News Flash! Historic 2008 Turn-A-Round Performance by Young Driver! Says Driver, 'It's the Graphite!'

For those of you who don’t know, it’s Pinewood Derby time for most all Boy Scout troops around the country (or, at least that’s what I’m told). The Pinewood Derby is an interesting little event, and I’d like to devote part of this post to explaining a bit about what goes into it (which, as it turned out, involved a little soul searching) for those who might not be familiar with the process. The other part of this post, of course, is going to be strictly celebration for Connor, who took first place overall this year after not winning one single race in 2007. For a detailed explanation of the regulations and requirements of the Derby, you can check this link out. For a quick overview, read on.

It all begins when the scouts are each given their own kit. Each kit contains a block of wood, some nails which serve for axles, and four plastic wheels. Then they rack their little brains coming up with any car body design that they would like, cut it out, paint it, pound in the axles and wheels, and send ‘er down the track.

Now, the pack leaders DO hand out some suggested methods of increasing your car speed – methods like weighting the cars, polishing the nails, sanding the wheels, and adding graphite to both the inner part of the wheel and the axles. All are completely legal, as long as the resulting car doesn’t violate the weight requirement or the wheel base requirements, or a few other similar rules (again, see the link above).

Not having been in charge of the creation of Connor’s car last year (educated and informed members of my personal circle can guess who was – for other readers, it’s enough to know that it wasn’t me), I was baffled when he lost every race. There just didn’t seem to be any way that he could lose that many – you’d think that he’d have to win against at least ONE other car, if you’d done all you could to increase your speed. Well, as it turned out, Connor’s car prep method had basically consisted of the first paragraph of my overview: cut the wood, nail in the axles, send it down the track.

It’s tough to stand your son's sobbing because he’s had to watch his car get humiliated 18 times in a row. It’s doubly tough for a guy like me who’s had issues with exactly those sorts ‘loserhood’ feelings my whole life.

So, this year I decided to get involved myself and see if that made any difference. Two honors were stake this time – the boys’ and my own. And, or course, the first step in ‘getting involved myself’ was to ask all my friends (the smartest people in the world, comprising physics teachers, musicians, engineers, former race winners – college grads all) what they would do if it was up to them. After sifting through the huge amount of input, two suggestions became clear: weight the car correctly and follow the advice given on how to increase speed. As I implied, these people are brilliant.

I think here would be a good place to break in and address an issue I mentioned in the opening, one that had sort of bothered me about this whole thing. Namely, cheating. Also, did my help on Connor’s car constitute cheating. Prepare to read my argument with myself.

Now, I’m quick to put the fault on myself in most situations (maybe that’s tied into my above mentioned ‘issues’ with feeling like a loser – I’ll let the psychologists out there decide), but I really think that this time, I didn’t do anything wrong. I’d hate to think that Connor won unfairly, so maybe that’s why I’m sensitive about it, but I really can’t find fault with our methods. This event is open to all scouts, after all, and there are plenty of kindergartners that enter. I mean, are you telling me that these tiny little people used the band saw, four different kinds of sand paper, super glue, weighting charts, electric drills, and all the various other pieces of equipment by themselves? Of course not – they had help from a parent.

Really, the question then becomes ‘when should a parent step out of the picture and let the child do it all themselves?’ In the last three years I’ve seen five year olds win the whole thing with a car they obviously didn’t have much to do with (no big deal – I’m less likely to get stressed when little kids win), and I’ve seen the scouts who do extremely well, but who, I think, just maybe kind’a might’a had a bit too much outside help from somewhere. And of course, I’ve also seen those cars that were obviously handed to the child on the day of the race – you can tell these cars because the dads don’t let the sons touch them, the kid just gets to look at them until the father puts the last little tweak on the axles and turns it in to be weighed. So, I guess the jury’s still out on the ‘when should a parent step back’ question, or maybe I’m the only one who’s worrying about it. Whatever.

Anyway, I did try my best to explain to Connor everything we were doing and why we were doing it. He picked out the design, and sat with me when we read about center of gravity and balance. I showed him how the wheels spun on the axles and tried to explain how a smoother, more polished axle would cause less friction and keep the wheels spinning longer. I tried to talk to him about gravity a bit, and told him how I learned something, too, since I hadn’t known that a push (weights in the back) is better than a pull (weights in the front). He got to hold the sandpaper when we polished the axles, he had to sit and help sand the body of the car – all in all, I feel he was adequately involved to warrant his being ecstatic that he won the whole thing. Ok, back to the race…

Well, he raced his car and he won every time. Yeah, I know that that's a bit anticlimactic from a storyteller’s perspective, but there’s really not much else to say. I consulted all my friends, did the work as best as I could, hit a few snags (like when I broke the back end of the car out because I got a little too close to the edge with my gouging tool – yay, wood putty!), and tried to keep Connor involved. In the end, the car was done, we raced, and Connor won.

I guess what I'm really saying is that I think describing the absolutely frantic joy that Connor experienced while running his car back and forth to the race platform for the next heat, the way he sat forward and wrung his hands each time the cars flew by, or the huge smile on his face throughout the whole afternoon, would be impossible.

