When Is "Real" Fake?

Reality and irony have a fascinating relationship. They don't talk much at parties, when they're both invited. They don't exchange cards at Christmas, or share cookouts in the summer. But, just when you'd think the two don't have any connection, they team up for an intriguing moment or two. The results are usually, to say the least, notable. [I don't think I need cite any examples. Anyone who pays attention to the world probably has his or her own store to draw upon.]

In recent weeks, the travelling road show known as World Wrestling Entertainment has been running a story line concerning the mysterious "death" of its owner and president, Vince McMahon, in a car explosion. I confess that I haven't spent much time lately following the adventures of the scripted grapplers, but I'd guess that, to use the old cliche, speculation was rife as to the cause of the "disaster", and whom, if anyone, might have been involved. Yeah, I know; many soap operas have had more convoluted happenings than that, without the Nation suffering undue disquiet. It's mindless entertainment for its fans.

But see the genius of Reality & Irony at work. WWE star Chris Benoit, one of the promotion's main attractions, was found dead Monday, along with his wife and young son.Investigators are still piecing the circumstances together as this is written, but it looks like Benoit killed his wife and child, then took his own life. Speculation had yet to rear its ugly head, but, unlike McMahon's skit, there was no need to put quotations around the word disaster.

Why does all this bother me? As I noted earlier, I'm not troubled by the nature of pro wrestling. It's as honorable as any other form of entertainment (I remember the answer an announcer gave years ago, when asked if the "sport" was fake. He replied, "It's as real as Macbeth". Fair enough...). The purveyors gave up arguing that matter a while back, when they added the word "entertainment" to their name. If, after all that, those past childhood choose to take it seriously, that's their business. But, and, it's an important "but", the use of steroids in professional wrestling was so commonplace a few years ago that it led to a Congressional investigation (It was even reported that McMahon used them). In recent years, the WWE has distanced itself from illegal hormones. But the buzz has become an open secret that certain performers are using steroids, either to become or remain stars. The effects of steroids on the mental processes are controversial, but have been known to include uncontrollable anger [Oh, bother. There's that ugly-headed Speculation at work]. The investigation goes on, but for the sake of McMahon (Oh, he's not dead, for God's sake! It's just a "work".), he had better hope steroids didn't play a part.

"When You Are Old..."

First, my apologies for not writing sooner. Pure and simple, there wasn't much worth writing about [Then again, some people believe that to be true about everything in this sector of Blogatopia].Still, the Muse tapped me on the shoulder [while I was in the tub. Does that happen to other bloggers as much as I suspect it does? If every home had a working bathtub, instead of those omnipresent shower units, would there be a flowering of inspired writing? And, if there was, where in the name of God would we put it all?], and, apparently, it's my turn to dance again...

One of the inevitable results of the diversity of modern life is the lack of shared experiences. You know, the kind of event that people used to plan on taking part in. In older times, communities would gather for social events, or worship, or maybe to watch a solar eclipse [or a hanging]. Only the most anti-social souls would skip the gathering, which, I suppose, is why many older people remember big events in their community's history.

Nowadays, though, we follow our own drummers, to the point that those things that may be worthwhile for everyone get drowned out by the cacophony of drumming. But we try. A lot of the shared experiences we have are manufactured events, things like sporting championships, charity concerts, and, frequently, reality TV competitions [Television, oddly enough, both brings us together and tears us apart. The multiverse of channels available to many watchers gives them more than sufficient options to avoid the potential shared moment, in favor of a Hawaii-Five-O rerun. Not that Jack Lord and Company aren't compelling, under the right circumstances...].

This all comes up because of Thursday night's broadcast of the finals of the National Spelling Bee on one of the American television networks. It got me to thinking that, while college athletes at least have the championships of their respective sports to remember, there are almost no shared moments for non-athletes, and nothing at all for High School - or younger students to look forward to [except the Spelling Bee, the kids edition of Jeopardy, or those occasional High School All-Star games that ESPN carries from time to time].

