I've written before about how the internet and message boards have changed lives. Instant gratification is the order of the day. Automatic publishing - such as this blog - have become the norm.
But one thing that remains in this electronic day and age is the good, old fashioned "Letter to the Editor." Or so I thought.
Recently, a columnist raised my ire enough to get me to write a letter to the editor of the local paper. I was exercising my constitutional right of freedom of speech in the time tested way that our forefathers did.
Only in today's day and age, nothing is as simple as it seems.
First, everything that gets published in the paper also gets published electronically. Which means any yahoo with a screen name can go ahead and comment on what you commented on. But it doesn't stop there. Because, thanks to the internet, they can also "google" you and find out way more than they should be allowed to find out.
Which is the drawback to writing the traditional letter to the editor. Because, as is the editorial policy of any reputable newspaper for as long as I can remember, letter writers must provide their real name and address for verification purposes. And, of course, these get published.
But the posters don't have to do that. They get the upper hand. They get to find out more about you and then use it to besmirch your reputation. And what really sucks is that they use the information whether it's accurate or not. Case in point - one of the posters to my letter insists I teach kindergarten. Kindergarten!! I'd rather eat drywall nails!!
Anyway, the posters are one thing. Put yourself out there and there will always be someone who will be gunning for you. And anyway, at least I have enough guts to put my name to it.
But this "too much information" thing is now getting out of hand. Strangers are now calling my home and sharing their opinions directly. That's right - they are looking up my name and getting my phone number and actually CALLING me.
Which is total bullshit as far as I'm concerned.
Hey, you have something to say - write it down. Either as a letter to the editor or a cowardly comment added to an electronic copy of the letter. But keep the personal phone calls and direct attacks to yourself.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Thursday, May 27, 2010
If you know me, you get it
Favorite John Lennon song - for a lot of reasons:
Watching the Wheels - John Lennon (from Double Fantasy)
People say I'm crazy doing what I'm doing
Well they give me all kinds of warnings to save me from ruin
When I say that I'm o.k. well they look at me kind of strange
Surely you're not happy now you no longer play the game
People say I'm lazy dreaming my life away
Well they give me all kinds of advice designed to enlighten me
When I tell them that I'm doing fine watching shadows on the wall
Don't you miss the big time boy you're no longer on the ball
I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round
I really love to watch them roll
No longer riding on the merry-go-round
I just had to let it go
Ah, people asking questions lost in confusion
Well I tell them there's no problem, only solutions
Well they shake their heads and they look at me as if I've lost my mind
I tell them there's no hurry
I'm just sitting here doing time
I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round
I really love to watch them roll
No longer riding on the merry-go-round
I just had to let it go
I just had to let it go
I just had to let it go
Watching the Wheels - John Lennon (from Double Fantasy)
People say I'm crazy doing what I'm doing
Well they give me all kinds of warnings to save me from ruin
When I say that I'm o.k. well they look at me kind of strange
Surely you're not happy now you no longer play the game
People say I'm lazy dreaming my life away
Well they give me all kinds of advice designed to enlighten me
When I tell them that I'm doing fine watching shadows on the wall
Don't you miss the big time boy you're no longer on the ball
I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round
I really love to watch them roll
No longer riding on the merry-go-round
I just had to let it go
Ah, people asking questions lost in confusion
Well I tell them there's no problem, only solutions
Well they shake their heads and they look at me as if I've lost my mind
I tell them there's no hurry
I'm just sitting here doing time
I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round
I really love to watch them roll
No longer riding on the merry-go-round
I just had to let it go
I just had to let it go
I just had to let it go
Monday, May 24, 2010
Yet another. . gone too soon
There is a simple truth in life that my grandmother had once shared with me. She said "Parents aren't supposed to bury their children". I don't really remember the context that brought about that quote but, nevertheless, the quote has stayed with me all these years.
I can add to that quote now - coaches aren't supposed to bury their players. We're just not. Especially coaches of youth sports teams. These kids are so young, so full of life, that they are supposed to grow up, have kids of their own, coach them, and then grow old - just like the rest of us.
But that doesn't always work out. Like today.
Vinny Desario died today. He never woke up from the vicious beating he took at the hands of a homeless, illegal immigrant with too much time and a baseball bat in his hands.
That makes two - two players from one of my teams that I will have buried before me. Two young lives that will never have the chance to grow to fruition, to experience all that I have experienced, to share the love of a game that we all loved together.
Vinny was such a great kid. A real friend to all who knew him. If there is any truth to the phrase "only the good die young" then Vinny is the embodiment of that phrase.
I can't even imagine what his parents are going through. His mother, Paula, never at a loss for words. His father John, just one of the nicest, most genuine people you could ever meet. I don't know how they recover from this and go on - but I know they will.
I really don't know what else to say today. I'm grateful for having had Vinny and his family in my life. And my heart goes out to them in their time of incredible grief.
And I'm glad I don't coach anymore.
I can add to that quote now - coaches aren't supposed to bury their players. We're just not. Especially coaches of youth sports teams. These kids are so young, so full of life, that they are supposed to grow up, have kids of their own, coach them, and then grow old - just like the rest of us.
