A Superior Inferiority Complex?

Among the many responsibilities placed upon the senior students of North Texas Aikido, being in the rotation to teach the beginners' class and occasionally fill-in for the Dojo-Cho are high on my list of favorites. On the nadir of that curve is the admonition to be on a constant vigil against developing an inflated ego as a result of being placed in that elevated position of authority.

An established piece of my personality is an odd conflict between my personal ambitions and my desire to abandon self and "defeat my ego." Concurrent with my hope to become established as a teacher on a regular basis, is a desire to make myself almost anonymous in a crowd of Aikido practitioners of higher rank. At the same time that I seek status, I crave humility, and these two desires wage a heated battle for the rights to hoist their flag over me.

This conflict has been growing steadily for the last few years, as I've found myself more and more in a position of authority, particularly in the absence of our most senior student who has been pursuing his post-graduate degree. Of the Nidans (2nd degree black belts) at our dojo, I am the second from the bottom of the totem pole, as it were, because we factor in such criteria as how long we've been training overall into our concept of seniority. There are several other people of the same rank as myself, but higher in seniority above me due to their greater number of years of training and knowlege of the art. School, work, health issues and other personal matters have limited their ability to attend classes on a regular basis, leaving the remaining black belts to shoulder the responsibilities that we all have to the dojo and our fellow students.

If I sound as if I'm complaining, please understand that it's not out of any sense of feeling put upon. Indeed, it's this very atmosphere that feeds my sense of ambition and a desire to make a place for myself. If I were looking for the proverbial "lucky break" to establish myself and cement my position of authority at the dojo, this would surely be it. The problem is that I have come to realize that these ambitions don't come from the best aspects of my personality. Rather, I see it as a sign of weakness that I always seek to be in charge, to control the situation to my liking and feed an already turgid ego. It is during these times of introspection that I find myself wishing to strip myself of rank and any pretense to authority and subject myself to selfless training under a sea of superiors. On some occasions, it's driven me to the brink of abandoning my training altogether.

When teaching class, or placed in any other position of representing my Sensei or the dojo, it's easy to seem certain, and etiquette dictates that Kohai shouldn't question or correct their seniors out of respect.
New students aren't familiar with that particular point of etiquette, and I frequently find myself wondering:
What if I'm wrong?
Am I injecting too much of my own perspective into the teaching?
Am I up here trying to teach, or am I just trying to impress the other students?
What if I'm challenged in some way that I can't handle?

I frequently discuss my worries with my Sensei, and for his part, he has gone a long way toward reassuring me that my concerns are natural, healthy and perhaps by their very existence, an indicator that I haven't yet crossed over into meglomania. My freshly-graduated Sempai has also assured me that he will soon reestablish a regular presence in the dojo, and listening to my concerns, has graciously (and jokingly) offered to put me back in my place.

Coming up for air

I've finally completed the current and possibly final expansion pack to "URU: Ages beyond MYST," and feel the same sort of melancholy that fills me when I come to the end of a good book, knowing that the story is over - at least for now.

For me, the main attraction to the MYST series has always been exploration and discovery, as though I've stumbled upon an ancient and technologically advanced civilization in which the inhabitants have suddenly disappeared. Left behind are the artifacts, libraries and mechanical wonderments that will tell the story of their lives, if only I can determine how to operate them.

Usually, as in most games of this genre, a player gets some sort of instant gratification when the correct sequence of switches, levers or other variables are in place. In this iteration of the URU saga, there were three puzzles that required waiting ... waiting! ... for confirmation of the correct input. Granted, in real life, glue doesn't dry instantly or bread bake completely the moment it is put into an oven, either, but this is fantasy. Along with the usual suspension of disbelief comes an expectation of suspension of the more mundane physics of everyday life. I suppose the game developers thought that it would further build a sense of reality into an already-immersive experience, but speaking solely for myself, I found the waiting to be real kill-joy. During those moments of waiting, the duration of which was approximately 15 minutes per, I found myself babysitting the game rather than playing it. Only one of those three puzzles mercifully provided you with an obvious countdown, giving the player a visual clue as to the time remaining before the next event would occur. Other puzzles relied on a measure of faith on the part of the player that he or she had read the clues correctly. These, and all the other puzzles or tasks are so seamlessly integrated into the game, that they don't seem so much like puzzles as they do a challenge to breathe new life into the sleeping worlds- and they can be maddeningly complex or deceptively simple.

