The Flâneur's Turtle

Repetition Could be the New Mother of Invention.

Posted: May 7, 2013 in Uncategorized
Tags: Learning, Petder Stern, Philosophy Faculty, Repetition

By Peter Stern, Philosophy Faculty.

Why do I find myself watching a movie or reading a book for a second time? And a third time. And a fourth time. And…..you get the idea.

How many times The Godfather?

Watching a movie over and over again-ditto a book-strikes me as odd, particularly in our day and age when fast, terse, concise, and straightforward serve as lodestar and watch words for writing, and communicating in general. Once again the adage—less is more—proves applicable. Whether talking, or writing, or dining, or even shopping, unlike buying—less is more. Just do it, be done with it, and move on rings in my ears.

Watching a movie several times seems to violate today’s life style and/or world view. For a) you should have taken in the message the first time; b) you shouldn’t be reading things where you can’t do this; c) no one should be writing material which takes several reads; and d) you’re wasting your time watching or reading the same thing several times because you prevent yourself from engaging in new combinations and permutations which are more current and thus more interesting.

Nonetheless I find myself reading the same thing again and again. Can there a reasonable or actually several reasonable explanations for such behavior, I anxiously ask myself, late at night, after waking up in fear and trembling from a particularly bad dream?

The theory of cognitive dissonance forces me to offer a few justifications even if initially I can’t think of any. Well, my first rationale is that whether right or wrong, I notice I’m still finding new things in the movie (or book) that I had missed during an earlier viewing. Since I’m still able to learn from the movie, I conclude watching it makes sense. Also I’ll see again a scene I know by heart yet continue to enjoy its special attractions nonetheless.

Another justification for watching a movie again is very simple, however unfortunate: increasingly I realize how easily and often I forget all kinds of things, including scenes from a movie or book. Remembering how frequently I forget even favorite parts of a movie I assume watching it once more may still hold plenty of charms.

A final reason for watching a movie yet again lies in the notion practice makes perfect. This idea makes great sense to me because I’ve noticed enough instances where doing something over and over allows me to get better at doing it. Computers provide many examples of this. When I was first learning how to email, I’d forget what I learned at my last learning session, and realized I had to start over, almost from scratch. However, after emailing for a month or more, I realized I had become a person who could email with aplomb and even a tad of alacrity. Amazing, methinks.

Many other examples of practice making perfect come to mind. Indeed virtually any activity or effort I need to engage in from washing dishes to jogging on a treadmill proceeds more smoothly the more I do it. This certainly holds true for watching and interpreting and enjoying movies.

Thus I’ve come to the conclusion that doing things more than once—much more than once—makes good sense. It’s even led me to think repetition could be the real mother of invention.

Mad Men, Anchorman and Cigarette Butts.

Posted: May 6, 2013 in Uncategorized
Tags: Michael Stelzer Jocks, History Faculty, Anchorman, Mad Men, Littering, Social Mores, Cigarettes

By Michael Stelzer Jocks, History Faculty.

One of my favorite scenes in the film Anchorman (and there are so many good ones) is when Ron Burgandy (Will Ferrill) and his group of goofy compatriots are walking through a park, eating fast food, dropping their garbage as they go. I think it is one of the funniest scenes of the movie, though it is peripheral to the story. Coincidentally, one of my favorite moments from the critically acclaimed series Mad Men is similar. During the first season of the Emmy-winning drama, Don Draper (Jon Hamm) and his family are having a picnic at a park, enjoying a beautiful summer day. As they get ready to leave, Don chucks his half-empty beer can off screen. Below is the scene.

Anchorman and Mad Men are not usually mentioned in the same breath, but I think these two scenes point to a central correlating theme of both shows. One of the reasons Anchorman is funny, and Mad Men is dramatic, is because both exploit the absurdity of outdated social mores. These two littering scenes have the same message: Times were different back then, and things that are unacceptable now were completely acceptable at one point. Ron Burgundy and Don Draper were sexist, which was acceptable; if they wanted to throw their trash on the ground, that was fine too.

There is no doubt that Ron Burgundy’s and Don Draper’s actions today would cost them harsh social, and legal ramifications. Both characters would be fired for their sexism, and both would be fined for their littering. And yet, both would find that one type of littering is still oddly acceptable in our contemporary world. The chain-smoking Don Draper would find that he could drop his cigarette butts anywhere he liked, with nary a passerby’s glance.

