Friends, now and again I make cracks, as do many people, about the state of the education system. But never have I seen greater proof of its suffering than I did yesterday. See, yesterday, Chicago schools had the day off for Presidents' Day, but the gym where I teach gymnastics was wide open. This means the kids will bring the crazy, for being cooped up all day tends to shut down their ability to hear, to listen, to remember, to work as a team, to be still, to be quiet... But we all make the best of it.
Yesterday, coach M, coach A, and I started setting up for tumble trak. Coach M always draws two big chalk shapes on the trak so that the girls know where their feet are supposed to land. The first shape he made was a triangle. I joked with him that I thought he was going to make it into a piece of cherry pie for George Washington. He made the second shape a cherry. We chuckled. And then it happened.
The girls began their calls of, "Why is it shaped like a cherry today?"
So I got to chatting with the little boogers as they stepped up to take their turns. I started with a group of them: "Who knows why they were off school today?"
Silence.
I try again: "It's Presidents' Day! Now, who knows which Presidents we celebrate on Presidents' Day?"
Silence. But by this time, the line was moving quickly; all the girls hadn't heard my question. So, I began to ask the girls separately as they stepped up to take their turns. Of our class of over 10 girls, finally, finally, two girls spoke up. I asked them together, and one said, "George Washington!" the other, "Abraham Lincoln!" They each said they actually knew about both. I asked how they knew. One said there were pictures of the two men hanging in her classroom. She goes to private Catholic school.
Then it got worse.
I asked our two little smarties if they knew the story of George Washington and the cherry tree.
Blank stares.
I asked and asked, and not a one knew what I was talking about. Coach M and I marveled at this development and wondered if we should stop class early to give a history lesson these kids obviously so desperately needed. But alas, we went through class, and I left the girls with the parting words that serve as the title of this entry.
Now, I need someone to explain to me HOW all this is possible. The girls in this class range in age from 4-8. I can understand if a 3-4 year old wouldn't know. I would understand if the older kids may have forgotten, their heads full of a deeper understanding of the presidents. But these elementary school girls had no basic understanding of the holiday. They should at least be able to name the day and the two superbly famous men we celebrate. And what of the fun little cherry tree story we all had the benefit of growing up with? I suppose it is possible that that tale of Washington has lost its popularity as one of those elementary age facts (George Washington. First president. Could not tell a lie). I just can't imagine that...
Look, my mother is awesome. Every holiday growing up was met with a themed dinner, a costume, or a tradition to go along with it. But when there wasn't time, at the minimum, I knew the story of the day and could recognize why I was home from school (or at school for that matter). Whether it is parents, teachers, or the great monarch of Chicago schools, I would like to know who is skipping over this important step and letting these kids think it's just another day off.
This next generation already has enough issues without 4/5 children not being able to even guess a president we might want to honor. I sure hope this was just a fluke or a bad sampling. Otherwise, I bump education up a spot on my "issues plaguing our youth" list.
Now go eat some cherry pie to preserve a great symbol of a great holiday that celebrates a great man.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
Is that a frog in your throat, or are you just happy to sing me?
Would you like to join my band? It's called the Nasal Resonator Shut Down.
Actually, you probably shouldn't. I'm hoping we'll only be together a short while longer.
Then, we'll be changing our name to We Can Has Breathing--Even in the Morning. I know that's a little long for a band name, but it really captures the excitement we will feel at our new found ability to breathe at all times of day and sing like ourselves every day.
Of course by we, I mean me and my stupid teeny sinuses that have gone on strike once again and taken away that good singing feeling by throwing all effort to my throat. I must still wait till April to be fixed. But I can smell that day coming--I think--if I sniff really hard.
Actually, you probably shouldn't. I'm hoping we'll only be together a short while longer.
Then, we'll be changing our name to We Can Has Breathing--Even in the Morning. I know that's a little long for a band name, but it really captures the excitement we will feel at our new found ability to breathe at all times of day and sing like ourselves every day.
Of course by we, I mean me and my stupid teeny sinuses that have gone on strike once again and taken away that good singing feeling by throwing all effort to my throat. I must still wait till April to be fixed. But I can smell that day coming--I think--if I sniff really hard.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
1947 in 2011.
I went to see my grandparents today. We went out for Chinese food, which I love doing with them. We order lots of food, Papa still asks for salt and Sweet & Low (I don't even know how to spell it let alone eat it), and we chuckle about our fortunes. And we talk--a lot.
