Thursday, October 6, 2011

A Jobs Well Done

Today’s Internet has been flooded with tributes to Steve Jobs, from one sentence tweets to pages-long homages.  There’s no questioning his brilliance.  He brought modern technology to the masses.  He made complexity simple.  He made “nerdy” pursuits fun. 

But I think, most importantly, he introduced beauty to an unbeautiful world.  Here’s how I know:

For Father’s Day, my wife bought me an iPod Touch.  Frankly, I didn’t need it – I already had a Droid 2.  But, as soon as I tore off the wrapping paper, I was hooked.  Even the box was stunning in its artistic simplicity.  And, the iPod itself was dazzling!  It was gleaming silver.  It was sleek.  It rested perfectly in my hand.  In a word, it was gorgeous.  I liked to look at it as much as I liked to actually use it.  My Droid – ugly and clunky – immediately went to the wayside, used only for the occasional phone call or text message.

Unfortunately, one day later, the Touch fell onto a concrete floor.  It was still functional, but shattered – the screen barely legible under a spider web of cracked glass.

Getting it repaired took a few days and, when it came back, we made sure to eliminate future breakage risk by covering it with a heavy-duty rubber case.  It was now protected from the inevitable mishaps of its clumsy owner.

And I immediately loved it less.

It was like covering Aphrodite with a burka.  The iPod still functioned as it had before.  The apps were the same.  The screens were the same.  But the experience wasn’t.  It was heavy.  It was bulky.  It was inelegant.  It was disappointing.

Don’t get me wrong – I still love my iPod and am incessantly tinkering with it.  It’s fast, it’s got the best app store on the market and it has great multimedia capabilities.  It’s the best PDA I’ve ever owned, even without the cellular capabilities of a smartphone.

But it’s no longer a thing of beauty.

And, that, in my opinion, was the genius of Steve Jobs.  From the first iMac to the latest iPad, the Apple products that bore his mark of leadership were as well suited for display on a living room credenza as they were in an office cubicle.  Think about it … when’s the last time someone came up to you to show off their hip new BlackBerry or HP Pavilion? 

Jobs insisted, sometimes militantly, that form be inherently married to functionality.  No innovator in recent history – from Ben Franklin to Henry Ford to Bill Gates – understood this better than he did.

And I’m not sure anyone ever will.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Blow Up the BCS!

I like symmetry.  It’s why I was a mediocre architecture student – great engineer, terrible artist.  But sometimes my boring, balanced view of the world can come in handy.  And that’s why I think I have the solution to fix the mess that has become of I-A (Bowl Subdivision) college football.  And, since it’s somehow been consuming me for the past few days, I guess I’ll commit it to writing, even though I know there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell anything like this would ever come to fruition.

  • There are currently 124 (or so) teams in I-A.  Add a few worthy programs from I-AA (Appalachian State, for example) to round it out to a nice even 128.
  • No more conferences – they’ve become a mockery anyway.  Instead, to borrow from Ohio high school football, align schools into eight geographical regions and assign 16 teams to each region.  Then break each region into two eight team divisions (or “districts”).
  • Follow the Minor League Baseball model and further break everything into a top-level and secondary level (like AAA and AA in MILB), so you have 64 schools in 1-A-1 and 64 in I-A-2.  In Season 1, schools would have to be assigned at the discretion of some sort of ranking committee.
  • In an 11 game regular season, schools play everybody in their region, as well as a few outside of it.  1-A-1 and 1-A-2 schools would never play each other (no more cupcake games!).
  • The top teams from each district play for the regional championship, with these winners advancing to an eight team playoff to determine the National Champion.  In other words, there would be TWO postseasons, one for 1-A-1 and another for 1-A-2.
  • More borrowing – this time from European soccer: At the end of the season, the last place team from each 1-A-1 district is relegated to 1-A-2 the following season and the first place team from each 1-A-2 district is promoted.  The geographic alignments at both levels would mirror each other making it a seamless swap each year.
Think about it, by getting rid of conferences and the BCS, you eliminate the “no respect” complaints of programs like Boise State and TCU.  Schools would earn or lose respect and championship opportunities based entirely on their on-field performance and never because of conference affiliation or biased polls.