Best leave that to the imagination, since I couldn’t even begin to do it justice.

756 Is An Ugly Number

I guess the nice thing about writing a piece on the whole #756 thing on my Blog is that no one will most likely read it - I don't think 'The King's Man' is a hot bed of baseball news and gossip.

Still, as I sit back and watch this whole thing unfold, I find I have a unique perspective on events. After all, I've only become involved in the whole 'baseball thing' during the past two years. This Johnny-come-lately sees things differently than most other fans, I've come to realize.

Curt Schilling appears at the top of this entry because his recent comments about the rejuvenated 2007 Barry Bonds (who is, at the time of this writing, 10 homers away from breaking Hammerin' Hank's record) have sort of stuck him in the spotlight....or, maybe the word is 'limelight'.

According to the public record, there's never been much love lost between the two. Schilling takes the position that Bonds is a cheater, both in his off the field life (cheating on his wife), and his on the field life (steroids). Also, not-so-courteous Curt indicates that personally, he's found Bonds to be sort of an ass. Bonds thinks that (along with most of the known world, I've found out) Schilling is kind of...well..narcissistic and a megalomaniac, not to put too fine a point on it. And really, what they think of each other isn't the point.

When I heard on the radio this morning about the latest salvo fired from Schilling, I just wanted to scream, "I hate this frickin' country!' I wish people could just let this thing die. The decision is made, the argument is over, there's nothing left to talk about. Whether Hank Aaron is going to be in attendance (he's already said that he's not) or whether Bud Selig will be there (he's all but said he won't be), whether Bonds (not a mediocre player to start with by any means) stuck a needle in his ass for a few years, or whether he's admitted to it or, who cares at this point? It's a done deal. As I read over this, I'm not sure I'm being clear enough. Maybe this - it's like starving hyenas killing each other over the last dirty, maggoty piece of rotting flesh from an animal that died weeks ago.

All questions of right or wrong aside, I just wish we weren't, as a society, so incredibly eager to keep reanimating and reanimating the decimated corpses of all these 'stories', making them stumble around for our amusement when all they deserve is a quick death, some touching words, and to be left in peace.

If you'd like to read more from Mr. Schilling, check out 38 Pitches, his own personal blog. He's pretty regular with the posts, and a lot of what he has to say is interesting, if only because it comes from someone with so much professional experience.

And, as always, Go Cubs!

Different Strokes

My blog is becoming somewhat of a running commentary on modern teaching. Oh, well.

You can count on being blindsided at least a couple times a day doing this job, but this one was special. Sad and depressingly special.

A student was walking around the classroom, asking his peers to feel his forehead. He thought he had a fever, and was polling people to see what they thought. He's a good kid - he's in my Special Ed. English class (not legally a Special Education class of course, but for all intents and purposes. It's a class made up of all the upper level students who failed English 9 the first time), and he's one of the more talented ones. Dresses in black, gauges his ears, wants to be a tattoo artist. He might make it, too. I've seen his stuff and it's good.

Anyway, his fellows thought he was, in fact, running a fever. They advised him to go to the nurse's office. "A fever's a guaranteed ticket home," one student said, laughing. I played along, agreeing and telling him, "Yeah, head down there, man, and see what they say. If you have a fever, I'm sure they'll let you go."

"Yeah, I know," the future tattoo artist said, "that's why I don't want to go down there. I don't like it at home - I'd rather be sick here."

And I said, "Oh."

I Wish I Had More To Say

Seems like I always have a lot to say in my head, but when I sit down to write, it all goes away.

Not much to report over the last week or so. Got my tax return back, but most of that will go towards paying for my new car ('new', of course, being one of those words that depends completely on situation and perception).

School is sort of stagnating. We're just about finished with Romeo and Juliet, which I've approached through reading/acting groups this year. It went well, and I think that at any other school it might have gone great. I'm realizing more and more that the students here at school just aren't all that bright, and that they aren't interested in much of anything that happens beyond the town limits. I'm sure other teachers would disagree with me here, but they're the 'glass is half full' crowd and they're wrong. Sorry, that's just the truth. Anyway, once we're done with the play, we'll start writing more - myths, personal narratives, and research papers. That should at least give me a larger sense of purpose. At the very least, it'll change things up. Maybe it's just the February blahs, but I'm not entirely convinced of that.

My girlfriend scrubbed out my teacup the other day without asking, and now it tastes like bleach. Now, I've never been a long-term pipe smoker, but I'm told that the WORST thing you can do is to clean the bowl of your pipe. Apparently, you need all that carbon scoring and old, soaked-in smoke to really enjoy the best pipe possible. In my experience, teacups are the same way. The more stained and tea-soaked the cup, the better the tea. I mean, it's not like there's a lot of germs in there. In fact, I think some ancient tribes used to use tea as a sterilizing agent....yeah, that's the ticket. Plus, aesthetically, it just looks better in dark, mottled brown - more loved, cherished, and desired. Not that I have inappropriate relations with my tea.