I remember my Eighth-grade trip to Washington, DC vividly, even after a distance of more than 35 years. I'm told a lot of schools still try to make the journey, although, with rising costs and security concerns, the number is probably going down. I wonder if there is some equivalent experience in other countries [International readers, please help me out on this one. That's one thing the "Comments" section is for...]?

By the way, I missed the Spelling Bee. I couldn't help it; Wo Fat was the featured villain on Hawaii Five-O.

-Mike Riley

Greatest Hits, Vol. I

I took a quick look back at my "Archives" tonight, and I realized that this site has been in action for about six months. That means it's moved from "momentary interest" to "on-going obsession". It also means it's time to look back on what's happened so far; hence my "Greatest Hits, Vol 1"!

To kick it off, http://aftermidnightpage.blogspot.com/2006/12/whats-going-on.html . This was my first "real" posting, following the typical "Welcome" posting that most people start with. It's a tiny bit moody, but I do kinda like it. Up next, a two-part posting that came together for reasons I'm still uncertain about. The first part, http://aftermidnightpage.blogspot.com/2006/12/open-door-richard.html, was a standard riff on items in the news, opened up by what I thought was an innocent observation or two about different blog hosting sites. Bam [to quote Emeril]! I was censored. An observation or two in the latter half of the post was "blanked" as well [of course, you just need to mouse over the open segments of this one to find out what I was getting at. Call it the "uncensored" version]. All this led to the follow-up, http://aftermidnightpage.blogspot.com/2006/12/what-can-i-say.html. (Oddly enough, I've had very few hits on either column. The ones that draw the most comment seem to be those concerning American Idol. Go figure...

I've always liked http://aftermidnightpage.blogspot.com/2007/02/im-old-man-take-look-at-my-life.html, if that counts for anything. It's funny in a universal sort of way, not controversial, and it sort of runs out of gas in a wistful "pfffft". How could people not like it?

Finally, since most "Greatest Hits" collections nowadays include new material:

Blacksburg, VA

You didn't see this coming. Nobody does.
Yeah, there was evidence, warnings to be read,
Perhaps read, dealt with, but left unresolved.

No one deserved the pain,
Whether shot or just viewing
The carnage, feeling the fear.

You were all victims.
God grant you release
From the pain.

For those
who live,
please find serenity.

There are no safe places.

-Mike Riley

Public Service Announcement (Sugar Sugar)

There's a public service announcement going around on radio that always gets my attention. The announcer reads a series of statistics concerning deaths from smoking [Yes, I smoke, but I usually listen carefully to the anti-smoking PSA's. It's either an attempt to hear the words that will help me to quit, or an ill-advised attempt to feel guilty for smoking], but saying that the deaths were caused by bears. It ends with the announcer saying, "No, these deaths weren't caused by bears. But what do you think the government would do if they were?" It's striking, and, as I say, always gets my attention.

Since I do smoke, I don't think it's fair for me to get into that situation. But can I please take a moment to attract your attention to another health crisis that has gotten media attention, but seems to draw indifference when the subject comes up? Unfortunately, I have some knowledge on this one, too. Let me share it with you.

This disease affects a little less than 21 million Americans, around 7 % of the population. While most who have it are aware, just over 6 million, or nearly 1/3, have no idea that they do. What's worse, 54 million Americans have an early-stage form of the disease. There is no cure, but treatment allows many of its sufferers to lead longer, healthier lives. The disease is diabetes.(This is the point where a lot of eyes glaze over. Hang in there, people, THIS IS IMPORTANT!)

Diabetes makes it difficult or impossible for your body to convert sugars, starches and other foods into energy needed for everyday life (For the record, fruits and vegetables in their natural state contain sugars, so just avoiding things like cake and bread isn't usually good enough. Neither is avoiding fruits and vegetables in their natural states...). Diabetes is a disease that makes it easier for other diseases to hurt or kill you [Yes. "kill". The complications of diabetes can kill...]. Among the diseases that are made worse by diabetes are heart disease and stroke, kidney disease, eye, foot and skin diseases. A very common complication of diabetes is neuropathy, damage to the nervous system that can cause pain, injury and/or disease.

