The Name Game
Posted: July 27, 2011 Filed under: Uncategorized 2 Comments »Everybody has a name. Some are more interesting than, say, mine for example, but everyone most assuredly has one. Even Prince is Prince again. I think.
I enjoy unique names. This probably stems from some deep psychological desire for a name that isn’t exceptionally boring. (My middle name is Mortimer though, so take that.)
(Note: My middle name is not Mortimer.)
The names I find particularly baffling and fascinating are ones that are pronounced in ways that completely defy spelling, or ones that seem unpronounceable because they are so ridiculous.
I have three examples in particular in mind: Hermione Granger, Brett Favre and Alex Skjong.
Hermione Granger, as we all know, is one of the main characters in Harry Potter. We also all know that until the movies came out, we had no idea how to pronounce her name. Herm-ee-one? Her-me-onee? Who-man-chu?
I mean, what the crap? Is she a space shuttle or something? Or a boat. Sounds like the name of a boat.
It got to the point where you would just pass over her name without pronouncing it in your head and just accept the fact that Ms. Rowling is talking about the smart girl who Harry has no romantic interest in for reasons that nobody can wrap their head around. Then the movies came out and we all called collective bull shit because it turns out her name is Her-my-nee.
Admit it; you thought the exact same thing.
Brett Favre, on the other hand, has an unpronounceable name because he spells it wrong. We all know Favre’s story and I don’t want to give him more attention because I am convinced he spells his name wrong simply to get more attention. Farve. It should be Farve. Why isn’t it Farve?
I am almost positive he spells his name incorrectly to draw more attention to himself, because everything he does is to draw attention to himself thus making his name not so much interesting as annoying.
Last, we come to Alex Skjong. The lesser known of the three, but the name (and blog) I find most interesting. I can’t get over the ratio of consonants to vowels. And the kj in the middle fascinates me to no end. I, for obvious phonetic reasons, pronounce this name “ska-jong.” I will always say “ska-jong” regardless of the correct pronunciation. In fact, I don’t want to know the correct pronunciation because it will ruin the mystery that surrounds it. Plus, I like saying “ska-jong.”
You can draw it out and make a gong sound, and who doesn’t love a good gong sound?
Perhaps I just have some weird compulsion because my name is Eric Johnson, but dammit if I don’t find other people’s names interesting. That, and I just like back-to-back consonants that seem out of place. I mean, kj? What the hell is that?
I’m Back
Posted: July 12, 2011 Filed under: Musings Leave a comment »Inevitably, if you write a blog, you will eventually have to write a post explaining why you haven’t posted in so long. All bloggers do it. You get busy (hey-o!) and writing gets pushed to the side. You make up excuses for why you aren’t writing – some of which actually sound legit – and say, “Meh, I’ll get back to it tomorrow. Plus, nobody will miss it if I don’t write anything.”
Although, in my defense, I was out of town from June 30th to July 4th. As for the next seven days? I dunno.
I got nothin.
Although, here are three pictures to explain my absence:
In other words, I ate a massive chili dog, went to a baseball game, and put on some fancy pants. Yes, apparently all that took two weeks.
Would You Rather Have a Monkey or a Penguin?
Posted: July 11, 2011 Filed under: Uncategorized 1 Comment »I want a penguin. I also want a monkey. While I am undecided on which creature I want more, I lean towards a monkey because, you know, humans evolved from them and I feel like a monkey would serve a more practical purpose. What, with the opposable thumbs and all. Then again, a penguin is tailor made for butlery because they come pre-tuxedoed. Plus, wouldn’t you love to see a penguin come waddling to the door if you rang my doorbell? On the flip side, tuxedos are referred to as “monkey suits,” so perhaps that makes a monkey butler more apropos? It’s quite the conundrum.
Alright, alright; I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right. This is a completely ridiculous fantasy. I don’t even have a doorbell.