Plus, with this setup, you’d still have 32 1-A schools playing at least one postseason game, meaning you could theoretically maintain some sort of Bowl system, albeit with the elimination of many second-tier games (Who cares about the New Mexico Bowl anyway – besides gamblers?).

I’m sure someone with more smarts than me could easily start poking holes in my idea, considering I came up with it in about 15 minutes.  Nevertheless, with the system’s current mess, I haven’t seen anybody else bring anything to the table (aside from some terrible ideas over at ESPN.com).

Until I do, I’ll be busy doodling nice proportional squares and circles in my notebook.

Monday, August 8, 2011

Partisan-patory Government

I was channel surfing yesterday and landed on one of the cable news stations (I can’t remember which one), which was playing rapid-fire sound bites from politicians discussing the recent U.S credit downgrade.  First a Democrat blamed the Republicans, then a Republican blamed the Democrats, then another Democrat blamed the Republicans, and so on.  Some liberals have actually referred to it as the “Tea Party Downgrade.”

Then, when I did my morning scan of Yahoo! News today, I noted that two of the top five Most Popular headlines were "White House adviser blames tea party for downgrade" and "GOP candidates slam Obama in reaction to S&P downgrade."

To all that I say, listen you idiots … you’re all complicit.  Democrats and Republicans.  Conservatives and liberals.  Our current financial mess is the fault of ALL OF YOU.  It doesn’t matter who’s in the White House, or who controls Congress, or which political movement is carrying the momentum today.  You couldn’t cooperate, so you ended up making a panicked short-term deal at the 11th hour that is pretty lousy for everybody.

Democrats: We cannot remain solvent without making difficult decisions about the social safety net.  I don’t want to hear another liberal politician state “we won’t reduce the debt on the backs of children and seniors.”  It sounds noble, but it’s unrealistic because our current systems are so archaic.  Take Social Security as an example.  Seniors ain’t what they were in the ‘40s when life expectancy was 63 (Isn’t 60 the new 40, or something like that?).  We simply haven’t adjusted for the times.  So stop poo-pooing Republican proposals.  From what I’ve seen, many of the changes are long-term and wouldn’t impact the people with a current stake anyway.

Republicans: Tax increases won’t destroy the economy.  The economy has been faltering for the better part of 10 years, a period of relatively low taxation.  Our country’s economic golden age came in the ‘50s, when taxes were generally higher.  Getting back to that isn’t rocket science: close loopholes and make income taxes more equitable.  And if you really want to use low taxation as an economic engine, find a way to offer big breaks to companies that keep jobs in the U.S.  If CEOs complain that taxes are hurting profits, tell them a simple solution would be offering better products that more people will actually want to buy.

Of course, that’s oversimplified.  Effectively governing hundreds of millions of people is complicated business.  Nevertheless, I don’t understand why every issue facing our nation becomes another round of rigid disagreement and, ultimately, finger-pointing.

I have friends across the political spectrum.  Sometimes we disagree on stuff.  Sometimes we debate.  However, I can’t recall a single time where one of those debates didn’t result in each of us coming around – at least a little bit – to see the other’s point of view.

It’s called compromise, and last time I checked, it’s not an evil thing.  Consider trying it sometime.  You might be pleasantly surprised by the results.

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Terror in Aisle Six

I’ve always found the rules of the road to be pretty basic: drive on the right side; look both ways at crossings; yield to the right if slowing or stopped; and so on.  The same applies to bike and pedestrian traffic.  In my experience, people generally understand and abide by these guidelines.