It's not a pretty picture. But early diagnosis and treatment can minimise the damage, and allow you to live a [relatively, anyway] normal life. Treatment is improving on an almost-daily basis, due to continuing research.

What can you do? First of all, know where you stand. Get tested [usually, a simple blood test will suffice]. If it turns out you have diabetes, put together a health care team [your doctor, a podiatrist, an eye-care specialist, heart and kidney experts, a dietitian and, most importantly, a diabetic educator. Think of the educator as your diabetes specialist. They keep up with the latest information on diabetes, so that you can have the advantage of the latest techniques for treatment. As good as your doctor may be, most of them don't specialize in diabetes treatment], and FOLLOW THEIR ADVICE!

A personal note for parents: by experience, you've learned that a lot of things you're told not to do with your kids [not too much TV, no violent cartoons, etc.]didn't kill our generation. But watching what your kids eat may help not to kill them too young. Part of that number of diabetics at the start of this message is a rather large number of teens [and even pre-teens] being diagnosed with type 2 diabetes, formerly found only in adults, and adults in their 50's and older at that. Having grown up fat, I can tell you the emotional scars take a long time to overcome. Adding the likelihood of disease, and the very real possibility of early death, just makes it an unacceptable option. I don't fault my parents for what happened to me; they made every effort to help me when I was young [Of course, I turned out to be stubborn]. For the sake of your children's health, please make the effort...

For more information, talk to your doctor. Visit this website; http://www.diabetes.org/, home to the American Diabetes Association. If you're reading this outside the US, visit the Diabetes Association in your country. Becoming disciplined in such matters may not be easy: it's far better than the cornucopia of illness and disease that awaits if you don't. Thank you for your time...

-Mike Riley

A Plea For Civility, A Plea For Respect

Just about everyone I know who has used a microphone more than once has regretted something they've said into one [Almost every night I turn mine off after saying something, and think, "What in Hell was that all about?".]. It's not that those of us who use microphones are, as a class, stupid. It's just that, like most humans, the words sometimes come directly from the mouth WITHOUT proper filtration in the brain. And with the added amplification Mr. Microphone provides, the prospect of many people hearing our latest stupid moment increases exponentially. Plug that microphone into a radio or TV station and, well, you do the math.

All this is on the table because of a couple of incidents from recent days. In one, talk-show host Bill O'Reilly, not the most subtle speaker in the best of times, suddenly unloaded on his guest, fellow talker Geraldo Rivera, to the point that Rivera was obliged to "reel him in" in self-defense [I don't know about you, but when Geraldo Rivera is the "voice of reason", the Apocalypse must be close at hand...]. In the other, radio talk-show host [Isn't it interesting that all this mayhem is happening on talk shows? And people wonder why I have no desire to do one!] Don Imus used a racially-charged word in reference to a women's college basketball team. In both cases, the offending party apologized for his action. O'Reilly was given no public punishment [the cynical division of the Public figured it was all a publicity stunt, since Rivera works in the same trade as O'Reilly], while Imus is currently sitting out a two-week suspension.

Let's leave the O'Reilly incident [I'm with the cynical division of the Public on this one, personally] and move on to the heat Imus has taken.Before we go any further, a statement: DON IMUS USED AN UNACCEPTABLE WORD, OR PHRASE, IN REFERENCE TO THAT WOMEN'S BASKETBALL TEAM. He needs to re-evaluate his beliefs and phraseology. Sensitivity training may be appropriate. That being said, I do NOT believe that Don Imus is a racist. I think he has an unfortunate tendency [as do many in the "chat-for-cash" (no offense meant to those in the sex phone trade) business] to use provocative language in the name of getting attention.


