Mon., April 6th - "Daddy, I want to build a house in Minecraft. Can you show me how?"
ME: I'm sorry sweetie, but I haven't had a chance to play the game. I'm afraid I wouldn't be much help.
Wed., April 8th - "Daddy, the boys at school keep talking about Minecraft. I want to build a house. Please help me."
ME: When I have some time I'll mess around with the game and let you know what I learn.
Thurs., April 9th (8:37 pm) - I load the game onto my PS3 and choose Survival Mode. Time to see what all the fuss is about. Immediately, I'm dropped into a virtual world without any weapons, tools or food. Nearby is a sandstone village populated by roaming monks who seem friendly, but won't give me any food unless I can trade emeralds for it. I don't have any emeralds, nor do I know where to find them. Discouraged and hungry, I wander into the forest and start beating a tree trunk with my fist because that's what the Internet told me to do. It results in enough lumber to forge a wooden pickaxe, which I find to be only slightly more efficient than my fist. Then darkness falls. On the horizon I see a zombie approaching who appears eager to eat my face. I run into the monk village and enter an empty house, where I cower in fear until morning. When day breaks, I step outside, only to be ambushed by a spider the size of a small puppy. It eats my face off and I drop my pickaxe. This game sucks.
(9:46 pm) In search of materials that will allow me to build a sturdy structure--information I can then pass along to my six-year-old--I begin to excavate a nearby cave. In my pocket are a few carrots I took from the monks' garden, along with some torches the villagers were using to keep the zombies away. I'm sure they won't mind if I borrow a couple.
(10:52 pm) I've accumulated enough cobblestone to lay the foundations for my castle. The caves are filled with the material and the deeper I dig, the more rare minerals I find too. I hear there are diamonds near the bedrock, but I haven't found any yet. Diamonds would be nice.
(11:30 pm) The walls of my castle are high and glorious. When I'm finished, I will rule this land and all of its inhabitants. Nothing can stop me now...holy crap, is it 11:30 already? I have to drive to Wichita in the morning. Best be off to bed.
Fri., April 10th (7:34 pm) - "Daddy, can we build my house now? You've been playing for more than an hour already."
ME: Sure thing honey. Just let me finish mining out this quarry. I think I'm close to finding a diamond vein.
Sat., April 11th - Sun., April 12th - My recollections of this weekend are lost in a haze. There was a charity run at the school, a kids party involving go-carts (where I solicit a tip from a grade schooler about how to keep the mob spawners at bay), and something about picking my wife up at the airport. But mostly the time was marked by a fruitless search for diamonds. I may have to resort to strip mining. To make matters worse, the monks don't seem interested in replanting the vegetables I stole, possibly a result of the zombie horde that has infiltrated their village due to the lack of perimeter lighting. (Most of their torches had to be relocated to the mine. It's dark down there.)
Mon., April 12th - I realize I've been doing this all wrong. No, not the diamond search. I mean the cobblestone I've been using to build my castle. It's a crappy building material. If I really want my castle to look formidable and majestic, it needs to be made from smooth stone. Fortunately, I'd stumbled upon an enemy stronghold deep inside a ravine and had been picking at it ever since, hauling the stones to the surface in my pockets. Basically the reverse of what Andy Dufresne had done in Shawshank. It's cathartic and takes my mind off my failed diamond expeditions.
Tues., April 13th - My daughter has lost all interest in building her house. She's more interested in watching me complete my castle. I'm more than happy to oblige. I also show her I've learned to grow my own food and make my own torches. But it's too late for the village. The monks have already deserted it. I wonder where they went? I have emeralds to trade with them now.
Wednesday, April 15, 2015
Wednesday, March 4, 2015
A Stand For Sanity
This is an open letter to anyone who wonders if there’s value in suffering. It’s an odd time to be writing this, as by all accounts, I’m having the time of my life. My daughters are growing stronger and smarter every day, my wife is back teaching full time with the people she loves, and I right now an online publisher is releasing my first short story in weekly installments. Certainly, I’ve been blessed. But the road has by no means been clear of obstacles. Ten years ago, had you told me I’d be the father of two beautiful girls, I would have rejected your prediction as an impossibility. I had a hard enough time keeping my own sanity in check. How was I supposed to be entrusted with the care of children? But eventually I stepped out in faith (with Rachel’s help, of course), no longer willing to allow my obsessive half to dictate my life choices. And God was faithful.
