The JackB

"When you're in jail, a good friend will be trying to bail you out. A best friend will be in the cell next to you saying, 'Damn, that was fun'." Groucho Marx

Archives for August 2010

Your Way, My Way and The Hard Way

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I can’t remember where I first heard someone say that there are three ways to do things: Your Way, My Way and The Hard Way. Not sure that it matters much other than I can’t provide proper attribution. So, Mr or Mrs. Shmatashack my apologies for the inadvertent diss.

Now that we have gotten the pleasantries out of the way let’s talk for a moment about why that phrase has stuck with me and why the father in me is concerned. People like to say that we are all good at something and apparently I am good at doing things my way. It wouldn’t be much of a concern other than my way often seems to involve doing it the hard way.

So you might ask, “Jack, if you know that you have a habit of doing things the hard way why not change it?” Well I am ever so glad that you asked because it has never occurred to me that instead of going left I could go right. Or maybe that is exactly why I never lived in cleveland. I may be a glutton for punishment, but I am not stupid. Ok, maybe a little bit but I’ll save that for a different post.

My neighbor tells me that I can attribute this lovely trait to being a Taurus and that even though I may choose to do things the hard way I always get them done. I look at her, the 83 year-old lady who drives a Corvette and says who am I to argue with that. It is not completely without merit or untrue, but that doesn’t mean that I want to continue like this.

As a parent I am exceptionally aware of what traits/characteristics my children have picked up from me. And this seems to be one of them, although it appears to be more prevalent in my son than my daughter. Not so long ago I tried to give him a practical demonstration of how and why it is worth looking for a better way.

We used a bunch of weights for this. The idea was simple, it is easier to carry light weights than heavy. If you have to make an extra trip or two it is not such a big deal. Unless you are of my blood that is. That kid did exactly what I would do and used brute strength to move the weights. But I anticipated that he might and set things up so that it wouldn’t be possible to do that every time.

And I’ll be damned, he followed in my footsteps again and told me that he needed a moment before he “took the test.” A moment later he was “testing” himself to see how much he could lift. That is so very like his old man. About once a week I take a few minutes at the gym to see how much I can lift- guess there is still a lot of little boy left in me.

Still, that kid made his dad proud by coming up with a couple of whiz bang solutions. Makes me happy to say that they are both smarter than I am. Can’t help but smile at it. But damn, I hope that they have more common sense than I do. If they insist on doing things their own way make it easy.

And that is all I have for you today, lailah tov from Los Angeles- I am  out of here.

Thank You Lewis Black- If It Weren’t For My Horse

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Initially this post was a video clip that was embedded in this post courtesy of another site, but the damn thing took forever to load so I nuked it. I get cranky when stupid crap hangs up my page so instead of being able to watch and listen to Mr. Black you’ll have to just listen… Deal with it.

Anyhoo, the curmudgeonly Mr. Black is a man after my own heart. This is one of my favorite bits and so I’d like to share an excerpt from it:

“When from behind me, a woman of 25 uttered the dumbest thing I’d ever heard in my life … She said, ‘If it weren’t for my horse, I wouldn’t have spent that year in college.’

I’ll repeat that. I’ll repeat that because that’s the kind of sentence that when you hear it, your brain comes to a screeching halt. And the left hand side of the brain looks at the right hand side and goes, ‘It’s dark in here, and we may die.’ She said, ‘If it weren’t for my horse…’ as in, giddy up, giddy up, let’s go – ‘I wouldn’t have spent that year in college,’ a degree-granting institution.

Don’t! Don’t think about that sentence for more than three minutes, or blood’ll shoot out your nose. The American medical profession doesn’t know why we get an aneurysm. It’s when a blood vessel bursts in our head for no apparent reason. There’s a reason.

You’re at the mall one day, and somebody over there says the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard and it goes in your ear. So you turn around to see if your friends heard it, cause if your friends heard it, and you can talk about what the jackass said, then it’ll be gone. But your friends are over here, pretending they’re gonna buy a cellular phone, and they’re not gonna buy a cellular phone, because they don’t even understand how the rate structure works. So you turn back, to find the person who said it, because if you can ask ’em a question like, ‘WHAT THE @*#! ARE YOU TALKIN’ ABOUT?!’ then it’ll go away. But they’re gone.

And now those words are in your head. And those words don’t go away. Cause the way I see it, 7% of our brains functions all the time, because 99% of everything that happens is the same old stuff. We get it. All right. Move on. Get it. Right.

But every so often, somethin’ like that happens: ‘If it weren’t for my horse, I wouldn’t have spent that year in college.’ So your brain goes, ‘LET’S FIGURE IT OUT! Son of a bitch! I wonder what that’s about!’ I wonder, was she riding the horse to school? No, she wouldn’t be riding the horse to school. Maybe it was a polo pony; she had a polo pony scholarship. Maybe she sold the horse and that’s how she – she was betting on the horse! WHAT THE @*#! ?!! And then you realize that anybody who went to college would never say anything that stupid in public. And as soon as you have that thought, your eyes close and the next morning they find you dead in your bathroom.”

Love that. Go buy the album and tell him Jack sent you. It is worth the investment.