So what is it with the grocery store?  Does it exist in some bizarre dimension where the rules don’t apply?  Tonight, I did some shopping at my local Acme Fresh Market.  During my 25 minute visit, I experienced the following:

  • A woman near the pharmacy, sitting to take her blood pressure, who decided the best parking spot for her cart was sideways across the entire aisle, blocking my path, as well as that of a fellow shopper coming the opposite direction
  • A man zigzagging slowly down the potato chip aisle, looking at nothing in particular, but making passage impossible
  • A woman comparison shopping for a taco kit, standing firmly in the middle of the aisle as her children ran to and fro, in and out of the paths of oncoming carts
  • A woman in a motorized cart blindly blasting out from the checkout at about 15 miles per hour, nearly getting t-boned from both sides, and then shooting dirty looks at each of the two near-colliders (one of whom happened to be me)
I wish I could say these were unexpected occurrences, but it’s actually unusual for these types of things not to happen during my weekly milk and bread run (and in the grand scheme of things, it’s certainly not confined to the supermarket – it seems to happen at every big box retailer regardless of location, demographics or product offering).

But why?  What causes people to completely abandon all courtesy and common sense the moment their hands touch the grimy molded plastic of the shopping cart handle?  Frankly, it amazes me that you don’t see an occasional fistfight break out when two bargain hunters collide in their mad dash to get to the discounted Velveeta (something else I almost witnessed tonight).

I guess I can’t explain it, but I’ll offer this public service announcement anyway: be conscious of your surroundings and follow a few basic rules when shopping:

  • If you decide to stop and browse, move your cart as far to the right as possible.
  • If stopping in the vicinity of another cart, leave enough distance so that other shoppers can maneuver through.
  • If passing a slower moving customer, do so cautiously and to the left.
  • If you’re about to cross an intersecting aisle, stop and look both ways before proceeding.
  • Most importantly, never – ever – stop suddenly and without warning.
And, when your shopping is complete and you reach the cashier, have your wallet/purse/checkbook ready and move along as soon as the transaction is complete.  Trust me, the small stack of nickels and pennies the cashier just handed you is almost definitely the correct change.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

That's Gay

I rarely spout my political viewpoints in a public forum.  Healthy political debate seems to be dead and I’m not about to lose friends over trifling economic and social issues that don’t really stir me up all that much.  But, with the recent gay marriage ruling in New York and all the inevitable pot-stirring that is already started on both sides of the issue, I feel compelled to share a few rambling thoughts.

I won’t share my own personal viewpoint on gay marriage (although the tone of this message will make it pretty self evident).  I simply want to ask a very simple question to all the people who have spent so many years adamantly opposing its legalization…

Why do you care?

Is it because it’s against your religious beliefs?
Then make sure your church/temple/mosque/etc. makes a ban on gay marriage one of its cornerstones of worship – that’s your right in a freely religious society.  But why insist on mixing the laws of your church with the laws of your land?

Here’s the thing – religious marriage and civil marriage are not the same, no matter how much some people try to tell you they are.  I don’t want the government telling my pastor how to consecrate the covenant of holy matrimony and I don’t want my pastor telling me how to file my joint income tax return.

And besides, the argument that homosexuality is a deviant, Scripture-defying trait has a pretty weak application here.  We are, on a whole, an “immoral” society.  Many of our sinful behaviors are even allowed by the government.  We drink to excess.  We gamble.  We work on the Sabbath.  Even the most pious of us defy God’s will frequently.  From The 10 Commandments, to the Golden Rule, to all the ancient Jewish laws found in Leviticus (home of the famous “man shall not lie with man, as with woman” rule), none of us is without sin.  If our government legislated directly from the Bible (or the Torah.  Or the Quran), we’d all be in jail.

But the morality of homosexuality is beside the point anyway.  Even if gay marriage does break God’s law, what impact does it have on you if it’s approved by Man’s law?  Your path to Heaven is yours and yours alone.  If your gay neighbor decides to marry her partner, it doesn’t change your trajectory toward Salvation.

Is it because you fear it creates a “slippery slope” to legalizing other “unordinary” behaviors?
I’ve heard arguments that legalizing gay marriage opens the door to everything from legal child brides to people marrying their pets.  Not really.  A good chunk of our nation’s laws are designed to protect those who are unable to protect and/or think for themselves (children, for example).  Two able-minded, consenting same-sex adults who decide to get married need no such protection, at least no more than two able-minded consenting opposite sex adults do.