Still, there’d been a part of me I’d been suppressing for more than a decade--my writing. Sure, I’d started blogging in 2009, but even then, I was keeping it simple, lighthearted, unwilling to challenge myself or my audience. Some of it had to do with an unfortunate series of events in college, which I’ve blogged about before honestly, it was because I was afraid to. As many of you know, writing takes a considerable amount of mental focus. A clear head. Your synapses need space to operate. The problem I faced, as do millions of others in this country, is that obsessive thoughts (or depressed ones, or anxious ones), take up that space, like someone stuck a balloon in your ear and inflated it. It takes so much mental energy just to feel normal that there’s little left over to be creative. In fact, what I’ve discovered is that once you reach a certain level of calm, you’ll do anything to preserve it. Even if that means sending your God-given talents into hibernation, lest they trigger something unpleasant.
Which brings me back to my recently published novella. Please don’t misunderstand—I’m not intending this as a boast—but the fact that someone was willing to pay me for something I wrote, something I just created because it was fun to do, is something I’ll cherish forever as a personal benchmark. If it turns out that not many people read it, that’s okay. And if you do read it and don’t like it, that’s okay, too. For me, the triumph was in the journey, not the destination. I had finally risked something (time, energy, mass rejection) and came out the better for it.
If that were the end my post today, hopefully some of you might feel inspired. That still may happen, but we’re not done. We haven’t gotten our hands dirty yet, and I encourage to follow me, even if it’s a bit uncomfortable. Because with one successful challenge under my belt, I wanted to see what else I could do. So I started on a new manuscript. This one follows the trials and tribulations of a college student named Corey who suffers with OCD. I’m writing it to entertain, absolutely, but Corey has to confront some dark people, go to some dark places. Perhaps I was putting a too much of myself into it, but the tale had to be grounded somehow, and I wanted to give my audience some insight as well.
Unfortunately, my subconscious wasn’t amused by all this soul searching, because last night it took me on an unsettling ride that can only be described as a night terror. When I startled awake, sometime around 1:00 am, I still wasn’t right. I felt confused, dizzy, out of sorts. I went downstairs and drank some orange juice, but it didn’t help. Before I knew it, I was having a panic attack. A brutal one. One that made me wonder if I’d ever regain control of my mind. I believe my Obsessive Half was trying to send me a message:Turn back, cowboy. Back to writing about funny anecdotes and cheery topics. But don’t tread on my turf. If you try to expose me, I will destroy you.
So now I’m caught in quandary. Do I push forward, knowing that the process could be painful, even frightening at times? I think it might help others if they could read my story. Or do I fall back, take a break, retreat to the safety of calm, where my anxiety and I live side by side, tolerating each other’s existence in a perverted truce?
To that, I say why? Why should I let him win? The one who told me I could never have kids. The one who said I should sit quiet and never challenge myself. The one who has tormented people the world over for centuries with his lies and forced them to be less than what they were meant for. Right now, my fingers and hands are tingling. He wants me to stop typing. It feels terrible and he knows he can make me suffer.
So it's time to come full circle. Remember my initial premise? Do you believe there’s value in suffering? Or should we simply shut down at the first sign of trouble? Give back the territory we’ve fought so hard to claim? If you’re willing to strap on your armor, my brothers and sisters (those who know exactly what I’m talking about), then I say let’s stand our ground. All that’s at stake is our sanity.
Monday, September 29, 2014
The Best Hate Letter I Never Sent
I'll get this out of the way up front--I apologize for the click-baiting headline. The letter I drafted back in May wasn't a "hate" letter per se, but rather a sternly worded request to be freed from my obligation as a long-suffering fan of the Kansas City baseball franchise. Its premise was simple: after a generation of false promises, underperformances and general ineptitude, I needed the Royals organization to grant me a full and unconditional release from my fandom. Yes, sports fans can, and have, stopped following their favorite teams before, but that usually meant they stopped watching the sport altogether. I couldn't do that because baseball had been a part of my life for too long. What I needed was a new team. But attempting to switch your loyalties was (and is) the cardinal sin of sports-fan etiquette, and those who've tried it have often been discredited as posers, having forgotten the first rule of Sport Allegiance: once you hitch your wagon to a particular team, you ride it out with them no matter what. There are no restarts.
