The bowl season is now well under way. Today and tomorrow you can overdose on college football if you want. There are so many bowls I wonder why there isn't Campbell's Soup Bowl. A Kellogg's Cereal Bowl. Or a Charmin Toilet Bowl.
There will never be a true National Championship. There's too much money in the system the way it is. So long as there isn't a true championship playoff series, teams and alumni of different schools can claim they were better but didn't get a chance.
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31 December 2010
25 December 2010
Renewing the faith
Here's a sweet story about generosity and kindness and how a benefactor learned it really is better to give than to receive.
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21 December 2010
The world has changed...
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| The Edmund Gwenn version |
But I also thought — and this is sad — about how the world has changed. In the first act, Cleo (Theresa Harris, the housekeeper, lets Phillip Gailey (John Payne), a single man with no children of his own who Mrs. Walker (Maureen O'Hara) has never met, take little Susan Walker (Natalie Wood) into his apartment to watch the Thanksgiving Parade.
Neither the housekeeper or Mrs. Walker is the least bit concerned.
The world has changed, and not for the better.
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19 December 2010
The Power of Ritual
About 40 years ago I was playing a lot of chess. I was nothing special, but I could beat just about anyone who didn’t play in tournaments. Bobby Fischer had just become World Champion, and chess was booming in the United States. The Bay Area was a thriving greenhouse of chess talent, perhaps second only to New York City, because of its proximity to the University of California in Berkeley, and Cal’s arch-nemesis, Stanford, on the other side of the Bay.
One Spring, I went to a master chess tournament in a bar on College Avenue called “The Loft.” I recognized a few familiar faces, but no one I had met. I watched a few games. To someone who has never played tournament chess before, watching a chess game must seem duller than watching Jello coagulate, but to someone who plays, it's a mind-boggling torrent of combat.
I don’t remember exactly how I introduced myself to Dennis Fritzinger, but I do remember that afternoon, I got him to sign a tournament book of games, a tournament in which he had scored respectably. Dennis was the first chess master I’d met who was more than polite to me. He answered my questions about his game that day, and when I saw him at another tournament, he remembered me, and said hello first.
One Spring, I went to a master chess tournament in a bar on College Avenue called “The Loft.” I recognized a few familiar faces, but no one I had met. I watched a few games. To someone who has never played tournament chess before, watching a chess game must seem duller than watching Jello coagulate, but to someone who plays, it's a mind-boggling torrent of combat.
I don’t remember exactly how I introduced myself to Dennis Fritzinger, but I do remember that afternoon, I got him to sign a tournament book of games, a tournament in which he had scored respectably. Dennis was the first chess master I’d met who was more than polite to me. He answered my questions about his game that day, and when I saw him at another tournament, he remembered me, and said hello first.
10 December 2010
We all need our cookies
Recently I joined the East Bay PEN, the Professional Experience Network, an organization composed of professionals who help other professionals. Couple of weeks ago, I attended my first General Meeting. Although I'm a new member and I haven't yet completed my training, my résumé coach, Mr. Ben English, looked me square in the eyes and said, "You're going to attend this meeting."
We'd only just met, but I knew this much: if Mr. Ben English says I'm attending a meeting, if I know what's good for myself, I'm gonna attend that meeting.
I sat quietly, trying to get the lay of the land. Because I was the FNG, I didn't feel it was my place to say anything. (Vietnam vet slang for "Freaking New Guy." Except they used another word instead of "Freaking." You never wanted to go out on patrol with the FNG because he's green and he's gonna get you killed.) Much of the meeting concerned attendance. Why were members dropping out after a few weeks? What could the organization do to serve them better (and reduce the rate of attrition)?
We'd only just met, but I knew this much: if Mr. Ben English says I'm attending a meeting, if I know what's good for myself, I'm gonna attend that meeting.
I sat quietly, trying to get the lay of the land. Because I was the FNG, I didn't feel it was my place to say anything. (Vietnam vet slang for "Freaking New Guy." Except they used another word instead of "Freaking." You never wanted to go out on patrol with the FNG because he's green and he's gonna get you killed.) Much of the meeting concerned attendance. Why were members dropping out after a few weeks? What could the organization do to serve them better (and reduce the rate of attrition)?
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