Others bring up polygamy, which is technically also marriage between consenting adults.  However, I view the illegality of polygamy to be more on the grounds of equal protection and administration (handling of Social Security benefits, etc.).  I don’t see how, legally, that would be the case with gay marriage, which mirrors heterosexual marriage in every way except gender.

Is it because you fear it will destroy the concept of the nuclear family?
We heteros have been doing a spectacular job of that already.  We are surrounded by dysfunction, some of it allowed by law – divorce, infidelity, domestic abuse, etc., etc.

My parents are Baby Boomers, a generation with a divorce rate hovering around 50%.  While I was lucky to grow up in a home that could have rivaled The Brady Bunch, many people I know did not, and some have the scars to show for it.  I fail to see how these negative trends could be any worse in homes with two dads or two moms.  And frankly, gay households are going to exist whether the couples are married or not.  Private adoption agencies and fertility clinics tend to be fairly non-discriminatory when it comes to sexual orientation.


I’d go further, but I don’t want to delve into any philosophical arguments for or against homosexuality.  I’m simply trying to point out that, amidst all the hysteria, the legalization of gay marriage is just as unlikely to turn the United States into a lawless wasteland as it is to send our entire citizenry to Hell.

Remember, at its core, democracy is designed to protect life, liberty and property.  Our American system follows this concept, albeit a bit more vaguely, replacing “property” with “the pursuit of happiness.”  It's a simple set of tenets behind which every part of our society is meant to be governed.

So I ask again ... why do you care?.  How does state-approved gay marriage legally infringe on any of these ideals for you?

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Old Man Smitty

When I was 17, the pitching staff on my American Legion baseball team (Go Post 121!) was beset with injuries.  As a result, the bulk of the workload fell to me.  At a typical Saturday doubleheader, I’d open with a complete game and then pitch the first few innings of game two.  Then, on Sunday, I’d throw a few more innings before the ol’ right arm finally gave out.  In between I’d go through the motions of stretching and wrapping my arm in ice.

I share this recollection because I joined an amateur hardball team this year, and recently opened my season with a 3.2 inning outing.  I stretched before and iced after, just like old times.  My next appearance came 10 days later in relief.  My arm was so sore when I warmed up that I had to slather on some of my 40-year-old teammate’s arthritis cream (basically industrial strength Icy Hot) to get through my two inning stint.

Why am I struggling to bounce back from something that would have once been so completely non-taxing?  I mean, I think I’m still in decent shape.  I play tennis and basketball.  I bike.  I watch my calories (somewhat).  Even the aches and pains that have periodically flared up in the past (knees, back, etc.) could always be pinpointed to other non-age-related factors.

I know that as I get into a regular rhythm, my arm will start to hold up a little better.  I may even, at some point, regain a semblance of the ballplayer I was all those summers ago.  But, I also realize that it’s going to take a heck of a lot more than my old “rehab” routine between games and between seasons to keep healthy and fit for action.

All in all, it’s just a sore arm – nothing to lose sleep over.  But that’s not the point.  The point is, I’ve finally been hit square between the eyes with the realization that I’ll never be able to do things like a kid again without consequences.  It’s a little disheartening.  Until this spring, I honestly thought I still had the physical prowess of a teenager; that it was just a matter of “flipping the switch” to get through any strenuous activity, athletic or otherwise.

Evidently, that’s not the case.  I’m faced with a new realization that my prime has passed, and that extended preparation and recovery (and painkillers) will each become an increasing part of my routine.  Like generations before me, I’ll adapt and continue through life in this new reality.  But from now on, when I look in the mirror, I’ll no longer be staring at the illusion of the skinny high school jock that I once was.  Instead, I guess I’ll see what everyone else sees – a somewhat paunchy thirtysomething with a slightly receding hairline and a goatee that’s speckled with gray.

I guess there’s nothing to do now but get myself a comfortable rocking chair, a pitcher of Arnold Palmers and a subscription to Golf Digest.

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Eating Vicariously


My daughter, Abby, is nearing a glorious chapter in her new-ish existence.  While today, her diet consists mostly of fruits and vegetables, soft meats, and bland cookies and crackers, she is right around the corner from junk food nirvana.  I’m talking bright-colored cereals, chocolaty cookies and sugary drinks.

