A blog about anything I want. I don't need to explain myself.

Category: Uncategorized (Page 2 of 5)

Quotes are quick and easy

There was this quote that my old football coach used to say:

“Hard work beats talent when talent aint working.”

No, he actually used to say, “F****** move faster, Lalonde!”

But the hard work thing resonated with me. It was true. Talent can only get you so far.

There was another quote from my old coach that I loved. I try to live by it. I constantly fail to live by it all the damn time. But I try. I think everyone should try.

The quote is: “Be comfortable uncomfortable.”

This was usually said during the hardest parts of our football workouts, when we’re on our 1,000th up down or 12th full field bear crawl. He was saying to embrace the pain, the discomfort, relish in being uncomfortable.

I like that.

But I’m going to flip it.

What about, “Be uncomfortable comfortable.”

This was my community’s mission statement in JVC.

I think this is more universal.

This is something I really need to work on.

When I start feeling too comfortable, I should be uncomfortable. I should push myself out of comfort zone a lot more.

We all should.

Twain’s Pertinence

One of my favorite authors is Mark Twain.

His name isn’t actually Mark Twain.

His real name is Samuel Clemens.

I always win with Samuel Clemens when I play 20 questions.

Here are some of Samuel’s best quotes.

Lies, damned lies, and statistics.

Mark Twain

Twain’s three categories for lies. The full quote is, “There are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and statistics.” I’m using this phrase from now on. It was originally meant to say that statistics, while generally true, are often skewed to support a biased point of view.

The secret of getting ahead is getting started.

MArk Twain

My football coach said this and claimed he made it up. Was my football coach Mark Twain?

If you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything.

Mark Twain

What if you can’t remember if you told the truth?

Whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, it is time to pause and reflect.

MArk Twain

A little too pertinent.

Good friends, good books, and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life.

MArk Twain

Preach.

Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; Truth isn’t.

MArk Twain

I feel like I wrote a blog about this already.

Get your facts first, and then you can distort them as much as you please.

Mark Twain

Damned statistics.

The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning bug.

MArk Twain

Lightning bug is always the right word. If you mistakenly said lightning bug, it’s ok. Don’t worry about it. Whatever you were saying before doesn’t matter. It’s now about lightning bugs. It must be about lightning bugs.

If you don’t read the newspaper, you’re uninformed. If you read the newspaper, you’re misinformed.

MArk Twain

Also, very pertinent.

A clear conscience is the sure sign of a bad memory.

MArk Twain

I’m starting to think Mark Twain thought everybody sucked.

All right, then, I’ll go to hell.

Mark Twain

No- I didn’t mean-

I’m sorry.

My bad Mr. Twain.

Christian can suck it

I’m so hungry.

Food is all I can think about. I crave peanut butter mostly. For those who don’t know, peanut butter is my entire identity. I live off peanut butter.

But recently I started a new diet. So, no more peanut butter. Just carrots and salad.

God, I hate carrots and salad.

The diet has one mantra much like Rob Lowe’s mantra on “Parks and Recreation” when his character Chris Traeger is sick with the flu and can’t stop using the bathroom.

Chris Traeger says, “Stop. Pooping.”

I say, “Stop. Eating.”

It’s not literally “stop eating” because I would die, but, compared to how much I normally eat, its practically nothing.

I can eat a lot. I’ll be the first to admit it.

I have a weird relationship with food as most Americans do, as most diabetics do. I’m not sure when it started but I’ve always had an appetite that can only be described as a bottomless pit.

That’s wrong. I know when it started.

When I was younger, my grandma would make tacos for all her grandchildren. They were, are, and forever will be the best tacos I’ve ever tasted. If you think you’ve had a better taco, know that you’re wrong and you aren’t welcome at the Demuth family kids table.

Us grandchildren loved grandma’s tacos, especially the boys. We loved them so much we turned taco night with grandma into a taco eating contest. I was undefeated back then and don’t let my cousins tell you otherwise.

It got out of hand and we don’t do the taco eating contests anymore. Mostly because, as he grew up, our younger cousin became a literal taco eating black hole. It wasn’t even fair. I eventually lost to him many times and had to give up my throne. But also, because it was unhealthy and my grandma would work tirelessly making way too many tacos for us.