Although, I began to think, what if the Royals themselves were to grant me clemency? The idea came to me because I work for a bank, where we execute lien releases for customers when they pay off their mortgage loans. In other words, the homeowners are released from their obligation to the bank, because they've completed thirty years (or less) of payments and fulfilled their agreement. That's what I wanted. I had kept up my end of the bargain since the age of six, and as the team muddled its way through the first two months of the 2014 season, I couldn't bear to be strung along again only to feel the sting of another empty October. It was like I was a self-hating high schooler perpetually dumped by the same girl. But I kept taking her back because she promised this time would be different. The only way the situation was going to improve was if I took action to reclaim my self-respect.
I had kept the letter (shown below) on my desk at home, waiting for the right moment to send it, which would have been in conjunction with the team's inevitable, soul-crushing losing streak that always knocked them out of contention before the All-Star break. Except, as we know now, that moment never came. Granted, the team still had its fits and starts, exemplified by their ten-game winning streak in June followed immediately by a 1 -7 stretch, but they never let the bottom fall out. Instead, the seeds of Dayton Moore's process that were planted seven years ago finally started to bear fruit. Sure, the plant looked weird, and it was a fruit that no one had tried eating before, but dadgumit, it worked. No other team has ever--in baseball history--reached the postseason ranked last in walks and homeruns, until our mold-breaking Royals came along. Raise your hand if you care...that's what I thought. All that matters is that we've ended the longest playoff drought in professional North American sports (have fun with that one, Blue Jays), and we did it the only way a historically hapless franchise could--completely ass-backwards of conventional wisdom. So now it's our responsibility as fans to descend on Kauffman Stadium tomorrow night like a plague of starving locusts and suck the marrow from John Lester's bones.
As for my letter, it's going up in flames, just like my desire to root for a different ball club. Because in the words of Jeff Daniels' iconic character Harry Dunne, just when I thought the Royals couldn't get any dumber, they went and totally redeemed themselves.
Although, I began to think, what if the Royals themselves were to grant me clemency? The idea came to me because I work for a bank, where we execute lien releases for customers when they pay off their mortgage loans. In other words, the homeowners are released from their obligation to the bank, because they've completed thirty years (or less) of payments and fulfilled their agreement. That's what I wanted. I had kept up my end of the bargain since the age of six, and as the team muddled its way through the first two months of the 2014 season, I couldn't bear to be strung along again only to feel the sting of another empty October. It was like I was a self-hating high schooler perpetually dumped by the same girl. But I kept taking her back because she promised this time would be different. The only way the situation was going to improve was if I took action to reclaim my self-respect.
I had kept the letter (shown below) on my desk at home, waiting for the right moment to send it, which would have been in conjunction with the team's inevitable, soul-crushing losing streak that always knocked them out of contention before the All-Star break. Except, as we know now, that moment never came. Granted, the team still had its fits and starts, exemplified by their ten-game winning streak in June followed immediately by a 1 -7 stretch, but they never let the bottom fall out. Instead, the seeds of Dayton Moore's process that were planted seven years ago finally started to bear fruit. Sure, the plant looked weird, and it was a fruit that no one had tried eating before, but dadgumit, it worked. No other team has ever--in baseball history--reached the postseason ranked last in walks and homeruns, until our mold-breaking Royals came along. Raise your hand if you care...that's what I thought. All that matters is that we've ended the longest playoff drought in professional North American sports (have fun with that one, Blue Jays), and we did it the only way a historically hapless franchise could--completely ass-backwards of conventional wisdom. So now it's our responsibility as fans to descend on Kauffman Stadium tomorrow night like a plague of starving locusts and suck the marrow from John Lester's bones.
As for my letter, it's going up in flames, just like my desire to root for a different ball club. Because in the words of Jeff Daniels' iconic character Harry Dunne, just when I thought the Royals couldn't get any dumber, they went and totally redeemed themselves.
Saturday, April 14, 2012
In Search Of Nutmeg-Loving Woodland Creatures (with Magic)
For anyone who grew up in the Kansas City area during the '80s and early '90s, there's probably a nostalgic fondness for the local programming that was on KSHB Ch. 41 and KSMO Ch. 62. Those channels usually provided our generation with the best early-morning animated content, and greeted us again with a full slate of programming on our return home from school. Those early-morning shows were usually quirkier and less well-known, simply because the station managers figured (rightly so) that a lot of kids would still be asleep and may not even switch on the TV before heading off to school. That was even truer during the six o'clock hour, a proverbial programming graveyard. What kid in his or her right mind would be getting up before 7:00 am on a school day anyway?
