Men with brooms December 7, 2009
Posted by DaveC in blogs, sports.5 comments
Kristen, I’m going to confuse you again. Sorry.
And Micky might take a couple of days on this one, but I had to keep it all together.
***
I never thought I’d get interested in the sport. Curling, I mean.
Growing up, it seemed like one of those slow, boring sports- like golf (another sport I appreciated more as I aged). But my more experienced mind can appreciate the subtlety and strategy inherent in it.
I joined several years ago, with at least partial credit or fault going to Mom and Dad, who’d seen me through a tough period personally, and had suggested it as a way to get out, play a sport, exercise some more. At first, it was morbid curiousity, with the barest hint of interest. I joined a league with Dad and a few people he knew, playing the ‘new guy’ part to perfection.
But a funny thing happened on the way to inevitable, ineffectual disinterest. I actually liked it.
I’ve described curling as “shuffleboard on ice” to American folks, but that’s more or less where I’d start for anyone who doesn’t know the game.
Two teams, four players a side. Each team throws eight rocks in an “end” (like an inning in baseball, or a period in hockey), one at a time, from one end of the rink to the other, attempting to have their stones closest to the middle of the far ring at the conclusion of each “end”. In our league, we play eight ends.
The concept is relatively simple. The execution is the beauty of it.
***
There’s a lot of times in life where things in my life haven’t gone as planned. If you asked me ten years ago where I thought I’d be now, I’d probably have had the presence of mind to say “I don’t have a clue”, but I doubt I would have thought here. Whether it’s here in Calgary, here doing what I’m doing, and with the people I know around me.
I’ve always tried to abide by the theory that you shouldn’t have regrets, because you can always learn from what you’ve done, and you’re a better person for it. This isn’t to say I don’t like where I am. I like where I am. But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have done some things differently, knowing what I do now. That’s where experience counts- and why it counts more than someone telling me that “this is how I should do it”.
Because sometimes, you don’t get the full effect unless you experience it for yourself. And there are so many areas where I can point at something and say “yeah, that’s absolutely how it is.”
***
There are four positions on a curling team- lead, second, third, and skip. The ’skip’ stands at the other end of the rink, and calls the shots- holding up his broom as a line for whoever’s throwing, and telling the sweepers when the stone is off line, and needs to be swept. And yes, the skip yells that, so as to leave little room for interpretation.
The two players who aren’t throwing CAN sweep the ice in front of the stone with their broom, which accomplishes two things- it makes the stone go farther, and it makes it go straighter. So if it’s off line (which the skip sees from his vantage point), or doesn’t seem to be going far enough, the sweepers will sweep.
Being one of the least experienced curlers on the team, I usually throw the “lead” stones- the first two in any end for our team. There’s a clean sheet, and usually, easier shots. Often times, the lead stones are well out of play by the time the end is decided.
But there’s a difficulty inherent in that as well- you set the tone for the end. If your shots aren’t in there, it doesn’t set up well for your teammates after you who throw. Also, as the first one who throws, you often get to figure out the ice- how far the rocks go, and how hard you’ll have to throw them.
The lead is the set up guy- get off to a good start, and the end looks good. Miss a couple, and you may have to dig yourself out of the hole.
***
Two weeks ago, I came in to work on Monday not knowing what I’d be doing that day.
There’s a joke in there for those in the know that this had become somewhat normal course over the last little while, and it was that kind of gallows humor that was rarely far from my mind, especially in the chaos that had often descended on our workplace of late.
I came ready for the new job and new challenges, but braced to step back into the old one if need be. I had been told to prepare for that, in the uncertain tone of voice that had usually meant the worst was coming.
A step into the manager’s office. “Hey boss. What am I doing today?” (I don’t believe those were the exact words I used, but they will suffice for this scenario).
A pause. “We need you on the line today, I don’t know if they got your shift covered,” she said. “Maybe later this week we can get you started training… sorry, Dave.”
I replied with an understanding nod. “Sure,” I said. I’d been braced for it, after all. “I’ll go get ready.”
I needed a moment to gather myself, and was surprised at how disappointed I’d felt at that. I’d known it was possible that I’d have to wait another week. The old job was comfortable, was something I knew. But the bitterness… it surprised me a lot. I was bitter, and a little angry.
I swallowed it down, and walked out to the teller line to sign in. My old supervisor headed me off just after I signed on. I imagine she was confused, but I didn’t turn to look.
“Dave? We don’t need you over here. I got your shift covered.”
This time, it was me who paused. “Oh,” I said, sounding less affected than I felt. “Oh, good. I’ll let her know.” A few clicks, and I was out, and back to the boss’ office to give the good news. The anger had left, replaced by a lightness I hadn’t often remembered feeling.
All in all, a good start to the day.
***
Sometimes I throw second stones. I kind of enjoy that. The shots are harder, with some rocks in play (usually), and it breaks up all the sweeping I have to do in an end. Rather than sweeping the last six rocks, I sweep the first two, and the last four.
So rather than leading off, I come back to our end having seen a few rocks glide down, our end starting to set up for us.
Even as someone finding his way in curling, when I’m setting up to throw, I still feel the tension, the competitive drive to do well. The mind racing, thinking of the different pieces I have to get right to make a good throw, looking down at the line for my rock, wondering how the weight is, how hard I need to push off, if I can nail that in-turn without getting my elbow way out.
Take a breath. Rear back, push off, and make the throw. Extend, keep the knee tucked in, try and release clean, and at the broom, exactly where the skip placed it.