We still have taco nights on occasion, just not the contests.

But I’m not blaming my grandma for my large appetite. I love my grandma and I wouldn’t trade our taco nights for the world.

I blame my own stubborn, competitive nature.

My competitiveness instilled in me an opposition to being full.

And I’m rarely full. Even when I say I’m full, I know I could eat more if I really wanted to.

I’m a glutton. That’s my vice.

But not always. Right now, I’m trying to eat less and it’s not the first time I’ve done this. I have occasional spurts of healthy eating that can last anywhere from a few weeks to entire years. I realize that I tend to fall back to unhealthy eating habits when there’s a drastic change happening in my life. I eventually get accustomed to this change and go back to eating healthy.

This inconsistent rollercoaster of a diet has affected my weight drastically. During my adult life, my weight has ranged from 170 pounds to 250 pounds. That’s an 80-pound weight difference. And the change between these two weights wasn’t a one-time thing. I’ve gone through that weight transition 3 or 4 times both ways, all at different transitions in my life.

My sporadic weight change rivals that of Christian Bale. People praise Christian Bale for his commitment to lose and gain weight for a movie role. His biggest weight change was going from American Psycho (180 pounds) to The Machinist (120 pounds) to Batman Begins (220 pounds). I’m already doing that with my own mental health and unintentional eating habits.

And I’m not getting paid millions of dollars for it.

I think I should be paid millions of dollars for it.

I’m not sure what this is supposed to be.

Is there a metaphor here somewhere?

Some sappy, cliché motivational jargon.

“You don’t need a million dollars. You could change yourself if you really wanted to. Not just with your weight. With anything. Anybody can do it. Even you.”

I hate that. That’s the literal worst. Let’s stop that right now.

I don’t know what this is.

I’m just really really hungry.

Excuse me while I go eat more carrots and salad.

A Book About Being Better

The world is crazy right now. I don’t want these posts to be political, but I would like to talk about a book I read last year. I think it’s extremely relevant.

The New Jim Crow by Michelle Alexander.

Last year I was in a program called the Jesuit Volunteer Corps or JVC. Explaining my year in JVC would need a dozen other posts. So, to summarize: JVC is the Peace Corps with Jesuit values.

The Jesuits are just cool Catholic priests.

The coolest.

That’s all you really need to know.

I lived with 3 other wonderful Jesuit volunteers in Detroit, Michigan.

It was life changing.

I lived on 7 mile.

For you rap fans out there, you might be familiar with a street one mile away; a street made famous by rapper and songwriter Eminem. Eminem is from 8 mile. Detroit claims Eminem and Eminem claims Detroit. For a lot of young people today, Eminem made Detroit famous. Eminem is certainly why I knew of the city when moving there. I’m a fan of his music.

Turns out, Eminem isn’t from Detroit. He’s from Missouri. He moved to Michigan at a very young age. This much I knew. What I didn’t know and what the locals told me was that Eminem never actually lived in Detroit. He lived in Warren, a city just north of Detroit. A lot of the people I talked to in Detroit thought it was ridiculous that Eminem claimed Detroit as “his city.”

He did spend his time at local bars on 8 mile, the street made famous by his movie of the same name. But 8 mile is the border of north Detroit. Once you pass 8 mile, you’re not in Detroit.

In his song “Marshall Mathers,” Eminem makes fun of the Insane Clown Posse, a rap group that also claims Detroit. He says, “Look at y’all runnin’ your mouth again / When you ain’t seen a ****** mile road south of 10.”

That’s an interesting point to make / when you haven’t seen a mile road south of 8.

I have.

I lived there for a year.

I might be more Detroit than the famous Detroit rapper.

Of course, I’m joking. I claim Los Angeles all the time and I’m from Long Beach.

All of this is beside the point. During our time in Detroit, we decided to read a book together to be more informed on social justice issues. We chose The New Jim Crow by Michelle Alexander.

Now I don’t want to get political, but, to give you a little insight on my political views, I started reading this book with a closed mind. I was ready to disagree with Michelle.

And it didn’t help that Michelle is aggressive, man. She starts the book hot. She comes swinging. She’s angry and she’s ready to fight for her argument.

What is her argument?

That the mass incarceration of black people today is metaphorically the new Jim Crow.