Now, what has Imus done to resolve the situation? First, he apologized. Good start. Next, he accepted an invitation to appear on another radio program, this one hosted by the Rev. Al Sharpton. Maybe not such a good idea. A black co-worker notes that Rev. Sharpton represents himself as a, or possibly the, leader for America's Black People. The co-worker feels that Sharpton is not an official voice for anyone or anything except his own agenda [his opinion, not necessarily mine]. As an admittedly uninformed observer, I think that the Black populace of this country is a diverse collection of peoples, and therefore would be hard-pressed to settle on any one person to serve as "leader" or "spokesperson". I reserve judgement on Rev. Sharpton's agenda, and if, for that matter, he even has one. Still, coming forward to hear different viewpoints on his remark is certainly a valid step in the "reeducation" of Don Imus.

Another issue that has arisen is the amount, and seeming ferocity, of "hate" words used by Blacks to punctuate their own conversation. Oddly enough, much of it seems to be directed at members of their own racial community. As a White person, I've never understood it. Some people say that, given the current verbal environment, Imus didn't say anything terribly offensive. That does not excuse his comment, nor does it mean that only Whites can offend Blacks with racially-motivated speech, EVEN WHEN THAT SPEECH IS BLACK-TO-BLACK.

It's time to clean up our words, and show RESPECT for each other. Only in that way will we merit respect for ourselves.

-Mike Riley

Every Generation Sends A Hero Up The Pop Charts

Sanjaya has survived yet another week on American Idol. What is America thinking?

Good Question. There is something going on beyond limited singing skills and a devotion to seemingly more and more bizarre hair styles at each performance. What drives the Sanjaya Machine?

A few educated guesses...

1. / His story is endearing. He's a 17-year-old who somehow made it to the hottest TV show in North America. He was devistated when his sister failed to make the cut, but has continued in competition. By becoming the lightening-rod for criticism on his performances, he has carved out the obvious "underdog" role among this year's competitors. And, let's face it; Among this year's crew, he may be the only one with a story.

2. / He's cute, in an "odd" sort of way. When I watch Sanjaya sing, he seems like a living caracture in action. His mouth and eyes in particular seem exagerated, as if drawn by a sketch artist(I suspect that a young Jerry Lewis [mid- to late-1950's era Jerry]clone could do some serious damage on the show. Especially if, unlike the real Jerry, he could actually sing...). And that hair! Early on, Sanjaya must have realized that the viewing audience would need some kind of "hook" to remember him by (Unlike Blake Lewis, who uses his "human beat-box" routine in almost everything he performs, he picked a constantly changing hairstyle.If you realize that you may not be the strongest singer, an Idol entrant can do worse than using his or her hair as a weapon...). The total package is memorable [think Rings Starr or, for children of the 80's, Boy George].

3. / He's non-threatening. This may be his strongest advantage. Ever since Lisa Simpson was first seen reading an issue of "Non-Threatening Teen Boy Idols" magazine, it's become obvious that appealing to the "tween" market [girls 8-14] is just good business. Sanjaya comes off as a "buddy", a "pal", not the teenager to start the "dangerous" hormones that scare most parents half to death.He's polite on TV, taking even the worst criticism from Simon Cowell in a respectful manner [Simon seems to have thrown in the towel on the Sanjaya Phenomonon; His most recent critique was along the lines of 'It doesn't matter what you sing, nobody really cares anymore, anyway'. And, in the interest of fairness, it should be noted that Sanjaya does seem to be improving from week to week. Or are we just getting, like Simon, more accepting of the Phenomonon?].

4. / His [Apparent] Fan Base, the already-referrenced "tweens" and Grannies, kept John Stevens on the show much longer than his talent should have allowed. John Stevens grew up, and still lives, as far as I know, just outside of Buffalo, NY, our home base. He is, by all accounts, pleasant and gracious. But there was NO WAY he should have lasted on Idol as long as he did. There seems to be much of the Stevens Factor about Sanjaya.