Before long, Abby will be ready to start eating for real.  And kids don’t need to watch their calories like adults do.  They have high metabolism and, as I understand it, a little fat in the diet is actually good for their physical development.  This means that our cupboards are going to be stocked with all levels of kid-focused staples.  I can’t wait.  It’s gonna be feast time for the daughter AND her old man.

Oh yes, I will partake in the bounty.

I’m not about to pretend that I’m the world’s healthiest eater, but you’re currently unlikely to find any cartoon characters in the pantry.  Chef Boyardee rarely pays the Smiths a visit.  And words like “soft batch,” double stuff” and “Keebler” are rarely found on our foodstuffs’ packaging.

That will all change as soon as Abby’s ready to dig in.  Here are just a few of the reasons I’m excited:
  • Fruity Pebbles
  • Velveeta grilled cheese on white bread
  • Fish sticks
  • Spaghetti-Os
  • Oreo cookies
  • Whole chocolate milk
  • Kool-Aid
It will be a treasure trove of artificial sweeteners and preservatives – things you don’t see in the average “adult” household.  I think I’m gaining weight simply by writing this.

I’ve already had a sample of what lies ahead and it’s not pretty.  When Abby started cutting teeth, we got her one of those two pound cartons of Goldfish crackers.  She liked them just fine, but it was her dad who really put a dent in the inventory.  I’d say for every one cracker she ate, I took down about two handfuls’ worth.

Now, none of this means I’ll be throwing responsibility out the window.  I don’t want myself, or my kid, to blow up like a balloon.  Fast food will be an exception, not a rule.  Portion control will be important, as will a steady stream of fruits and vegetables and physical activity (I’m going to need Abby on the move as much as possible so I can chase after her and get a little exercise of my own!).

Nevertheless, I’m eagerly awaiting our first full-scale “big kid” trip to the grocery store.  In the meantime, if anyone needs me, I’ll be eating a granola bar (a great source of fiber!).

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Farewell, For Now

My Grandpa Koebel died this morning.  It's a sad day but, unfortunately, not unexpected – the culmination of a week of rapid decline.  I wrote the note below last Sunday, a day after visiting the hospital and just before he was transferred to Hospice care.

The world feels a little darker today.  But I take joy in knowing that the influences Grandpa had on my life and the fond memories he helped create will eventually wash away my tears and bring a little light into my most difficult days. 

Yesterday, I said good-bye to my grandfather for the last time.  It’s only a matter of days, maybe hours, before the tumors and lesions that have overtaken his body, brain and lucidity finally overpower his ability to survive.

As we often do when the death of a loved one is imminent, we turn to our shared and individual memories.  It’s a way to celebrate a life well-lived, and also to ease our own pain and sadness.  For me, it always comes back to one story from my youth.  It’s actually pretty boring, but I know why it has always stuck.  To me, it’s a very simple demonstration of who Grandpa is and how I will always remember him…

In my early teen years, I earned a little spending money mowing the lawn of Mrs. Smith, the sweet old lady who lived directly across the street from Grandma and Grandpa.  It was a pretty sweet gig for an adolescent – $10 and I sometimes earned a delicious sandwich and lemonade for my efforts!

One year, it was my birthday (in June) and I had just crawled out of bed.  It was about 7:30 a.m.  I was curled up on the couch, watching television and enjoying a bowl of sugary cereal, looking forward to a leisure-filled day involving nothing more than my butt glued to a couch or lawn chair.

Just as I was getting comfortable, I heard the back door swing open and, before I could react, Grandpa came bounding into the den, full of early morning energy.

Happy birthday, Grandson,” he hollered.  “Now let’s get moving.  Mrs. Smith’s lawn isn’t going to mow itself!”

And, with that, I was on my way to Clinton Street, my leisure-filled birthday over before it even began.

As I mentioned, in the grand scheme of things, it’s a throwaway story, something most people would forget about in a week.  But, I know why it clings to my mind.  It showed me the kind of person my grandfather has always been.