Isn’t this acceptance of specific littering odd? I would wager that smokers walking the street, hanging outside of bars and restaurants, standing by the doors of businesses believe that they are not litterers, and yet, they so often unthinkingly dump their butts. A mysterious double standard exists for cigarette litter: If I was walking down the street, eating an apple, next to someone smoking a cigarette and at the same time that I dropped my apple core, he dropped his butt, who would get more nasty looks? Who would be littering in the minds of people? Most would not give a second glance to a smoker who did this, whereas raised eyebrows, glares, and disgusting muttering would most likely meet the apple dropper. But, how counter-intuitive is this? Can there be any litter more dangerous than cigarette butts? Apple cores biodegrade; cigarette butts are sticks of fire. It really makes no sense.

So, why the different responses and understandings? Why is dropping a cigarette butt on the ground not considered littering? Honestly, I don’t have an answer. What do you think?

31 Years and 13 Miles

Posted: May 2, 2013 in Uncategorized
Tags: Birthdays, English Faculty, Half-Marathon, Paul Gaszak

By Paul Gaszak, English Faculty

Everyone has a personal answer to what makes a birthday special.

For some, it’s going to dinner with family. For others, it’s taking a vacation or getting the perfect present. Or maybe it’s a raucous party followed by waking up next to a stranger and a stack of inappropriate Polaroid pictures, leading you to ask one very important question: “Where did I find a Polaroid camera?”

Sunday, May 5 is my 31st birthday, and I have something different planned.

Normally, my birthday and I don’t get along much. It all started with the trauma of my 8th birthday when my parents bought me a cassette stereo instead of a TurboGrafx-16. I’ve had recurring 16-bit nightmares ever since.

See that smiling boy on the box? That wasn’t me. I was denied the chance to enjoy the TurboGrafx-16′s limited catalog of awful games.

Truly, though, I do have too many bad birthday memories. I now approach the day with caution rather than excitement, and I consider it a rousing success if I make it through my entire birthday without feeling utterly depressed. Consequently, I now react to birthday candles the same way Frankenstein does to torches.

Therefore, I made a proactive decision to make my birthday fun, challenging, and memorable this year by running the First Midwest Bank Half-Marathon.

I’ve run plenty of races, but never a half-marathon, because 13.1 miles is a long way. Put it in perspective: if the nearest grocery store to your house was 13.1 miles away, you’d either move or start a farm.

I’ve been thinking about this race for a while. So, a month ago, I decided to test myself to see if I could run this distance. I went to the gym, jumped on a treadmill, pumped up my Running playlist, and I took off…and pulled up short at 6.5 miles. I tried again a week later, pushing myself to 10 miles. A vast improvement, but still more than three miles short.

I thought that was the end of the discussion.

But a few Sundays ago while watching Celebrity Apprentice and eating Cocoa Puffs, I reexamined the race’s website with my birthday in mind. I weighed the pros and cons of running this race:

PROS:
1. It will be a great accomplishment.
2. It’s something I want to do.
3. It will make for a special birthday.
4. Women will be impressed by a half-marathon. (Because a full marathon is just showy and self-important).

CONS:
1. I may collapse in exhaustion short of the finish line and neighborhood children will run out of their homes to point and laugh while their parents take video with their iPhones to post on Facebook. And I will cry, but I’ll be too dehydrated to form tears (ie: ocular dry heaves). The footage will go viral, I’ll be on Tosh.0, and David Letterman will invite me to do a Top 10 List of “Why ‘Big Guys’ Shouldn’t Run.”

Despite the cons and the lack of evidence that I could legitimately run an entire half-marathon, I also considered that not signing up would result in spending my entire birthday depressed about this failed opportunity. Thus, another crappy birthday.

So, I signed up.

And then I sent nervous, whiny texts to everyone I know. Everyone said, “You’ll do great!” but I know what they were really thinking.

The next morning, fueled by one part determination and one part paranoia, I decided I had to prove I could run this distance.

Can you spot the deer, the Bigfoot, or the Blair Witch in this picture?

I headed outside in beautiful weather and ran, and ran, and ran. Given the rural-ish setting of my home, I ran past farm fields, past horses, past cows and chickens, past wild wandering pheasants (all of whom were very unimpressed with me – pheasants are jerks), past a deer I tried to take a picture of, past Bigfoot, and possibly past the Blair Witch. And 2 hours and 19 minutes later, I ran an entire 13.1 miles. (That would put me in the top 68% of runners based on last year’s finishing times. Yes, I’m that obsessively competitive.)