This rather lengthy digression stems from the following conversation I had at the Como Park Zoo in St. Paul:
Person 1: “I want a penguin.”
Person 2: “Me too.”
Person 1: “Should we climb over the fence and grab one?”
Person 2: “No.”
Person 1: 
I’ll let you all guess whether I was person 1 or person 2.
All monkeying around aside (yeah, I went there) I want you to know what a delightful (and delightfully free) afternoon you can have at Como Park; especially now, during the summer months, when anyone who isn’t a complete wiener is looking for as many outdoor activities as possible to occupy their time.
I lived in St. Paul for about a year and a half, and while the apartment I lived in was nice, the thing I miss most about St. Paul was being just a few blocks away from Como Park. Between the zoo, the lake and the golf course, it was fairly easy to occupy my free time.
Free afternoon? Play a round of golf.
Need to unwind after work? Stroll around the lake.
Want to ride a zebra? Zoo it up.
(Note: I don’t think you can actually ride the zebras.)
And, if you’re into winter (shudder) there is also a cross country ski trail that I will just assume is enjoyable.
What’s nice about Como Park is you can spend literally an entire day there and keep yourself entertained. It’s a great place for a date because you can have a picnic, and impress your lady (or man) friend by making up random facts about various animals that sound real so (s)he won’t question you. Plus, the animals are totes adorbs.
I know Como Park isn’t exactly a new or exciting phenomenon, but it’s a place most people don’t think to spend an afternoon. I don’t recommend this line of thinking. Taking in Como Park really is a great, free way to spend the day. I’ll even throw this old, tired cliché at you: There’s something for everyone at Como Park!
Plus, there is a small chance that you will get mauled by an escapee jungle cat. What else could you ask for?
Read this and my various other shenanigans on tkTwincities.
Grow Up, “Baby Jesus”
Posted: June 27, 2011 Filed under: Musings Leave a comment »Joe Mauer is a joke.
I know this to be true because in Bloomington there is a giant billboard for Kemps with a photo of Mr. Mauer. Driving past this billboard recently, my passenger (a non-baseball fan mind you) proclaimed, “Joe Mauer is a joke!” Quite emphatically, might I add.
She went on to say – because this conversation had been preceded by one about how delightful the little chocolate plug at the bottom of a drumstick ice cream treat is – she will never eat a drumstick again. A bold claim, indeed, but the point comes across loud and clear: “I will not eat a treat endorsed by Joe Mauer, no matter how delightful it is.”
Twins fan or not, the gauntlet is down. The love is lost.
Mauer has alienated himself from his teammates, his fans and the random Minnesotans who didn’t really care about him before. Now everyone just hates him.
Mere months ago it would’ve been hard to argue that Mauer wasn’t just the face of the Twins, but the face of the entire state. (Sorry, T-Paw.) Mauer was the homegrown stud with a heart of gold. He put up big numbers, and everybody loved him.
Now? He’s public enemy number one. The $23 million homegrown dud with legs made of those wrist slapper things that never curl when you want them to.
It used to be that Mauer could do no wrong. He hit. He threw. He charmed. Hell, girls pretended his sideburns were hot, even though nobody actually likes sideburns. And those Kemps commercials with his mom? They were the most adorable thing anyone had ever seen.
Now everyone is throwing Mauer under the bus. Jose Mijares called him out for poor pitch selection, and exactly zero people in the Twins organization come to Mauers defense. Ron Gardenhire even said he wishes Mauer would have called for a slider. (Granted, if Mijares really wanted to throw a slider, he could have shaken him off, but I digress.)
The most telling thing about the Mijares/Mauer flap wasn’t who was right and who was wrong, it was that nobody, and I mean nobody, in the Twins organization defended Mauer. Nobody has defended Mauer for months. The entire Twins organization has treated Mauer questions with complete and total apathy. Perhaps this is sign of frustration that Mauer wasn’t on the field, and the team just didn’t know how to answer the questions, or perhaps it is a sign that even the organization is questioning Mauer’s grit and determination.