Remembering my promise to myself and to you that I'd find out about the Lind arrangements, I asked away. It turns out I was pretty accurate. The whole family grew up singing together, so like most normal musical families, from childhood on, they would think of a song, break into parts, and go from there. (We did grow up normally, right?) So for many years, all arranging was their own. Only once they were under contract with WBBM radio was there so much material that two other men began to provide certain arrangements. Papa told us about one arranger named Ray Charles. Not that Ray Charles. He later went on to arrange for Perry Como.
Papa started talking about the need to be able to arrange quickly on their own. While on the road, they often found a sudden need for new material. One such instance was when they reached Minneapolis, which was heavily Swedish at the time. They opened the first night to a huge crowd--a crowd that expected the Jewish Lind brothers to be Swedish. Not wanting to disappoint, the brothers went out to a music store the next morning. They left with a song called "Ya Sure, Ya Betcha." They asked some of the dancers in one of the opening acts to teach them some Swedish moves to match the song, and by that night, the whole song was arranged and ready for the audience.
On to Duluth. Someone suggests the Lind Brothers learn a cowboy piece. While walking around town, they spot some workmen wearing cowboy hats. They buy the hats off them for a dollar a piece. They clean them up as best they can and finish throwing together their cowboy song, "We Can't Get Off Our Horses 'Cause Some Bum Put Glue On Our Saddles." They have this whole bit where they're doing the wide-kneed western walk, man-plieing up and down with the music. The song becomes a regular part of their act. One night, they're performing the song as usual, and the audience is laughing harder than ever. They begin to realize it's not just a particularly good audience--something more than their song is very funny...
Poor Uncle Murray's fly was open. Every time he bent his knees in cowboy fashion, his fly would open up. There he was, bobbing up and down, fly going 'open, close, open, close.' He found his next chance to turn his back to the audience to fix it. More laughter. Harder laughter. Everyone thought it was part of the act. Later, the head of the venue suggested they make it a permanent part of their routine. The brothers decided against that.
Back to the 1947 discussion. We all talked so much tonight that I am now unsure of who arranged Camptown, but I believe that the version was arranged by one of the WBBM guys. I remain amazed, though, that they had a song for every crowd. And except for a few memorable suggestions and collecting a few arrangements along the way, they were completely self-sufficient in finding and creating their unique material.
Back at their house after dinner, I showed my grandparents how I put the movie onto the computer. Watching my grandfather watch was really great. He says he remembers the shoot like it was yesterday. As we watched, he'd join in here and there to sing a few bars or with a, "Here come the solos." Like it was yesterday.
(We talked about my future, and) we visited a little more before I drove home, big band and tight harmonies running through my head all the way back to the big city.
Remembering my promise to myself and to you that I'd find out about the Lind arrangements, I asked away. It turns out I was pretty accurate. The whole family grew up singing together, so like most normal musical families, from childhood on, they would think of a song, break into parts, and go from there. (We did grow up normally, right?) So for many years, all arranging was their own. Only once they were under contract with WBBM radio was there so much material that two other men began to provide certain arrangements. Papa told us about one arranger named Ray Charles. Not that Ray Charles. He later went on to arrange for Perry Como.
Papa started talking about the need to be able to arrange quickly on their own. While on the road, they often found a sudden need for new material. One such instance was when they reached Minneapolis, which was heavily Swedish at the time. They opened the first night to a huge crowd--a crowd that expected the Jewish Lind brothers to be Swedish. Not wanting to disappoint, the brothers went out to a music store the next morning. They left with a song called "Ya Sure, Ya Betcha." They asked some of the dancers in one of the opening acts to teach them some Swedish moves to match the song, and by that night, the whole song was arranged and ready for the audience.
On to Duluth. Someone suggests the Lind Brothers learn a cowboy piece. While walking around town, they spot some workmen wearing cowboy hats. They buy the hats off them for a dollar a piece. They clean them up as best they can and finish throwing together their cowboy song, "We Can't Get Off Our Horses 'Cause Some Bum Put Glue On Our Saddles." They have this whole bit where they're doing the wide-kneed western walk, man-plieing up and down with the music. The song becomes a regular part of their act. One night, they're performing the song as usual, and the audience is laughing harder than ever. They begin to realize it's not just a particularly good audience--something more than their song is very funny...
