Mondays with Jim

“Anachronism” is one of those SAT words which, when used in reality, generally serves one of two purposes: displaying high levels of intelligence or impressing women.  A stranger to neither of the two purposes, I feel the need to use this such word to describe my weekend.  Ask the great wordsmith Mr. Webster, and he’ll tell you that an anachronism is something out of place with respect to time.  For example, if you were to see a microwave sitting behind the Twelve Disciples in a picture of the Last Supper, that would be a prime example of this word which I’m already sick of typing.  Saturday evening, it occurred to me that my friend and I were part of a living anachronism, a human representation of a mistake in time.  And yet, odd as it may seem, I’d never felt as in my element as I was that very evening.

The event was a concert, but not just any old concert.  Indeed, this was a concert fit for the gods themselves, one worthy of hyperbole and great praise.  The lineup: Styx, Foreigner, and Kansas.  Now, for those of you born after 1990 or those who have never had the pleasure of listening to a classic rock radio station, these three bands are among the most famous of the early 80’s rock movement.  I would describe their style as a combination of flair and power, with a heavy dose of falsetto thrown in for good measure.  My kind of groups.  I could write for days about the power of their music or the greatness of their voices, but today I want to describe the other aspect of the concert that drew my attention: the fans.

I will go ahead and apologize, but for reasons that will soon become obvious I must keep my identity anonymous.  However, let this not deter you from reading, for the story I am about to tell will capture your imagination from beginning to end.  Last weekend, armed only with a laptop and a stunning wit, I committed what can only be described as the perfect crime.  It will go down in history as merely a car robbery, but that hardly does it justice.  Cleaner than a dentist’s molars, this was no mere robbery, it was a work of art.  Sit back, relax, and enjoy the recounting of my mastery.  Here, in stunning detail, is the story of the time I stole a car from some by named Mr. Hertz.

I’m not entirely sure what the first competition was, but I’m almost certain that it was a race.  Cain and Abel, no doubt entranced in their sibling rivalry, had to, at one point, have challenged one another in a contest of speed and/or strength.  Over the years that followed, racing has developed significantly.  We’ve introduced different means of racing, different locations, even different dynamics.  As these changes have been implemented, the popularity of the world’s oldest competition has increased exponentially.

My thoughts were on this idea over the weekend, as I sat enthralled by the television watching the latest running of the Kentucky Derby.  One of my favorite sporting events of the year, the Derby is a fast-paced thrill ride that captures the imagination and leaves the viewer catching his breath.  While I was watching the Derby, I couldn’t help but think about how much I enjoy the race, especially when compared to my least favorite competition, NASCAR.  Truth be told, there are many similarities between the two events, as both are competitions of speed played on an ovular track.  It was strange to me that I would enjoy one so much more than the other, so I thought some more about why this was the case.  Here’s what I came up with.

The American political agenda has been ablaze in recent times with the advent (or re-advent, depending on your point of view) of the Tea Party movement.  Citizens from across the country are railing against the actions taken by the government, demanding that changes be made.  Chief among their concerns is the premise that America is moving toward a less free, more government-controlled society, one whereby the freedoms of the individual are being hampered by those that are put in place to protect such freedoms.  Never one to ignore the tempting power of hyperbole, the Tea Partiers have often thrown around the word ’socialism’ to describe the future they deem we will soon inhabit.  Outlandish, yes, but nonetheless effective.

I was thinking on the Tea Party group this week when a thought crossed my mind.  I think the Tea Party group has the right idea, but is focusing on the wrong organization.  You see, from my perspective, there does exist a group with enormous power and overtly socialistic tendencies.  The group that I speak of makes no effort to hide these tendencies, even writing them into their bylaws.  However, in a nation so defiant against those who would threaten freedom, they operate without scrutiny or public uproar.  The organization of which I speak is none other than perhaps the most popular oligopoly in the country, the National Football League.  I’ll explain.

If prompted, I would describe myself as a man not wanting for entertainment.  “Easy to please,” as they say.  To put it mildly, it doesn’t take much to get me excited, usually just the prospect of a fun game or a thought-provoking activity.  However, certain activities tend to rise above the others, offering a new level of excitement that I typically do not reach.  It is these rare moments that become truly memorable, the ones that stay with you for long periods of time.  Last Monday was such an experience.  I had the opportunity, the pleasure, nay, the honor of attending the Houston regional round of the United States Air Guitar Championships.  For a man with my taste for the extra-ordinary and love of all things eccentric, I knew it would be a night to remember.  I was right.  Let me explain just what I saw.

Ever since we began to imagine the limitless scope of technology, one of the most common thematic elements in our movies has been the destruction of the world by way of the computer.  Numerous films have explored the idea, but the basic premise is that, someday, computers (or robots, or cyborgs, etc.) will become so “smart” that they will attempt to take control of the world from the hands of the humans.  The computers have in mind a utopian society, one free from the errors that humans produce.  However, inevitably, the minute the computers assume control, chaos ensues.  Humans are left to save the day, destroy the computers, rescue the girl, etc.  The end.