Jim Crow Laws: state and local laws that enforced racial segregation in the Southern United States during the late 1800s and the early 1900s.

The term “Jim Crow” came from a song and dance called “Jump Jim Crow” which was performed by a white actor in blackface. “Jim Crow” was synonymous with “Negro.”

Believe it or not, racism still existed even after the 13th Amendment. The American Civil War abolished slavery, not racism.

The Jim Crow Laws were a way to segregate and disenfranchise black people in America. They were finally removed in 1965 during the Civil Rights movement.

Racial issues have gotten better since then, right? I would like to think so.

I would like to think things aren’t as bad as the Jim Crow Laws.

But Michelle doesn’t think so.

As much as I wanted to disagree with her, as much as I wanted to say her point was ridiculous, I couldn’t.

Because the fact is there are more black people in prison for drug related crimes than any other race.

Drugs are not exclusive to black people.

I went to college.

I went to a very white college.

White kids do drugs too. I would argue more so, but that’s anecdotal.

In an ideal world, there would be just as many white people in prison for drugs as black people, if not more.

Actually, in an ideal world there wouldn’t be drugs at all.

Or crime.

Or prison.

I would love to live in that world.

I still disagree with Michelle a bit. I think things have gotten better since the Civil Rights movement.

But I don’t think that’s the point.

The point was best said by one of my students.

In Detroit, I worked at a Catholic elementary school. I was a teacher, club organizer, custodian, you name it.

I fell in love with the students there. They were good kids.

I ran a journalism club in which the students worked on a school newspaper. We were discussing ways in which the school could be better. The students had a lot of complaints. The class turned into everyone roasting the school. It got out of hand.

As a teacher, I felt the need to defend the school. I said, “You guys are lucky to be here. This school is better than most schools in Detroit. Appreciate where you are.”

One of the brightest students in the class responded, “I am happy to be here. This school is wonderful but that doesn’t mean we can’t try to be better.”

She was right.

We can always try to be better.

And right now, we can be so much better.

Whether or not you agree with Michelle, this fact cannot be disputed: there are a disproportionate amount of black people in prison.

That isn’t an argument. That’s the truth.

And that’s a problem we need to solve.

In an ideal world there wouldn’t be drugs or crime or prison or injustice.

Some would say that world is unrealistic.

But that doesn’t mean we can’t strive for it.

The progress we’ve made since the Civil Rights movement is good, but we can be better.

We should always try to be better.

I recommend The New Jim Crow.

It’s a good book.

Ible?

How do you spell collectable?

Is it collectable or collectible?

I honestly don’t know.

I assume collectable means able to collect.

Such as likeable means you’re a good and charming person.

Able to be liked.

Does collectible mean ible to collect?

What’s an ible?

Or maybe who’s ible?

I know an Abel.

He was killed by his brother Cain.

Abel isn’t able anymore, but Cain can still do stuff.

Is Abel able?

Can Cain?

Cain can.

Can-can?

A lively, high-kicking stage dance originating in 19th-century Parisian music halls and performed by women in long skirts and petticoats?

Who knew?

This was supposed to be about the psychology of collecting.

But I don’t know how to spell collectible.

Collectable?

Turns out both are correct.

That’s annoying.

Pease

You’ve been saying pea wrong.

Split pea soup?

Nope.

Two peas in a pod?

Try again.

Pea-brain?

You don’t have to be a jerk about it.

Pea was originally pease. The small spherical seed or the seed-pod of the pod fruit was called a pease. Pease was singular.

“One pease, please.”

Peasen was plural.

“Two peasen in a pod.” Doesn’t have the same ring to it.

In etymology, this is called a back-formation.

Back-formation: the process of creating a new lexeme by removing actual or supposed affixes.

wikipedia

Now what the hell does that mean? That might be the most pretentious definition I’ve ever read. Lexeme? Actual or supposed affixes? Give me a break.

“Lexeme” is pretend-to-be-smart-guy talk for a word.

“Affixes” are the things you attach to words to make a new word or word form.

You put the letter s on the end of a word to make it plural. That s is an affix.

This should be the real definition of back-formation.

Back-formation: important when lifting heavy objects.

gotcha lmao

But actually.