Now, with only days to go, I have a new attitude, a new confidence, and a new pair of shiny red running shoes.

…if only I were running the race on a yellow brick road.

Some people may think it’s insane to want to wake up at 5:30am on my birthday in order to go through hours of self-inflicted physical torture. (For others, torture might be your thing. Whatever floats your boat.)

This brings me to both my original idea and a Fresh Prince of Bel-Air reference. There is a great episode in which Will tries to make Geoffrey’s birthday special by getting him a date and taking him to a club. When it all goes poorly, Geoffrey explains to Will, “For you, birthdays are a time to paint the town red, but for me, it’s a time of reflection.”

Just as we all have different tastes and perspectives, we all have different outlooks on what will make our own birthday special. Birthdays are sold as “our day” when we can do and have whatever we want. However, we’ve all at some point had to spend our birthdays pleasing others or letting them down, because people too often want us to celebrate our birthday the way they would want to celebrate their own. (I know am I am guilty of having done that to others, and it’s wrong.)

So, it is up to us to determine what will make our birthday special, and we must also respect the wishes of our friends and loved ones on their birthdays so they can have their own special day. And after a lot of hand-wringing, cocoa puffs, and Celebrity Apprentice, I decided 13.1 miles would make my 31st special.

Typing, Writing, and Pencil Breaking…Oh My!

Posted: May 1, 2013 in Uncategorized
Tags: Cecelia Workman-Gonzalez, Mental Health, RMU Student, Self-Help, Writing

By Cecelia Workman-Gonzalez, RMU Student.

Free your mind and the rest will follow. Expressing your thoughts and being able to freely write them out on paper allows for much more than deep thinking and finger cramping. Expressive writing betters your body, mind, and soul in many ways. To write for betterment of self means to freely express your thoughts. Writing for me has allowed for me to clearly organize my thoughts that I couldn’t express thoroughly before. In a recent article it was stated “‘writing about earlier traumatic experience was associated with both short-term increases in physiological arousal and long-term decreases in health problem”. Since It clearly makes sense that writing on a regular basis makes for a healthier and happier lifestyle, more instructors should incorporate free-writing into their curriculum.

Writing can help one live a healthier lifestyle. There are many styles of writing, and many things to write about. Writing about traumatic, stressful or emotional events has been found to result in improvements in both physical and psychological health. I myself am proof that this theory works. When my cousin passed away when I was only age 19, and he was 18, I had a terrible time with grieving and my uncontrollable emotions of sadness. Being able to write my thoughts and feelings out without having to explain myself to someone else helped relieve some of that pain that I was feeling. This allowed for me to accept my cousin’s death, and understand my grievance. Everyone goes through traumatic events in their life. Although not everyone will be able to relate and express their thoughts and experiences in a way to generate happiness and relief, generally speaking, writing will allow for a healthier and happier lifestyle for those who can let out those sorrows.

Not only will writing help you life a better life, but it can also increase your intelligence. I was floored when I read a recent article about this topic. All these years I have been thinking that the only way to get ahead and expand your knowledge and intelligence was to educate yourself through college and continuous learning. Well I was right, to an extent. I have learned that writing will increase your intelligence. A study had been conducted of cloistered Nuns to prove this theory. The ones that were into writing had a much lower level of degenerative cognitive disease when they were older. They looked at childhood writing samples and compared them. Perhaps the ones who loved to write already were functioning at a higher cognitive level and had a greater reservoir of neurons. Or perhaps the writing is what helped them stay mentally alert. Creative writing allows your mind to be free, and let the thoughts just flow out. It is almost like there is no filter on your thoughts. Being able to openly express yourself in turn increases your intelligence.

Writing on a regular basis makes for a healthier and happier lifestyle. As stated above, the students who began writing at an early age showed a higher reservoir of neurons. I was one of the unfortunate ones. I had never been assigned a free writing, or creative writing, or even a writing assignment when I was younger. Honestly I didn’t even have to do a term paper until my senior year of high school. Even then the teacher held our hands the whole way through the paper. It ended up being more of the teacher’s ideas rather than the students. From the recent articles I have read about writing generating happiness, and allowing for others to live a healthier lifestyle, it is clear that more instructors should incorporate free-writing into their curriculum.

