Originally posted on the Rants & Raves section of Craig's List - Los Angeles
I hate the arrogance of those who have been handed everything and fail to appreciate it or do anything worthwhile with it.
I hate the ignorance of those who think the most important thing going on right now is who wins on some reality television show.
I hate drivers who don't use turn signals.
I hate people who feel it's their responsibility to shove any sort of organized religion down someone else's throat.
I hate confirmation messages asking if I'm sure I want to delete a file.
I hate big oil.
I hate our indifference to what we are doing to the planet.
I hate pretty people.
I hate people who take up two parking spaces.
I hate people who pepper their sentences with the word "like."
I hate fuckers who take more than 15 items thru the express lane.
I hate calling customer service and speaking to someone halfway around the world with an accent so thick you could choke an elephant with it.
I hate punks who have no respect for others, yet expect it in return.
I hate people who are self centered and inconsiderate of others.
I hate the fact that I can't afford a home.
I hate the "transaction fee" banks charge for using another bank's ATM.
I hate computer viruses.
I hate the fact that corporations have more voice in the government than the people.
I hate my neighbors.
I hate our fucked up health care system.
I hate people who are truly incompetent but get paid exorbitant amounts because they bullshit well.
I hate inconsistency in thought and behavior.
I hate automated answering systems that loop you in circles.
I hate pressing 1 for English.
I hate telemarketers.
I hate Christmas decorations displayed in August.
I hate close minded people who think they already have all the answers.
I hate the fact that all of my enterprises to date have failed miserably.
I hate fools who can't remember their own password.
I hate the general public's obsession with youth and good looks.
I hate the "baggy look."
I hate putting commas, periods, and semi colons INSIDE the quotation mark.
I hate those of you reading this who are already mentally drafting some smart ass reply.
I hate gun control.
I hate the corruption that has permeated our political system.
I hate people who blame everyone else for their problems.
I hate people who interrupt.
I hate thinking of a witty retort 15 minutes after it's needed.
I hate people who have ulterior motives or misrepresent their intentions in dealing with you.
I hate the majority's pre-Victorian views on sexuality.
I hate affirmation action.
I hate being a minority.
I hate so-called "experts" who never give a definitive answer when a question is posed.
I hate bicycle riders who don't follow the rules of the road.
I hate people who are so unaware of their surroundings that they'll block a doorway, aisle, or hall.
I hate people who perform any secondary or tertiary action while driving.
I hate people in the drive through who change their order at the second window.
I hate waiters who don't do their job but expect a tip.
I hate hypocrisy.
I hate fingerprints on my monitors.
I hate people who don't understand the concept of personal hygiene.
I hate people who pound their keyboards while they type as if they were trying to drive nails through a steel plate.
I hate personality tests.
I hate rap.
I hate people who either don't understand or don't want to acknowledge the difference between legal and illegal immigration.
I hate misplacing or losing stuff.
I hate the plastic packaging that requires a blowtorch and a chainsaw to open.
I hate the comforts and amenities that are granted to those that are incarcerated.
I hate people who abuse the system.
I hate cold spots in my microwaved food.
I hate people who cut in line, whether it's traffic, the box office ticket counter, or an amusement park.
I hate low water pressure.
I hate that I only have one parking space for my two bedroom apartment.
I hate the industrial grade "beep beep" one hears when trucks or large vehicles are put in reverse.
I hate empty ice cube trays.
I hate watered down drinks.
I hate people who suck out on the river.
I hate micro-managers.
I hate those who generate drama in their life for the sake of drama.
I hate software updates.
I hate clutter.
I hate the dumpster diver who wakes me up everyday at 5:30 am.
I hate rain checks.
I hate rebates.
I hate the IRS.
I hate people who don't know how to execute a left hand turn.
I hate spam. (junk email, not the meat product.)
I hate people who can't parallel park.
I hate coconut.
I hate crowds, but at the same time,
I hate being alone.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Friday, June 20, 2008
The Van Mar Academy
My acting school closed the other day, after 40 plus years of teaching the craft of acting for film and television.
I find that I am oddly saddened by this.
The Van Mar Academy was the first acting school that I attended after moving to Los Angeles from Texas. Its founder and owner, Ivan Markota, was a dynamic, energetic, and at times, intimidating man.
