Half-Drunken Time Travel

As you know, part of the 21st Century Social Contract is that the first person to gain access to a working time machine has to go back and kill Hitler. Preferably before he reaches apex Hitler. You may choose to take him down in, say, 1914; he's easy enough to spot (the guy knew how to stick to a look). If you're really lazy, you could opt to take on Hitler circa 1895. I mean, how easy would that be? No matter what age Hitler I got, I'd rub a little dog shit on his upper lip, indulging in some irony that literally no one will ever get because he's not going to live long enough to tarnish an already ugly mustache (by the way, this would also save Michael Jordan from later inflicting this upon himself and the world). And whatever you do: don't just leave Hitler for dead. You don't want to run the chance that he'll survive, get some hyper-advanced prostheses (Nazi scientists), and come back even angrier than before. Then you're responsible for Steampunk Hitler.

The only trouble is, this option is an easy out on the admittedly annoying  "what would you do with a time machine" question. You're not going to use the thing once, surely. Especially not after the kick-ass job you just did saving history. So. How do you celebrate killing Hitler?

I'd start by going back to 1527 and challenging Henry VIII to a drinking contest. Bare in mind: I'm not picking this fight to win control of the not yet extant Anglican Church, or anything; I just need to know how well I'd do.

At this point, I--drunk out of my mind and undoubtedly having forgotten that I've already killed Hitler--would try to kill Hitler again. Upon seeing my past self doing just that, however, I would probably  become confused and disoriented and would have to sit down until my head stopped throbbing. I'm speculating here, but drinking while time traveling cannot do wonders for the cognitive faculties in the short term.

Once my head is clearer, I'd take in a dinosaur fight or two. Because so would you.

Then I'd head over to 1953 and find a young Donald Trump. And I'd be nice to him, really nice. I'd play with him for a few hours, offering to do whatever he wanted to do. And just before we parted ways, never to see each other again, I'd give little Donald a great big hug, look him in the eye, and tell him that he's a really good, sweet kid and that no one can ever take that away from him. 

Feeling good about myself, I'd finish my journey by jumping to 1690, where I'd promptly take credit for composing Pachelbel's Canon in D. Now, another man might use that status to get all kinds of syphilitic 17th Century ass. But, having seen dinosaur fights, I would know there's more to live for than easy, Enlightenment Era orgies. I just want the credit for creating modern pop music. Plus, marriage vows probably apply across time and space.

Of course, here and there, you have to stop and check out the important things. Be in the room when Johannes Gutenberg first explains his invention (to a smart person). See Lincoln at work in the Oval Office (the man just let people wander in, as though no one was looking to waste him). Hear The Beatles record "Love Me Do." Be at NASA headquarters for the Moon landing. Convince a teen-aged Park Jae-sang to go to med school instead of pursuing a career in music.

These are some of history's seminal moments. Missing those would be like walking by the Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris and not stopping in to check on Oscar Wilde's grave. Or walking by the Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris and not stopping in to spit on Jim Morrison's grave. These are the drab must-dos of time travel. Or, to put it another way, the things people expect you to tell them about when you return, so that you can't be accused of wasting your time. This category is not to be confused with the things that may seem like wastes to other people, but that made all the difference to you in ways that would be impossible to explain to someone else.

Time travel, like life, is filled with the things we must do, the things that will define who we have been. And those things will get done. But fully ignoring the things we want to do deprives us of a fuller journey that gives the must-dos purpose and meaning. It's like science and art; one we need, the other we wouldn't want to live without. Put yet another way: Doc Brown's orthodox sense of responsibility and Marty McFly's caution-to-the-wind sensibility are disastrous separately. Together, they make each other worthwhile. Occasionally these two categories will overlap into a beautiful amalgam and you'll get to kill Hitler or watch raptors wail on each other. But the rest of the time, we have to find the balance.

Oh, bring a T-Rex to 1914 to kill Hitler! Yes. Nailed it.

Thanksgiving Kills The Expectations Game

Thanksgiving is the most underrated holiday. This is not to be confused with "the best holiday." Thanksgiving, in fact, earns most underrated because no one ever expects it to be the best.