I’ve been trying to get in the habit of not watching my rock all the way down the ice. Because once it’s left my hand, there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s on the sweepers and the skip.
***
I’ve often been accused (correctly, it should be noted) of being something of a control freak. And being self-aware, I can’t really deny that instinct. It exists. A psychologist could probably diagnose the total how and why of it, but I’m not really sure I’m interested in knowing. I’d be lost in that for a while, and assume they were right about it all because they were ‘professional’.
I see it at work, even this week as my trainer teased me about doing something that, well, I didn’t need to do anymore. That wasn’t my job. I could pass that on to someone else. Really, I could.
My response: “But I know HOW.”
Her continuation: “So do they. Let them do it.”
She was right, of course. Was it that I didn’t trust them? Or that I didn’t want to bother them if I could do it? Or a little of both?
I doubt there’s an easy answer. There aren’t any easy questions there. I want to be on a couch, I’ll stay on my own, thanks.
***
Emotions run high for me in sports, often more than in other areas of my life.
I’m not someone who expresses himself really, truly well, so I imagine sports has been an avenue for me to do that. I was a chippy, aggressive basketball player when I played in junior high. I get invested and irritated when I watch the Steelers play football. And even in curling, I’m berating myself quietly for bad shots as I slide back to the hack. At the end of the night, I’m usually relaxed about how things go, but during the game, I do want to win. Even in our rec league.
I remember one night in particular where I was steaming silently. My shots were missing, and my frustrating was building. I was ready to snap my broom over my knee and had brooded silently, ignoring the usual banter and quips that I try and take part in. It’s a game, and I’m usually decent at remembering that now, free from the little-man syndrome of youth and the easy irritation that accompanies it.
Dad was calling it at the other end that night, and I’d gotten down to set up for the shot, even after their second had thrown. ‘Let me throw a hard one,’ I was thinking. ‘Let me chuck a take out.’ I needed that. A high, hard one, something I could just wail on and throw. I saw one shot that might be that, and hoped he’d let me try it.
He did, tapping the rock that he wanted me to hit, and setting the broom down near it for my line. I reared back and let it fly.
I stared it down, as if my angry gaze would shatter the rock in two as mine flew down towards it, ignoring my usual sound advice about letting it go. The ‘thwack’ of my rock colliding with it was satisfying, and at least a slight tonic on what had been a frustrating night for my competitive side.
***
I had a frustrating day today, top to bottom. It started out awkwardly enough- getting up late, and leaving the house only to discover that I couldn’t lock my front door.
After repeated attempts to close it enough to turn the lock with what little brute strength I had (also worrying that the difficulty of turning the lock would strand my brother or Colette outside the house), I gave up, and waited for Dennis to come back from a morning trip out.
I stewed on the step inside, after looking at what possibly could have made our oddly-opening door go even more askew today. Why on Monday, why on a sleepless day, why when I already felt on edge and stressed and tired, and well before I’d stepped into work?
I’ve always thought that God had a purpose for everything that happened, and even in the midst of that stewing frustration, I felt it. I felt Him, speaking to me. It was strange in the midst of my brooding, and I think I only really came to that conclusion when Dennis had come back and I was driving, with Jars of Clay in my CD player, speaking words that seemed more poignant then.
My struggles aren’t more than trivial, ultimately. But they mean something to me, and I’m meant to have them.
***
Curling, like a lot of sports, can be cruel and darkly humourous.
You can call the perfect shot, feel it good out of the hand, and still have it not work. Sometimes it’s the ice. Sometimes it’s the sweeping, if they read it wrong. Sometimes your stone picks something up, and it peels off out of play, as you throw your hands up and wonder why.
Thought sometimes, it works the other way. As the skip yells and the sweepers sweep, you see something else- an alternative to the first shot, something you hadn’t considered at first. You didn’t get what you wanted initially, but you could make this work.
At the level we play at, we do this an awful lot. We’re not really good enough to hit our shots with any regularity, so often, we end up playing the one we didn’t see. Sometimes, you get to shrug your shoulders and smile sheepishly, knowing you lucked into something.
And then, there are still the times you make the shot, the one you thought would be perfect, and it doesn’t work.
***
I remember one night, in particular. I was curling late, so I had time to do something early. And there was something on my mind to do, something to make right.
The plan was there. I was going to go in, and make things right. It had worked so well in my head before… I’d planned it out, laying it out in a fashion that made sense to me, and had built it up in my head. It was going to be perfect. It was going to be how it shouldn’t be.
And as before, a funny thing happened on the way to inevitable victory and a happy ending. My plan fell apart. My words that had been there in my head weren’t there on my lips. The plan was blown up before I’d put the first steps in. I left in pieces, my world shattered.
I went home in sorrow, having barely made it up the stairs, mouthing for Dad to spell me at curling, knowing I was in no shape to play. I fell to my knees as I wept for what I had lost, the chance that hadn’t worked out as I’d thought.
It’s easy to look back now and say that it was for the best that it didn’t work, but it is not without some of that sorrow that I do. I still feel like him at times, vulnerable, exposed, wondering where I went wrong, wishing I knew what was right, but hopeful that there is more out there.
***
If you’re not throwing a stone, you’re probably sweeping.
This is a surprisingly taxing part of the sport, especially as one of the “front end” shooters. You sweep six out of eight stones, as one of two sweepers on the rock. And for me, it’s something I try and take pride in. I like being a good sweeper. I feel like it makes up for when I miss my shots.