I attended Van Mar for 8 years. I taught there for a few years, directed a series for the school, and learned a lot more than just acting. While I was there, the VMA seemed to be an institution that would go on even after Ivan's passing. He often talked of passing the school on to some worthy heir (in fact, for a while, I believe I was one of those on the list.)
There are a handful of students who have passed through the VMA that have moved on to fame and riches; of course, there are thousands who are still and will always be unknowns, but the VMA offered a home to us-- a place to meet, to laugh and cry together, and to grow as individuals. I remain in touch with and very close to many of my classmates from VMA; bonds that have remained intact for over 18 years. There is something special in that--other than high school, I have no deeper friends than those I made at the VMA.
Now, the school that helped forge those bonds is gone.
What I saw as an ongoing legacy to the life and efforts of a man I idolized at one time is now nothing more than a fading memory. What was to be the testament to man's life work will now be simply a recollection in the minds of those who attended. It is an unfitting end to an establishment that, like most of its students, had aspirations of greatness, of fame and riches, of immortality.
I am not privy to all the details behind the collapse of the school--I can surmise that there must have been some sort of fiscal mis-management that resulted in the eviction and subsequent closing of the school, and I'm sure when the dust settles my friends who are still involved with the school will provide more detail, but regardless of the events that transpired, nothing changes the fact that the school which provided the foundation of my professional aspirations in Hollywood is no more.
Farewell, Van Mar Academy of Motion Picture and Television Acting.
Your lessons will not soon be forgotten, nor the bonds of friendship forged in your classes soon severed, but you will be fondly remembered and greatly missed.
I find that I am oddly saddened by this.
The Van Mar Academy was the first acting school that I attended after moving to Los Angeles from Texas. Its founder and owner, Ivan Markota, was a dynamic, energetic, and at times, intimidating man.
I attended Van Mar for 8 years. I taught there for a few years, directed a series for the school, and learned a lot more than just acting. While I was there, the VMA seemed to be an institution that would go on even after Ivan's passing. He often talked of passing the school on to some worthy heir (in fact, for a while, I believe I was one of those on the list.)
There are a handful of students who have passed through the VMA that have moved on to fame and riches; of course, there are thousands who are still and will always be unknowns, but the VMA offered a home to us-- a place to meet, to laugh and cry together, and to grow as individuals. I remain in touch with and very close to many of my classmates from VMA; bonds that have remained intact for over 18 years. There is something special in that--other than high school, I have no deeper friends than those I made at the VMA.
Now, the school that helped forge those bonds is gone.
What I saw as an ongoing legacy to the life and efforts of a man I idolized at one time is now nothing more than a fading memory. What was to be the testament to man's life work will now be simply a recollection in the minds of those who attended. It is an unfitting end to an establishment that, like most of its students, had aspirations of greatness, of fame and riches, of immortality.
I am not privy to all the details behind the collapse of the school--I can surmise that there must have been some sort of fiscal mis-management that resulted in the eviction and subsequent closing of the school, and I'm sure when the dust settles my friends who are still involved with the school will provide more detail, but regardless of the events that transpired, nothing changes the fact that the school which provided the foundation of my professional aspirations in Hollywood is no more.
Farewell, Van Mar Academy of Motion Picture and Television Acting.
Your lessons will not soon be forgotten, nor the bonds of friendship forged in your classes soon severed, but you will be fondly remembered and greatly missed.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Rebooting the campaign of life
I learned how to play Dungeons & Dragons back in 1981 or 82. My dorm mate and I had walked to a small strip mall, and in a Woolworth store we found some small boxes of plastic miniatures. They were little one man scenarios that we played, and another friend who had heard of D&D said we should learn that. Thus I was introduced to D&D.
When we started, the rulebook was just a softbound booklet that was maybe 100 pages total. it was titled "Basic D&D" and the rules were childishly simple. Even today, I can still recall the awe and thrill that we all experienced when we discovered our first magic sword - encased in a wooden box, it illuminated our faces as we cautiously lifted the lid, garnering an audible "oooh" from all of us as we imagined it in our minds.
We played Basic D&D for a year or so before moving on to the more expensive, hard bound "Advanced Dungeons and Dragons." This was made up of 3 hard bound books, each one in the two hundred or so page area. It was a lot more complex, but we loved it.