Shoreline Muse

Posted: April 30, 2013 in Uncategorized
Tags: Birds, English Faculty, Meditation, Ocean, Tricia Lunt

By Tricia Lunt, English Faculty.

I was at the Ocean recently (the Atlantic, to be specific). Listening to the waves is universally wonderful. While at the beach, I spent every possible moment within earshot of the waves. I rose early and bundled on a deck chair at dawn. All day, I kept opening the door to hear to the enchanting crash.

At the earliest moment, I took a walk on the beach, toes in squishy sand and frothy sea. Although the air and water were cold, I couldn’t resist the temptation; I waded in waist-deep and let the water pull me forth and back, the waves undulating, pressing me across the floor like an expert dancer. The ocean can move whatsoever it chooses: the shells, the algae, the fish, and the land. The oceanic rhythm compels us all.

Natural things dominate the beach; humans are merely visitors. I encountered the familiar sea birds. I said, “Hello, birdie,” as I watched a sand piper walk briskly in and out of the waves. Greeting animals is not an unusual practice for me. I speak to animals when I feel the urge to do so, usually when we are alone together, the animals and I. Like Coleridge’s Ancient Mariner, I “bless them” nearly unaware.

I think about what the birds believe about humans. Maybe they go back to their nests and chatter amongst themselves about our peculiar behavior. Perhaps the bird I greeted will turn to his friend and say, “I saw the most amazing human the other day.”

Birds must have their own words to name and describe humans: heavy, lumbering, wingless creatures that we are. Are we the giants who populate their myths? I imagine scholarly birds studying the strange and wonderful migratory patterns of humans, deeming our movements bizarre and unfathomable. Could it be that our shrieks of delight, our playful entreaties, our amorous murmurs, are, to avian ears, as delightfully lovely as birdsong?

Irony, Sarcasm, Ignorance (Some Thoughts on Boston)

Posted: April 29, 2013 in Uncategorized
Tags: Boston Marathon, Brad Paisley, Erik Rush, Ignorance, Irony, Sarcasm, Terrorism., Twitter, Victimization

By Michael Stelzer Jocks, History Faculty.

Moments after the explosions in Boston, the rumors and fear-mongering began. It took law enforcement a couple days to identify the culprits, but the media immediately clamped onto any whisper they heard that held promise. Not revealing its source, the New York Post reported hours after the bombs went off that a young Saudi man was being held in custody. Internet sites picked this up, and major outlets, most notably Fox News, ran with the story. Though the story was disavowed by authorities, the media erroneously reported it because it fit a paradigm of Islamic extremism that many within the country hold as gospel truth.

Erik Rush

The New York Post is known for sensationalism; the truth will often take a backseat to a juicy headline. But with this ‘breaking news’, the Post opened a Pandora’s Box. Political talking heads were thrown their red-meat, and they let an inevitable spew of conjecture and invective fly. Erik Rush, a Fox News contributor, political pundit, internet personality and sometime author quickly took to Twitter, throwing gasoline unto the fire. After the Post reported about the Saudi man, Rush ‘tweeted’, Everybody do the National Security Ankle Grab! Let’s bring more Saudis in without screening them! C’mon! In response, one young man complained, You are already blaming Muslims? Rush tweeted back, Yes, they’re evil. Let’s kill them all.

In a public forum, a media personality labelled 2.2 billion people as evil. He called for the murder of these people, which would include 2.5 million Americans. After this tweet gained unsurprising notoriety, and Rush faced harsh criticism, he responded with the defense that his ‘tweets’ were obviously “sarcastic”. Whew! That’s good. He was only being sarcastic in his call for the murder of millions of people. I feel so much better now. (Note the sarcasm.)

You know, on second thought, let’s not allow Mr. Rush to get away with this that easily. First of all, Rush’s ‘sarcasm’ defense needs scrutiny. Not that I necessarily think he was being serious about killing a worldwide religious community, but he should understand something about sarcasm: It only works if it is clear that the sarcasm is the antithesis of your thoughts and feelings. If it seems to fit your past rhetoric, then sarcasm can fall a wee bit short. This is what happened in Mr. Rush’s case, and why his obvious sarcasm was not so obvious. You see, Rush is an outspoken proponent of what I have labelled in a previous post, our “Age of Hyperbole.” Here is just a taste of the claims Rush has made during the last year (I could give many more examples, but there is only so much I can take):

- Rush has claimed that gay rights will lead to governmental tyranny.