I have the patience of a five-year-old on Christmas Eve, so I couldn't have solved those puzzles without the assistance of URU Obsession, a repository of MYST-related knowledge and speculation.

As with all the games in the MYST canon, the visual detail is gorgeous and provides a feast for the eyes that is limited only by the capabilities of the player's video card. Similarly, the music and ambient audio in the game is rich and surrounds the player (quite literally, if the hardware supports it properly) with a sense of actually being in the amazing and diverse environments for which Cyan Worlds is famous. Prepare to push the limits of your hardware. Cyan is notorious for making your current setup obsolete with their constant pursuit of complete environmental immersion.

It is this truly immersive quality that so greatly attracts me to the games, and leaves me feeling almost homesick between installments.

I hope I get to go back someday.

Ride to Work Day

[Edit: Image removed because it really screws up the page layout]
You did remember to ride your motorcycle to work today, right?

Worldwide Motorcycle Ride to Work Day is Wednesday

Motorcycle riders 13th annual commuting Ride to Work day is Wednesday, July 21st.. Participation in the yearly demonstration is estimated to triple the number of riders on the road, and help reveal to the public that motorcyclists come from all walks of life, work in all occupations, and range in age from teenagers to grandparents. Motorcycle clubs and organizations worldwide actively encourage members to ride their cycles to work on this day.

Each week day in the United States, more than eighty million cars and light trucks commute on American roads, but only about 200,000 of the over six million registered cycles are regularly used for such daily transportation. Adding more motorcycles to the mix can help make urban parking easier and traffic flow better, according to Ride to Work, a non-profit advocacy organization. Studies have also shown that urban motorcyclists reach their destinations faster than those using automobiles, and that most motorcycles consume less resources per mile than typical automobiles.

"Riding to work on this day shows the positive value of motorcycling for transportation. For many people, riding is a socially responsible form of personal mobility that saves energy, helps the environment and provides a broad range of other public benefits," stated Andy Goldfine, this year's event organizer.

On Wednesday's 13th annual Ride to Work Day, motorcyclists worldwide seek:
- Employer recognition and support for motorcycling
- Public and government awareness of the positive value of motorcycling.


The Ride to Work nonprofit advocacy program can be reached at: POB 1072, Proctor, Minnesota, 55810 USA.

The Ride to Work Organization’s Mission: To advocate and support the use of motorcycles for transportation, and to provide information about transportation riding to the public.

Ride to Work Day Participating Countries include: Germany, Philippines, England, Germany, Israel, Turkey, Ecuador, United States, and many others.

The latest issue of 'The Daily Rider' newsletter (#6)

A brief history of Ride to Work Day

A transportation motorcycling fact sheet


For more information about Ride to Work Day, visit http://www.ridetowork.org
or call 218.722.9806 for Contact Persons Christine Holt cholt@ridetowork.org or Andy Goldfine agoldfine@ridetowork.org.

Living with Carriers

My youngest, always the energetic type who's hearing cannot parse words like "stop" or "hush" or "please quit standing on my groin," was unusually sedate Saturday on the way to my company picnic.  Ordinarily, I'd be wishing for hair to sprout on my bald pate so I could pull it back out again when my two boys start getting bored in the back seat of our aging Mercury wagon. He just sat quietly in the back, taking in the scenery through slightly squinting eyes. 
 
It didn't take long for my wife and I to notice the lack of violence in the back seat.
 
"You alright, Hon?" my wife asked
"I tired," he replied, as always sounding like a serial TV-show Indian from the 50's.  It wouldn't be out of the character for him to spout "we smoke-em peace pipe." "Being" verbs don't come easily to him as yet.
 