Dear June

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(One more for Fragments of Fiction)

Dear June,

It is Johnny but you already know that. This is the letter that I keep writing and rewriting over and over again. It is the one where I confess how very scared I am and how badly I wish that I could tell you this in person. Men don’t do that easily, we aren’t built to open up and admit weakness. We aren’t socialized to admit that we have insecurities and concerns that make us human.

I know, women always tell us that we should give in to our female side and share these feelings. You tell us not to worry and that a strong man can cry in front of you. Well that may be true, but maybe I am not that strong man or not strong enough. Maybe I can’t be that guy or maybe this is my attempt to be him. Maybe this is me telling you that I miss having you near and that in the quiet of the evening you’d hear that deep rumble that I call a voice attempt to whisper.

And in that moment you’d see me open and completely exposed before you, just a man who can’t stop loving a woman. A boy who wishes that he could hold his girl’s hand and connect. That same silly boy who pulled your pony tail and acted so immaturely is still there.

The boy and the man, the man and the boy. They are together forever and separated by moments in time. I stare at your pictures and caress your face.I look in your eyes and see things that no one else does. I see the pieces and the potential. I see the girl and the woman and my heart skips a beat. You wonder if I make you out to be more than you are. You worry that I have created a goddess who you cannot be. I know these things because just as you see the truth in me so I see it in you.

And that fire that we talk about, well it is burning bright. The torches in the chamber surrounding my heart are lit and the hallways are wide open and I remain amazed at you completely disarm me. I tell you now as I have told you before that no one else has ever done this or been granted access. You are special to me in ways that no one else can appreciate or understand.

I burn and I ache in the ecstasy of the flames. I care not who knows because all I see is you. And maybe that is the source of my fear. Maybe it is that you can’t join me. Maybe it is that I fear that I won’t be granted my wish and I’ll have to accept that. Maybe it is a fear that my heart is in complete denial of reality or maybe it is fear that I am right.

Maybe the reason my heart is pounding is because you are so close. I am not really sure. All I know is that you make me feel so very alive. All I know is that I have seen the truth in your eyes and learned more about love and life than most people ever do.

We once were something special and amazing. We once were more together than we could ever be apart. And that drives me forward. It energizes me. During our time apart I have learned much about myself. I know so much more about who I am and who I wish to be.

There is so much more to say but….In the interim remember that you are loved and that you are special. You’ll always be my girl.

-Johnny

Do You Handwrite Letters?

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Earlier today I had to fill out some forms by hand and noticed that I no longer seem to have any stamina for writing. After a relatively short time my hand began to ache and I wondered why these forms weren’t online. As I silently cursed the unknown person(s) who was responsible for this I thought about how bad my penmanship is.

Somewhere in the archives is a post that I wrote about this topic, my penmanship that is. I’ll save us both the time of searching for it by summing it up. My penmanship was never great, but it was relatively legible. If I had to choose between cursive and printing I always chose and still prefer to print. It is easier for me and I have fewer concerns about whether people will be able to read my writing.

So dear reader I am curious to learn if you still handwrite letters or does most of your communication take place electronically.

Inquiring minds want to know.

My Brother- A Lesson in Simple Physics

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(originally run here)

Many years ago in a galaxy far far away called high school there were numerous groups of people. In everyday parlance we refer to them as cliques. If memory serves in The Outsiders they were referred to as the greasers and socs (pronounced soshes).

At our school there were several different groups but we didn’t use any of the aforementioned names. In fact the names that we used don’t really matter.What does matter is that there were people there who thought that bullying was an appropriate behavior. It is a sad reality of not just school, but life. Bullying is something that some people just don’t grow out of.

Anyhoo…….

My brother and I were pretty lucky as we didn’t have too many issues with other kids. That doesn’t mean that people didn’t try and pick on us. They did, but it usually didn’t work out well for them. As my grandmother used to say we come from a long line of stubborn that you really don’t want to be on the wrong side of.

Still, things happened. It wasn’t like we walked around with signs broadcasting our nature.

During my brother’s junior year of high school he began dating a girl who was new to the school. We good naturedly referred to her as the “Yeshiva Refugee.” Up until that year she had attended some all girls religious school but for some reason she had left it and enrolled in our school.

I certainly was surprised by this as were our parents. It wasn’t something that any of us were upset about, but since she came from a more religious home it surprised us. Apparently it surprised some of the boys from the old neighborhood too.

During an after school visit with my brother they made it clear that they didn’t approve of it. They told him to end it and made all sorts of threats. It is more than 20 years since this took place and I still don’t know exactly what happened. What I know is that there were a few of them and just my brother but I can offer some educated guesses as to what happened next.

My brother would have told them in very colorful terms to try and engage in some anatomically impossible activity and then he would have tried to help them engage in some unusual chiropractic efforts. He probably gave as good as he got, but he was just one person and they were many.

As the big brother I admit to still being a little upset about this. My job has always been to help to protect all of my younger siblings. If I had been there I might have been able to have helped him out. I have always felt badly about this.

In any case, this was the first of a number of nasty incidents that progressively got meaner. But it also led to my teaching my brother a simple lesson in physics.