As time went on, the rules got more and more complex. AD&D released version 2, then 3, and now is coming out with 4. Each one become more complex, with more and more rules covering virtually any scenario one could envision. There were rules for the weather, for sickness, for advanced combat maneuvers, special weapons, special armor, even rules for pregnancy and fertility! One could spend days just reading the guidelines for handling a forest fire in the wilderness!
The problem, of course, is that now it's so complex you spend more time reading the rules and less time actually playing the game. Unless you have a DM who can dedicate serious energy to keeping up with the system, it becomes a snail's pace game where every single move becomes a look up into a variety of rulebooks. Certainly not fun, no matter how much you're drinking. The magic of the game was lost.
I tried to re-capture the magic by going back to the basic rules, but it didn't help. Now the simplicity of the rules seemed to work against me; I wanted to do so much but I didn't have the resources in the game system to accomplish what I wanted. I found myself struggling to find the balance between a simple, playable system and enough versatility and flexibility to accommodate my rather complex story lines.
When we started, the rulebook was just a softbound booklet that was maybe 100 pages total. it was titled "Basic D&D" and the rules were childishly simple. Even today, I can still recall the awe and thrill that we all experienced when we discovered our first magic sword - encased in a wooden box, it illuminated our faces as we cautiously lifted the lid, garnering an audible "oooh" from all of us as we imagined it in our minds.
We played Basic D&D for a year or so before moving on to the more expensive, hard bound "Advanced Dungeons and Dragons." This was made up of 3 hard bound books, each one in the two hundred or so page area. It was a lot more complex, but we loved it.
As time went on, the rules got more and more complex. AD&D released version 2, then 3, and now is coming out with 4. Each one become more complex, with more and more rules covering virtually any scenario one could envision. There were rules for the weather, for sickness, for advanced combat maneuvers, special weapons, special armor, even rules for pregnancy and fertility! One could spend days just reading the guidelines for handling a forest fire in the wilderness!
The problem, of course, is that now it's so complex you spend more time reading the rules and less time actually playing the game. Unless you have a DM who can dedicate serious energy to keeping up with the system, it becomes a snail's pace game where every single move becomes a look up into a variety of rulebooks. Certainly not fun, no matter how much you're drinking. The magic of the game was lost.
I tried to re-capture the magic by going back to the basic rules, but it didn't help. Now the simplicity of the rules seemed to work against me; I wanted to do so much but I didn't have the resources in the game system to accomplish what I wanted. I found myself struggling to find the balance between a simple, playable system and enough versatility and flexibility to accommodate my rather complex story lines.
In a weird sort of way, this is how I feel about my life. It was simple, and exciting, and I looked forward to each day's challenges.
As time progressed, however, things have become more complex. To continue with my analogy above, I remember when we introduced the idea of critical hits in combat to the game. It was gruesome fun, and combat became a blood soaked gore fest as we gleefully rolled dice to learn the fate of our vanquished foe. Eventually, however, as player characters dropped one by one from being on the wrong end of a critical hit, we began to see that “crits”, as we called them, were not as great as we thought. It seems today that my life has way too may critical hits, charts and tables, and not enough actual adventure.
As I contemplate where I am in my life, I think that I have reached the point of “rule saturation”; I know life is not a game, but, to continue with the theme already established, I think I may be in serious need of a revamping of the game system.
But what exactly does that entail? In D&D, we could simply start a new campaign. Roll up new characters and start a new story – sort of like a new season of a show. Unfortunately, it's not so easy in the real world. I can't suddenly make myself 28 years old again, with my 7% bodyfat, tanned muscles and elevated testosterone levels. Even if I decided to push myself and get back into physical shape, there is a spiritual resuscitation that is needed as well, and I'm not quite sure I know where to go to do that.
Too bad I can't just pop down to the local wizard and be reincarnated as something new.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
A Ghost Tale
For college, I selected a small, private university in Austin; at the time they had one of the highest rated theater arts departments in the country.
The campus had a large cathedral like main building; it used to be a private school before it was expanded to a university. When it was first founded, the students slept in the main building on the 2nd or 3rd floor and the brothers/teachers slept on the 4th floor.
The campus legend was that one of the brothers hung himself from the bell one night, and that his ghost still haunted the 4th floor of the main building.
