Scorched Earth

Fire Escape - Fanfarlo (mp3)
Mean to Me - Tonic (mp3)

Any reasonable, average, non-celebrity person should find the latest adventures of Charlie Sheen great and terrible entertainment. He is a walking cautionary tale reminding us that being reasonable, average, and non-celebrity ain’t so bad.

Lest we lose our own bearings, Charlie Sheen is only the latest and most buzzworth cautionary celebrity tale du jour. He is not some weird outlier. He is one of a legion of stars whose lives mirror the melodramas and poorly-scripted flicks and shows in which they “perform” fictitiously.

The sobering realization I’ve had recently is that these moments of abject public idiocy are not restricted to celebrities. The Average Joes and Josephinas in my life are, within the confines of our more limited budgets, just as susceptible.

My acquaintances don’t generally pass out on rehearsal dinner tables or vomit from alcohol poison at trustee meetings. Most of my acqaintances are smart enough to avoid doing something on a camera or before a live audience. Unfortunately, we have another sort of public venue that’s open even more often than Waffle House: Facebook.

The most recent Facebook car wreck involved very recent graduates from the lovely school where I work. One of our more respected and esteemed grads, a very devout Christian from a very devout family, knocked up his girlfriend. The two of them began owning up to this fact through semi-subtle Facebook status updates. She wrote that her boyfriend would make a great father. She wrote that after much soul-searching, she and her boyfriend were prepared to take on greater responsibility and that God had blessed them.

I’ve never read a handbook on how to best handle the marketing and public relations challenge of knocking up a teenage girl. Perhaps hiding away from the rest of the world is cowardly or unrealistic. I doubt there’s a good way to handle it, especially if you’re going to have the baby and possibly get married.

(Abortion, on the other hand, makes these decisions easy: pretend like everything is normal, that nothing happened, and suffer behind a lonely wall of shame and guilt for as long as it takes to forget about the entire thing.)

Anyway, the fit hit the shan when one of this boy’s classmates posted a status update that basically celebrated this turn of events. “I love it when a Christian kid has his come-uppance,” was the general gist of the message.

Three days later, this one glib smirky smart-assed moment was the centerpiece of 115 comments and unknown, untold hours of conversation between unknown hundreds of adults, former classmates and various other connections lucky or unlucky enough to be “Friends of Friends” of this young man.

The slings and arrows thrown inside this string of commentary were barbed and brutal. A Christian girl coming to the defense of the to-be-parents tells the author about 10 different ways he could make love to himself or a farm animal. The author tells the girl she has developed especially good skills at pleasuring boys with her mouth and publicizing the events.

Another Christian friend offers numerous different ways the author can have intercourse with himself or other inappropriate objects. The author retorts that he loves the Christian hypocrisy and then follows with a string of well-spelled expletives of his own.

And so it goes. The author gains several dozen friends in 48 hours, all hoping to jump in with their commentary. The Christians the author seeks to damn with claims of hypocrisy serve his aims by proving their own very unChristian responses. They think they're defending their friend, but they're damning their faith.

Meanwhile, the author's current freshman college classmates view it all with ironic Yankee glee, mocking the predictable small-minded small-town Intelligent Design pregnant couple on a tractor and the Footloose homebound high schoolers who come to their rescue.

As I rubbernecked from the comfortable remove of an adult on the fringes, I found a few silver linings. All of the comments were remarkably well-composed for cyber-vitriol. One of the boys who managed to prove himself so chronically self-involved as to live on his own planet showed up near the end and wrote some of the most reasonable and measured commentary.

And then, the father to be, the fallen Christian soldier who sullied his name and his religion, showed up. I can't imagine scripting a better response for him than he wrote for himself. It was apologetic and humble and calm and completely absent of all foul language. Maybe I wouldn't have gone quite so over the top with the Jesus references, but that's a nit-pick.

In the crisis moment, the father to be in three responses kept holding fast to the kinds of words that made you realize why so many went to bat for him.

Sure, he comes from a wealthy family. He and his likely soon-to-be-wife will both likely have the opportunity to finish college. Their newborn child will likely be raised as much by grandparents as parents for the first couple of years. These advantages are indisputable, but that shouldn't discount the fact that plenty of others facing this situation would fall terribly short of impressive or fail outright.