- Rush suspects President Obama will classify Christians as mentally ill, and ship them off to asylums.

- Rush hints that President Obama is a sign of the coming Apocalypse.

- Rush wrote an 2012 article titled “Yes, Islam is the enemy.”

Mr. Rush doesn’t shy away from radical invective, including a serious distrust of Muslims. It is no wonder that his ‘sarcasm’ was missed. But, Rush’s invective, and excuse of sarcasm is a microcosm of a much larger issue facing today’s culture. Though offensive, disturbing, or violent language is thoroughly frowned upon, it is increasingly justified or rationalized by what I am terming the ‘ISI’ stance: Ignorance, Sarcasm, Irony. Rush’s defense of his statement as sarcasm is by no means the only instance of the ‘ISI’ excuse being used recently, with varying degrees of success. A month ago, Geogios Katidos, a 20 year old Greek soccer player, celebrated a goal by giving the ‘Hitler Salute’ to the crowd. In a sport where racism and fascism are often simmering under the surface, Katidos was banned for life from playing for his national team. Katidos’ explanation for why he gave this horrendous sign? He was ignorant. He supposedly had no idea what the salute meant (which raises the question of why he was doing it in the first place). In America, Katidos’ story was overshadowed by a different controversy, but one also intertwined to the ISI method. Country singing star Brad Paisley’s song ’Accidental Racist’ made ripples in the blogosphere a couple weeks ago for its depiction of race relations, and Southern American history. In the first lines of the song, Paisley informs his listeners that his Confederate flag t-shirt does not mean he is a racist; only a Lynyrd Skynyrd fan. Paisley’s song is about irony; the irony that others see the flag on his shirt as a sign of hatred, when he intends for it only as symbol of his bad music taste. He is innocent.

Brad Paisley

Paisley, Rush and Katidos share the same important benefit from the ISI defense that makes it so useful for public figures: It converts them into innocent victims. In the case of Mr. Rush, this is wonderfully ironic, since he hates our culture’s “Cult of Victimization.” Oh sure, he made a malicious and violent statement filled with hate, but he is not to blame; those who misunderstood him are to blame. Rush has been misconstrued by a mean, bad world of those who hope to destroy him. Thus, Mr. Rush’s sad excuse for an apology deflected any personal blame onto the ‘idiots’ who did not recognize his rhetorical gifts. It is our fault we took him serious about murder, not his for saying it.

Hopefully, Mr. Rush will disappear from the public scene after this media din. But unfortunately, I fear his ‘Ignorance, Sarcasm, Irony’ has no bounds.

How I Met My First Canine Love

Posted: April 26, 2013 in Uncategorized
Tags: Dogs, Jennifer Muryn, Love, School of Business

By Jennifer Muryn, Associate Dean, School of Business.

Several years ago my (now ex) husband, Steve, and I had talked about getting a dog. We were childless professionals who had moved to the suburbs and became first time homeowners. I felt that we were between plant and pet in the evolution of plant-pet-child (the logical progression of family/personal responsibility). We took many years to master the plant stage and really felt ready for the pet stage. I didn’t grow up with a dog, my dad actually got one just before I moved out. Steve had more experience in his childhood with many good, family memories. So, we considered how we’d move forward in this progression of the family life we were building together.

We read, researched and were drawn to so many different breeds. At one point I was fascinated with pugs. He has asthma and I had vision problems (since corrected by surgery). We thought that having a dog with a microcosm of our own health issues was too close to home.

We alphabetically reviewed all breeds described by the American Kennel Club (AKC) and talked constantly about dogs with whoever would listen or have information to share. After eight months we decided to not get a dog. We were right where we started but by now were practically experts on dog breeds, their potential health issues, common behaviors, needs, size…. everything.

At that time Steve and I, childless, had lots of time to attend events, parties, etc. (Parents: remember those days?!?) We attended a community/family event that was being held to raise money for his cousin’s treatment; Paul was 25-years old and diagnosed with terminal brain cancer. As part of the fund-raising, there was a silent auction – and someone in the community arranged to have five puppies available for adoption. Steve’s extended family was there and we had what felt like the largest family gathering ever – several hundred people had attended to raise money for Paul. (He endured treatment and brain cancer for two years and passed away at 27 years old; two years and a few months after being married on the Winter Solstice.)