One night, a bunch of us decided to check out the 4th floor of the main building, which was off limits and locked away from the student body. A group of us scaled the fire escape and pried open a window on the 3rd floor.
We made our way to the locked stairwell that led to the 4th floor, cursing every creaking floorboard. One of the guys knelt at the door and tried to pick the lock; another held the flashlight, me and two other guys just held back, watching and waiting; I was the very farthest from the door, with my back to the hallway behind us.
I'll never forget the sudden chill I felt- all the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. (I'm getting goosebumps remembering it right now.) I just had that feeling that someone was behind me, and I slowly turned around.
Standing in the hallway intersection, I swear I saw the faint shadow of a catholic priest, with his long robe and bald head. He was looking at us and shaking his head.
I let out a yell that would have given any helden-tenor a run for their money and I bolted down the hall, away from the apparition. The others chased after me. I tore open the window and bolted down the other fire escape, my comrades in arms screaming at me to slow down and asking what I saw.
When we reached the ground and assembled under a small grove of trees, the guy with the flashlight shined it on my face-- he said I was white as a sheet; I don't doubt it--I was shaking like a leaf.
I'm sure many will dismiss it as an overactive imagination... if I heard this tale myself I probably would be skeptical too. But 20 odd years later, I still get the goosebumps and the sweat when I think of that night.
The campus had a large cathedral like main building; it used to be a private school before it was expanded to a university. When it was first founded, the students slept in the main building on the 2nd or 3rd floor and the brothers/teachers slept on the 4th floor.
The campus legend was that one of the brothers hung himself from the bell one night, and that his ghost still haunted the 4th floor of the main building.
One night, a bunch of us decided to check out the 4th floor of the main building, which was off limits and locked away from the student body. A group of us scaled the fire escape and pried open a window on the 3rd floor.
We made our way to the locked stairwell that led to the 4th floor, cursing every creaking floorboard. One of the guys knelt at the door and tried to pick the lock; another held the flashlight, me and two other guys just held back, watching and waiting; I was the very farthest from the door, with my back to the hallway behind us.
I'll never forget the sudden chill I felt- all the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. (I'm getting goosebumps remembering it right now.) I just had that feeling that someone was behind me, and I slowly turned around.
Standing in the hallway intersection, I swear I saw the faint shadow of a catholic priest, with his long robe and bald head. He was looking at us and shaking his head.
I let out a yell that would have given any helden-tenor a run for their money and I bolted down the hall, away from the apparition. The others chased after me. I tore open the window and bolted down the other fire escape, my comrades in arms screaming at me to slow down and asking what I saw.
When we reached the ground and assembled under a small grove of trees, the guy with the flashlight shined it on my face-- he said I was white as a sheet; I don't doubt it--I was shaking like a leaf.
I'm sure many will dismiss it as an overactive imagination... if I heard this tale myself I probably would be skeptical too. But 20 odd years later, I still get the goosebumps and the sweat when I think of that night.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
The Passing of the Torch
Last week was a bittersweet milestone for me, or rather, for me and my 6 year old son.
He had secured himself a role in his school's production of "Oliver!" Over the course of the rehearsals his role had been increased to the point where, considering his age, it was a pretty significant sized part.
The night of his performance came, and we watched with eager anticipation as my son came out and put his acting chops to the test. After the first scene there was little doubt that he has inherited his father's flair for the stage. At one point, a fellow actress delivered her line and received a sizeable laugh from the audience which overwhelmed my son's delivery of his punchline. Without missing a beat, he waited for the laughs to subside, and then repeated his line, resulting in another round of laughter from the audience. I asked the director if she had taught him about holding for the laugh, and she said that they had discussed it once, and just briefly.
"He's a natural," the director said enthusiastically. "He's really good."
After the show, the praise from the audience continued; my son was pretty overwhelmed by the outpouring of congratulations and compliments. I remembered my senior high school production of "A Christmas Carol" where I received similar accolades, and I realized with a twinge of sadness that the spotlight was slowly shifting focus from me to my young son.
We celebrated by going to our local Chili's, which is one of his favorites. Over dinner, we engaged in another favorite pastime, chess. I taught it to him at an early age and he's gotten quite good, having already entered a tournament and nearly placing. I myself was the school champ in 5th and 6th grade - the 1st to ever win both years, so I'm hardly a slouch in the game.