He made lemonade out of lemons.

The author proved himself shallow and far too giddy at the very real nightmare of someone he knew well. He clearly didn't understand how someone as intelligent and witty as himself could have fallen shy of being worshiped by his high school classmates, and even if those who had such respect had earned it with sincerity, he was going to enjoy watching them fall regardless.

I doubt he'll be back for the 5-year reunion. But I suspect his one flippant comment of some seven words will still be discussed in his absence, even four years from now. He won't be missed. I suspect he'll still have plenty of burdensome chips on his shoulders.

He's our own little Charlie Sheen.

B-Ball

Cheech and Chong--"Basketball Jones" (mp3)

In my role as a school administrator, there are a lot of events I have to attend, some that I show my face at, some that I am expected to ride out for the duration. As you might guess, I greet those opportunities with various levels of internal enthusiasm. Always, I do my duty, but not always do I want to be there.

The exception is basketball.

Basketball is the game I played, the game, to the extent that I understand the intricacies of any sport, that I know. It is the game where, while realizing the full limits of my abilities, I still knew that that I could contribute. In every game that you play, you are very likely to have a chance to shoot, to shoot free throws, to score, to rebound, to pass, to make a defensive stop, to foul (an action that shouldn't be underrated). Any player on the court can experience the complete game. Contrast that with the specialization of football. And, if you screw up, your chances for redemption come regularly and often. A turnover is not the end of the world. Same with a missed shot.

Perhaps more importantly for someone like me who was a marginal player, it's the sport where if you warm the bench, you don't feel out of the action. You aren't hidden in a dugout, you aren't lost on the sideline. You run and warm-up with the starters, you sit with them on the bench, you play against them in practice. If you hit a long shot in warm-ups, they have to pass the ball back out to you. Even though you might never get in, you're never more than a few players away from hope.

The essence of basketball is the same as the essence of most any other sport--break down the other team's defense and score. It's just that that on a basketball court, a casual fan like me has a much better chance of seeing it develop and happen. And all of the ways that it can happen are quite pleasurable--the player driving the lane, the open outside shot, or, my favorite, the team passing that eventually finds the open man for an easy lay-up. Or the steal that leads to a breakaway.

My own career was relatively brief. I played basketball through the 9th grade, when my role as a third-string forward who didn't have a whole lot of growing left in him made it clear that I wasn't going to be moving on the the JV the following year. But my official career ended well, our team winning the District, the farthest we could go. Or, my official career did not end well, our team winning the District with one game left to play, a game that we subs assumed would lead to substantial playing time. It didn't come.

After high school and college and graduate school careers of pick-up games and intramurals, I got to enjoy a basketball renaissance here at school. Colleagues of mine formed a Geriatric Basketball Association (GBA) upon the death of "Pistol" Pete Maravich at age 44. Every one of us had the same jersey with the number 44, though it was reversible to either blue or white. We met every Wednesday night for years with a revolving cast of characters, until the league eventually died because younger faculty players wanted to play, their overwhelming desire to win overwhelming their understanding of the game we were playing. It happens.

The beauty of basketball, though, is the shot toward a stationary target. If you ever played the game, you developed some proficiency with that shot, and you always carry with you the knowledge that you can walk onto a court anywhere, any time, at any age, and get that shot back. Maybe not at the speed of the game, maybe not in competition, but when it is just you and the basket, you can always remaster it to some extent, given enough repetitions.

It is no accident that John Updike's legendary character Harry "Rabbit" Angstrom's final act is to step onto a playground court as an out-of-shape older man to challenge a youngster and to show him that his skills, his game are still there. Harry's heart, unfortunately, has other plans.

Every person, man or woman, who has ever played the game and is watching from the stands has an unquenchable desire to get out there and take a few shots. They just want to remind themselves that they can still hit from inside and outside.

Perhaps this is why the NBA became such a disappointment to me. I loved it in the early 70's, when Wilt Chamberlain and Jerry West would face off against Walt Frazier and Dave DeBusschere. I loved it in the late 70's when I was in Philadelphia and Dr. J was on the Sixers. I tolerated it during the Magic Johnson and Larry Bird years (not being a Celtics or Lakers fan). I returned to it during Michael Jordan's glory years. It was easy to jump on that bandwagon. But at some point, the NBA became something different than the game that I had played. It wasn't that the players were so astronomically better; it was that they didn't have to play by the rules that I had come to accept.