The sweepers call the weight, while the skip (and occasionally the shooter) call for line. This does occasionally result in conflict- if the weight is light, but the line is good, the sweepers might want to sweep while the skip calls them off. Or if the line is close and the weight is up, the skip wants them to sweep, but the sweepers don’t want to get it too far. It’s one of the delicate balancing acts of the sport.
And one of the most satisfying- even when you’re not throwing, you can contribute. You’re still a part of it. Rarely watching, and never on the sidelines. Not until the end.
***
I had the chance to lead a “huddle” at work a few weeks back… kind of a meeting before we open, for all the staff. The twist with this one was, we needed an activity.
As someone who appreciates detail, I wanted to knock this out of the park. This was my first huddle, and it had to be great. I would accept nothing less. Something engaging, but still thoughtful. Not cheesy or trite or predictable. Quite the standard, I thought.
I found an exercise that had all the things I was looking for- “Broken Squares”, where pieces of paper were cut up into different sizes and distributed to different people before the huddle. They had to put the squares back together, with two hitches: They couldn’t speak to each other, and they couldn’t take someone else’s piece. It had to be offered.
It was fascinating and satisfying to watch, as something that could have been passed off in kindergarten was taken to like fish to a hook, and my coworkers very quickly got most of the squares back together without a word.
At the end, I got to say my piece, and while the basis was easy to pick out (“We should work together!”), I’d wanted them to look deeper. The importance of communication, not just in what we speak but how we say it, and not just in working together, but- and while this WAS trite, I couldn’t resist the pun as I reached for a triangle and flipped it so it fit correctly- “how our pieces can fit in a lot of different places.”
I heard good feedback on this particular exercise, and was glad for it. I can’t change the world yet, but if I can be the one encouraging collaboration and good habits in my corner, I’m off to a good start.
***
One of my favourite traditions of curling is the drink afterwards.
In our league, the winning team traditionally buys the losing team a drink. And often, the losing team will offer to buy a drink back- can’t encourage tanking, after all.
But unlike some sports and leagues, curling was always meant as a fun game, a recreational game, where one goes to relax, and not get too involved in it. Even if some of our teams seem like they’re playing the Canadian championship by how seriously they take it during the match, there’s rarely a shortage of jokes or drinks flowing afterwards.
Maybe that’s why we love it. And maybe that’s why we take our sports so seriously. Because they don’t mean anything. We can throw ourselves into it without worrying that it’ll mean anything tomorrow. Because it’s a distraction, a safe place away from stresses and work and relationships and all those other things that drag us down occasionally.
And while there are times that our lives will be more important, maybe it’s having the option to release that makes it so. When we are going through those difficult times, we can appreciate the time away more, that we can yell and sweep and throw and compete and have it ultimately not mean anything more than what it is.
Or maybe it’s just a game. Men with brooms, sliding from one end of the ice to another, competing merely for the thrill of it.
Questions best left for another day… or another drink.
Tea and sympathy November 29, 2009
Posted by DaveC in blogs.1 comment so far
There are things I miss about high school, though not among them is feeling like every crush and heartbreak was the most important thing that happened in the universe.
It’s convenient for someone like me to stand on a pedestal and shake my head at those who perpetuate this, if just because I’ve been right in the middle of that kind of drama in my own mind before. Who of us wasn’t, at some point? We weren’t staring forlornly into the distance with some singer/songwriter crooning in the distance like all those teen dramas suggest we should have, but it MATTERED to us. Maybe we were defined by a relationship, or a lack there-of. Maybe we wanted to be defined that way.
I woke up tonight, and found myself unable to get back to sleep. So after some reading, I came here, wondering if I’ve really shaken that old instinct, or just want to believe that I have.
*****
Relationships (romantic ones, by the way, assume that’s the context for any future use of the word in this post) came up in several interactions yesterday, and some in my late night wanderings on the laptop. Both as they relate to me, and to others… the latter of which got my hackles up more yesterday, oddly.
Is that odd that I’m more openly defensive of those close to me than myself? I don’t think it is, though I can’t speak as to whether that’s typical. We tend to lose objectivity on our own relationships because of our involvement with them. In some sense, that’s good- we lose the barriers between us and those close to us, and we feel love and intimacy towards that person. But that intimacy and openness can also mean pain, and a lack of perspective.
I think late nights make me more vulnerable to the slings and arrows of my own thoughts. I worry more, I’m less guarded… a great state for a writer, even if when I wake up later I might well find the delete button and relegate this back to the virtual ‘drafts’ folder of my mind.
I hope not, though. I need to be less guarded with people, not more. Courage, not fear.
*****
I love this song, which came up at some point in my internet wanderings tonight. It’s sad, and it’s emo, and I love it, even if it reminds me of some of the sadder parts of relationships I’ve been in. I have an inexplicable affection for sad songs, and I wish I could explain it in terms that aren’t “I can relate better to that”, which make me sound like some kind of unhappy shut-in. Which I’m not, honestly. I just think you get more meaning- and perhaps more character- out of the valleys than the peaks.
The various conversations and reading I did tonight got me to reflecting on the relationships I’ve had, and the relationships I might have- possibilities that are floating on the wind, more or less real than I believe. I’ve got an ingrained instinct to question and prod when people express genuine affection for me, which is kind of awful of me. But when you’ve grown up as self conscious as I have, it’s a hard instinct to shake. It’s one situation where the old, worn chestnut “it’s not you, it’s me” actually DOES apply. I have chuckled bitterly at this revelation about myself before. I probably will again, at some point, when it’s late and I’m feeling vulnerable.