It goes a little bit like this. Anytime you apply pressure you must always remember that eventually it must find a release. And you must also remember that even though you think that you have control of where the energy will be expended it could easily be sent a different direction.

It took a moment for my brother to understand where I was going with this. Our nature is simple. If you attack us you can expect that we will come after you with both barrels blazing. In those days that usually meant that we would make like Bruce Lee and send out Fists of Fury.
However in these circumstances that really wasn’t working the way that we wanted it to so we opted for the next option.

We found out where the boys went to school and we contacted the headmaster and the rav (rabbi) at their parent’s shul. In the frum world it is amazing just how fast pressure can be applied.

Simple physics allowed us to redirect the pressure. Just when they thought that they had my brother by the short hairs we showed them otherwise.

Some people think that intimidation is an effective tool for generating change. The question is do they really have as much leverage as they think that they do. It can be a very painful experience to find out otherwise.

I have to run now. I need to call the man and see what he remembers about all this.

You Need To Think For Yourself

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A thousand years ago when I was a wee lad who thought himself a man I interviewed an adult. It was my senior year of high school and I was convinced that there wasn’t anyone out there who was smarter than myself.

The gentleman in question had spent a semester at my high school and then written a scathing piece about what he saw. Old Jack, the wise 17 year-old decided that it was a hatchet job and that I would use his own words to hoist him on his own petard.

Just thinking of how very arrogant and ignorant I was makes a wry grin come across my face. You see, the adult I interviewed was erudite, eloquent and had such command of the language that it took less than two minutes for me to realize that I was in over my head.

But he taught me a very important lesson in which I learned the value of not getting caught up in a mob mentality and relying upon group think to make decisions. He taught me the value of critical reasoning and taking time to analyze and evaluate the situations that I encounter in life. I like to think that I learned those lessons well and that I am doing a good job of passing this knowledge along to my children.

The impetus for this post comes from an ongoing debate/discussion I am having with a group of my fellow members of the tribe. We have been going back and forth and up and down about numerous different issues but I have been sorely disappointed in the quality of the discussion. It is not that I lay claim to being a member of Mensa or that I consider myself to be superior to others. I am just an ordinary Joe who likes to stimulate himself by engaging in discussions with people who have different perspectives.

But the thing that I am finding here is that they are a group of sheeple who see unwilling or unable to think for themselves. As the back and forth between us goes along they throw out links and quotes but never bother to string them together or demonstrate how they are relevant. It is a bit frustrating because there is some real meat to discuss, but they seem to miss it.

If you spend any time thinking about your perspective and position you should be able to spell out why you believe as you do or to at least admit that it is based solely upon faith and not fact. I know, that such a thing is blasphemy to literalists, but it is really what you should do.

So because at times I enjoy being an obnoxious prat I am going to grab a handful of excerpts from posts that I have written and tie them together.  Here they are, selected at random from Fragments of Fiction.

It was inconceivable because I had never had the experience and so when it was described to me by others I nodded and smiled, tried to pretend that I understood. But I didn’t.

So if you want to know more, if you want to really learn what is happening you’ll have to take advantage of Ma Bell. Pull out that old rotary phone and let your fingers do the walking. In the interim I have to go as I have a meeting with destiny and I am not willing to be late for that one.

but I was not concerned because my arms were made for holding you tight and feeling your heart beat against mine gives me all the strength that I require.

But that doesn’t sit so well with me either. I am not the guy who hides from life. That fire in my belly burns brightly because I go the distance, I take the chance that dancing in the fire might burn me.

And then you took off your watch and stuffed it in a drawer because the last thing you wanted to be reminded of was timing.

So I kissed you one last time. One final kiss so that we’d never forget. One kiss so that if we ever lost our way we could use it to find our way back.

If I argued as you folks do I’d simply point at the lines above and say, “see, that is proof.” But I don’t do it that way. I take a look at the material that I have to work with and provide a rationale for how it applies.

If I used the sections listed above I’d turn it into a story about a couple who faced a serious challenge. I’d talk about how they resolved to work together to find a way to overcome it and how they never gave up. I’d talk about how they were best friends and that though they danced in fire they were never consumed and that the reason for that was their love. It protected them from the flames.

Now there are a lot of holes in that and a lot of questions that can be asked, but there is a beginning a middle and an end to follow. There is a story line that connects the dots so that those who are less familiar can follow it.

And that leads into another issue I have with these sheeple. Not only are they semi-articulate they are dumbfounded that anyone questions their beliefs and see it as a personal attack. Color me confused and call me a jerk, but WTF. You sheeple routinely accuse me of not understanding and are amazed when I disagree with your positions.

Why is it offensive when I ask you to support your position and not offensive when you ask it of me. I am comfortable and confident in my beliefs. It doesn’t matter to me whether you accept or agree. Some of it is based upon faith and that is ok with me, that is what religion is. But part of the reason that I engage with you is to be challenged and to hear different ideas and perspectives.

If you are not willing to participate than just say so. Be forthright. Don’t try to hide your disgust or mask your disdain. You are far more transparent than you realize.