Through the course of an evening of playing with kids, holding puppies and enjoying food and drinks Steve brought up the now-long closed conversation about getting a dog. I knew that we weren’t going to get a dog but it was fun to hold and play with a litter of 8-week old puppies. These were beautiful dogs, almost entirely black (they looked like black labs). Every time I went into the “puppy area” there was one dog who sought me out. In fact, looking back there was only one puppy of the litter that I held and played with. I visited this puppy area with and without my nieces throughout the night, stopping up at the bar to replenish my Guinness. I recall the seeming interest the one puppy had with my Guinness and I joked that he had good taste, seeking out me and also my Guinness! I asked what breed the dogs were and was told “German Shepard” to which I had a snarky response of, “Do you even know what a German Shepard looks like? The reply, “Maybe German Shorthaired Pointer?” I concluded they are likely black labs. There was also the “runt” of the litter who was, as you can imagine, super-cute and endearing to many of the kid’s hearts.

At the end of the evening it was time to finalize silent auction bidding. By this time we were ready, after eight months of data collection and multiple puppy-to-puppy visits through the evening, to make a move expanding our family through a canine addition.

Steve is probably the best strategic game-player I’ve ever met. He has the uncanny ability to see many moves ahead, anticipate other’s moves and change (or stay the course) accordingly. So, when he suggested a way to bid and how to bid we followed it. This meant we got the first choice; five bidders for five puppies. Steve wanted me to hold the runt of the litter to see if that was “the one”.

At the moment he placed the runt in my arms three simultaneous events occurred: 1) a young girl had a look of disappointment and exasperation (she wanted the runt!), 2) the runt jumped out of my arms and wanted nothing to do with me, and 3) the puppy who sought out the Guinness and my company through the evening looked betrayed at my holding the runt.

We picked the puppy who sought out my Guinness and my company; the only puppy I had interacted with through the evening. I know he chose me. We named him Duke in honor of one of Steve’s favored dogs growing up, Duchess. Duke became and continues to be my first canine love. He opened up the world of canines and led me to being an avid supporter of humane education and animal welfare.

Duke is turning 8 in May and I love him more than I thought ever possible – he is my first canine love. Oh, and it turns out from a DNA test (saliva sample) that Duke is 50% German Shepard, 25% German Shorthaired Pointer and 25% Wire-Haired Pointing Griffon. Snarkiness in check.

Raffle-Related Regret

Posted: April 25, 2013 in Uncategorized
Tags: English Faculty, Gaming, Paul Gaszak, Raffle, VFW

By Paul Gaszak, English Faculty

This past Friday, I attended a “Volunteer Appreciation Dinner” at my dad’s VFW post for everyone who had accrued a certain number of hours of volunteer service. Every Monday night, my dad and I help clean and rearrange the hall after their weekly Bingo. It’s not life-saving work, but it’s a helping hand.

It was a nice event with about 75-100 people, and at the end of the evening, there was a raffle. The prizes weren’t extravagant – restaurant gift cards, bottles of wine and alcohol – but nonetheless, the raffle was nice touch.

As the Post Commander announced the winning tickets, I thought about my raffle-related regret from a couple years ago.

My older brother is into tabletop gaming, specifically Warhammer and Warhammer 40k. If you’re not familiar, basically they are extraordinarily complicated board games. The rules aren’t just a sheet of paper like in Scattergories or Scrabble; the main rulebook is the size of a college textbook, and there are additional books that add depth to the rules. And the rules are constantly evolving, which makes it a task to keep up with. There is also the hobby side to the game, which requires players to purchase, paint, and customize their own game pieces and game boards.

There are events and tournaments of all sizes where gamers go to play against one another. A few summers ago, my brother organized an event in the town hall near his home. About 50 people attended the event, which included a full tournament, a ton of food, gaming items to purchase, and a raffle with proceeds going to a local animal shelter. Since it was a fairly sizable event, he asked me to help out.

When I was in mid-teens, I played these games with my brother. They are fun, but they’re also expensive and time-consuming. And I was terrible at – and thus didn’t enjoy – the hobby side of it. I can’t paint a bathroom wall in my house without messing up, let alone an intricate miniature the size of my thumb. So, after more than a decade of not playing the game, all I was really qualified (and required) to do at my brother’s event was to serve food and sell raffle tickets.