Poor Uncle Murray's fly was open. Every time he bent his knees in cowboy fashion, his fly would open up. There he was, bobbing up and down, fly going 'open, close, open, close.' He found his next chance to turn his back to the audience to fix it. More laughter. Harder laughter. Everyone thought it was part of the act. Later, the head of the venue suggested they make it a permanent part of their routine. The brothers decided against that.
Back to the 1947 discussion. We all talked so much tonight that I am now unsure of who arranged Camptown, but I believe that the version was arranged by one of the WBBM guys. I remain amazed, though, that they had a song for every crowd. And except for a few memorable suggestions and collecting a few arrangements along the way, they were completely self-sufficient in finding and creating their unique material.
Back at their house after dinner, I showed my grandparents how I put the movie onto the computer. Watching my grandfather watch was really great. He says he remembers the shoot like it was yesterday. As we watched, he'd join in here and there to sing a few bars or with a, "Here come the solos." Like it was yesterday.
(We talked about my future, and) we visited a little more before I drove home, big band and tight harmonies running through my head all the way back to the big city.
Friday, February 18, 2011
1947.
Hello hello.
For those of you who haven't seen it yet, I invite you to check out my grandfather and great uncles in the short they did in 1947.
Every time I watch, I am struck by the quality of the musicians and the quality of the voices, especially considering this is such an old recording. I'm only sharing the edited version here, but this is true of the other performers in the short as well.
This makes me think of generations of elders saying that music has gone to pot. And you know, I can understand. Yes, I love plenty of contemporary artists. But a recording like this is the kind of thing that makes me want to be better. Folks, this precision and blend is not the work of a studio engineer but of talented people who earned their place on film. (And, I believe that they, along with my great grandfather, did most of the arranging. Anybody know? I'll ask my grandfather when I see him tomorrow.)
My husband and I have been watching the Dick Van Dyke show on Netflix, and each time they sing, I savor how beautiful a live (or pre-recorded but untouched) voice can be on film. Sure, we get that with music theatre, but I'm talking everyday TV/radio here. When I set out to do what I do, I always imagined it as that raw. I'm not saying production is unnecessary; trust me, I like a little help, too. But I do love recognizing a voice as soon as I hear it, and I can't say I like the current industry standard. I was watching Glee the other night, and I had this moment where I had no idea who the soloist was. You know when you walk past a magazine stand and see a familiar looking blond girl with a pretty face, but she's been retouched so much that you have to read the cover to find out who it is? That is what I cannot tolerate in music. And so, I present you what I believe to be a refreshing, old-time, full-o-talent act.
This is what happened when my grandfather went to Hollywood. And he's encouraging me to go now. So, my Manifest Destiny inspiration of the day is, without further ado:
The Lind Brothers
For those of you who haven't seen it yet, I invite you to check out my grandfather and great uncles in the short they did in 1947.
Every time I watch, I am struck by the quality of the musicians and the quality of the voices, especially considering this is such an old recording. I'm only sharing the edited version here, but this is true of the other performers in the short as well.
This makes me think of generations of elders saying that music has gone to pot. And you know, I can understand. Yes, I love plenty of contemporary artists. But a recording like this is the kind of thing that makes me want to be better. Folks, this precision and blend is not the work of a studio engineer but of talented people who earned their place on film. (And, I believe that they, along with my great grandfather, did most of the arranging. Anybody know? I'll ask my grandfather when I see him tomorrow.)
My husband and I have been watching the Dick Van Dyke show on Netflix, and each time they sing, I savor how beautiful a live (or pre-recorded but untouched) voice can be on film. Sure, we get that with music theatre, but I'm talking everyday TV/radio here. When I set out to do what I do, I always imagined it as that raw. I'm not saying production is unnecessary; trust me, I like a little help, too. But I do love recognizing a voice as soon as I hear it, and I can't say I like the current industry standard. I was watching Glee the other night, and I had this moment where I had no idea who the soloist was. You know when you walk past a magazine stand and see a familiar looking blond girl with a pretty face, but she's been retouched so much that you have to read the cover to find out who it is? That is what I cannot tolerate in music. And so, I present you what I believe to be a refreshing, old-time, full-o-talent act.
This is what happened when my grandfather went to Hollywood. And he's encouraging me to go now. So, my Manifest Destiny inspiration of the day is, without further ado:
The Lind Brothers
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Disclaimer.
I will do this once because I realize it may be necessary.
The decision to make a blog public is not always an easy one; it wasn't for me.
