The two-year-old I nanny for was sick this week, so I got to sit with her and watch a lot of children's television. Yea for me.
I, however, discover this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=abUhT2zeCKU
I'm warning you. It's catchy.
Friday, October 24, 2008
And That's My New Philosophy!
My brother has a bunch of friends who love to snowboard, so he went snowboarding, too. Unfortunately, his friends love to snowboard. They don’t love to teach other people how to snowboard.
So, upon arrival, they suited him up, pointed him at the nearest tall, snowy thing, and headed on down the hill.
My brother had watched them go, and he thought, “How hard can it be? It’s just gravity.” Famous last words, my friend.
So he pushes off, picking up speed far faster than he expected or thought possible. After a brief period, his speed goes from kind of exciting to pretty much terrifying. The impetus for this change? It has occurred to him that he doesn’t know how to stop.
As he ponders the physics of snowboarding, he notices that, not only are the trees passing him really fast, but there are people up ahead. Like, a LOT of people.
Now, despite my brother’s apparently tenuous grasp of physics in action, he knows enough to know that if he crashes into a huge group of people, he will get really hurt and maybe crush a bystander’s important internal organs. If, on the other hand, he crashes into a non-sentient entity, he’ll pretty much be suffering alone.
Seeing how the good of the many outweighs the good of the one*, he decides to take one for the team, and stop himself. Running into a tree doesn’t sound that thrilling, so he figures that if he just lays down, flat on his back, he will get a lot of bruise, but skid to a halt relatively quickly and painlessly.
Remember how my brother’s not the president of physics?
So he flops down on his back, but his momentum is such that he promptly finds himself on his head, then his feet, then his head, then his feet, and then, finally, his back. He is very sore.
When he told this story, everyone in the room was laughing at his misfortune, and he laughed along with us. I commented that he probably hadn’t laughed much at the time. He said that he had too laughed, and then he shared his philosophy:
He said that whenever something lousy happens to him, he thinks, “But would I laugh if I saw it in a movie?” And if he would laugh at the movie, he laughs at himself.
My brother is an awesome philosopher.
So, upon arrival, they suited him up, pointed him at the nearest tall, snowy thing, and headed on down the hill.
My brother had watched them go, and he thought, “How hard can it be? It’s just gravity.” Famous last words, my friend.
So he pushes off, picking up speed far faster than he expected or thought possible. After a brief period, his speed goes from kind of exciting to pretty much terrifying. The impetus for this change? It has occurred to him that he doesn’t know how to stop.
As he ponders the physics of snowboarding, he notices that, not only are the trees passing him really fast, but there are people up ahead. Like, a LOT of people.
Now, despite my brother’s apparently tenuous grasp of physics in action, he knows enough to know that if he crashes into a huge group of people, he will get really hurt and maybe crush a bystander’s important internal organs. If, on the other hand, he crashes into a non-sentient entity, he’ll pretty much be suffering alone.
Seeing how the good of the many outweighs the good of the one*, he decides to take one for the team, and stop himself. Running into a tree doesn’t sound that thrilling, so he figures that if he just lays down, flat on his back, he will get a lot of bruise, but skid to a halt relatively quickly and painlessly.
Remember how my brother’s not the president of physics?
So he flops down on his back, but his momentum is such that he promptly finds himself on his head, then his feet, then his head, then his feet, and then, finally, his back. He is very sore.
When he told this story, everyone in the room was laughing at his misfortune, and he laughed along with us. I commented that he probably hadn’t laughed much at the time. He said that he had too laughed, and then he shared his philosophy:
He said that whenever something lousy happens to him, he thinks, “But would I laugh if I saw it in a movie?” And if he would laugh at the movie, he laughs at himself.
My brother is an awesome philosopher.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Go West, Young Man!
I drove across the country recently. If you are an American, at some point you should drive across the country. Preferably East-West, but I'm willing to accept the opposite if you put the car in reverse.
The are a rather large number of scholars/historians/philosophers/poetic drunks who argue that the character of the United States is defined by the ability to go far away from everybody else.* This may be why we're so obsessed with our cars.