That night, however, his play was awesome, and after a blunder on my part he had me. I was forced to resign.
The torch had truly passed.
Despite a slight twinge of sadness, I am excited. He has so much ahead of him, and enormous gifts to bring to bear to all the challenges that lay ahead. In a way, I'm envious of all he has, and in another, I'm proud to think that I had something to do with his accomplishments thus far and yet to come. I can only hope as the torch passes that I am granted the opportunity to watch him carry it boldly forward and illuminate the paths that I have failed to tread myself.
He had secured himself a role in his school's production of "Oliver!" Over the course of the rehearsals his role had been increased to the point where, considering his age, it was a pretty significant sized part.
The night of his performance came, and we watched with eager anticipation as my son came out and put his acting chops to the test. After the first scene there was little doubt that he has inherited his father's flair for the stage. At one point, a fellow actress delivered her line and received a sizeable laugh from the audience which overwhelmed my son's delivery of his punchline. Without missing a beat, he waited for the laughs to subside, and then repeated his line, resulting in another round of laughter from the audience. I asked the director if she had taught him about holding for the laugh, and she said that they had discussed it once, and just briefly.
"He's a natural," the director said enthusiastically. "He's really good."
After the show, the praise from the audience continued; my son was pretty overwhelmed by the outpouring of congratulations and compliments. I remembered my senior high school production of "A Christmas Carol" where I received similar accolades, and I realized with a twinge of sadness that the spotlight was slowly shifting focus from me to my young son.
We celebrated by going to our local Chili's, which is one of his favorites. Over dinner, we engaged in another favorite pastime, chess. I taught it to him at an early age and he's gotten quite good, having already entered a tournament and nearly placing. I myself was the school champ in 5th and 6th grade - the 1st to ever win both years, so I'm hardly a slouch in the game.
That night, however, his play was awesome, and after a blunder on my part he had me. I was forced to resign.
The torch had truly passed.
Despite a slight twinge of sadness, I am excited. He has so much ahead of him, and enormous gifts to bring to bear to all the challenges that lay ahead. In a way, I'm envious of all he has, and in another, I'm proud to think that I had something to do with his accomplishments thus far and yet to come. I can only hope as the torch passes that I am granted the opportunity to watch him carry it boldly forward and illuminate the paths that I have failed to tread myself.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
The Acceptable Double Standard
There is an advertisement running on network television right now that caught my attention last night. In the ad, a young, hunky model is escorted through a retail department store where he is introduced to Martha Stewart, who remarks that she's really looking forward to working with him and as he turns to continue onward she makes no effort to conceal her checking out his ass.
Maria Carey is also in the store, and she oohs and aahs over him as he walks by. Many of the other female shoppers / employees in the store are similarly affected; at one point a crowd of women are standing nearby practically dripping with desire and when our young hunk notices they all scatter and pretend to be busy. Eventually, when this choice piece of eye candy finally arrives at his destination, a rather glum looking Donald Trump is seen standing off to the side, and he comments how they're all so shallow.
Of course, right now, for the life of me, I can't recall the store that is being advertised, and based on that, it's not an effective ad. (My sister used to work in advertising, and this is one test of an effective ad that I remember her mentioning...) BUT the point I'm making here is the interesting double standard that is virtually unmentioned yet seemingly accepted.
If the roles were reversed, and this was a sexy young lady and a bunch of men were ogling her tits and ass, and an older guy sneered at her "I'm really looking forward to working with you!" I am positive there would be such an outcry of protest from women's groups across the country that the ad would be pulled. Yet, there is nary a peep about the same sexual harassment if it's applied to a guy. Why is that?
I'm sure some critics out there will wave me off as jealous; certainly I wouldn't take issue if I were similarly desired by the same type of women depicted in the ad (they are, of course, all gorgeous.) But I don't think so--this is really more of an issue with a lack of consistency in standards, which is a big deal to me.
So guys aren't allowed to ogle women, but woman are allowed to gape and stare and men.
If a guy stares at a woman, or makes a suggestive remark, or some other visual or audible indication of arousal, it's harassment...but if a woman does it it's fine.
That's bullshit.
Quite frankly, I'm sick and tired of people making all these rules that apply to everyone but themselves. If you're going to cry foul when someone kicks you in the nuts, then it isn't ok for you to run around kicking every else's groin. Honestly, is this concept so foreign that everyone has forgotten the saying "What's good for the goose is good for the gander."?