Still, I love the game enough that when my father handed me The Book Of Basketball by Bill Simmons last week, an irreverent but reverent look at all things NBA, I knew I would pick it up and start reading it. And I did. And Simmons' book treats the game as a continuum, evaluating the new while keeping the talents of the legendary greats in perspective.

I like to watch basketball, and I do that sometimes, though I don't go out of my way to catch games on television. I prefer the feel of the live game where you can hear all of the sounds that you are supposed to hear at proper volume--the clang of the rim on a missed shot, the squeaking of what-used-to-be sneakers, the almost-automatic grunt that comes after overextending for a rebound, the yells of the coach that the players probably can't hear.

But what I really wish is that I was out there.

It Caught My Eye...

Thought I'd share this piece of art with you because it caught my eye.  I'm not sure who the artist is or what it's called, though the file name reads "Poisonous Flower" so perhaps we can assume that's the name.  I found it in a Google image search while researching the poisonous flowers of the Brugmansia plant (a.k.a. Angel's Trumpets) featured in my last post.

Just some eye candy, that's all folks.  I'll be back later with another post on the treasure I found today at TJMaxx during lunch!  AHHHHH!  I know, I shouldn't be shopping, but my mom wanted to go and who am I kidding, I can't refuse!  Besides, I only spent $20 (for four items) and wait until you see what one of them is!!!!  Let's just say it's something that I've seen in this particular TJMaxx over and over floating around for well over a year, I always admired it yet convinced myself I didn't need it, plus the price was never right until now!  It was marked down to a STEAL!  Ok ok, enough bragging, when I get home I'll photograph it so you can see....

 

(image via Google image search)

Flowers and Cacti and Succulents OH MY!

Hi there... it's already Thursday, yipeeeeee..

This post showcases the beautiful plants and flowers at my boyfriend's mother's house.  I went NUTS photographing her garden!  Scroll on and enjoy!!

This incredible fuchsia colored plant is called Cordyline fruticosa, also known as the Hawaiian Ti Plant or Good Luck plant.  Interestingly enough, it's in the same family as Asparagus!  It has such vibrant colored leaves and, as you can see, puts out some pretty seeds...

This tree is one of my favorites, not just because of the SPECTACULAR large flower bunches, but because the underside of its leaves are a dark eggplant purple color!  It's called Clerodendrum quadriloculare, but it's also known as the "Starburst Bush" or "Shooting Star."  My boyfriend's mother has tons of them lining the front of her house and in the backyard as well.  My mother and my grandmother also have this tree and say it spreads very fast, so it's perfect for filling large parts of a yard. 

 Gorgeous....

Some vibrant purple Bougainvillea...




A yellow Hibiscus flower in the process of opening...


And here's one that has already opened.....

Look, I got my boyfriend's mother an Echeveria "Doris Taylor" succulent too! 

It's hangin' out on her patio table with a branch of platanos from her tree....

Mmmm.... tostones... lol...

 This tree is called a Brugmansia, also known as "Angel's Trumpets" due to the beautiful pink bell shaped flowers.... Beware though, because this beauty is deadly, all parts of the plants anf flower are highly toxic to humans and animals!!



 
I had a Georgia O'Keeffe moment here..... hehe....

As for these little pests... Yeah, they're pretty, but when the purple flowers aren't in bloom the plant looks weedy and worst of all, if you should ever decide you don't want them in your yard anymore.... well, good luck getting rid of them!  My aunt and I once went insane ripping all the roots out of a bed of soil and weeks later they were back again.... ripped them out again.... they came back!  They're unstoppable!

And, last but not least... her cactus and succulent planter!  Initially it was just the large cactus, but I added soil and some succulents at the base of the cactus to fill out empty space in the planter and add some color... 

Unfortunately I was not around when the big flower on the cactus bloomed :((

 These Hen and Chick succulents have turned blood red in the last few weeks, wish I had snapped a new picture to share with you...

(All images in this post are my own personal photographs.  Please ask permission if you would like to use them, send me an e-mail at InspireBohemia@gmail.com.  Please link back to Inspire Bohemia.)