I had another blog once, and it was semi-private. Some knew I had it, but mostly, it was for me.
Last night, I chose to link the M. Destiny blog to facebook. I held my breath as I clicked that button and hoped that I wouldn't regret it. I immediately started tallying up those that maybe I wouldn't want to read my most candid thoughts--oh well. Plus, posting on facebook felt a little to me like asking people to read. My goal here is not to get readers but rather to invite people in this time, to make it known. I love putting this out into the world knowing that it's available to those who are interested. But I don't want to push.
Since I have made this public, I realize I need to say a bit more. Here's the thing--this is still a blog... half journal, half forum. I will go here to talk about things and people that are on my mind. And there is this risk that someone will recognize what I'm talking about even if I've tried to mask it. And though I'll usually change names, sometimes I won't mask a situation.
It is my hope that even in my private thoughts, I am carrying myself in a way that if someone recognizes a reference, it won't have any detrimental effect. But if I'm being honest, I'm leaving myself and others open to a world of situations by linking this page.
So here's the deal I will make with all of you:
This blog will not be used as a tool of passive aggression. I will not use it to talk about someone when I should be talking to them. If I talk about someone, it is not instead of facing them. Likewise, I invite you to face me if you feel that I am crossing any boundaries. I would never aim to hurt or slander anyone by blogging (maybe I've watched The Social Network too recently). Just remember, though I am inviting others in to share, this is still my place.
On the same note--I am a kind, humble person. I don't want to have to say this each time I say something positive about myself or critical of another. If I choose to write, "My kick ass voice and song writing abilities are so much better than some of the crap I saw on the Grammys last night," I mean this merely as a statement in support of what I'm writing about. So, there that is.
I think that's all that needs to be said for now. It's just that intent is hard to read on the internet. I realize that. So I've left you all this note. And if you choose to take anything I say differently than I mean, I guess that's my problem.
The decision to make a blog public is not always an easy one; it wasn't for me.
I had another blog once, and it was semi-private. Some knew I had it, but mostly, it was for me.
Last night, I chose to link the M. Destiny blog to facebook. I held my breath as I clicked that button and hoped that I wouldn't regret it. I immediately started tallying up those that maybe I wouldn't want to read my most candid thoughts--oh well. Plus, posting on facebook felt a little to me like asking people to read. My goal here is not to get readers but rather to invite people in this time, to make it known. I love putting this out into the world knowing that it's available to those who are interested. But I don't want to push.
Since I have made this public, I realize I need to say a bit more. Here's the thing--this is still a blog... half journal, half forum. I will go here to talk about things and people that are on my mind. And there is this risk that someone will recognize what I'm talking about even if I've tried to mask it. And though I'll usually change names, sometimes I won't mask a situation.
It is my hope that even in my private thoughts, I am carrying myself in a way that if someone recognizes a reference, it won't have any detrimental effect. But if I'm being honest, I'm leaving myself and others open to a world of situations by linking this page.
So here's the deal I will make with all of you:
This blog will not be used as a tool of passive aggression. I will not use it to talk about someone when I should be talking to them. If I talk about someone, it is not instead of facing them. Likewise, I invite you to face me if you feel that I am crossing any boundaries. I would never aim to hurt or slander anyone by blogging (maybe I've watched The Social Network too recently). Just remember, though I am inviting others in to share, this is still my place.
On the same note--I am a kind, humble person. I don't want to have to say this each time I say something positive about myself or critical of another. If I choose to write, "My kick ass voice and song writing abilities are so much better than some of the crap I saw on the Grammys last night," I mean this merely as a statement in support of what I'm writing about. So, there that is.
I think that's all that needs to be said for now. It's just that intent is hard to read on the internet. I realize that. So I've left you all this note. And if you choose to take anything I say differently than I mean, I guess that's my problem.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
It's easier to be an ass.
Some of you may not know me well, if at all. So I'll say it for the sake of you getting to know me--I'm a big fluffy marshmallow inside. Sure, there are strong principals in there, too. But mostly, there's a sunshine and puppy loving core that doesn't understand why people can't like each other, can't compromise, and why anyone would feel the need to be truly cutthroat.
This last year, when I've fallen into those thoughtful periods, and I'm analyzing the past (a dangerous pastime), I realize that I didn't always have enough fight in me. Take college for example. I was so busy being hard on myself and hating the feeling of ever-present judgement that I missed out--a lot. I freaking grew up on the stage of the Lyric Opera of Chicago, not a care in the world, and there were so many days I was an uncomfortable mess on stage in class. I'm veering. None of these details are important right now, except to demonstrate that there is so much evidence of my fluffy optimist parts that I sometimes forget that there is this whole other part of me that is full of incredible fight.