I'm sure there are women out there who are pointing fingers and saying "See what it feels like to be a considered a sex object??" It has nothing to do with that (in fact, quite honestly, I would be lucky if even one woman took notice of me as I walked by); it has to do with a double standard that, in my opinion, is lending itself to a mentality that condones capricious dictates that lack equality for all.
All right, that's off my chest. I'm going to go look for my steel toed boots...
Maria Carey is also in the store, and she oohs and aahs over him as he walks by. Many of the other female shoppers / employees in the store are similarly affected; at one point a crowd of women are standing nearby practically dripping with desire and when our young hunk notices they all scatter and pretend to be busy. Eventually, when this choice piece of eye candy finally arrives at his destination, a rather glum looking Donald Trump is seen standing off to the side, and he comments how they're all so shallow.
Of course, right now, for the life of me, I can't recall the store that is being advertised, and based on that, it's not an effective ad. (My sister used to work in advertising, and this is one test of an effective ad that I remember her mentioning...) BUT the point I'm making here is the interesting double standard that is virtually unmentioned yet seemingly accepted.
If the roles were reversed, and this was a sexy young lady and a bunch of men were ogling her tits and ass, and an older guy sneered at her "I'm really looking forward to working with you!" I am positive there would be such an outcry of protest from women's groups across the country that the ad would be pulled. Yet, there is nary a peep about the same sexual harassment if it's applied to a guy. Why is that?
I'm sure some critics out there will wave me off as jealous; certainly I wouldn't take issue if I were similarly desired by the same type of women depicted in the ad (they are, of course, all gorgeous.) But I don't think so--this is really more of an issue with a lack of consistency in standards, which is a big deal to me.
So guys aren't allowed to ogle women, but woman are allowed to gape and stare and men.
If a guy stares at a woman, or makes a suggestive remark, or some other visual or audible indication of arousal, it's harassment...but if a woman does it it's fine.
That's bullshit.
Quite frankly, I'm sick and tired of people making all these rules that apply to everyone but themselves. If you're going to cry foul when someone kicks you in the nuts, then it isn't ok for you to run around kicking every else's groin. Honestly, is this concept so foreign that everyone has forgotten the saying "What's good for the goose is good for the gander."?
I'm sure there are women out there who are pointing fingers and saying "See what it feels like to be a considered a sex object??" It has nothing to do with that (in fact, quite honestly, I would be lucky if even one woman took notice of me as I walked by); it has to do with a double standard that, in my opinion, is lending itself to a mentality that condones capricious dictates that lack equality for all.
All right, that's off my chest. I'm going to go look for my steel toed boots...
Monday, March 17, 2008
Who Is Living Your Life?
No, this isn't a post on identity theft, although it would make a catchy title, don't ya think?
A rather commonplace event has led me to this post today, and it is a rather philosophical topic as opposed to my usual offerings of humor and occasional rants.
The origin of this post is the recent rear-ending and subsequent classification as a 'total loss' of my beloved Toyota 4 Runner.
We purchased our 4 Runner back in 2000, when our Rav 4 was totaled in a head on collision. For 8 years (almost to the day) our 4 Runner, which I'll abbreviate to 4-R in homage to Star Wars, ran well and worked hard. 4-R had over 175,000 miles when she was picked up by the insurance company, and we got nearly 1/3 of our original price back in the settlement, so, even in her passing, she was a giver.
My thoughts, however, wandered to the fact that we are now looking for a new car only because of what happened. Life sort of 'forced itself' upon us and made us replace our car--in all honesty, we would have kept 4-R until she totally died of old age if we had our choice.
It seems that life has a funny way of handing down decrees to me--and I find myself wondering if I'm living my life, or if I'm just a participant in it. Are the choices that I think I'm making already made for me? When I deviate from the path set out for me, does life find a way to, as Capt. Picard would say, "Make it so"?
My wife and I had no plans for having children until I was successful in Hollywood, but it seems life dictated otherwise, despite our efforts to the contrary. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad it happened-- our son is the child that every parent dreams of, and we are blessed beyond description, but I find myself wondering sometimes "What happened to my say in this matter? How or why did the powers that be decide otherwise?"