But that doesn't always work out. Like today.
Vinny Desario died today. He never woke up from the vicious beating he took at the hands of a homeless, illegal immigrant with too much time and a baseball bat in his hands.
That makes two - two players from one of my teams that I will have buried before me. Two young lives that will never have the chance to grow to fruition, to experience all that I have experienced, to share the love of a game that we all loved together.
Vinny was such a great kid. A real friend to all who knew him. If there is any truth to the phrase "only the good die young" then Vinny is the embodiment of that phrase.
I can't even imagine what his parents are going through. His mother, Paula, never at a loss for words. His father John, just one of the nicest, most genuine people you could ever meet. I don't know how they recover from this and go on - but I know they will.
I really don't know what else to say today. I'm grateful for having had Vinny and his family in my life. And my heart goes out to them in their time of incredible grief.
And I'm glad I don't coach anymore.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Hang in there, Vinny
There are plenty of things that piss me off. And writing about them allows me to let off steam - hence the title of this blog.
Yes, our state governor is a portly bully who clearly was terrorized by a teacher as a kid - hence his vendetta against teachers.
Yes, our town council is run by some of the most myopic people the good Lord ever put on this Earth, cutting the school budget while having the nerve to say "but don't blame us for the cuts!!"
Yes, the North Koreans are nothing but a bunch of thugs who torpedo a South Korean ship and then threaten war "if there are repercussions". They pick a fight and then they threaten war??
Yes, Jerry Manuel has next to no clue as to how to make in-game decisions, despite seeming like a heck of a nice guy.
But in the big scheme of things, all of this is small potatoes. Will my salary be frozen or even cut? Probably. Will the North Koreans go to war with anyone and everyone? Probably not. Will Jerry Manuel get fired? Eventually (they all do, by the way).
Nothing here is terribly significant. But just recently so many of us who live in Edison were struck by a blow that really puts all of the bullshit of the world into perspective. The kind of thing that really does piss me off.
One of the nicest young men I've ever known - Vincent Desario - was walking along the street in Wildwood, New Jersey with his teammates after participating in a college golf tournament. One of the young men stumbled, Vinny laughed and the next thing you know, some bat-wielding, homeless, illegal immigrant stops his bike, gets off, and smashes Vinny's head in.
Why? Because he thought they were laughing at him.
Just like that, this young man's life has become irreparably harmed, not to mention the pain and suffering for his family and his friends, both near and far.
This young man is in a deep coma now while everyone, and I mean everyone I think I've ever known, is praying for the swelling in his brain to go down, for the infection in his lungs to clear up, and for Vinny to open his eyes and smile that winning smile again.
This young man has never harmed anyone. This young man pulled himself up and managed to graduate with honors from Middlesex County College, although his injuries prevented him and his family from being able to attend this graduation.
This young man is fighting for his life - literally.
That is reality. That's the really important news. That's what really matters in the here and now.
Governors come and go. Town councils come and go. Crazed dictators come and go. Mets managers come and go. But really great kids like Vinny - they come along once in a great while.
Hang in there, son. Don't give up. Keep fighting. And we'll keep believing. . .in miracles.
Yes, our state governor is a portly bully who clearly was terrorized by a teacher as a kid - hence his vendetta against teachers.
Yes, our town council is run by some of the most myopic people the good Lord ever put on this Earth, cutting the school budget while having the nerve to say "but don't blame us for the cuts!!"
Yes, the North Koreans are nothing but a bunch of thugs who torpedo a South Korean ship and then threaten war "if there are repercussions". They pick a fight and then they threaten war??
Yes, Jerry Manuel has next to no clue as to how to make in-game decisions, despite seeming like a heck of a nice guy.
But in the big scheme of things, all of this is small potatoes. Will my salary be frozen or even cut? Probably. Will the North Koreans go to war with anyone and everyone? Probably not. Will Jerry Manuel get fired? Eventually (they all do, by the way).
Nothing here is terribly significant. But just recently so many of us who live in Edison were struck by a blow that really puts all of the bullshit of the world into perspective. The kind of thing that really does piss me off.
One of the nicest young men I've ever known - Vincent Desario - was walking along the street in Wildwood, New Jersey with his teammates after participating in a college golf tournament. One of the young men stumbled, Vinny laughed and the next thing you know, some bat-wielding, homeless, illegal immigrant stops his bike, gets off, and smashes Vinny's head in.
Why? Because he thought they were laughing at him.
Just like that, this young man's life has become irreparably harmed, not to mention the pain and suffering for his family and his friends, both near and far.
This young man is in a deep coma now while everyone, and I mean everyone I think I've ever known, is praying for the swelling in his brain to go down, for the infection in his lungs to clear up, and for Vinny to open his eyes and smile that winning smile again.
This young man has never harmed anyone. This young man pulled himself up and managed to graduate with honors from Middlesex County College, although his injuries prevented him and his family from being able to attend this graduation.
This young man is fighting for his life - literally.
That is reality. That's the really important news. That's what really matters in the here and now.
Governors come and go. Town councils come and go. Crazed dictators come and go. Mets managers come and go. But really great kids like Vinny - they come along once in a great while.