He’s selfless. You see, that day, birthday or not, was never about me.  I could sit around doing a whole bunch of nothing anytime.  No, it was about his neighbor, someone who had a need she couldn’t fulfill on her own.  What I may not have realized then, but can appreciate now, is that Grandpa was instilling in me his values of always putting the needs of others ahead of your own.  It’s how he lived his whole life.

He served his country.  Grandpa is a charter member of the Greatest Generation.  He sailed the South Pacific on the U.S.S. Enterprise at the tail end of World War II, doing his own small part to protect the world from tyranny and oppression.

He committed himself to his community.  Grandpa chose a career as a firefighter, putting his own health and safety at risk to protect the lives and property of his fellow Fremonters.  Even as heart troubles began to plague him in late middle age, he carried on, battling blazes until age finally caught up, easing him into retirement.

He served local youth.  For years, Grandpa drove the Bookmobile.  For those outside my generation or living outside Sandusky County, the Bookmobile was a giant blue bus retrofitted as a traveling book repository, offering Birchard Public Library’s finest literature to the school-age kids around the county who might not be able to access it otherwise.  I was always proud to tell my classmates that the bald guy with the mustache sitting in the driver’s seat was my granddad.

I could go on and.  Those are just a few of the big things, and Grandpa’s attention for others extended far beyond his work.  Where did the kids typically stay when Mom and Dad went on a grown-ups' vacation?  Clinton Street.  Who was the first call when you needed a ride?  Grandpa.  Who was front and center at almost every ballgame – sometimes cheering, oftentimes pacing nervously if one of the grandkids was in the game?  You guessed it.

Even as death became a certainty late last week, he made sure loved ones from Fremont and Toledo and Akron and Pittsburgh and Dayton could all converge on his hospital room for one more visit before he left us.  He’s stubbornly hung on well beyond the doctors’ expectations, giving us all a chance to say hello (and good-bye) one final time.  I know he’s not sticking around for himself – he’s never been real comfortable as the center of attention.  But he had to make sure we would have some comfort and peace of mind at the end.

So, have a safe trip to the other side Grandpa Koebel.  You inspired me to do good unto others before myself.  I know we’ll one day meet again and, until we do, I’ll hold onto the memories to remind myself that you may be gone, but you’ll never be far away.

- Vincent G. Koebel Obituary
- Tribute Video

Monday, May 23, 2011

There’s Something About Coffee

One of my fondest memories from childhood is waking up early on a weekend morning to the smell of a freshly brewed pot of coffee.  It was (and is) an intoxicating aroma – warm and comforting.  I’ve always smiled at the images of my dad, morning stubble and all, hunched over the morning paper with a steaming mug of Columbian goodness close by his side.

All that almost changed one fateful day when I was five or six and decided to sneak a sip.

It was terrible.  Like dirty, gritty, caffeinated rainwater.  I couldn’t believe anyone would willingly ingest such a toxic substance.  And yet, here was my old man, happily sucking it down like a holy elixir, savoring every drop.  Why would he willingly dump this sludge down his gullet when a delicious mug of hot cocoa was no more than a boiling teakettle away?

My disgust with coffee continued well into adulthood.  Oh sure, I’d have an occasional cup in college if I needed a quick boost after a late night out on the town.  But I’d load it up with so much cream and sugar that it more closely resembled a crunchy bowl of whole milk than anything harvested by Juan Valdez.  Raw, black coffee resided squarely at the bottom of my “need to drink” list.

So why, with those recollections still fresh in my mind, did I rush to the coffeepot this morning, fill my travel mug to the rim and then stare longingly into its empty void, craving more, after swallowing the 20th and final ounce?  Why has this been my daily routine for the past 10+ years?  At what point did my abhorrence become allegiance?

I think it happens to all of us.  Something we detested in our youth becomes a necessary, and even enjoyable, staple in our adult lives.  For many of my peers, it started with coffee.  I haven’t known many six-year-olds who crave it.  Yet, in the office, we crowd around a brewing pot like cattle, waiting for our morning (and sometimes afternoon) dose.  At Starbucks and Einstein Brothers, the lines wind their way out the doors every Saturday and Sunday, with people – including me – willingly paying upwards of $4.00 for their trouble!