Think about Thanksgiving. All those extra portions you wish you could eat the rest of the year, but think better of? Jiminy Cricket is visiting family for the day, so everything goes. Annoying dinner guests? Tryptophan is a miracle drug--if they can fight through a coma, you might want to consider inviting an exorcist, too. You have to watch the Lions? View it as an exercise in schadenfreude: "take that, Michigan; produce Mitt Romney, will you?" The annual embarrassment of seeing the President pardoning a turkey? Think of it as the best argument for legalizing pot (it makes so much more sense when you're high). And, yes, the Black Friday nonsense and looming Christmas pressure hanging over everyone because Santa can't keep his bitch mittens to himself. But I'd wager that I'm not the only private sector employee who gets the day off just because his boss hasn't yet discovered that Black Friday deals can be found online.

You may have noticed that there's some significant qualifying and hedging going on here, but that's the point of comparative ratings. Especially as they apply to the expectations game. I'm not arguing that Thanksgiving is perfect; I'm not sure any healthy and fulfilled adult is. But no one in history has ever had their pristine perception of Thanksgiving shattered by having a bad one. Charlie Brown never worried himself into an hilariously premature ulcer about the corruption of Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving wins because, like going to a Judd Apatow movie, you go in with middling expectations, you get what you expect, and you leave happy.

And consider the competition. Proceeding chronologically from today:

Christmas is clearly the most overrated holiday, so we can throw that out immediately. And I don't have a lot of direct experience with Chanukah, but being perennially stuck in Christmas' obese shadow doesn't help; you know why there was no Chanukah door in The Nightmare Before Christmas? Trick question: there was a Chanukah door. You just couldn't see it through the Elven black magic laid down by the fat man. As for Kwanzaa, you know there's a problem when Futurama has covered you better than anyone ever--and even that ended up having more to do with giant space bees than holiday send-ups.

New Year's is a fine holiday. Taking off the day after the celebration? Brilliant. And that move nearly gives New Year's the win. But the holiday is ranked about where it should be, given that the celebration has to cover for the disappointment of Christmas. New Year's does that job admirably, but it's a steep hill. Maybe if we could do New Year's as well as the Scots...

Then we get into the slushy soup of the late Winter holidays. MLK Day: good, if you get the day off, which I don't. Super Bowl: I'll admit that this one hasn't been the same for me since I had to endure that Packers-Steelers match-up a few years back, but when you consider that the best-played games of recent memory were the twin Giants-Patriots match-ups, it really underlines the bittersweetness of the day. President's Day: kind of a gip, even for those of us too young to remember when that was two holidays. Groundhog Day: who the fuck are you kidding?

Then we get St. Paddy's. Look, I'm half-Irish and (probably not entirely coincidentally) I like to drink. So I kinda get this one. But if you're the type to hit up an Irish pub on St. Paddy's, you're begging for an underwhelming night (you may also be a tool). They're all crawling with green-clad drunks making a mockery of Irish culture. And while a non-Irish bar is marginally better, it never feels right, does it? And then you're expected to show up at work the next day... hangover or no. That's called entrapment. There's a recent movement underway to get March 17th made into a federal holiday, which would be nice but, as with New Year's, shouldn't we aim for the day after?

And that would be a good time for another holiday, during the long Spring slog between President's Day and Memorial Day. Not that Memorial Day is much of a contender. According to my rigorous market research (hint: it's all about projection), if you're reading this blog, you're the type to take Memorial Day for granted and feel guilty about it, but not guilty enough to actually do anything. So you spend the last day of your three day weekend in a funk.

The Fourth of July: another very good holiday that tends to get rated exactly as it should. Unless something magical happens, which no one can fairly expect. So that one's out.

Labor Day: see Memorial Day, except apply this more broadly to an American public that's blithely ignored the systematic neutering of the labor movement. Honestly, I'm surprised Labor Day hasn't yet been moved to Black Friday, just to rub some salt in the wound. But that would screw with the beginning of the school year, which is exactly why the day never reaches public acclaim: kids get conditioned to know what's coming and that wiring remains intact through adulthood.

I've already covered one of Halloween's major pitfalls. The expectation-to-satisfaction ratio for Halloween often seems to approach Christmas levels.

And then Veterans' Day: see Memorial Day. Also, not a universal day off.

Which leaves us with Thanksgiving: the feast day smart enough not to promise you the world. It tampers down your expectations and apologizes for not having done better. It stands amidst the onslaught of the end-of-the-year holidays and does... alright. Enjoy today. If for nothing else then because at no point all year will your expectations be so thoroughly matched.

Cut It Out, Pittsburgh

Pittsburgh. Explanation please:

You've worn these things twice now. Stop it.

