Internalized Einstein: Grown-ups, Kids and Time

One of the big mysteries of maturity is why or how the perception of the passage of time changes -- why time seems to go so much faster as we get older. Conjectures include biochemical brain changes and increased actual activity, often as a result of responsibility -- a greater amount of time spent working for others and not playing for ourselves. But I think it might be that we, somehow, lose the  connection that kids seem to have to Tao. Kids are so much better at just being that adults are.

"Aragorn's Quest"

Yesterday, my eight-year-old was playing a video game called Aragorn's Quest. I played it first, a year or so ago. I enjoyed it very much and I completed the entire game. He played it after me, and he finished it as well. 

Yesterday, he was playing it. "That was a pretty darned good game, wasn't it?" I said, watching.

"Yeah," he replied. "How come you don't play it anymore, Dad -- if you liked it so much?"

"I don't know." I replied. "I don't much like playing games after I have finished them -- it's not fun to me."

"Oh," he said, sounding a little perplexed by this answer.

When it comes down to it, I'm a little perplexed by it, too.

How Not To Be an Ass

One doesn't become an ass. One either intrinsically is or is not an ass. Sometimes, circumstances can exacerbate one's assness, but, in order to ever become an ass, first-class, one needs to have had the propensity. In other words, you either are or are not an ass. But beware the propensity -- be aware of it before, say, you come into a lot of money.

There are those out there who will say "rich" people are asses. I say that those who act like asses always were asses, but that becoming rich simply "spread compost on the weeds to make them ranker."

For instance, there are people who drive high-end automobiles. These people, by logical extrapolation, must have a goodly amount of money. (Or, they are car thieves, but that is another post.) To drive an Bugatti does not automatically make one an ass. How one adorns that Bugatti, however, might make all the difference...

I would have taken a picture, yesternight, as I drove to rehearsal with my band, but it was dark and traffic was not conducive to photographic driving. I found myself waiting behind an Audi. The driver of this particular high-end machine had taken time to purchase a license plate frame that read: "Life is a Chardonnay." I did not make this up. This happened.

Kites, Cardigans and Good Ol' F.U.

My great uncle sported a "high-and-tight" haircut and a buttoned-up collar. He was a product of Fork Union Military Academy -- which he always referred to as "good ol' F.U." I think he went to F.U. because he had been more of a behavior issue than because he had been the "military type" as a young man; he had a quick wit and a hearty smile; he was a bit impish. Family legend has it that he was stronger than the average ox, having once lifted a car off of a little girl's leg in the 1950's -- back when squat-lifting a car by its bumper was a pure-metal job three-times more miraculous than it would be today.

As kids, my sister and I would spend Friday nights at the house he shared with my grandmother in South Philadelphia; Mom worked late and Dad, for many years, had a steady gig at the legendary nightclub, Palumbo's, in town. These visits consisted of a meatball-sandwich dinner (on the greatest Italian bread in the history of the world), before my dad left for work, and, then, of all the TV we wanted and all of the M&Ms and ice cream we could cram into our maws. My sister and I would draw (and draw and draw...) and play invented games and watch ridiculous nineteen-eighties shows like the unintentionally surreal Dukes of Hazzard.

Fall of the Lecture Zombies

Teaching can really be such an art. Imagine if every teacher we ever had put true creativity into their lessons -- imagine how hungry for learning we would all have been as kids.

I'm taking class right now with a fine education professor. He's a diminutive chap who dresses up in a suit and tie for each session and who moves around the room with constant energy. Though his approach is sometimes old-fashioned, one can see how he must have inspired the fifth-graders he used to teach.

From The Wall: Pink Floyd

Tonight, he opened class by asking us a question regarding Socratic method -- something from our notes the previous class. That's my thing, you know, so my hand went straight up with out a glance at my notebook. He pointed at me: "Not you," he said.

I was taken aback. Was this a compliment? Was he tired of my answering questions? Did he just not like the cut of my jib? Was there something caught between my teeth?

Texas "Secession": The Most Inappropriate Protest in American History?

Secession, eh?

I get it. It is a statement, right? Great. People in Texas don't like President Obama. It will never become reality, for really real. I get it.

No joke.

But, you know, a while ago, I made a joke on someone's Facebook thread about Lincoln's assassination. I thought it was harmless -- a remark about him faring badly on a night at the theater. Well, my friend's friend (someone I did not know) flipped out about my not showing respect for the man who is arguably our greatest-ever president. The thing is, I have always had tremendous respect for Lincoln.

At first, my reaction was: This guy is over the top. He's crazy. How could he flip out like this? Lincoln has been dead for so long... I even "rode" him a little for being ridiculous, for a few lines.