Despite sometimes being labeled as geeks, the majority of gamers are just regular people with a hobby they enjoy. Their lives aren’t consumed with the game and they don’t all live in Mom’s basement. Like my brother, a good number of the people at the event were married guys with children and they partake in the hobby during the little spare time they have between work and family.

One guy had his son with him, a cute little boy of about 10 with a mop of red hair hanging over his forehead. The little boy was also playing in the tournament, and he was so excited to be playing with the “big kids” that he couldn’t stop smiling. Halfway through the day, he and his dad came over to look at what raffle prizes were available; there were an assortment of gaming prizes, ranging in value from probably $8-$100. The little boy looked over everything excitedly and then asked if he could please have some raffle tickets. His dad bought him a few and I tossed the tickets into the big, clear container with the rest.

After the tournament, my brother held the raffle. I pulled the tickets and he announced the winners and distributed the many prizes. During the process, the little boy stood next to his dad with his tickets clutched in his hand. After every number, the boy desperately checked his tickets. As the prize table started to empty, the boy got antsier and his eyes drooped in despair. I kept hoping I would hand over one of his tickets.

A lot of people won a prize. A few people won multiple prizes thanks to buying lots of tickets. That wasn’t a “bad” thing, necessarily; after all, most of those people bought a lot of tickets not just for the prizes, but because they wanted to support the animal shelter the money was going to. And then there was the little boy: his tickets never got called. He sat down in defeat. I felt completely guilty as the person pulling the tickets.

For everyone else in the room, these prizes were more of a discount than a victory – they all could buy this stuff for themselves right after the event if they wanted to. For that little boy, it would have made his entire day to win something. Like all little kids, I’m sure he got over it quickly, but I was still hurt on his behalf, especially when it dawned on me immediately after the raffle ended that I had the power to cheat. With a little legerdemain, I could have pocketed one of the kid’s tickets and passed it off as a drawn ticket whenever I wanted to, without my brother or anyone else knowing. I would have cheated someone else out of a prize, but it would have been worth it to make that little boy’s day.

Sure, it can be argued that kids have to learn they can’t always win, and that it was right of me to maintain the integrity of the raffle. But, 1) Every kid will endure enough losing in his/her life as they grow up; I don’t have to pile on, and 2) It was an raffle for gaming supplies, not the lottery.

After everyone left the hall and my brother and I started cleaning, I told him that I wished the little boy had won something. Nonchalantly, he said, “Oh. Why didn’t you tell me? I would have just given him something.”

Duh. I guess that would have worked, too, huh?

At the VFW, my dad and I both won gift certificates in the raffle. When my dad won, he yelled and waved his winning ticket over his head as a joke and to make a spectacle of himself, because that’s his style, not because the prize excited him that much. We both can afford a $20 meal, so the prizes were more of a discount than a victory. When I won, I merely said thank you. I don’t get excited easily, which sometimes works to my advantage, but at other times I’m envious of people who can be cheerful and excited about the little things in life. And, being that as it is, I was disappointed that I didn’t cheat to bring some joy and excitement to a kid’s life.

Turtle Anxiety

Posted: April 24, 2013 in Uncategorized
Tags: Anxiety, English Faculty, Experience., Mick McMahon, The Flâneur's Turtle

By Mick McMahon, English Faculty.

How do you feel right now? Comfortable, I hope. How did you get this way? Did you have a long productive day at work and now have the chance to unwind? Did you spend a number of hours researching and drafting a paper for school and just handed in the work confident you will earn an A? Did you just run a marathon and now icing down while reading this Turtle post? Whatever the task completed, large or small, congratulations! You just completed something important and, even though you may feel exhausted, you most likely feel quite good about yourself.

Now, I’d like you to think about how you felt before undertaking that task. Did you stress? Were you a bit fearful of the unknown? Or did you charge in, head first, with reckless abandon, knowing that whatever the outcome, you did your best? Maybe this sounds familiar.

Often times, I stress about things that I have little control over: getting caught in the rain, having a heart-attack out of the blue while exercising, the apocalypse (thanks a lot Hollywood). I generate unwarranted anxiety that leads to inaction and excuses, and end up stalling and stressing instead of acting. And folks, I’m not the only one. We’ve all made up a few excuses at one time or another. Sometimes, we end up focusing a tremendous amount of energy on stressing about the task, instead of channeling that energy into the actual task itself.