I retreated into myself some after the end of my last relationship, and while that’s occasionally inevitable, I’m still fighting that instinct now. I can’t be afraid to put myself out there, to be honest and open, even just being social in basic situations.
I’ve felt pain at the end of relationships, when you realize you’ve lost the chance at something incredibly special. But I’ve also felt joy during them, the moments where something wonderful is shared, something that touches you in the deepest reaches of your heart, and all is right with the universe. I need to chase that feeling.
Courage, not fear.
Snakes and ladders, part 2 November 27, 2009
Posted by DaveC in blogs.2 comments
Continued from here.
I may have kept my own counsel initially, but I didn’t for long. Before I left work, I asked Mom if I could stop by her and Dad’s on the way home. As someone who’s been with the bank longer than I’ve been alive, there wasn’t anyone better to ask. To suss out the particulars, see if this was a good idea for me.
And being a self-described “conpulsive emailer”, I had to write someone. But one thing at a time.
I came home to an open door, and floors and walls I didn’t recognize.
I’m speaking literally in all the cases here- Mom and Dad were getting hardwood floors installed, and had painted the walls of their house, in preparation for selling it, and moving into a new home in Cranston sometime next year. Change, it seemed, was the order of the day.
Dad and I exchanged greetings as we moved away from the chaos of men at work- Mom wasn’t home yet, and she and he were heading to a concert that night. He, too, must have sensed the rarity of the moment- it wasn’t often I called out of the blue, with a point of news or seeking advice. It is a rarity that I regret at times, being too prideful and wanting to do it on my own.
But this wasn’t the time for such reflection- I told him of the offer. A way to move up, get on a different track at the bank. More challenging work, more involved work. More commitment. It was the latter that scared me.
Mom got home soon, and we shared and spoke. They were both excited for me, and I was excited for myself, even as I was uncertain of whether I would take it. She was realistic, and had views on it that I hadn’t considered.
We ate, and I left them to their concert and me to my consideration.
Later that evening, I emailed Melissa, someone who I’ve swapped emails with almost compulsively these last few months. I’ve chatted, written and podcasted with her, and found a kindred spirit in a great many things.
*****
Contained in Melissa’s response to my email: “Are you scared about settling in too much? And never pursuing those things you really want?”
The answer, of course was mixed: Yes. And no.
I’m continually scared of settling, even as I know I’m drawn to it. I’m drawn to routine, to comfort. I knew this was odd, to consider accepting this ’settling’, given the challenge of getting the position, the training I would need to take.
But did accepting this mean I’d picked the fork in the road? That I would never be a writer, or the perfect face for radio? That I’d be wearing a suit and tie and playing golf by four for the rest of my life?
It didn’t. But that depended on me. Would I become comfortable, settle, put down roots there? Put away the pen and paper, never to see it again? The manager would probably like that. I don’t know yet if I would.
*****
I came back the next day and said yes. Not much later, with approval from The Powers That Be, it became official. Dave Church was going to move off the line and into an office.
Well, it didn’t really become official until it was announced on the branch messaging system, and Mat came out of his office, grinning as he shook my hand and congratulated me. He was the first (outside of the manager, anyway), and one of a few people I can talk sports with who can keep up, so it was really cool to get that.
I’m someone who is genuinely affected when people are happy for me, so the well-wishes, handshakes and hugs got me grinning like an idiot for the next few hours, as we rounded out a long day. I’ll admit my concentration wasn’t the best over the next few, as I prepared for the next phase of my working career. I heard enough variations of the “Remember us when you hit the top” line to last me a while.
Melissa had mentioned the game “Snakes and ladders” in a recent exchange- yes, Mel, I’m aware I’m taking it out of the context we’d initially put it in- and the analogy has rarely been far from my mind. Five months ago, I was a casual teller, working and shifting with the wind. And now, I actually have to consider wearing a tie to work. I can’t help but feel like I’ve hit the ladder. I’m excited, even as I’m scared. It’ll be hard. But I can do it.
Much like in the board game, I must be wary of the pitfalls- the snakes that’ll take me down a few notches. I don’t know where I’ll be five years from now. I know better than to plan as if I do. Work hard, don’t settle. Keep learning, keep improving. But also, keep writing.
Because I DON’T know… do I?
Snakes and ladders, part 1 November 26, 2009
Posted by DaveC in blogs.2 comments
(Long, so I split it up. About new jobs, and… new civilizations.)
A few bits on the WordPress sidebar tweaked- let me know if you want to be linked (or-delinked, conversely), I know I missed a bunch of people who will take umbrage. Rest assured in the knowledge that you can EXPRESS THAT UMBRAGE and fix the problem.
So, work. I’m a banker, at the moment. What exactly that entails has varied quite a bit from day to day. Mostly teller work thus far, processing basic transactions, and occasionally more complex ones. I developed a surprising memory for people and faces, a complete detachment from the value of money, and a healthy, good-natured hatred of wire transfers.
It feels like, in a lot of ways, that our branch has had one crisis after another the last few months. Someone’s quitting, or moving on, or sick, or unable to do a particular task for reasons that range from mundane, to absurd, to downright strange. I’ve done different jobs, so I know that some manner of chaos insinuates itself into day-to-day routine anywhere. That’s just the nature of life and work.
I’ve bounced around some the last little while. There weren’t many teller or office tasks that
A) I hadn’t done, or
B) I wasn’t training for.