The mysterious transformation has always puzzled me.  Is the adult need for coffee psychological?  Physical?  Emotional?  I mean, it basically tastes the same today as it did when we were kids.  So why do so many of us love it now when we loathed it 20 or more years ago?  I wonder about this frequently as I sleepily load up another filter and flip the switch to “brew.”

I guess, in the end, it’s best not to overthink it.  Enlightened or not, I’ll still wake up tomorrow morning, rub my eyes, fill my mug, slurp it down, and restart the whole cycle again the next day.

And I still usually add a little cream and (a lot of) sugar.  I guess I’ve still got some growing up to do.

Friday, May 13, 2011

Down with Elmo!

My daughter will hit the 15-month mark next weekend.  At this age, the transition from generic picture books and big buttoned contraptions to videos and sing-along toys is happening quickly.  Many of the newest additions to our overflowing living room carry the vaunted Sesame Workshop label.  This inundation of tchotchkes from the Street has led me to a very dark realization.

I hate Elmo.

Let’s put aside that he talks like a Jersey Shore cast member with a mouthful of helium (listen closely.  I think you’ll agree), only refers to himself in the third person (who does he think he is, the Rock?) and giggles at the end of nearly every sentence like a high-pitched chain smoker.  I can live with all that.  After all, most things designed for little kids are extremely annoying to grown-ups (I’d also like to throw my kid’s singing dinosaur scooter into a tar pit, but I won’t, because I know she loves it).

I hate Elmo because he represents the transition of Sesame Street from the cream of the educational programming crop into a marketing machine that prioritizes selling products over teaching children.  We have a lot of Elmo stuff in our house and much of it serves little purpose beyond entertainment.  Even the learning materials seem like a blatant attempt to cram in as many characters as possible to appeal to the largest possible consumer base.

I grew up in a generation that learned numbers, letters, colors and shapes from the Count, Oscar and the rest of the gang, so I’m sure this rant is partly due to my nostalgia and resistance to change.  I’m also not so naïve as to think merchandising hasn’t always been a priority at Sesame.  My first favorite book, “The Great Pigeon Race,” was a Sesame Street story that taught me nothing except that pigeons apparently wear leather helmets and goggles.  Nevertheless, it still seemed that the toys and games always took a back seat to Sesame Workshop’s genuine desire to help kids learn.

Then Elmo came along and completely stole the show.  And he’s brought almost nothing to the table.  He was created for one reason – commercialization.  What’s he most famous for?  Probably two things – the “Tickle Me Elmo” doll and “Elmo’s Song.”  Neither of these does anything to help build a child’s cognitive abilities.  Yet, parents have fought in the aisles over that insufferable doll and that mind-numbing song just won’t go away.

That said, I know plenty of teaching still takes place on the Sesame Street program (even Elmo’s World), and I hope my kid watches it when she’s a little older.  But, looking at the bigger picture, the opportunities to supplement the show’s educational lessons with related merchandise are getting watered down with all the other mindless junk being dumped into the marketplace.  These days, Sesame Workshop is as much a toy company as it is a beacon of learning.

And it all starts with that squeaky red furball with the big orange nose.

I have a blog. Neato, eh?

About once a week, I wake up in the middle of the night and can’t fall back to sleep.  My mind starts wandering to all sorts of topics and, next thing I know, I’m standing in the shower trying to remember if have clean underwear for the day.

During these late-night mind-benders, I never think about anything profound like solving poverty or curing cancer.  It’s usually stuff like “How do they make string cheese?” or “I wonder what King Kong Bundy’s up to these days.”

Lately, I’ve started to think that, maybe if I start writing down some of these random musings, it will help cure my pseudo-insomnia.  So, I decided to start a blog.  What an original concept, right?

Most personal blogs are highly self-centered and pretentious.  This one will be no exception.  It will also be cynical.  And rambling.  And will often contain statements and assumptions that have no basis in fact.  But it will be therapeutic for me, and that’s really the main purpose.

So feel free to follow along if you’d like.  If you enjoy it, cool.  If not, meh.  I’m gonna keep writing either way.