Could Sanjaya Win It All? In a season when there seem to be no compelling options, maybe. Will he have a career? He wouldn't be the first "low talent, high attraction factor" performer to do so, if he does...

Quoting Jim Morrison, "...the little girls understand".

-Mike Riley

Cats In The Cradle

In case you haven't noticed, many, if not most, people are crazy about their pets. If you want some idea of HOW crazy they are, do a search on "pet toys". Given my residence's frame of reference, I limited my check to just "cat toys"; the computer gasped once or twice, as if straining under a heavy load, then came back with a mind-boggling 27 MILLION references! The on-going tainted pet food crisis has led to many uneasy households here in North America, as well as real sorrow in the homes where a pet fell victim to the bad food. Yes, it's safe to say we love our pets. And why not? For many people, they offer companionship, happiness and, yes, entertainment [if all those features on "America's Funniest Home Videos" is any indication].

If you've actually gone as far as to click on the link to my place of employment [see below], and even further, checked out my bio there, you know that the Woman I Love and I are cat owners. It's not that we dislike dogs; we just don't have proper room for them in our apartment. So we have cats. We started with three: Scoot Anne, Adios Andrew, and Get Away [Gettie, to her small circle of friends]. We loved and cared for them until, sadly, they all passed away, over a period of about 18 months. When we were down to our last feline [Scoot Anne, for the record], TWIL was adamant that she didn't ever want any more cats, no how no way. Then, we heard from a friend, who volunteered at the SPCA. There was a cat their, about a year old. While the other cats would perk up when people came to look, he sat quietly in the back of his cage. He ate, and seemed healthy, but he had lost the will to, well, be cat-like. For a cat, there could be no greater loss. Our friend described him as "despondent". Well, that was a word the two of us could understand!

When we saw him, we were entranced. He was white from head to foot [paw, really]. We had him taken out of the cage, and brought to a "meeting room". He was a little more playful than he had been in the cage, but he still seemed sad. Then again, WE could be sad on certain days. After a very brief conference [more like looking at each other and nodding], we decided to adopt him. I forget the name he came with, except to remember it was unimaginative. He soon became Malachi, named for the author of the last book of the Old Testament [I later found out the name is not uncommon among men in Ireland. Works...].

Part of the reason we adopted Malachi was a belief that Scoot Anne, bereft of her original companions, might have been lonely. It turned out that nothing could be further from the truth. Indeed, for the too-short remainder of her life, she frequently was tormented by Mally's desperate attempts at "making friends". Then again, she seldom attacked him, settling instead for a deep, womanly growl to keep him in his place, and out of hers.

After Scootie left us, we were glad we still had a cat. Malachi grew in age, in girth, and in love for us.Then. last year, TWIL met a woman while volunteering for Meals On Wheels. She had a beautiful black, white and grey long hair, name of Webster. We agreed that, if anything happened to her, we would take care of Webster. You can almost predict what's going to happen next, can't you? That "something" happened, and we became Webbie's adoptive "parents". After a surprising short period of adjustment, the two became like brothers. They'd spend their mornings [after breakfast, of course] watching the pigeons outside the window in our living room [here is one of the few times I really wish I could add pictures. The view of them, tails flicking as they watched "Must See Pigeon TV", is something to marvel at]. They raced around the house, looking for all the world like two cats in an animated cartoon. We took to calling them "The Brothers".

Just this week, though, the picture changed again. A long-time friend of the family needed someone to take care of her cat, at least temporarily. This boy is also black and white, with his white patch looking for all the world like a shirt under a tuxedo. His name is Mister Buddy. He's still a little scared to be around the brothers; they, for their part, are taking a magnificent air of indifference to the new family member. TWIL keeps saying, "Three cats. And you [pointing at me]. Oh, no!"

But, for the record, I think she'll get over it...