I've started reading the core books in the Star Wars literary canon, mostly because the books in the Forgotten Realms set are far, far, far too many in number. Star Wars looks like something I can finish in maybe six months, without terrible demands on my finances or free time. The Realms would take years. So, adding those in, here's a list of the books I'm currently reading:

Truce At Bakura
Pretty good so far, although (no offense intended to any readers) it's pretty clear that a female wrote it. That's not a bad thing, it's just a bit odd to hear Han described through from an obviously female perspective. Otherwise, great! The Ssi-Ruuvi are nasty.

Teacher Man
This is a book that anyone who has ever educated children (be it Sunday school or college literature) will enjoy. Frank McCourt is amazing, and Teacher Man really strikes at the heart of teaching. Plus, it's crap-your-pants funny.

Crime and Punishment
Not much to say here. One of my friends donated his entire supply of classic literature books to the McAlpine Memorial Library, and there are quite a few titles there that I've always wanted to read. So, Crime and Punishment. Yeah. The only thing I know about Dostoevsky is that he's the one who said 'The degree of civilization in a society can be judged by observing its prisoners." Or something like that. I found that quote intriguing, and so I'm giving it a whirl.

Cubs are Good Sports (Usually)

Well, baseball season is almost here again!

Although I spent the first 28 years of my life not caring/hating all things sport-ish, I find that now I'm actually excited that (as of this writing) pitchers and catchers report to spring training in 22 days! This drastic turnaround in my attitude can be laid squarely at the feet of fantasy baseball. Yes, fantasy baseball - what some call the refuge of wannabees, has beens, or never weres.

That's a bit harsh, in all honesty. Most of the guys in my league are pretty cool. Of course, there are a few former high school sports stars involved who, in my opinion, are still trying to recapture on paper the glory days that their beer swollen stomachs won't allow them to enjoy on the field anymore. But, on the whole, I'm very happy with the group of owners that I'm in competition with.

I can't really explain it - I just find baseball intensely interesting now. I wonder what the head-doctors would tell me about why this is. After all, I'm the kid who used to cry on the way to Waverly Little League practice, who hated all four years of it (I was a left fielder with the Dodgers, with a career HR total of 2), who danced with joy when I didn't have to participate anymore. And now I'm involved in deep discussions about whether Scott Kazmir would be a better pick for my team than John Smoltz. Smoltzy's expensive and getting older, but those strikeout totals can't be ignored. He also has a pretty solid WHIP. But Kazmir. . . he's a third year pitcher, and everyone knows they're the ones who break out. But he's in his fourth contract year, which means he's a short term buy. . . .and on, and on, and on.

Maybe it's not a mystery. Although I didn't pursue a career in mathematics, I've always liked messing around with numbers and organizing things. When I used to play D&D the numbers crunching was a pretty big part of the enjoyment. Magic: The Gathering was another hobby that brought in these factors - many was the time that I'd look at my cards and decide that I needed to re-reorganize everything again - never make a new deck, just move the cards around. Fantasy baseball takes these parts and combines them with the excitement of competing for money. It lets you analyze in-depth, run numbers, and feel some serious accomplishment when you guess right. Heck, I predicted that the Cubs would pick up either Alex Rodriguez or Alfonso Soriano when everyone said I was nuts. Maybe most importantly, though, is that I'm starting to realize watching baseball is great fun. Weird.

I mentioned the Cubs above, and I should probably end this by pointing out that I am, in fact, a Cubs fan. Not quite as rabid as a lot of the 'Next Year's Team' crowd, but I'd say I root for them hardest of all major league teams. Which is one reason why I found this site so darn funny. Over the next few weeks, this guy is going to rank the top 10 worst Cubs of all time, and he's a big fan. Should be a blast. Those Cub fans, as I mentioned in the title, are pretty good sports.

Unless you mention that this year might not be the one....then they get nasty.

The Penguin Joke

Two penguins were standing on an iceberg, and the first penguin said to the second, "You know, you look like you're wearing a tuxedo."

The second penguin turned to him and replied, "What makes you think that I'm not?"

Unfair Choices

As a male, I often use the men's restroom when in public. And, as all men know, that's really a crap shoot . . . (beat). . . but seriously, folks.

The non-male members of my audience might not know what I'm talking about, but I'll bet my brothers out there do. There's nothing quite like walking into a public stall, shutting the door, and then turning around to find that some previous occupant definitely needs more work on his sharpshooter's badge. Normally, though, this isn't a problem - I've never been a fan of Bowl games without the home field advantage, if you take my meaning, so I can pretty much just conduct my upright business while trying not to add to the situation.

School, though - that's a different story. Out in public, I don't worry about who might use the bathroom next since I'll most likely never meet them - and if they're waiting behind me, I can kind of give them a shake of the head as I leave and say something like, 'Be careful in there - it's not pretty.' But at school, people rarely wait in line and give you that right of first refusal. They see you walk in the general direction of the office bathroom, and you're nailed - any mess in there when you walk out is yours.

Why am I forced to make the choice between a charity cleanup operation or possible disgust and ridicule from my coworkers? And why do I care? After all, one of my so-called 'fellow professionals' obviously didn't. It's unfair.

Sorry if I ruined your lunch.