He had been restless the night before, so we shrugged and decided to take advantage of the 50% reduction in parental stress by listening to the car radio for the first time that we could remember since having children.
 
When we finally arrived at the lake house for the company party, my wife (ever resourceful) produced a digital thermometer seemingly from nowhere and proceded to take his temperature.
"Aha!" she proclaimed, discovering the source of our temporary reprieve.  Our youngest son had a fever of 101.5, damning him (and by extension) one of us from the day's activities.
 
Well ... it wasn't me.
 
Later, after returning home exhausted from constant thrill-seeking on the lake, we noticed that he was the color of a boiled lobster, in spite of being cloistered away in the back bedroom of the lake-house all day with my wife.
 
"Stick out your tongue," I instructed.  Dutifully, he proceded to eject an object that only a fan of French cheese would find attractive.  I recoiled at the sight of his heavily-coated tongue and began running down a checklist in my head.
 

• Scarlet coloring from head to toe
• Fever
• Not too distant run-in with strepthroat

Oh, criminy, I thought. My child has Scarlet Fever.  I managed to contract scarlet fever while on vacation with my parents when I was probably only five or six years old. Vividly, I recall how unpleasant it was, as well.
 
Apparently, he wasn't nearly so bothered by my memories as I was, because his only complaint was itching all over and a headache.  By Monday morning, his coloration had mostly normalized, but he was still splotchy in patches and still running a mild fever.  His doctor gave him a shot to treat him for the strep virii in his little body, and sent him on his way with the admonition to stay away from other children for another 24 hours. Today, he's probably back to driving my wife nuts again, unable to shout at him as he bounces off the walls at our house. She's home with him today, not only because he needs the supervision, but because she herself started exibiting symptoms of strep yesterday and has completely lost her voice, to boot.
 
Come to think of it, I'm starting to get a headache myself ...

Neglected Love-Child

Like any hobby born as a love-child to Boredom and Free-time, my little corner of the blogosphere of gone a bit fallow in the shadow of all the work and social activities going on in my life right now. Trust me, you don't want to see what my house looks like, either. As things settle back down, I should be back to my regular schedule.

The Great Dumbing Down

Let me let you inside my head for just a second. Not too far, mind you - just past the dusty stacks of mathmatical knowledge left untouched since my college days and down the hall to the door marked "Pet Peeves." Do be careful with the doorknob though. Brass conducts heat quite well....

Once upon a time, the vast and ever-expanding universe of knowledge we call the internet was solely the domain (old usage of the term) of scholars and intellectuals, hidden away in the halls of learning and used only by those interested in the rapid dissemination of information. As such, there were certain protocols and points of etiquette associated with its use, consistent with the decorum reserved for use among intellectuals and scholarly peers.

Fast forward to the present-day, when the "'Net" is nearly as ubiquitous as belly buttons. This, in and of itself, is a Good Thing. Unfortunately, however, etiquette and spelling were among the victims of the violent explosion of popularity that the internet has enjoyed.

I'm not talking about typos, for heaven's sake - we all make them from time to time. No, I'm specifically referring to a lack of basic rules of grammar, punctuation and spelling. Granted, the internet has been opened up to all strata of society, including quite a few people who have never needed to use a keyboard to communicate previously, but it's no excuse for not at least making the effort to learn the proper use of one's native written language. Rapid access and instant communication has led to a shorthand of sorts, called "netspeak," which only serves to make excuses for sloppy writing and lazy, unintelligent communication. I find myself reminded of the whole "Ebonics" debate. (shudder)

Rather than raising the collective conscience by holding the masses to a higher standard of learning, we are allowing this decline to spread through ambivalence to the problem - or worse - ignorance that there's a problem at all. We are becoming a society of idiot savants - illiterates in control of an amazing wealth of knowledge.