Today, my mom and I had a little phone scuffle. Before I could call her back to apologize, I saw she left me voice mail: "You know, you have such a way with words. You could be the most terrific diplomat or your enemy's worst nightmare, without raising a voice or a finger."
On the phone later, she expounded on this by restating: "You could take down a whole country."
At this, I laughed. And you know what, I was proud. What a great endorsement...
I've always said that the path I've chosen is hard. Anyone walking it is strong. But you know, I'm realizing the world is a pretty rough place for anyone. And I don't think anyone can get very far these days without fighting for the life they want, fighting for justice, and having the strength to persevere.
I remind myself before many events--auditions, tough phone calls, standing up to an employer--that I have a right to be tough, to fight. It doesn't make be a bitch; it makes me a survivor.
This is where we reach the moment that inspired this whole romp. Today, I'm having trouble seeing the line between fighter and asshole.
See, I had a choice to make last week. Should I choose photographer #1 or #2? Initially, it wasn't a landslide win. There were pros and cons each way. But, pretty quickly, it turned out to be one of those cases where list-making wasn't going to get me anywhere. With one person, I had been "interview Allie," and with the other, I was me--having a good time, too. And as we've learned above, Allie needs to chill the F out sometimes. So for that reason and several others, comfortable #2 took the win.
Yesterday, it was time for the uncomfortable phone call--at least for me, who doesn't like to hurt anybody's feelings--time to let the other guy know. So I put on my nice-as-can-be hat, and I called #1. Let's change the names to protect (myself) and call him Piss.
Allie: Hi, Piss. I am so sorry it took me so long to get back to you. In fact, part of the reason it took me so long was because it wasn't an easy decision. I think your work is really great, [but I'm going to stretch the truth and tell you that saving money is my priority right now.] Look, Piss, I would put you right back on my list next time, and I'll certainly refer others to you...
Piss: (snippily) Well... In that case, I need to ask who you decided to go with?
Allie: O...k... His name is Badass--Badass Dxxxxxxxx.
Piss: (He's never heard of his competition.) Oh.
Allie: Anyway, Piss, I appreciate what you've done for me so far [even though it was just an hour of your time], but this is just the decision I have to make.
Piss: (snottily) Well... That is an innnteresssting decision.
Allie: [Wtf?] Alright. Well, have a good rest of your day.
Piss: Yeah. Good day.
This left me reeling. And this is why I say I'm fluffy. Because others would brush it off. But me = reeling. Why was he so snippy? I was right, right? Boy did I make the right decision! What an ass! That was so unprofessional! Why didn't that go better? I was nice, right? And after a while, this all subsided into a normal and even awesome day.
But then, today, I got a message from Badass. Turns out, Badass got two phone calls yesterday--one a prospective client, the other a hang-up. When Badass called the new client back, he got Piss's studio. New client = Piss's lady friend. And the hang-up, you ask? Piss's cell phone. Wtf, Piss? Wtf? And, way to make me resent giving out Badass's name. Luckily, Badass is as his name implies and finds no fault with me. But Piss, to at least a few of us out here, you have earned your star as a world class ass.
Enter moral compass Mom again.
What if Piss was just using a creative tactic to find out what the competition charges and what he offers? (My mom says she's done something similar a couple of times to try to figure out what to charge for piano gigs.)
So, the question becomes: Is there any harm in asking a friend to call the competition so that you can better your business practices and not lose the next one? I think: no.
But--if you're found out--you're. an. ASS.
Assuming in this case that Piss is maybe a bit assy, or to be nicer, let's just say we're talking about assholes in general:
To an asshole, assy behavior is maybe just everyday activity. Plowing over whatever is in your way to meet your goal = justified.
But to the one on the other end (the ass-ie?) -- they feel the impact. He got a post out of me, didn't he?
So, if you want to make a point, to get through to someone, is being an ass more effective than the alternative?
I don't know.
As I reach the end of this post, I find myself wondering if I've wandered too close to a mean border. I have not intended to. I try to live somewhere well between ass and fluff -- assertive, good person land?
But honestly, I do think sometimes that it must be easier to be an ass.