The fans certainly are.
Mauer has a lot to prove at this point, and that is new territory for him. He’s always been the golden boy. Probably since the day he was born.
He’s the baby of the Mauer family and the most athletic. He was the best in high school, in the minors and, for awhile, in the majors. I’d venture to guess he’s been babied his entire life. Treated like a star. Given a $184 million contract like a star.
$23 million a year to be the best player on the Twins.
Being a $23 million player isn’t just about hitting .330, however. It’s about leading a team. Stepping up and playing at 90% when you’re body is feeling 75% healthy. You give up your right to “take it easy” when you sign on to be the franchise player. At $23 million you don’t get to take three months off unless something is broken or torn. You step up and lead the team by example.
Mauer has yet to do that, and it’s time for him to prove that he can.
It’s time for “Baby Jesus” to grow up.
From tkTwincCities
Fireflies
Posted: June 24, 2011 Filed under: Musings Leave a comment »A path illuminated by fireflies is mesmerizing. One firefly is mesmerizing, but an entire path? Pure whimsy.
Unfortunately, I can’t write about fireflies. Aside from there being (I assume) some sort of contractual obligation that nobody other than Owl City sings, writes, or speaks about fireflies, I just don’t know how you come up with original thoughts on the topic. I could, for example, tell you the experience was magical – perfect as perfect can be – with hundreds of lightening bugs illuminating a winding lovers-lane, and how beautiful the moment was for oh-so-many reasons.
All that is true. Truly. It’s also a cliché. And clichés, as any good writer knows, are disgusting. Unusable. They infect an entire sentence, paragraph, page and piece. Clichés leave the reader wondering why the writer couldn’t come up with their own thoughts.
Originality is at the crux of nearly everything, which is mostly a vanity play, because all people strive to be the first or best at something. The one who gets credit for an idea. People are vain creatures.
And vanity is most rampant in the written word. Subtly, perhaps. Hidden, often. Existing, always.
Nobody sits down to write thinking, “this is going to be a masterpiece that stands the test of time,” but everyone who writes believes they have something interesting to say. To even begin the process you have to formulate an idea. The idea stems from something in your own brain that makes you believe that you have the world’s most interesting piece of information to share. Even in the most private of formats, writing is vanity.
I spend the majority of my time thinking about writing. Most often telling myself I should write more. Sure, writing can be a therapeutic practice on many occasions – quite helpful indeed – but the only reason anybody ever writes something, is because they want someone to read it.
In other words, I spend the majority of my time thinking that I should be sharing my thoughts with the world, because clearly my thoughts are exceptionally interesting. And clearly, I must be able to articulate them in a way that is exceptionally interesting. And clearly, I am exceptionally interesting.
Basically, I’m a pretentious asshole. Because I write. And want you to read it. And assume you want to read it.
Anyone else confused?
The weirdest part about the whole writing process is that I write something wanting readers and because I feel like I have something interesting to say, except I spend the majority of my time telling myself I have nothing interesting to say and assuming that nobody will read the inane ramblings of a jackass.
Maybe that’s how all writers think. Perhaps writing stems from a lack of self-confidence that leads one to hide behind their own words. I don’t think I have ever heard a writer say, “I really enjoy my work.” Maybe there is a writer out there who does, but I just find that very hard to believe.
The lack of self-confidence mixed with vanity is a contradiction. How can you not think you have something interesting to say as a writer when writing is a practice in vanity?
I, naturally, do not have an answer to that question.
Seeing as how I started this blog as an attempt to formulate daily thoughts, and ramble about whatever is on my mind it probably doesn’t really matter that I’m throwing out a bunch of scatterbrained jibberish. That’s how my mind works. It’s an abstract palace of random ideas that may or may not be congruent.
Usually not.
Hell, I’ll probably go back to read this post, and realize that none of it makes sense. Then I’ll make a joke about how few people read my writing and go on my way.