The theme common to all of these stories is that computers are inferior to humans in their ability to function.  Thus, computers need humans to operate.  Why is this so?  Well, as anyone familiar with technology will tell you, computers in their present state lack the ability to reason, or make inconsistent decisions.  This is because computers operate in a world where everything can be boiled down to a “yes” or “no” decision, what we call binary.  In the real world, decisions are rarely binary.  To steal a line from my favorite television show, The West Wing, “every once in a while there’s a day with an absolute right and an absolute wrong, but those days almost always include body counts.”  To paraphrase, we humans must use a form of logic foreign to computers to solve problems.  Thus, when computers try to mimic human decision-making, disaster occurs.

All of this was on my mind this week while watching the 2010 Masters golf tournament.  It seemed a prime example of the cinematic theme playing out in real life.  To help me fill in the details, let me show you the similarities.  Here is “2010 Masters: The Movie.”

Dear NCAA,

I was flipping channels on my low-voltage television set last week when I happened upon a news conference called by one of your public relations managers.  The conference was called, it seemed, to effectively announce that your organization was paving the way to a men’s basketball tournament that will feature 32 more teams, bringing the total to 96.  I would like to add my name to the list of individuals who is in defiant opposition to this idea, for many of the same reasons that have been mentioned by public figures in recent days.  Expanding the tournament would decrease the importance of the regular season, dilute the prestige of its involvement, and risk the ruination of America’s greatest single-elimination event.

But these points have all been made before.  Indeed, I am sure that you have seen and read the vitriol that has been written and said throughout the media recently.  Their reasoning is sound, however I see it fit to add yet another point to the proceeding.  The expansion of the NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament will have a profound, detrimental impact to the single greatest crisis that exists in our world today: global warming.  Let me explain.

It is one of the most oft-used industries in the world, and yet very little commentary is given to its product.  Its employees go to specialized school for a significant length of time, yet the common man couldn’t name a single such school.  It is a billion-dollar enterprise, one that has the ability to cause us great sorrow and pain, one that captures the imagination of young females for hours on end, one that has given countless office workers an excuse not to have a serious conversation.  Of course, I am speaking of the hair styling industry.  It’s amazing how often we have to get our hair cut, but so very little is known about the ins and outs of this profession.  Let’s take a closer look at the hair manipulation enterprise, and allow me to provide the male point of view when necessary.

So there we were.  New Orleans, Louisiana, site of the first and second rounds of the 2010 NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament.  It was sixty minutes before tip-off, so very few of the fans had made their way into the arena, but nonetheless the tension was palpable.  The most devoted of the respective teams’ followers were making their way into their seats, carrying banners and posters, preparing for the impending game.  But something was amiss.

Both teams were on the court, the players dressed in their traditional warm-up jerseys and various stretching equipment strewn along the court.  A general passerby would make the correct assumption that each team was in the preparatory stage for the game, and yet one key ingredient was missing.  All of the necessary equipment was available to all of the players, but there was not a basketball in sight.  You can imagine what the scene portrayed, but needless to say the idle behavior of the players was less than appealing to watch, and significantly less than helpful for the players.  The whole scene was reminiscent of outdoor time at a strictly run penitentiary.

This scene continued for a solid five minutes, until, at the precise stroke of fifty-five minutes before tip-off, the basketballs were released to the players.  I stood, perplexed, on the sidelines, wondering why this turn of events had just occurred, until finally I realized the sad conclusion.  It became obvious that somewhere, tucked within the voluminous encyclopedia-esque rulebook of the NCAA, there existed a policy that no basketballs were to be given to players until precisely that moment.  My eyes immediately rolled back faster than that squirrelly Wal-Mart face guy in the commercials.

Today, I’m going to take a slightly different approach to the usual Monday column.  Whereas normally I tend to discuss the, shall we say, flaws that exist in our society (kindly, of course), today I am going to spend my effort in a more educational manner.  In our fair city of Houston, the rodeo is in town.  Since many of you live in areas that may not be so fortunate as to be able to attend this cowboy hat-a-thon, please allow me to clue you in on some of the more intimate details of the common Texas rodeo.  (For you California folks, that’s pronounced with a hard e.)

PRESENTING: THE MONDAYS WITH JIM GUIDE TO PROPER RODEO ATTENDANCE

Section I: Attire
For many, this would seem self-explanatory, but allow me a second to educate those who weren’t allowed to watch “Beverly Hillbillies” as a child.  Men, your task is quite simple.  Rodeo attire begins with a pair of denim blue jeans.  Not those fancy, schmancy tight jeans that Francois wears in the magazines, just a good ole pair of Levi’s.  For a top, find a plaid shirt that most closely resembles your bedroom drapes.  All you need to finish the ensemble is a pair of boots (preferably those that were once a swamp animal), a cowboy hat big enough to serve chili in, and a belt buckle the size of your left foot.