The thing is that if you stay in a little corner of our country, you just never quite understand how MUCH of it there is. And how different any given section is from any other. We're pretty much half a continent.
I drove across the country alone. Due to the fact that I have no money, I slept in my car. Often in gas stations. When they heard that this was my plan, most people expressed shock and fear, and warned me about all the bad people who were out to get me. My brother called me daily "to see if I'd been raped and murdered yet."
It reminded me of a rather peculiar tradition in my family. When we were little, whenever my mom would stop to buy gas, we'd asked her to "tell us a stranger story," and while she filled the tank, she'd tell us a story. The stories always had the same beginning: a little boy or girl would do something stupid like wander off in a public place. They always had the same middle: a "stranger" would find them, and somehow lure them away, and always they ended the exact same way, "And they never saw their mom or their dad again!"
There's a reason we tell our children stories like these. But I think we grownups should probably stop believing them.
I was fine sleeping in my car and driving alone across the country because I think that most people would be more likely to help than hurt, more likely to be kind than cruel, and far more likely to take me under their wing than offer me poisoned apples.
That said, I stayed in well-lit areas, and I made sure I had a cell-phone, and I didn't pick up any hitchhikers. It never hurts to be cautious.
*See the School House Rock song, "Elbow Room."
The are a rather large number of scholars/historians/philosophers/poetic drunks who argue that the character of the United States is defined by the ability to go far away from everybody else.* This may be why we're so obsessed with our cars.
The thing is that if you stay in a little corner of our country, you just never quite understand how MUCH of it there is. And how different any given section is from any other. We're pretty much half a continent.
I drove across the country alone. Due to the fact that I have no money, I slept in my car. Often in gas stations. When they heard that this was my plan, most people expressed shock and fear, and warned me about all the bad people who were out to get me. My brother called me daily "to see if I'd been raped and murdered yet."
It reminded me of a rather peculiar tradition in my family. When we were little, whenever my mom would stop to buy gas, we'd asked her to "tell us a stranger story," and while she filled the tank, she'd tell us a story. The stories always had the same beginning: a little boy or girl would do something stupid like wander off in a public place. They always had the same middle: a "stranger" would find them, and somehow lure them away, and always they ended the exact same way, "And they never saw their mom or their dad again!"
There's a reason we tell our children stories like these. But I think we grownups should probably stop believing them.
I was fine sleeping in my car and driving alone across the country because I think that most people would be more likely to help than hurt, more likely to be kind than cruel, and far more likely to take me under their wing than offer me poisoned apples.
That said, I stayed in well-lit areas, and I made sure I had a cell-phone, and I didn't pick up any hitchhikers. It never hurts to be cautious.
*See the School House Rock song, "Elbow Room."
Mary Kate and Ashley, or Why I should Buy an Electric Toothbrush
So, I'm a really slow tooth-brusher, which leads to a few minutes of free time each night, which leads to musings like these:
When I was little I was a huge "Full House" fan*, and I was mildly obsessed with the Olsen twins. I was convinced that we were psychically linked. My logic was pretty much infallible:
In the first place, we were born the same year, so when I turned 5, Michelle-on-Full House turned 5; when I went to kindergarten, Michelle-on-Full House went to Kindergarten; when I did my first stint in rehab...
You get the idea. My second reason was that I had blue eyes and blond hair, and they had blue eyes and blond hair. Pretty uncanny, you have to admit.
Finally, the clincher: On Full House, the character portrayed by the Olsens was named "Michelle". My mom's name? Michelle. I know. It's pretty freaky, huh?
My love affair with all things Olsen ended tragically when I learned about punctuation. I started wondering why there wasn't a comma in their name, you see, I had thought Michelle-on-Full House was played by triplets: Mary, Kate, and Ashley. When I discovered it was a paltry pair of persons, the illusion was shattered.
Still, I've always had a special place in my heart for MK&A, and that is why I've followed their career with a certain degree of interest. And I've come to two conclusions:
First, Mary Kate and Ashley were really cute kids, and pretty good-looking adults, but they went through a phase at about 12 where they looked like trolls. Lucky for them, they grew out of this phase. Unlucky for everyone, the Mary Kate and Ashley Barbie dolls are based on troll-them, not post-troll-them. If I was rich and powerful, I would not have my action figure portray my awkward pre-pubescent stage. They should fix that.
