Thursday, January 19, 2012
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Bleeding reading.
This is a set-up post for my next post, because it would have been awkward to combine them.
When I was a freshman at Christian Brothers Academy in Syracuse I was required to take a developmental reading course. The teacher was Mr. Molessa, a layman. Naturally, we called him The Mole. He was kind of nerdy, but a nice guy. Unfortunately, he diminished my reading skills forever.
We took some tests and I was able to read at 2200 wpm with 90% comprehension. That probably sounds more impressive than it was. I was a good test taker, and I had a technique. I'd read the first and last sentences only of a paragraph, and usually I then knew what the paragraph was about. If I didn't, I skimmed the rest of it.
One day we were doing some exercise and The Mole said, "Class, look at how quickly Mr. Freund's eyes go back and forth." And I was like, "What?! My eyes go back and forth?"
SCREEECH!
That put the brakes on. From that moment on whenever I try to read fast I can feel my eyes creaking back and forth in their sockets. Fortunately, most of the time I am content to read slowly and savor the writing.
All I wanted to say for the next post is that you can read faster with no loss of comprehension... and maybe better comprehension... if you don't speak the words in your mind as you read them.
When I was a freshman at Christian Brothers Academy in Syracuse I was required to take a developmental reading course. The teacher was Mr. Molessa, a layman. Naturally, we called him The Mole. He was kind of nerdy, but a nice guy. Unfortunately, he diminished my reading skills forever.
We took some tests and I was able to read at 2200 wpm with 90% comprehension. That probably sounds more impressive than it was. I was a good test taker, and I had a technique. I'd read the first and last sentences only of a paragraph, and usually I then knew what the paragraph was about. If I didn't, I skimmed the rest of it.
One day we were doing some exercise and The Mole said, "Class, look at how quickly Mr. Freund's eyes go back and forth." And I was like, "What?! My eyes go back and forth?"
SCREEECH!
That put the brakes on. From that moment on whenever I try to read fast I can feel my eyes creaking back and forth in their sockets. Fortunately, most of the time I am content to read slowly and savor the writing.
All I wanted to say for the next post is that you can read faster with no loss of comprehension... and maybe better comprehension... if you don't speak the words in your mind as you read them.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Odd Days: Hair shmair!
In response to overwhelming demand (three people) for a photo of me in my wig, I am posting two such photos.
My sister has managed to perfect the sexy mussed-hair look while wearing her long luxurious blond wig. I attempted to duplicate that sexy look. Here is the result:
That is exactly what I feared I would look like after dropping my roller bag on my head.
On the other hand, if I stand in front of the mirror and spend 20 minutes positioning the damn thing, then comb it, then refrain from moving my head (let alone going outside where there might be a breeze), I can get it to look like this:
I *really* hope you are not tired of the hair theme, because I will soon have more hair adventures to blog about.
My sister has managed to perfect the sexy mussed-hair look while wearing her long luxurious blond wig. I attempted to duplicate that sexy look. Here is the result:
That is exactly what I feared I would look like after dropping my roller bag on my head.
On the other hand, if I stand in front of the mirror and spend 20 minutes positioning the damn thing, then comb it, then refrain from moving my head (let alone going outside where there might be a breeze), I can get it to look like this:
I *really* hope you are not tired of the hair theme, because I will soon have more hair adventures to blog about.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Rejecting success.
Several days ago I stumbled on this quote:
When I first read the quote I wondered what kind of jibber-jabber it was. But after a while I thought, "Hey, I did that."
When I was 20 or a bit south, I spent quite a bit of time thinking about how I wanted to live my life. I'd pretty much screwed it up to that point and thought that having clear goals would help. I made two decisions that informed my life.
One was that I didn't want to do what everyone else was doing; e.g., woodenly get degrees, get a job and climb the ladder, get married and have children, retire, die. It was, and is, easy enough to see how that goes since so many people do it. Besides that, I've never felt like being one of the cogs.
The other and more difficult question, though related, was whether I wanted to succeed in a traditional way - make money, be famous, whatever - or concentrate on enjoying my life, whichever way it went. I chose the latter.