Mick?

So what creates anxiety? It can be several things, but the one characteristic that stands out to me is the unknown. Think about your first day of high school or college. Maybe you felt a bit nervous, because you didn’t know what to expect. Compare that feeling to how you felt during your senior year of high school or college. Even though you were exhausted, you probably felt a lot more comfortable because you went through experiences. It’s how we traverse the unknown that helps us learn about ourselves, and what we find out, whether good or bad, makes us unique and wonderful individuals.

What you now read before you was weeks, nay, several months in the making. Ask my colleagues sometime about the excuses that I came up with as to why I haven’t written Turtle posts. Most likely they all lead up to me having to walk my dog. The plain truth is that I was anxious about sending out the perfect bit of writing into the universe. So, I lay my discomfort before you now. Will you say, what on earth is he talking about? Is he crazy? Perhaps, but I will learn about myself and my writing by sending this post out to the world.

So, while comfortable is good, uncomfortable can be even better, for it helps us learn the truth about ourselves, and makes the beer taste so much better.

Science Fiction or Future Predictions?

Posted: April 23, 2013 in Uncategorized
Tags: Arthur C. Clarke, Blake Whitmore, Doctor Who, Predictions, Ray Bradbury, RMU Student, Science Fiction

By Blake Whitmore, RMU Student.

Growing up you could throw out my Barbie dolls for space ships and aliens any day. From the Han Solo decal on my bathroom door to the Keep Calm and Allons-y poster in my bedroom I think it is pretty apparent I am an avid science fiction fan. Star Wars, Doctor Who, Fahrenheit 451, 1984, and A Brave New World are some of my favorite amazing tales of adventures through outer space or dystopian futures, but after watching one of my favorite Doctor Who episodes titled “Blink” I started thinking about science fiction and the number of astounding predictions in books that came true.

In the episode “Blink” we are introduced to a terrifying new villain, the Weeping Angels. The Weeping Angels are aliens who appear to be statues that cannot move when you look at them. When you look away though, they are quick and if they touch you they will zap you back in time. So, my theory is that famous science fiction authors are great at writing about futuristic technology and events because they were actually sent back in time by the Weeping Angels. Alright, I know that isn’t possible, and my inner Whovian is showing by even considering that the Weeping Angels exist, but this did get me thinking about all these wildly outlandish predictions in science fiction that ended up becoming reality.

In 1950, Ray Bradbury wrote one of my favorite science fiction novels of all time, Fahrenheit 451. In the book Bradbury writes, “And in her ears the little seashells, the thimble radios tamped tight, and an electronic ocean of sound, of music and talk and music and talk coming in, coming in on the shore of her unsleeping mind.” To me it sounds like Bradbury is describing earbud headphones, which did not become popular until 2001 when they were released with the first-generation iPod. In addition to earbuds, Bradbury writes about the obsession that people have with their “parlor walls.” The walls were described like giant interactive flat screen televisions, not too far off from today’s technology. It is also said that people could talk with friends or family through the digital wall and today we write on each other’s walls on Facebook. Ray Bradbury actually warns in his short story “The Pedestrian” about the loneliness that can come from constantly paying attention to the millions of screens around us when protagonist Leonard Mead is actually arrested for the crimes of taking a walk and not owning a television. Maybe more people should take the hint.

Bradbury was not the only visionary in the science fiction world. Arthur C. Clarke wrote 2001: A Space Odyssey in 1968 where he describes a “newspad” which sounds eerily similar to an iPad which was introduced on January 27, 2010. Clarke also writes about virtual reality games in his book The City and the Stars in 1956, long before the first virtual reality game. In 1909, author E.M. Forster wrote The Machine Stops were he describes hexagonal workspaces that sound an awful lot like cubicles, which did not enter offices until the 1960s. The most astonishing of all the predictions was Hugo Gernsback’s ability to describe radar in 1911, 22 years before its first use.

All of these predictions are pretty amazing and it is fun to think that sci-fi writers are actually time travelers, but in reality there is something even more exciting happening here. It is more likely that sci-fi writers are paving the way for the future. Do you know how many posts on Facebook I have seen about people asking about wanting their hover skateboard from Back to the Future Part II? A lot! It turns out that the imagination of sci-fi writers creates technologies and images that readers want. Sci-fi authors are among the most important writers, because their dreams, their warnings, and their amazing stories push society to make them a reality.