Back-formation: the process of creating a new word because language is crazy, man.

my real definition

Pease was singular. But most people thought it was plural. Because, you know, there’s an s at the end. Makes sense to me. So, most people said pea and peas as being singular and plural, respectively. Hence “split pea soup” and “two peas in a pod.”

Everybody did this so now it’s correct.

We like to think that language has structure. For my fellow grammar Nazis out there, we desperately want language to have structure.

But it doesn’t. Language is collaborative and communal. If the majority says “pea” then that’s the word now.

Sorry pease, you had your chance and you blew it. They didn’t like you, I guess. I don’t know what you want me to say.

What’s that?

You have a message?

Wait, hold on. Let me find a pen.

Ah yes. Here it is.

Go ahead.

Really?

Interesting.

I never thought of it that way.

That’s very insightful of you, pease.

Yeah sure, I’ll tell them.

The message we can learn from pease is “things aren’t that serious.”

Words change. Definitions are malleable.

We should stop arguing and accept that pease can be pea.

Pease says everyone should know about the story of pease.

The world would be a better place…

If we had world pease.

Le Morte d’Author

So, there’s this guy.

A French guy.

A French sculptor guy.

He sculpts a sculpture that wins a competition.

Hooray!

To celebrate, this French sculptor goes to Rome. He loves theatre. He watches a Roman theatre performance featuring a girl.

A Roman girl.

A Roman theatre girl.

This French sculptor guy falls in love with this Roman theatre girl. This girl is named Zambinella.

But Zambinella is not a girl. She’s a guy. Zambinella is a castrato.

Castrato: a type of classical male singing voice equivalent to that of a soprano, mezzo-soprano, or contralto. The voice is produced by castration of the singer before puberty, or it occurs in one who, due to an endocrinological condition, never reaches sexual maturity.

wikipedia

This French sculptor guy falls in love with this Roman theatre guy. He mistook Zambinella as a girl because of Zambinella’s feminine singing. Hearing Zambinella sing for the first time, the French guy says, “It was Woman, with her sudden fears, her irrational whims, her instinctive fears, her unprovoked bravado, her daring and her delicious delicacy of feeling.”

This is the story of Sarrasine by French writer Honoré de Balzac. This is also the introduction to Roland Barthes’ essay “The Death of the Author.”  

Referring to the quote above, Barthes asks the following in his essay, “Who is speaking in this way? Is it the story’s hero, concerned to ignore the castrato concealed beneath the woman? Is it the man Balzac, endowed by his personal experience with a philosophy of Woman? Is it the author Balzac, professing certain “literary” ideas of femininity? Is it universal wisdom? or romantic psychology?”

Much like the rate of attrition of a specific hard candy lollipop, the world may never know.

Barthes argues that an author’s true intentions are impossible to know. The author isn’t there to hold your hand while you’re reading. Interpretation is solely your responsibility.

Following this logic, Barthes continues that the author’s intentions are irrelevant. If Balzac was alive today and he dropped in while you read the quote above just to say, “Nah, this is something that actually happened to me. None of this universal wisdom, romantic psychology crap. She was a pretty dude. What can I say? C’est la vie.” You’d probably be like, “How did this French guy get into my house?”

But also, who cares what Balzy boy thinks. He’s dead.

Barthes argues that an author does not own their work and therefore is not the authority on its interpretation. As soon as the writer begins writing, he/she loses their voice. A story is more than the author’s individual experience. To write a story, an author takes from thousands of cultures and ideas that are not his/her own. Nothing is original. All writing has been inspired by something.

“the text is a tissue of citations, resulting from the thousand sources of culture… the writer can only imitate a gesture forever anterior, never original. His only power is to combine the different kinds of writing, to oppose some by others, so as never to sustain himself by just one of them.”

The death of the author

Barthes argues meaning is found through reading rather than writing.

“a text’s unity lies not in its origins but in its destination.”

the death of the author

Barthes explains that the author “is born simultaneously with the text, is in no way equipped with a being preceding or exceeding the writing, [and] is not the subject with the book as predicate.”

The author dies as soon as we start reading.

I would argue that every piece of art has a dead author.

Have you ever interpreted a painter’s work differently? Or had a different feeling when listening to a song?