Hang in there, son. Don't give up. Keep fighting. And we'll keep believing. . .in miracles.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
To be 12 again
I spent the better part of the day with my brothers and sister today. I wish I could say it was just another fun day with my family but it, unfortunately, wasn't. We were all together in a waiting room at the hospital while my dad underwent his second lung cancer surgery in 6 months.
I can't think of anything more nerve wracking or physically draining than spending hours waiting in a waiting room, even if it is comfortably furnished, waiting for word on the fate of a loved one. Thankfully, if only for 30 minutes or so, we got a respite today, and we owe it all to the blood bank. Or, to be more accurate, to the RN who runs the blood bank.
But first, I have to give credit where credit is due and when it comes to knowing your audience there is no better expert on this than a hospital. I mean, think about it - they know that people are going to be coming to visit their loved ones while they stay at the hospital. So what do they do? They put up a parking garage. Brilliant!!
And then, as if to say "see how smart we are!!", they CHARGE you to park there. Brilliant!! If they could only figure out how to charge a toll as you walk in and out, they'd have it made!
But it's not only money - no, not by a long shot. Because today I saw even more evidence that they really do know their audience - their CAPTIVE audience.
Which is why, as we sat waiting on word about my father, we were prime candidates for brilliant idea #2 - why just let people sit around watching TV when they could be sitting down and donating a pint of blood at the same time!! Holy crap!! Why didn't I think of that!
And so, that is what my brothers and I did this morning. And it was great! I mean, I could do without the pricking of the finger, the unbelievably personal questions and the needles. But the juice was good and the free pen was cool, but most of all, my brothers and I got to hang around and just cause good natured havoc in the blood bank - and the nurses really seemed to like it!
It was like being 12 again - everything was a competition. Who has the highest hemoglobin (Mike did). Who can fill a pint bag fastest (Sal won that one). Who has the highest blood pressure (Mike again, although I don't think that's one you want to win). We were like the white tornado, sweeping in, making bets, cracking jokes and generally keeping the staff in stitches (ooh, that's BAD hospital humor). I think they were truly disappointed when the three pints were collected and we were on our way again.
Which was really the sad part. Because for about 3o minutes, we were 12. And then, on the way back upstairs, we suddenly turned 37 again. And 43. And 46. And the reality that we were here, not to hang out and bleed for free pens and discounted lunches, but to hope that our dad was going to be alright. It was a somber moment, to be sure.
And later, when they came out and said what had to be said - some good news, some bad news - the reality that we are all getting older - sons, daughters, mothers, fathers - really hit for the first time in a long time.
But hey, we were 12 again today - if only for 30 minutes. And I wouldn't trade those 30 minutes for anything - except maybe the next time Dad can come along for the ride. I think he'd like that.
I can't think of anything more nerve wracking or physically draining than spending hours waiting in a waiting room, even if it is comfortably furnished, waiting for word on the fate of a loved one. Thankfully, if only for 30 minutes or so, we got a respite today, and we owe it all to the blood bank. Or, to be more accurate, to the RN who runs the blood bank.
But first, I have to give credit where credit is due and when it comes to knowing your audience there is no better expert on this than a hospital. I mean, think about it - they know that people are going to be coming to visit their loved ones while they stay at the hospital. So what do they do? They put up a parking garage. Brilliant!!
And then, as if to say "see how smart we are!!", they CHARGE you to park there. Brilliant!! If they could only figure out how to charge a toll as you walk in and out, they'd have it made!
But it's not only money - no, not by a long shot. Because today I saw even more evidence that they really do know their audience - their CAPTIVE audience.
Which is why, as we sat waiting on word about my father, we were prime candidates for brilliant idea #2 - why just let people sit around watching TV when they could be sitting down and donating a pint of blood at the same time!! Holy crap!! Why didn't I think of that!
And so, that is what my brothers and I did this morning. And it was great! I mean, I could do without the pricking of the finger, the unbelievably personal questions and the needles. But the juice was good and the free pen was cool, but most of all, my brothers and I got to hang around and just cause good natured havoc in the blood bank - and the nurses really seemed to like it!
It was like being 12 again - everything was a competition. Who has the highest hemoglobin (Mike did). Who can fill a pint bag fastest (Sal won that one). Who has the highest blood pressure (Mike again, although I don't think that's one you want to win). We were like the white tornado, sweeping in, making bets, cracking jokes and generally keeping the staff in stitches (ooh, that's BAD hospital humor). I think they were truly disappointed when the three pints were collected and we were on our way again.
Which was really the sad part. Because for about 3o minutes, we were 12. And then, on the way back upstairs, we suddenly turned 37 again. And 43. And 46. And the reality that we were here, not to hang out and bleed for free pens and discounted lunches, but to hope that our dad was going to be alright. It was a somber moment, to be sure.
And later, when they came out and said what had to be said - some good news, some bad news - the reality that we are all getting older - sons, daughters, mothers, fathers - really hit for the first time in a long time.
But hey, we were 12 again today - if only for 30 minutes. And I wouldn't trade those 30 minutes for anything - except maybe the next time Dad can come along for the ride. I think he'd like that.
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