The upside of the bouncing, of course, was proving myself valuable. I’m a guy who thrives on that. I like being valued, and contributing. It’s a feeling I don’t know if I’d found in what I was doing before.
Maybe it was the atmosphere, a workplace that seemed to, for once, be positive, and have management that actually seemed invested in those that worked for them. THAT is truly rare, especially amidst the constant chaos of a busy workplace. I’d worked with managers who didn’t care for much more than what you brought them, and here was a place that didn’t just talk about empowering employees, but gave those that wished to the tools to advance.
That wasn’t the plan initially.
*****
My workmate Zul first put the bug in my mind, a few months back.
He was leaving his position at our branch as a financial advisor, moving into some kind of commercial banking. He asked me to come into his office for a moment on one of his last days. This was a first, and I was curious.
I like Zul. He’s snake oil smooth, to be sure, but he shared my quick wit, and love of subtle, mischevious humor. As we were two of three guys working at the branch, it was natural that we would seek each other out.
Zul spoke in slow, measured tones, and asked me to consider applying for the open position that would fill his soon-to-be vacated office.
I was a little taken aback. I hadn’t expected this. The position wasn’t the same as his- they were changing it to be more in line with what our branch needed, but it was still there.
Zul assured me I could do it. He talked of opportunities for advancement and growth (in different aspects than I might have), and that I wouldn’t want to be working the line forever.
I conceded his point silently- I DIDN’T want to work the teller line forever. If you’d asked me five years ago where I’d be now, I certainly wouldn’t have said at a bank, pushing 20s over the counter with a smile that fades when the line leaves. It was a fine enough job, to be sure, but…
I thanked him for his support, and shook his hand, wishing him well in his continued pursuits as I walked out. The case hadn’t been made, not then. I wasn’t ready. But the seed was planted.
*****
Cut to two months later- Zul’s office is still open. Our FAs are running short handed, even as our teller line continues with the constant chaos.
I’m training for a support position one of the few days we actually are full staffed, and now, the manager calls me into the office.
Once again, an event without much precedent. Yellow alert, shields up, and all that.
I sit down, and we exchange greetings. Her first question: “You gonna be here in a month?”
After a pithy “You asking me if I’m going to get H1N1 and faceplant?” and a few guffaws, we got to it. She was wondering if I was happy working at the bank, if it was my plan to continue working there.
It wasn’t initially, as I said to her then. But like a lot of well-meaning plans I’ve made, it didn’t stay that way. They accommodated me while I took classes, and I returned the favor now by doing whatever they needed, whenever they needed.
I hedged some in my response, but mentioned I was happy with how things were going, even as challenging as it had been. I wasn’t going anywhere.
So she offered me a new job. To inhabit Zul’s formerly empty office, as he had suggested some time ago. Become the junior personal banking officer they were looking for. A nice step up from “customer representative”.
After that, she laid out the case. Anyone else who had applied would need training, as I would. And with more changes on the horizon (one of our other financial officers was moving on, which I didn’t know until then), the familiarity I would bring would be a positive. She mentioned that Mat, another FA at the branch, had suggested me as well.
She also mentioned that I’d made myself valuable over the last few months, and that it had not gone unnoticed. This, in concert with Mat’s mention, was surprisingly gratifying, and I think I smiled and exhaled. There may also have been an awkward chuckle.
There were other things- money, courses and certifications I would need, and that sort of thing. She gave me a day to sleep on it, and I left with a crowded head, mulling about the challenges.
I was asked what had occured in the office. I kept my own counsel for a time amidst gossip and suggestion (a not un-impressive feat in an office of 80-something percent women), letting it swim in my head until I left.
Making a case for Twitter November 3, 2009
Posted by DaveC in uncategorized.add a comment
Before those who’ve already sworn off the flavour-of-the-week social networker click away, let’s start with the following premises:
Firstly, that I am a reasonably intelligent man.
This is a point of some debate, and I certainly won’t discourage that. However, in a random sampling of people, let’s assume I’d made a decent accounting of myself, for the purposes of this post.
Secondly, let’s assume that we like to make generalizations. That there are those of us- and I was among them- that assumed Twitter to be a short sighted, uninteresting forum for short sighted, uninteresting people. Let me assure you, ladies and gentlemen, it is much more than that.
I’m not here to lead a legion of people onto the flavour-of-the-day social networker. I’m here to change the way you look at it. So grab a chair, and lend me your ear. I’ll try not to waste your time (well, any more than usual).
*****
I wasn’t sure what to make of it at first.
My buddy Ken, who got me onto Twitter, wasn’t really either. And our initial forays proved this. But like anyone, we’ve adapted and changed as we’ve discovered what we like and don’t like, what works and what doesn’t for what we want to accomplish.
What was this strange, connective, online bulletin board messenger thingy? Was it a “what we’re doing now” instant updater, for all to see? Was it yet another internet fad, to be passed around to others like ourselves, and discarded in favor of something newer and bigger and flashier? Maybe it is. Lord only knows what kind of server costs this sort of this is incurring, and Twitter doesn’t have Facebook’s now-invasive apps and advertisements to support it just yet.
When I talk to people who aren’t on Twitter about it, there’s some misunderstanding about what it is. Well, I think there’s some misunderstanding, for what I want out of it.
*****
There are those that use Twitter as a “what I’m doing RIGHT NOW” forum. And that’s fine. That’s one use for it.