This last year, when I've fallen into those thoughtful periods, and I'm analyzing the past (a dangerous pastime), I realize that I didn't always have enough fight in me. Take college for example. I was so busy being hard on myself and hating the feeling of ever-present judgement that I missed out--a lot. I freaking grew up on the stage of the Lyric Opera of Chicago, not a care in the world, and there were so many days I was an uncomfortable mess on stage in class. I'm veering. None of these details are important right now, except to demonstrate that there is so much evidence of my fluffy optimist parts that I sometimes forget that there is this whole other part of me that is full of incredible fight.
Today, my mom and I had a little phone scuffle. Before I could call her back to apologize, I saw she left me voice mail: "You know, you have such a way with words. You could be the most terrific diplomat or your enemy's worst nightmare, without raising a voice or a finger."
On the phone later, she expounded on this by restating: "You could take down a whole country."
At this, I laughed. And you know what, I was proud. What a great endorsement...
I've always said that the path I've chosen is hard. Anyone walking it is strong. But you know, I'm realizing the world is a pretty rough place for anyone. And I don't think anyone can get very far these days without fighting for the life they want, fighting for justice, and having the strength to persevere.
I remind myself before many events--auditions, tough phone calls, standing up to an employer--that I have a right to be tough, to fight. It doesn't make be a bitch; it makes me a survivor.
This is where we reach the moment that inspired this whole romp. Today, I'm having trouble seeing the line between fighter and asshole.
See, I had a choice to make last week. Should I choose photographer #1 or #2? Initially, it wasn't a landslide win. There were pros and cons each way. But, pretty quickly, it turned out to be one of those cases where list-making wasn't going to get me anywhere. With one person, I had been "interview Allie," and with the other, I was me--having a good time, too. And as we've learned above, Allie needs to chill the F out sometimes. So for that reason and several others, comfortable #2 took the win.
Yesterday, it was time for the uncomfortable phone call--at least for me, who doesn't like to hurt anybody's feelings--time to let the other guy know. So I put on my nice-as-can-be hat, and I called #1. Let's change the names to protect (myself) and call him Piss.
Allie: Hi, Piss. I am so sorry it took me so long to get back to you. In fact, part of the reason it took me so long was because it wasn't an easy decision. I think your work is really great, [but I'm going to stretch the truth and tell you that saving money is my priority right now.] Look, Piss, I would put you right back on my list next time, and I'll certainly refer others to you...
Piss: (snippily) Well... In that case, I need to ask who you decided to go with?
Allie: O...k... His name is Badass--Badass Dxxxxxxxx.
Piss: (He's never heard of his competition.) Oh.
Allie: Anyway, Piss, I appreciate what you've done for me so far [even though it was just an hour of your time], but this is just the decision I have to make.
Piss: (snottily) Well... That is an innnteresssting decision.
Allie: [Wtf?] Alright. Well, have a good rest of your day.
Piss: Yeah. Good day.
This left me reeling. And this is why I say I'm fluffy. Because others would brush it off. But me = reeling. Why was he so snippy? I was right, right? Boy did I make the right decision! What an ass! That was so unprofessional! Why didn't that go better? I was nice, right? And after a while, this all subsided into a normal and even awesome day.
But then, today, I got a message from Badass. Turns out, Badass got two phone calls yesterday--one a prospective client, the other a hang-up. When Badass called the new client back, he got Piss's studio. New client = Piss's lady friend. And the hang-up, you ask? Piss's cell phone. Wtf, Piss? Wtf? And, way to make me resent giving out Badass's name. Luckily, Badass is as his name implies and finds no fault with me. But Piss, to at least a few of us out here, you have earned your star as a world class ass.
Enter moral compass Mom again.
What if Piss was just using a creative tactic to find out what the competition charges and what he offers? (My mom says she's done something similar a couple of times to try to figure out what to charge for piano gigs.)
So, the question becomes: Is there any harm in asking a friend to call the competition so that you can better your business practices and not lose the next one? I think: no.
But--if you're found out--you're. an. ASS.
Assuming in this case that Piss is maybe a bit assy, or to be nicer, let's just say we're talking about assholes in general:
To an asshole, assy behavior is maybe just everyday activity. Plowing over whatever is in your way to meet your goal = justified.
But to the one on the other end (the ass-ie?) -- they feel the impact. He got a post out of me, didn't he?
So, if you want to make a point, to get through to someone, is being an ass more effective than the alternative?
I don't know.