Personal irritants of high order (culled from recent communication):

"Your an idiot" Maybe I am, but when the intent is to mean "You are an idiot," use the contraction "you're" , or just spell it out properly. "Your" is posessive, as in "your lack of education."

"R U Nutz?" Increasingly, yes - especially when I get asked in this less-than-zero manner. Instant messaging-level communication is barely above grunting in my book. I'll overlook the cutesy spelling of "nuts" for now.

"Your to hung up about this." Most likely, yes. There's that "your" thing again, followed by another common error - using "to" instead of "too." Yes, it could be a typo, but given the rest of the email as a barometer, I'm going with the assumption that the author got through college strictly on his ability to catch a football and nothing else. For the record: TO - towards a destination or given state. TOO - very or also. TWO - the number 2. It comes after one and before three, the grade-level by which you should already know this information.

If intelligent speech and writing skills make you look intelligent, what image do you suppose such a poor grasp of language projects?

I could go on, but the vein in my forehead is throbbing painfully and looks like I'm signaling a left turn onto the Anuerism Bypass.

I'm a Menace to Society

Personality Tests Don't Lie ...

Wackiness: 72/100
Rationality: 38/100
Constructiveness: 28/100
Leadership: 36/100


You are a WEDF--Wacky Emotional Destructive Follower. This makes you a menace to society, depending on how you channel your energies. You chew your fingers and have an addictive personality. Properly guided, you can be enormously productive--otherwise you run amok, stir up trouble, and generally have a hell of a good time.

To your friends, you are a source of relentless entertainment. You often get into trouble, but you almost always find a way out. You are strangely popular and feed off others' energy. You live hard, seize the day, and although your more sober friends would like to see you settled down, you generally have fewer regrets and better memories than they do. Your tenet is that, at the end of the day, one regrets only what one didn't try. You are right.

You could benefit from outside help in balancing your highs and lows. Or perhaps cutting back on the caffeine.

I'm surrounded by clandestine talent

If you ever want to find out how mediocre your skills are in a particular area, discuss or try and display them among your coworkers or circle of friends.

For instance, if you believe you are a tolerable guitar-player, take your guitar to work and find out how many classically trained virtuosos are slumming at the desks near you. After they inspect your guitar (retuning it strictly by ear, of course, while looking at you quizzically over your "custom tuning") and whip out a little Vivaldi, they'll hand it back, expecting you to do the same or better. After all, why else did you bring your guitar to work, right? Try not to trip over your face on your way back to your cubicle.

Or perhaps you're proud of the fact that you just repaired a hole in the sheetrock of your house. Casually bringing it up in conversation will earn you an audio blueprint from the salesman in the front office who recently added on another bathroom to his house, the finer details of the new foundation, framing, plumbing and fixtures pushing your little triumph into the "I can change my own roll of toilet paper" category.

Maybe you think you're a clever thinker or have a budding talent at writing and ... Ah ... oh well, crap... I've whined enough. Just go read my friend's brand new blog.

No, really, I'll still be here when you get back.

Smells like the Feet of Angels...

My employer just returned tanned and rested from a two-week sailing excursion around Corsica, Nice, Monaco and other lovely European places surrounded by impossibly-blue water. Along with all the pictures and postcard-souveniers, she also brought a round-wooden box that contained a cheese-sampler from France.

Anxiously, several of us stood around while she removed the plastic shrink-wrap that sealed in the freshness - and to some of our revulsion and horror - SMELL inside.

The French have long been known - and occasionally ridiculed - for their attraction bordering on obsession with stinky cheese. Our delicate american noses frequently turn up and away with watering eyes from the outhouse-on-an-asparagus-farm odors that emanate from some of their more popular frommages.

My Aikido instructor has been enjoying an interest in fine cheeses lately himself, and recently brought a sack into the dojo for refrigeration until classes were over and he could go home and share them with his wife. Peering into the sack at the end of the day's training, I staggered back, eyes watering from the smell. My eyes told me that he had two portions of cheese in the white sack, but my nostrils would have had me believe that I'd just stuck my face into a sack of dirty diapers. "Hard to imagine it's edible, isn't it?" he asked, smiling at my obvious discomfort.