There are those that use as a direct line of communication and marketing- my buddy Ken, for a while, had his Geekdad updates go right to his Twitter (which he, mercifully, moved to another account). Bill Simmons, who writes for ESPN, seems to agree with this line of thinking. And I do, to a point- I’ve got my blog posts going directly to my Twitter, so anytime there’s an update, up goes a link to a new post, for everyone to see.
I had a fifth grade teacher, Ms. Russell, who had us keep journals of what we did at school from day to day. She always encouraged us not only to say that “we had French and Social Studies and recess”, but to say what we did IN that class, and what we thought about it. That’s something that always stayed with me- to not just mention the main points, but to get into the details. The how, and the why.
As someone modestly creative, the how and the why of things fascinate me. And Twitter gives me an immediate outlet for the how and the why of a particular moment. It’s what I’m thinking RIGHT THEN. The immediacy appeals to me, as well as the context.
I “tweet” (that’s what a Twitter post is called, for the uninitiated) about sports a lot, because I like being able to spout off what I’m thinking right at a particular time. As a fan, the emotions tend to run hot and cold, and being able to write right away about what’s going on in my head is something I’ve really enjoyed.
Certainly, there’s the potential for Twitter to neuter narrative detail, and that’s a danger, especially with the 140 character limit. But that’s also a challenge- you need to be creative to express yourself in small bursts, to get your point out sharper and quicker, as Simmons mentions in the link above.
But it’s not just what you give- there’s a lot to get in there as well.
Like a particular topic? Search it on Twitter- find people who are talking about it, respond to them, start a conversation. I’ve gained a few followers and followees that way, while ranting on something or other on a particular night.
Much has been made of “celebrities” who are on Twitter, and there’s no shortage of them now, with it gaining popularity of late. And there’s those who, as Simmons also mentioned, use it as a marketing vehicle and a subtle way to promote themselves. But there’s also some who use it as a direct line to fans and people, to communicate and debate and react to the people who are out there. The band Collective Soul, for example- usually, guitarist Dean Roland- often spends time “tweeting” back with fans. And while there are limitations in the Twitter format, there’s no denying the benefit of a direct line to those that support you. And the possible advantages in having such a line, rather than being forced to use handlers or publicists or media.
As someone following the evolution of journalism and media, Twitter is a fascinating study in that evolution.
Middlemen are being continually eliminated, with processes of communication becoming easier by the day. Anyone can have a blog, or be a self-published author. Podcasts can be made and produced in the comfort of one’s home, with nothing more expensive than a microphone. When media outlets were shut out of Iran during the protests over the election, Twitter became a way for people in Iran to get the word out. There was even a massive campaign to get users to change their location to “Tehran” to cover for legitimate Iranian protestors who were really working against the government (think along the lines of “I am Spartacus!”, for those wondering how that ever accomplished anything).
Changing the world? Nope. Greasing the wheels of the train? Sounds good to me.
****
This probably meandered off point. That’s not unusual for one of my posts.
But like I said, I’m not looking to lead a legion of followers to this strange, new-ish web meme(though, really, this guy’s pretty cool). Just looking to change the viewpoint on poor, picked on Twitter a little.
So stop on by Twitter sometime and see what’s up there. It won’t hurt. I promise.
The psychology of a beanball October 2, 2009
Posted by DaveC in sports.4 comments
Baseball is a difficult sport to explain to people who don’t like it. It’s a sport rooted in tradition, and patience, and occasionally antiquated ideas. You either like it, or your don’t. And odds are if you do like it, it’s because your dad liked it, or your brother liked it, or some other familial connection. That’s part of the tradition. It’s a sport meant to be slow and deliberate, to be dissected and analyzed, to occasionally nap to on a Sunday afternoon or evening.
And within that sport, there are individual aspects that are difficult to pass on, even to casual fans. One of them is the idea of batters getting hit.
*****
Simple answer: It’s a guy thing.
Hockey has fighting. Football has tackling. Baseball’s answer to that? More often than not, it’s the “beanball”- when a batter is hit intentionally.
Certainly, there are times when a batter is hit without intent. You’re throwing a ball at that kind of velocity, with the kind of spin and curve that these guys do, it’s occasionally going to slip. And some of baseball’s worst moments have involved someone being struck with a ball- whether that’s a batter at the plate, or a pitcher or fielder on the wrong end of it. But we’re not here to talk about that.
We’re here to puff out our chests, to get angry and vindictive, to be “fanatics” about our teams. Let’s get our caps on, our beverage of choice in hand, and be the armchair analysts.
*****
The Jays got into a bit of a donnybrook a couple of weeks back. You might have heard about it. Jesse Carlson throws behind Jorge Posada, who gets uppity and yells back at him. But he eventually gets to first.
A little later, he comes around to score- and brushes Carlson on the way to the bench. The ump throws Posada out of the game as Carlson takes exception to it, and the benches clear.
I wish I’d watched it live. There hasn’t been a lot to see the last little while with the Jays, as listless effort with nothing to play for has winded down the season.
A novice analysis would conclude that the Jays are at fault. This would be shortsighted. Why did Carlson throw behind Posada? Had the ball slipped? No, it had not. Carlson is a left handed pitcher, and Posada was batting from the right side. For it to slip- and to slip so much that the ball was behind Posada, and NOT hit him- there was clearly intent.
Jays second baseman Aaron Hill, possibly their best player this year, had been hit in the back earlier- with the game well in hand for the Jays. The Blue Jays, as a team, had been hit eight times in recent games against the Yankees. Intentional or not, that’s a large number. The number of retaliations for the boys in blue? Zero. None. Nada.
