana University. The narrator is a guy named Dave Foxx who was a DJ in Washington DC around 1980. I got a hold of his audio and put the pictures to it. About four years ago I was able to track hm down and show this to him. We actually had some discussions about doing something more with this, but nothing ever came of it. It's a little cheesy, but I like it.

On a side not, one of Tracey's friends here in Tokyo works for the London-based lawfirm that is representing McCartney in his divorce case. Maybe I'll see if I can work that connection and get him to watch this and comment -- but only if I can be sure I won't get sued for anything.



Go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5F-t8BuGmZ0

A Handsome Name...

Years and years ago when I was first married, my wife looked at me and very thoughtfully said, "You know, I think that Glenn is a really handsome name."

She thought about it for a minute and looked at me again,

"You don't really look like a Glenn. You look more like a Dennis."

And we're still married.

Crushing on Kira

A place, where nobody dared to go...

I'm not ashamed to admit that the movie Xanadu made me cry. Olivia Newton-John with that high ponytale and her roller skates -- I was deeply in love, man. And when she vanished into thin air saying "I will love you forevah" and her lame love dude had to skate head-on into that massive muralled wall to bring her back from that neon yellow Tron place... oh, my poor young heart. What did she see in that Sonny Malone guy anyway? He had all the charisma of a bowl of oatmeal (Tuesday's Wednesday -- you tell him Sonny!), and yet they made him out to be this massive lady-killer. But he had Kira -- the muse -- and he got to dance (or at least violently shake his shoulders out of rhythm) to all that awesome ELO music. It's one of the greatest awful movies of all time. So to my elusive roller-skating muse, Kira -- I dedicate this most recent of my many narcissistic efforts to you.