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June 4, 2000 |
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I had a number of things to do today. First, it would be my workout; it's
what makes the most sense since I would have to take a shower immediately
after. I went for a run, though it wasn't much of a run. My limbs weren't
being particularly cooperative and today neither was my heart. Not so much
that it was pounding hard enough to get my head throbbing, but it was
running higher than normal for the pace I was running. Damn! The
weights weren't much better; my right elbow was pretty sore when I was
doing the bicep curl. Pain is not something that normally concerns me…
but I read that feeling sharp pains is risking of injury.
I needed shelves. I mean literally, I needed the actual boards that go in since I already have the side units. I got the side units from Ikea a few weeks ago with Pam. I talked to her briefly while I walked purposely through the store. She felt a little betrayed, since she wanted some things from there, but I reminded her that she shouldn't buy anything new since she will be moving soon. The connection with my cell phone was faint so we decided to talk a bit later.
I didn't need anything else, just the shelves. My intention was to walk through the store quickly and get to the end where they kept the shelves. The store is laid out in a maze-like fashion, which is incompatible with this type of shopping. I got to the end of the store where they normally kept the shelves… except they weren't there.
Uhmm… I rushed back into the showroom where they displayed the shelves and where the shelving system had a name… No, I couldn't remember it, so I had to head all the way back to the spot get the sheet that described the shelves and return to ask where they had gone to.
Nothing is ever easy, is it?
I returned to the spot where they place all the shelves. No sign of the shelves I needed. There was a young blonde woman who stood nearby who donned the attire of an employee… appropriately so, since she worked there. She seemed quite disinterested that I seemed quite confused. Though when prompted, she responded by telling me that I could order the items here, and pick them up across the street at the warehouse. They conspired to drive me insane. I know that seems paranoid, but it's the truth.
The individual shelves fit into my trunk, with a few inches to spare on each side. I would've felt a little silly having purchased these shelves and not being able to fit them in my car. I did measure the width of my trunk before driving to Ikea. There was some planning today.
I made it back with plenty of time for Sunday Dinner with Len™. As is always the case, we had no idea where we would be having dinner. We have that luxury since we don't actually live in Seattle, where trying to get dinner without reservations is more of an experience in pain and futility instead of a dining experience.
Naturally, Len said something about "my boyz" letting him down. He's referring to the Braves, of course, since they lost to the Yankees today. The Yankees are in head to head competition with the Red Sox, which is Len's favorite team. My response to him was that I don't own the Braves. Naturally, I'm disappointed that they lost the game, but it's not as though I have any influence over the team. Of course, he suggested that I wasn't cheering hard enough. Some people you just can't please.
We had dinner at the Outback Steakhouse. It is a good place. It's fot a fun atmosphere with individual lights per booth that stem from the center. It's got its share of Australian paraphernalia, including two stuffed marsupials… a kangaroo and a koala. The servers are almost too upbeat at times, though generally not a bad thing, at times seem a bit artificial and phony.
The food is very good. Normally I get a steak-like dinner; tonight would be no exception. Len got the same thing he always gets, the Alice Springs Chicken, which is a good dish. I've had it before. We started with the coconut shrimp and a couple of salads. I didn't hide the pepper from him this time. I have to keep him on his toes.
I'm not sure how we got on the topic of athletes and role models, but we did. He is adamant in believing that athletes should live up to a higher standard, mostly for the kids, where I maintain that they don't have such a responsibility.
I suppose that I can't blame him. He thinks about the way he grew up and that perhaps the world should be that simple again. Where fathers can take their kids to a ball game and admire those men on the field. Maybe it stems from his having been an athlete in high school. We all want a stage wehre we can be perfect… where we can live the fantasy… wehere we can be the heroes. The ball field is a place where that can come true. Maybe that's the appeal.
I suppose that maybe I take a more objective and maybe cynical view of athletes. They have a job which they get compensated for, very well, I might add. They are not paid to sit pretty and be someone's hero. They're paid to get the job done on the field. Pure and simple. Maybe it's because I grew up without looking up to such athletes. If there was anyone I would've looked up to when growing up it probably would've been Dale Murphy, who was the center fielder for the Braves during the 80's. He was voted the Most Valuable Player for two consecutive years if I remember correctly. It was all shattered when I fould out that he does not curse and is deeply religious. Yes, I know how that may seem strange to many of you, but that's the way I feel. And please don't bother sending me mail about this since I would simply ignore it.
I think the problem for many kids is the idea tha they have set unrealistic expectations which they can't really live up to. I don't mind if people look up to whoever it might be, as long as they're getting an accurate picture of that person. What is the greater responsibility for athletes in respect to being a role model? To give kids an idealistic picture of who they are… knowing that they, themselves, could never live up to those standards… or to give kids an accurate picture of who they are, faults and all.
It's a little like when you first find out that your parents aren't perfect… that your father is not the perfect athlete, or is not all-knowing, or cannot do math in his head. There is a little image that is shattered in your mind, one that you could never get back. However, doesn't your relationship generally improve after this? Don't you become closer to your father knowing that he too has faults… that he too is human?
Looking up to an athlete who hides behind a curtain of deception is little more than having Batman for a role model. They're comic book characters who are two dimensional. They're cardboard cut-outs. They're not only living the lie, they're making all these kids who would admire them live that lie as well.
I often wonder about how Lucas looks at me. Yes, there are a number of things that he doesn't know about me… that I keep a journal, or web page… that I have a tattoo and a piercing. The only real reason why I don't tell him is to abide by Dalia's wishes. I don't lie to him about what I think about and why I think the way I do. That I abhor, above all, conformity. I've told him that I'm agnostic, but only when he brought up religion. He knows me as much as anyone else knows me. I only hope that I have been good enough and that I've been a positive influence.
Hey, it doesn't have to be perfect, but it should at least be real.
June 4, 2000