Considering how very involved the nose is in the processing of taste, I find it very hard to imagine the mindset of the first person who decided that edible curd and the smell of raw sewage were somehow not inconsistent.

I have some friends who are quite the gourmands and bon vivants of high caliber, and they, too are attracted to the juxtaposition of the French curd, and are quite well versed on the topic. One related to me an experience while at a meal in France, of observing a woman delightedly taking in all the pungent odors at a cheese buffet. Selecting her favorite, she proclaimed the effluvia "Smells like the feet of angels."

Judging by the smell in the company break-room right now, Heaven could use a foot-bath.

Therapy

The other post that fell off the face of the blogosphere yesterday was a self-indulgent, "poor-me" missive that was of little interest to anyone.

I am beginning to suspect that the family curse of clinical depression may be creeping its way into my life, as it has with several of my family members. Ordinarily, I self-medicate with heavy doses of perspective and reality - as well as faith in a loving God, the light of which usually burns through the darkness of those periods of withdrawal and irrational lonliness. No pills for me ... yet.

This little blog o' mine is as much therapy as anything, forcing me to reread and distill my thoughts and get inside my own head and outside my self in a way that sheds an interesting perspective on who I am and what I believe.

There ... see? I feel much better now.

How Frustrating...

Yesterday, I had typed up a well-researched and insightful article* into the increasingly polarized and machiavellian turn politics have taken in this age of sound-bytes and spoon-fed ideology for the deliberately ignorant masses. Too often, I run into the MTV generation who can't tell you where Washington is on a map, but will tell you we have to clean it out. This demographic can't explain the differences between party platforms (other than in vague generalities), but will tell you that "theirs is evil and ours is good." They know this, of course, because some vacuous, but pretty entertainer has told them so during a five-second sound bite between rap videos.

We have an seemingly popular movie in theatres right now feeding on - and in turn fueling - this ignorance with with glaring inaccuracies, misinformation, distortions and outright fabrications (ironically, the very things the film alleges to expose in its subject matter). I don't have to tell you the name of the film, nor do I really have to relist all the sources, pro and con, that I spent so much time looking up yesterday. You can read a transcript of the movie here.

There is already a groundswell of internet sites dedicated to pointing out the falsehoods of the film with actual documentation, often the very same documentation used in the film - but this time unedited to fit the preconceived theme of the movie.

The original post, however wasn't entirely dedicated that film. Rather, the point of the article was my concern the movie was symptomatic of an attack-mentality that has pervaded the entire political scene, particular among the younger set.

No longer can we disagree politely, or sit down to work out our differences. These days, the tactic is to get a few soundbites of outrageous hyperbole into the vacant minds of ignorant masses who eat it up and spit it back out to passers-by.

Make no mistake, both sides do this to some degree, but it is always the political minority that makes the most noise.

During any administration, the minority party will grumble and find fault with just about anything that sheds a positive light on the majority party. Plenty of good legislation has been killed over the years by petulant and jealous minority parties. My point yesterday was not this particular trait of human nature- you can watch two siblings compete for their parents' attentions in much the same way.

No ... my point was that as we allow ourselves to become increasingly polarized, there is a increasing tendency to take the civility out of civilisation. With each of the successive administrations that I have been around to witness, the attacks on the sitting president and his policies have become more pointed, personal and vitriolic. The more acrimonious the attacks, the more polarized and slavish the supporters become in response - both sides swingly blindly in the dark, hoping for a knockout. We are becoming less and less the melting pot that was the envy of the world, and more and more an "us versus them" society.

Sometimes, I think we forget that we're all supposed to be on the same team ...



~~~
*That article, alas, fell victim to my login-session timing out and disappeared the momement I hit "publish post." Its electrons are doubtless being recycled as we speak into a spam email for penis enlargement or a some insipid rant about how Bush is a modern-day equivalent of Hitler.