Baseball’s psychology of beanballs says that “if you hit our guy, we’ll hit yours.” Eye for an eye. A very immature policy at first glance, but upon further review, there is some credence to it. With the risk of injury, there is a certain desire to ‘protect’ your players. If they’re getting hit a lot, and you’re not responding, then other teams may take advantage of it. Not just by pitching more inside and pushing them off the plate, but by ‘beaning’ your best players. Much like how in hockey, one will send goons after the best scorers.
Carlson saw Hill get it. He knew that the Jays had been hit a lot this year. Manager Cito Gaston isn’t the sort to retaliate- and ordinarily, I approve of that policy. But let’s face it- eight-love is a liiiiiiiiittle much to be on the long side of. It was time. And Carlson, who hasn’t done much else this year, redeemed himself with a lot of fans.
He didn’t hit Posada. He threw behind him- which is, in beanball parlance, a warning shot. A “we’re not going to take it anymore”. But Posada’s reaction- getting out of the box and yelling back at Carlson as Jays catcher Rod Barajas came out to keep him away from Carlson- could be charitably described as ‘whiny’. But the game went on.
Posada eventually scored- which, really, is the best revenge for getting hit- but he couldn’t let it go. He hit Carlson on the way to the dugout. The umpire was quick, and immediately ejected the cheap-shotting catcher, but Carlson had already- correctly- taken umbrage, and yelled back. The benches cleared. Punches were probably thrown, as guys jumped in to defend their team, or break up the scuffle.
Testosterone. Cheers and beers. Men being men. Live it. Love it.
*****
Another round. Jays and Red Sox, this time. Divisional opponents. Not really rivals, since success, like agains the Yankees, has only occured on one half of this particular matchup.
The Jays put a pasting on the Red Sox. DH Adam Lind was having an excellent game- a couple of home runs, a bunch of runs driven in.
In the ninth inning, BoSox closer Jonathan Papelbon hits him in the ribs. Hard.
Now, another facet of this ‘beanball’ is a batter getting hit after having a good game, as Lind had. This is a little more childish than the ‘eye for an eye’ philosophy of before, but is still at least a modestly accepted part of the culture. You don’t want your team to be shown up (really, the best response is to play better, but let’s not let logic get in the way of our man-moments).
On the way to the bench, Papelbon walked by Lind, and made a motion, mouthing “my bad” for the cameras to see, showing concern for the wounded Jay. So, it may possibly have not been intentional. Jays fans likely thought otherwise. I know I did at the time.
The next game had Jays ace Roy Halladay on the mound. A lot of the Red Sox regulars were sitting, and there was some call to respond for Lind’s late beaning the night before. And he did. On the first pitch of the second inning, he hit Red Sox DH David Ortiz in the side.
I’ve spoken of Halladay at length before, and this certainly did little to dim the affection of the normal Jays fan towards him. Justice had been served, in the macho culture of baseball. Eye for an eye. You hit our guy, we’ll hit yours.
While I smiled a little at the response- and that it was hopefully-Blue-Jay-for-life Roy Halladay who did it- I couldn’t dismiss the image of Papelbon mouthing “my bad” the night before. Was this the right way? Maybe, or maybe not. But as a sport mean to be dissected over long discourses and discussion, it’s fun to find out.
Punch drunk love September 26, 2009
Posted by DaveC in blogs.1 comment so far
(Written on Friday, posted this morning)
Is it still Thursday?
I don’t think I slept on the flight. I vaguely recall watching some Star Trek, and large portions of In Good Company and Canadian Bacon before touching down in Halifax. Westjet getting satellite TV on their flights was a stroke of genius, it saved me ever going to the iPod or laptop for amusement. I was surprised at the quality of the fare on TV late at night, though that depends on your interpretation of the movies in question. Those are both acceptable “wandering into them on the TV” fare, from my view.
Most of today wasn’t funeral related, we took the chance to visit some family on Dad’s side after a power nap in the morning. As well as finding two more packing mistakes: Discovered that I left my hymnal at home, which wasn’t a huge gaffe. I could recall the exact sequence of how it happened- took out the music to add dress clothes and a jacket, and forgot to put it back in. I’d be playing mostly by ear anyway, and that doesn’t concern me too much on short notice.
The other one- again, not major- was bringing a jacket with a semi-busted zipper. Why do I have this jacket in that first place? I’m not really sure. It will remain a mystery.
My laptop is still on Calgary time, which is disorienting. Between the scattershot sleeping and eating schedules over the last day or two, I think I’m on middle-of-the-Atlantic-ocean time by now, while my stomach is still working on a massive lunch (Two cheeseburgers, a piece of butterscotch cream pie, and finishing fries for two others and pie for one more- I REGRET NOTHING).
The funeral’s Saturday at 2, with more of our aunt’s family coming in for lunch and prep in the morning and afternoon. I’m still feeling the all-night flight, but I’ll be hitting the sack soon enough. I’ve felt like I’m ‘punch-drunk’ most of the day, without really knowing what that feels like, since that’s a state associated with boxing. Though I imagine it’s like this- a constant lull of a headache, no sharpness or ability to focus.
I can’t imagine doing this without family. I’m glad we have so many people here, to have this time with Mom and Dad, driving by the beautiful autumn trees of Nova Scotia, with the occasional rain clouding our view. ‘Bittersweet’ would be the word- nostalgic, sad, glad, all of those things. I remember the good times, even in the midst of this.