My friend Ryan put it perfectly at our book club meeting last Sunday.

Meaning lies in the beholder, then we choose to call it beautiful.

Ryan Rockenbach

But this isn’t to say the author is completely irrelevant. You need the author to interpret a story.

If Balzar wasn’t a person, but a chimpanzee, would you give Sarrasine the same meaning. If Sarrasine was written completely by chance by a chimp pounding on a keyboard, would you still call Zambinella a literary critique of feminist ideologies?

Probably not.

The presence of an author gives a work purpose, but the reader defines its meaning.

Next time you read something, remember that the author is dead.

Remember that I’m dead.

Or the me that wrote this is dead.

Because as soon as you read this, it’s not mine anymore.

I like that.

It’s liberating.

Who’s this guy?

All entertainment is role-playing.

It’s easy to understand the roles in sports and other games.

But music?

Literature?

Art?

What’s the role we assume when looking at the Mona Lisa?

Role-playing in the arts is more subtle. The difference between arts and games is the presence of a creator, also known as an author. Sports generally don’t have an author. We assume the stories in sports are organic. This is debatable as sport stories are told through announcers and sports writers and documentarians. There’s also the idea of scripted sports, but that’s a topic for another time.

Generally, art has an author. Sports don’t.

But who is this author guy?

What’s the big idea?

Hey! I’m walking here!

I’m an Italian in New York now.

Buongiorno!

Arrivederci!

Mamma mia!

Who’s this author guy? Tell me who he is and I’ll give him an ol’ kiss with my fist. This is New York!

Stromboli!

Moving on.

This author guy is a confusing character.

When I say confusing, what I really mean to say is that he lies about everything.

All authors lie.

Including me.

I’m the author of this blog, technically.

But it’s not really me because I assume a voice that isn’t my own. In my post “El Dinosaurio,” I was lying. I am sorry to say that the assistant named Jerry isn’t real. I wasn’t actually running a talk show formerly known as the “Reading Hour with Jason.” Both Jerry and the talk show aren’t real. I made it all up.

But you already know this. Yet you chose to accept it. Why?

Because you read and listen and watch stories like these all the time. Star Wars isn’t real. George Lucas is a liar. He’s also a dirty thief. Go read my “Hot Take.” But mostly he’s a liar because, as far as we know, there is no such thing as a “galaxy far, far away.” It’s all made up. But you choose to accept this lie as truth to enjoy the story.

You play pretend for the sake of fun.

You suspend your disbelief.

Suspension of disbelief: an intentional avoidance of critical thinking or logic in examining something surreal, such as a work of speculative fiction, to believe it for the sake of enjoyment.

Wikipedia

So, author’s lie and we choose to accept it. But only briefly for the sake of the story.

As much as we’d all like to be Jedi, deep down we know Star Wars isn’t real.

We pretend to believe because the idea of a war in the stars is fun.

But suspension of disbelief goes beyond fiction. Every story ever written is, to an extent, a lie we choose to accept as truth.

History books lie. Biographies lie. Auto-biographies lie so much they should be considered fiction. And journalists are the biggest liars of them all.

The idea of non-fiction being a lie seems oxymoronic.

Fiction equals fake.

The opposite of fake is truth.

The opposite of fiction is non-fiction.

Therefore, non-fiction must equal truth.

But look at the definition of non-fiction.

Non-fiction: any document, or content that purports in good faith to represent truth and accuracy regarding information, events, or people.

wikipedia

“Purports in good faith to represent truth.”

The difference between fiction and non-fiction is not truth. The difference is intention.

Fiction intends to lie.

Non-fiction intends to be true.

That’s not to say non-fiction is true. Non-fiction does its best to be true with the information given. But every history book, journal, biography, and news article has its authorial bias. Objective truth is not possible.

And that isn’t the point.

The point is to tell a story in an attempt to find truth.

Truth, in this sense, is the human experience.

Both fiction and non-fiction attempt to find truth in different ways.

The story of Star Wars isn’t true, but the feelings of love and family and rebellion and justice and war are all very true. Star Wars is a metaphor for World War II. World War II is a real thing that happened. The point of Star Wars is to have fun, but it also contains an analysis and criticism of the Allied Power’s prolonged inaction during a mass genocide of innocent people.