So I guess I rejected success as it is implied in the quote, but, even considering the miseries, failures, and embarrassments, I have greatly enjoyed my life.
Maybe there is some truth in the quote.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Update: BetOnline.
This is an update on my online gambling misadventure with BetOnline.com (posted 12/06/2010). After a while I decided to try to get my money first, then see what happens. I capitulated and sent them all the information they'd requested. Today I received via FedEx a check for $997. My original investment was $200, so thanks 49ers!
Now to see what happens.
Now to see what happens.
Insta-thought: Peeing on the enemy.
As you've probably heard by now, the U.S. and Afghanistan and probably the entire world are in a tizzy because of an heinous act. Apparently (all the facts are not in yet) three Marine snipers shot a couple of Taliban and then peed on their dead bodies!
Okay, that's distasteful and unnecessary and it will probably rile up a lot of people, but WTF? The Marines just killed these guys, and now they're in really deep doo-doo because they showed disrespect to their dead bodies? Have our values gone that crazy?
There are way too many wars, and maybe one reason is that we ascribe a kind of dignity to them, mighty warriors fighting for just causes. But there is no dignity in war, no glamor, no glory. War is hate and blood and guts spilling out and mud and shame and dirt and piss.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Just wondering.
Is it immoral to be happy when your enemies kill each other? Because I sure have been enjoying the Republican debates.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Odd Days: The Wig
I decided to wear a wig when I traveled to Columbus yesterday. I didn't want to traumatize my sister any more than she's already traumatized. And to be honest, I didn't want to traumatize any of my fellow travelers either.
But then it gradually dawned on me that I was the one most likely to be traumatized. What if my wig came off at an inopportune time? I started thinking about Andre Agassi whose life was essentially ruined by worry over whether or not his wig would come off during a match.
I can relate. I started worrying the night before. What if the wig has pieces of metal woven into the synthetic strands and I set off the metal detector. And what if the TSA person looks at me and says, "Take off that wig and go through again." But even if I make it through the metal detector, what if I knock the wig off while struggling to get my roller bag into the overhead bin. I've had some epic struggles with my bag that have ruined more than one hairdo.
Of course, none of those things happened yesterday, but something weird did happen. As we started our descent into Columbus, I began stewing about getting my bag out of the bin without dropping it onto my wig. Then through the fog of my stress I hear, "Ma'am, MA'AM! Are you all right?" I turn to the young woman on my right who is peering at me with some concern. I told her I was fine, but then I reached up, grabbed my wig and asked, "Why, do I look weird or something?" I just knew it had something to do with the wig. "Well," she said, "you were making some strange noises. I guess you're like me. I don't like flying either." Strange noises? What the hell?
I couldn't wait to get off of that plane. Got my bag. Wig stayed in place. Whew. Went to baggage claim and found my sister waving cheerfully. She took one look at me and said, "Oh, I like your hair. New style?"
But then it gradually dawned on me that I was the one most likely to be traumatized. What if my wig came off at an inopportune time? I started thinking about Andre Agassi whose life was essentially ruined by worry over whether or not his wig would come off during a match.
I can relate. I started worrying the night before. What if the wig has pieces of metal woven into the synthetic strands and I set off the metal detector. And what if the TSA person looks at me and says, "Take off that wig and go through again." But even if I make it through the metal detector, what if I knock the wig off while struggling to get my roller bag into the overhead bin. I've had some epic struggles with my bag that have ruined more than one hairdo.
Of course, none of those things happened yesterday, but something weird did happen. As we started our descent into Columbus, I began stewing about getting my bag out of the bin without dropping it onto my wig. Then through the fog of my stress I hear, "Ma'am, MA'AM! Are you all right?" I turn to the young woman on my right who is peering at me with some concern. I told her I was fine, but then I reached up, grabbed my wig and asked, "Why, do I look weird or something?" I just knew it had something to do with the wig. "Well," she said, "you were making some strange noises. I guess you're like me. I don't like flying either." Strange noises? What the hell?
I couldn't wait to get off of that plane. Got my bag. Wig stayed in place. Whew. Went to baggage claim and found my sister waving cheerfully. She took one look at me and said, "Oh, I like your hair. New style?"
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