Of course, one could argue there are no powers that be; there is no greater power deciding one way or the other what will happen to us. But, if that's indeed the case, how is it that so many people's lives end up nothing like how they planned it? I would venture to say most people are nowhere near where they dreamed they would be--is this a result of poor planning on their part? Poor execution? Were their dreams immature and thus unattainable? Is it because they had no dream or plan? Are we really in "The Matrix?" (BTW, I totally think the Europeans got it right when they decided to put the question mark OUTSIDE of the quotes...)
If you think about it, almost anything that can be dreamed has been accomplished. People used to only dream of traveling into space; today there are such possibilities (if your pockets are deep enough.) Businesses are launched, and for some, fortunes are made, while for others, fortunes are lost. How is it decided what works, and what doesn't?
Are people who are considered failures simply people who decided to go against a preordained path that life had in store for them? There are many who say I'm not a failure, but, if you were to sit and take stock of everything I've done, I must say that, in the field of my choice, I am a failure. One of my co-workers graciously labeled me as a "deferred celebrity," borrowing from the accounting definition of suspending or withholding until a certain time or event. While it is a rather funny thought, I do, on many occasions, find myself wondering if my lack of success is indicative of my choosing the 'wrong' path. Was I supposed to do something else with my life? If that's the case, is it really MY life?
There is that familiar saying "Man makes plans and God laughs." It must be true, because, based on my life to date, he obviously has one hell of a sense of humor.
A rather commonplace event has led me to this post today, and it is a rather philosophical topic as opposed to my usual offerings of humor and occasional rants.
The origin of this post is the recent rear-ending and subsequent classification as a 'total loss' of my beloved Toyota 4 Runner.
We purchased our 4 Runner back in 2000, when our Rav 4 was totaled in a head on collision. For 8 years (almost to the day) our 4 Runner, which I'll abbreviate to 4-R in homage to Star Wars, ran well and worked hard. 4-R had over 175,000 miles when she was picked up by the insurance company, and we got nearly 1/3 of our original price back in the settlement, so, even in her passing, she was a giver.
My thoughts, however, wandered to the fact that we are now looking for a new car only because of what happened. Life sort of 'forced itself' upon us and made us replace our car--in all honesty, we would have kept 4-R until she totally died of old age if we had our choice.
It seems that life has a funny way of handing down decrees to me--and I find myself wondering if I'm living my life, or if I'm just a participant in it. Are the choices that I think I'm making already made for me? When I deviate from the path set out for me, does life find a way to, as Capt. Picard would say, "Make it so"?
My wife and I had no plans for having children until I was successful in Hollywood, but it seems life dictated otherwise, despite our efforts to the contrary. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad it happened-- our son is the child that every parent dreams of, and we are blessed beyond description, but I find myself wondering sometimes "What happened to my say in this matter? How or why did the powers that be decide otherwise?"
Of course, one could argue there are no powers that be; there is no greater power deciding one way or the other what will happen to us. But, if that's indeed the case, how is it that so many people's lives end up nothing like how they planned it? I would venture to say most people are nowhere near where they dreamed they would be--is this a result of poor planning on their part? Poor execution? Were their dreams immature and thus unattainable? Is it because they had no dream or plan? Are we really in "The Matrix?" (BTW, I totally think the Europeans got it right when they decided to put the question mark OUTSIDE of the quotes...)
If you think about it, almost anything that can be dreamed has been accomplished. People used to only dream of traveling into space; today there are such possibilities (if your pockets are deep enough.) Businesses are launched, and for some, fortunes are made, while for others, fortunes are lost. How is it decided what works, and what doesn't?
Are people who are considered failures simply people who decided to go against a preordained path that life had in store for them? There are many who say I'm not a failure, but, if you were to sit and take stock of everything I've done, I must say that, in the field of my choice, I am a failure. One of my co-workers graciously labeled me as a "deferred celebrity," borrowing from the accounting definition of suspending or withholding until a certain time or event. While it is a rather funny thought, I do, on many occasions, find myself wondering if my lack of success is indicative of my choosing the 'wrong' path. Was I supposed to do something else with my life? If that's the case, is it really MY life?
There is that familiar saying "Man makes plans and God laughs." It must be true, because, based on my life to date, he obviously has one hell of a sense of humor.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)