That is truth.

I prefer the fiction way.

So, what did we learn?

All authors lie.

But that’s still not it.

This is going to sound crazy so humor me.

I don’t think authors are real.

Authors don’t just lie; authors are the lie.

The author is dead.

The author died a long time ago.

We’re on our own now.

We’ve been on our own for some time.

Confused?

So am I.

Let’s do this again tomorrow.

Playing Pretend

Life is full of games.

Funny forms of entertainment meant to pass the time and bring people together.

But what is a game?

Game: a structured form of play, usually undertaken for entertainment or fun, and sometimes used as an educational tool.

wikipedia

Is this definition an oversized paint brush?

Because it’s making some broad strokes.

A game can be anything.

The key word in this definition is structure.

But what is structure?

When we think of games, some of us think of sports. Soccer is a game. The structure of soccer being the rules you follow such as “don’t touch the ball with your hands.”

Says who?

You can totally touch the ball with your hands if you wanted to. No one is physically stopping you. The only consequence is a guy in a terrible shirt and tight shorts aggressively shoving multicolored cards in your face.

That’s it.

Like that’s supposed to scare you.

Go ahead and grab that ball and walk it right into the goal, punching and dropkicking everyone that gets in your way.

And then you win.

Soccer’s easy.

Why doesn’t everyone do that?

Because then it wouldn’t be soccer, right? I mean, make the ball an oval and that’s just rugby.

But rugby has rules too. You aren’t allowed to pass the ball forward. You can’t go outside the lines. Rugby games only last around 80 minutes.

But all these rules seem arbitrary. Why not pass the ball forward. If you want to avoid a defender, run all the way to the next town with the ball. Say hi to the folks while you’re at it. When that ugly shirt guy blows his whistle, flip him the bird and keep playing. You don’t lose the ability to play rugby after 80 minutes.

You don’t lose the ability of your grasping appendages when you play soccer. You don’t have to cut off your arms.

Why do we follow these rules?

Because structure defines a game and makes it fun. When we walk onto the soccer pitch, we enter a new world, a world where hands are bad and balls behind nets are our currency.

We agree to this new world’s rules with a common goal to compete and have fun.

But none of it is real.

The point I’m trying to make is that games are pretend.

Make-believe.

Fantasy.

Role-playing.

When you play soccer, you pretend to be a guy who can’t use his hands and is obsessed with balls and nets.

Soccer is a role-playing game.

In this sense, every sport is a role-playing game.

Every game is a role-playing game.

I’d argue every form of entertainment is a role-playing game.

Music. Literature. Art. Performance Art. Theatre. Cinema. Dance. The Circus. Magic. Parades.

You name it.

All these have rules to follow and roles to assume.

That role is often audience members suspending their disbelief.

It’s all make-believe.

And it’s all fun.

We pretend because it’s fun.

Ask any child playing house.

Playing pretend is fun.

Some Idiom

 A blessing in disguise.

Why is it disguised? Sounds kinda shady. If it needs to disguise itself, it’s not much of a blessing is it?

A dime a dozen.

A phrase used to say something is common or inexpensive. “Experts in this field come a dime a dozen.” Last time I checked, I haven’t paid a dime for a dozen of anything. We should change the phrase to match inflation. “Experts in this field cost a dozen dimes.” That’s fun.

Beat around the bush.

What’d the bush do to you?

Better late than never.

Better never late, Jerry!

Bite the bullet.

Historically, medical patients would bite down on a bullet to endure extreme pain through surgical procedures without anesthesia. I like to imagine this was the original application for bullets. Jim Bullet, the creator of bullets obviously, was probably really upset when his invention was found to be a perfect fit for guns. “Hey, what are we going to do with all these weirdly shaped and tremendously inconvenient walking canes?”

Break a leg.

Thanks, guy.

Call it a day.

What else would you call it?

Under the weather.

Very few have been over it.

Hang in there.

Don’t patronize me.

Pulling your leg.

Please don’t.

Pull yourself together.

I’m not pulling anything.

Getting out of hand.

Whose hand? What’s getting out of it?

You’re guess is as good as mine.

I’m lost.

It’s hard to wrap your head around.

You know, a lot of these don’t make sense when you think about them.

You can say that again.

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