As I reach the end of this post, I find myself wondering if I've wandered too close to a mean border. I have not intended to. I try to live somewhere well between ass and fluff -- assertive, good person land?
But honestly, I do think sometimes that it must be easier to be an ass.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Helllo, friends.
For those of you reading this, hello!
I am writing this blog for me and for you--
This is a place I will visit when inspired and when searching. I will place my thoughts here knowing they may or may not be found. I do think I have something unique to share. So if you find me, I hope to give you something--a laugh, a new thought, even just an update. My posts will range from stark reality to a spur of the moment poem to my favorite--reality with a bit of fiction thrown in.
But as this is the Manifest Destiny blog, I am most of all writing this to chronicle the next phase of my life--one in which I take some big steps toward creating the future I want so much.
M.D.
--AllieCat
I am writing this blog for me and for you--
This is a place I will visit when inspired and when searching. I will place my thoughts here knowing they may or may not be found. I do think I have something unique to share. So if you find me, I hope to give you something--a laugh, a new thought, even just an update. My posts will range from stark reality to a spur of the moment poem to my favorite--reality with a bit of fiction thrown in.
But as this is the Manifest Destiny blog, I am most of all writing this to chronicle the next phase of my life--one in which I take some big steps toward creating the future I want so much.
M.D.
--AllieCat
Welcome.
I hated AP U.S. History.
As a Junior in High School, I already knew what I wanted to do with my life. I was involved in countless activities, and I didn't have it in me to read and memorize and make the class the priority my teacher told me it should be. So I just got through it. And as I've gotten older, I realize that instead of retaining the major parts of our country's history that I wish I did, I am left with strange bits and pieces, flashes of facts from our weekly quizzes. Take this, for example--I will always remember the Supreme Court case Gibbons vs. Ogden. While studying for the AP test, I came up with funny ways to remember the cases. My favorite was an image of gibbon monkeys running over a map of the U.S. Gibbons vs. Ogden = interstate trade.
But of all those little facts that surface while I'm watching Jeopardy or trying to hold my own in Trivial Pursuit, there is one that has become my favorite. This one buried its self much deeper inside me and surfaced not just as a tidbit but as a new inspiration and philosophy for my life--Manifest Destiny.
As a Junior in High School, I already knew what I wanted to do with my life. I was involved in countless activities, and I didn't have it in me to read and memorize and make the class the priority my teacher told me it should be. So I just got through it. And as I've gotten older, I realize that instead of retaining the major parts of our country's history that I wish I did, I am left with strange bits and pieces, flashes of facts from our weekly quizzes. Take this, for example--I will always remember the Supreme Court case Gibbons vs. Ogden. While studying for the AP test, I came up with funny ways to remember the cases. My favorite was an image of gibbon monkeys running over a map of the U.S. Gibbons vs. Ogden = interstate trade.
But of all those little facts that surface while I'm watching Jeopardy or trying to hold my own in Trivial Pursuit, there is one that has become my favorite. This one buried its self much deeper inside me and surfaced not just as a tidbit but as a new inspiration and philosophy for my life--Manifest Destiny.
Here's a little Wikipedia action to fill you in:
"Manifest Destiny was the 19th century American belief that the United States was destined to expand across the North American continent, from the Atlantic Seaboard to the Pacific Ocean. Advocates of Manifest Destiny believed that expansion was not only wise but that it was readily apparent (manifest) and inexorable (destiny)."
Last year, I began to feel this pull Westward. I don't know where it came from. Sure, I could name many reasons I could do well out West... just like I could about going back East. I like to question--everything, including my own reasoning. The more questions I ask, the more answers I get. I can justify my choices that way. But when faced with a choice, there are those times we get a feeling that outshines anything on a pro/con list. And one day shortly after the pulling feeling and I became acquainted, every question had an answer.
In popped an old friend--Manifest Destiny.
I began using the phrase more in humor than actual belief. I'd say, "Sure, this feeling is telling me that West = happiness & opportunity. But I can't help myself. In fact, all Americans should feel the need to venture West. It's Manifest Destiny at work."
Joking faded to inspiration as I thought of all the choices that have led me around the country to where I am now, ready to make something new happen for myself. Joking faded to a new outlook as I gained confidence in the idea that through choice, I will create my future. Naming my next life step is just for fun. But repeating the phrase -- Manifest Destiny -- that is what helps me each day to work toward a goal.
My destiny is calling me to some place near the ocean, and I can manifest that destiny.
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