We’re here. We’re together. And that’s not bad, isn’t it?
Red eye September 24, 2009
Posted by DaveC in blogs.2 comments
Calgary airport- it’s been a while.
I was a putz going through security, unaware that my copious amount of coinage and sanitzer spray in the alto sax would set off the alarm. It wasn’t the laptop and iPod, through whatever coincidence allowed that to occur. I feel like that’s odd, somehow.
I keep thinking about driving home from work, and the one police van that turned on his siren to get into the turn lane, and then promptly turned it off. I remember doing that in “Police Quest”- hitting the siren just before a red light so I could drive on through without having it end my game. It was kind of amusing to see it in real life.
The last time I went to Nova Scotia was for Nanny’s 80th birthday. This is for her funeral.
I don’t know where my head’s at. Like the writing, it’s scattered, jumping from topic to topic, smashing out pithy one-liners and hoping they bring a smile or a chuckle, so I don’t have to think about the finality of it. I don’t feel like it’s sunk in. Maybe it will when we get there. Maybe I’m compartmentalizing, distracting myself from the reality of it. I could picture myself doing that. But then, I’m not the most unbiased judge at the moment.
Strength, God. That is all I ask. I get the sense we’ll need it.
Giddy-up go September 15, 2009
Posted by DaveC in sports.Tags: blogs, star trek
2 comments
Apparently I write here.
Smarter people than I informed me of this a short time ago, and made note of lack of said writing over the last little while. I, for one, was startled. People read this? Blogs on the interwebs? PREPOSTEROUS.
I don’t think I have anything long enough for a decent entry, so this might wander around some. I’ve got a lot of thoughts that aren’t necessarily in a row, arranged neatly to be looked at and approved of with knowing nods.
I’d have paid good money to have Micky in the room for the end of the Bengals/Broncos game last week. And not just because Gus Johnson may have spontaneously combusted on air making the call. A bunch of great finishes for the first week of the NFL, I’m excited to have my Sundays full of football again.
I’m often thinking about how things play out in the bigger picture, wondering about my own place and the place of others in the universe around me. Recent events around me have gotten me thinking about life and death, and what happens when we’re at the end of the line. Being a geek, I put it in Trek terms, with this quote from Star Trek 2 flashing through in my head: “How we deal with death is at least as important as how we deal with life, wouldn’t you say?” And I happen to agree with that… especially with someone close to us. I’ve been blessed in those terms, to have a stable family life, and friends who’ve always been with me. I’m very thankful for that.
Speaking of Star Trek, I watched Space’s original Star Trek marathon on Labour Day, with the remastered special effects, and really enjoyed it. Certainly, it was a lazy day in front of the television, and there’s some concessions made for the era, but I came away with a new appreciation for classic Trek, seeing more of the subtle-ties and intelligence that you don’t always see on the first glance, when you get caught up in the pastel colours and blocky bridge consoles and glamour shots of the token hot gal.
Shows I’ve got our PVR set to record: The Office, Castle, Dollhouse, 24, with Mad Men and Stargate: Universe as possibilities with people recommending them to me, and Law and Order as another standby, though I only enjoyed some of their episodes last year. I don’t want to commit too many hours to TV with sports already getting a lot of my viewing time, but as someone with an interest in creative endeavours, I’m trying to expand my palette a teeeeeeeeny bit.
There really is nothing like barbecued burgers in September.
I’ll talk to you soon.
The absurdity of hope July 26, 2009
Posted by DaveC in blogs.4 comments
I’m not really sure where this is going to end up. I just know where it is now.
I was out with a friend a while back, and we got to talking about romantic relationships, and dating. It became something of a debate, after we’d gotten caught up on the details of our lives since we’d last talked with any depth.
It was odd that the conversation got there. But it was natural, and comfortable, in ways it might not have been in our prior associations. More than I can recall, I TRIED to make it natural and comfortable, as if it was a subject I could discuss without feeling out of my depth and wanting to run from the room, embarassed.
In any case, we had our catch-up, discussion, and debate, on whether the internet and it’s associated trappings (email, chat, Facebook, etc. etc. ad nauseum) made those kinds of relationships easier or harder. He thought it was harder. I thought it was easier.
The odd thing was, I didn’t disagree with a lot of what he said. In some ways, having these other, less threatening ways to socialize, where you’re not immediately facing someone, has encouraged us to remain in our comfortable shells, behind a keyboard where nothing can hurt us, and where we can project whatever image we like. I have struggled- I DO struggle- with that myself sometimes. It’s easier for me to be here, rather than to put myself on the line in a social setting, with people I don’t know. I need to get out more. I usually enjoy it when I do.
In the right hands, however, I believe connecting online can be a powerful tool, for any kind of relationship. I can speak as to a success story with two of my own friends, who met through a Christian dating service, and are now happily married. I know that my writing, chatting, and podcasting have helped me make connections with people all across the world. And while my one attempt at a long distance romantic relationship didn’t work, I do take positives out of having tried to make it work. You try and take the positives from it, learn and grow.
The trick, I believe, is to not let yourself get trapped into only connecting that way. Your computer, your email, your blogging, should be a tool within your connections and relationships, and not the sole thread by which your relationships exist. To use the words of one Austin Powers (in what may well be the only instance these words have ever been quoted): “We have freedom AND responsibility. It’s a very groovy time.”
I have to say, this finished up much better than I thought it would. I expected maudlin and emo, and got preachy and self-important. Well done, Churchy, well done.