Second, I think the gradual fading of their career up to this point is due to the formula-for-success that made them who they were. You see, when they were 6, the plot of all their movies was: "Mary Kate and Ashley are 6-year-old twins. They are ADORABLE! They get into some 6-year-old-style hi jinks." When they turned 10, the plot changed to: "Mary Kate and Ashley are 10-year-old twins. They are ADORABLE! They get into some 10-year-old-style hi jinks." the problem is that now they are 22, and while they are arguably still sort of adorable, 22-year-old-style hi jinks are not really a good thing to portray, unless your goal is to be Pamela Anderson. So my theory is that they need to invent some new kind of hi jinks. They could so do it. Twins are magical.
*I would like to state here that while I did, naturally, think I would grow up to marry Uncle Jesse (that whole Becky thing was temporary. He'll leave her as soon as he figures out that there's no was those twin boys could ever be related to him. Pale children with sandy-blond hair? Pshaw! Yeah, that's SO Greek.*disgusted snort*), I NEVER, EVER for ONE MINUTE thought Uncle Joey was funny. At all. In fact, I can remember thinking that all of his jokes must be based on some kind of strange, grown-up humor that I just didn't understand yet, because I sure just hated him. Now, I just hate the writers.
When I was little I was a huge "Full House" fan*, and I was mildly obsessed with the Olsen twins. I was convinced that we were psychically linked. My logic was pretty much infallible:
In the first place, we were born the same year, so when I turned 5, Michelle-on-Full House turned 5; when I went to kindergarten, Michelle-on-Full House went to Kindergarten; when I did my first stint in rehab...
You get the idea. My second reason was that I had blue eyes and blond hair, and they had blue eyes and blond hair. Pretty uncanny, you have to admit.
Finally, the clincher: On Full House, the character portrayed by the Olsens was named "Michelle". My mom's name? Michelle. I know. It's pretty freaky, huh?
My love affair with all things Olsen ended tragically when I learned about punctuation. I started wondering why there wasn't a comma in their name, you see, I had thought Michelle-on-Full House was played by triplets: Mary, Kate, and Ashley. When I discovered it was a paltry pair of persons, the illusion was shattered.
Still, I've always had a special place in my heart for MK&A, and that is why I've followed their career with a certain degree of interest. And I've come to two conclusions:
First, Mary Kate and Ashley were really cute kids, and pretty good-looking adults, but they went through a phase at about 12 where they looked like trolls. Lucky for them, they grew out of this phase. Unlucky for everyone, the Mary Kate and Ashley Barbie dolls are based on troll-them, not post-troll-them. If I was rich and powerful, I would not have my action figure portray my awkward pre-pubescent stage. They should fix that.
Second, I think the gradual fading of their career up to this point is due to the formula-for-success that made them who they were. You see, when they were 6, the plot of all their movies was: "Mary Kate and Ashley are 6-year-old twins. They are ADORABLE! They get into some 6-year-old-style hi jinks." When they turned 10, the plot changed to: "Mary Kate and Ashley are 10-year-old twins. They are ADORABLE! They get into some 10-year-old-style hi jinks." the problem is that now they are 22, and while they are arguably still sort of adorable, 22-year-old-style hi jinks are not really a good thing to portray, unless your goal is to be Pamela Anderson. So my theory is that they need to invent some new kind of hi jinks. They could so do it. Twins are magical.
*I would like to state here that while I did, naturally, think I would grow up to marry Uncle Jesse (that whole Becky thing was temporary. He'll leave her as soon as he figures out that there's no was those twin boys could ever be related to him. Pale children with sandy-blond hair? Pshaw! Yeah, that's SO Greek.*disgusted snort*), I NEVER, EVER for ONE MINUTE thought Uncle Joey was funny. At all. In fact, I can remember thinking that all of his jokes must be based on some kind of strange, grown-up humor that I just didn't understand yet, because I sure just hated him. Now, I just hate the writers.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)