I think I speak for all Bears fans when I say that the best news I heard at the start of this season was that the Bears would no longer be wearing these monstrosities. If we can do it, so can you.

David Petraeus (Ret.), Reality TV Star

I feel like I'm supposed to care about the Petraeus thing. I tried, too. Nothing's clicking for me on this one.

As far as I can tell, there's no deep national security significance, at least not given that Petraeus has resigned and the biography's been written (unethical, maybe, but that's more on Broadwell than Petraeus) and that he's still available for any questions we might have. Sure, it could mean the guy's ego was so huge that he thought no one could take him down. But it's just as likely that the guy was humble enough to know that he needed to step back. All character hypotheticals are moot now that he's gone, anyway. At worst, this thing makes him the last in a line of 2000s-era War on Terror guys to to have the bear eat them, rather than the other way 'round. Probably not great for national morale, but what from the Bush II years is? I say junk the whole lot of it. Forward, etc.

And this is the CIA, for Christ's sake. When did morality become a standard for judging anyone over there? You don't have to be an adultery apologist to see the disconnect of priorities here. Drone warfare? Shit, what's that? Powerful guy consensually boning two separate women who aren't his wife? Raging media hard-on. Sure, it's slimy, but come on.

It doesn't matter how long ago graduation was, we're all stuck in high school. And where do semi-powerful, emotionally-stunted-at-high-school, semi-powerful adults best fit in? That's right: reality TV. I've seen several people comment that the entire embarassment would make for some ripping good melodrama. That should be a sad observation, but I say let it be done. At least there, it'll be relegated to a realm I don't have to pay attention to. Put them out there and let them play in the sandbox of their making, wallowing in the precise amount of dignity they've earned for themselves. And we'll watch them, chortling and groaning in equal measure, because TV's bottomless chum bucket has claimed Vanessa Redgrave respected, high level government officials.

NaNoWriMo

A post about National Novel Writing Month would've been timelier a week or so ago. But this blog was focused on something else. 

I'm of two minds about NaNoWriMo. In the first corner is the sick, contrarian part of my brain, the part that balks at anything smacking of booster-ish trendiness. The cutesy portmanteau is enough to readjust the relative position of my eyebrows. And I'm not sure what writer needs Internet-based camaraderie to get them to write. Also, if you're going to pick one month in which to write a novel, wouldn't a thirty-one day month serve you that much better?

While finishing one book that no one wanted doesn't entitle to me to a lot of elitism on the subject, I can say that books are generally not written in a month. A person may be able to write 50K words in thirty days' time (and good on them for doing so), but then there's the editing. And the re-writing. And then the next few rounds of editing after that. It's neither pithy nor romantic to say so, but these are the forgotten elements of writing. The site says--apparently seriously--that the program values "enthusiasm and perseverance over painstaking craft." I blacked out when I first read that one. Woke up a couple of days later, wearing blood stains on an otherwise clean, white smock that I had never seen before. Since I've lost so much time, I'll keep this short: enthusiasm is good, perseverance is great, but it's the painstaking craft that stitches them together.

On the other hand, I really do appreciate anything that encourages people to write more (or any). Writing has usually been a rewarding experience for me and it's something I recommend to anyone who thinks they have might have something to say. There's nothing better for organizing one's thoughts than writing them down. The subject of writing is the closest I've come to proselytizing for anything, if only because advocating for the healing powers of alcohol remains a touchy subject in many circles. And though I'm not sure if everyone has a book in them, as is often claimed, you never know who does until they try. Meeting NaNoWriMo's goal leaves a writer with 50K words at the end of the month, words she can expand upon, or perhaps cut down for a short story. Or even re-purpose altogether to something else that can begin anew in December. That's the test of a writer: knowing how and when to continue or start over and seeing it through regardless. If NaNoWriMo can give people the impetus to start exorcising a long simmering dream, letting my intrinsic distaste for pithy methodology stand in the way seems, well, douchey.

Don't write because this particular month happens to make for some neat alliteration with which to advertise the project. Don't do it because other people are doing it. And don't stop on November 30th (likewise, come next year, if you think up a great idea for a book on October 26th, start then). Write because you have a story you want to tell. If you start with the hope of writing a novel and find that you have a much better short story in the works, run with that: the quality of your output means a hell of a lot more than the quantity. And if your project isn't working out and it's November 25th and you don't have time to start over, start over anyway; nothing is more arbitrary when it comes to writing than start and end times.

Essentially, if you're going to write, write.