The ones who lived out in the country and had to walk a quarter of a mile down a gravel driveway to wait for a bus, that's who. That meant if they wanted to enjoy some boob-tube entertainment while eating their cereal, they better get up early, because if they weren't standing by the mailbox at 7:11 am sharp, then Ms. Mahoney the bus driver wasn't waiting around. And if mom had to cut her morning routine short to pack us all in the station wagon and drive us into town for school, well it wasn't going to be a happy day for anyone.
So there I would be, plopped down in the middle of the living room couch at 6:00 am with my bowl of Apple Jacks resting on a TV tray. It would still be dark outside. As mentioned previously, the programming options weren't primetime. But I did manage to stumble across an intriguing cartoon that is, to this day, a mishmash of incomplete memories. Certain features do stand out, which has fueled my desire to track down the show, but even with Google-powered web searches, the answer has continued to elude me.
Here's what (I think) I know: The show was 30 minutes long, and two episodes would air back-to-back starting at 6:00. The program had an overarching plot, so each episode was a continuation of one long story. Unfortunately, the airing station didn't feel the need to play the episodes in order, which added to the disjointed mystique of my recollections.
I'm pretty sure the cartoon aired on Ch. 41, although I wouldn't rule out Ch. 62. The main protagonists were a group of of furry woodland creatures, possibly of the squirrel, ferret or badger family. They may have lived in the base of a tree, or it could have been an underground den. They had elaborate kitchens, and loved to make stuff with nutmeg. In fact, nutmeg seemed to play a larger part in the story, not just as a cooking ingredient, although I can't remember for sure how.
This community of creatures also possessed, or were trying to protect, a mysterious black or gray box, which may have endowed the owner with certain powers or magic. An evil contingency of other woodland creatures, not necessarily of the same species, were always trying to obtain the box and use it for nefarious purposes. I never did see the conclusion of the story.
That's all I remember. I know it's not much to go on, but if anyone has any ideas, please let me know. It's been so long ago, and the memories are just fuzzy enough, that sometimes I wonder if I dreamed up the whole thing. Except that as an 8-year-old, I had never heard of nutmeg before I saw it on the show. I even remember asking my mom what nutmeg was because of the cartoon.
Anyone with information that leads to the resolution of this mystery will be handsomely rewarded. Namely with a bottle of nutmeg from our spice cabinet that we've never used before.
The ones who lived out in the country and had to walk a quarter of a mile down a gravel driveway to wait for a bus, that's who. That meant if they wanted to enjoy some boob-tube entertainment while eating their cereal, they better get up early, because if they weren't standing by the mailbox at 7:11 am sharp, then Ms. Mahoney the bus driver wasn't waiting around. And if mom had to cut her morning routine short to pack us all in the station wagon and drive us into town for school, well it wasn't going to be a happy day for anyone.
So there I would be, plopped down in the middle of the living room couch at 6:00 am with my bowl of Apple Jacks resting on a TV tray. It would still be dark outside. As mentioned previously, the programming options weren't primetime. But I did manage to stumble across an intriguing cartoon that is, to this day, a mishmash of incomplete memories. Certain features do stand out, which has fueled my desire to track down the show, but even with Google-powered web searches, the answer has continued to elude me.
Here's what (I think) I know: The show was 30 minutes long, and two episodes would air back-to-back starting at 6:00. The program had an overarching plot, so each episode was a continuation of one long story. Unfortunately, the airing station didn't feel the need to play the episodes in order, which added to the disjointed mystique of my recollections.
I'm pretty sure the cartoon aired on Ch. 41, although I wouldn't rule out Ch. 62. The main protagonists were a group of of furry woodland creatures, possibly of the squirrel, ferret or badger family. They may have lived in the base of a tree, or it could have been an underground den. They had elaborate kitchens, and loved to make stuff with nutmeg. In fact, nutmeg seemed to play a larger part in the story, not just as a cooking ingredient, although I can't remember for sure how.
This community of creatures also possessed, or were trying to protect, a mysterious black or gray box, which may have endowed the owner with certain powers or magic. An evil contingency of other woodland creatures, not necessarily of the same species, were always trying to obtain the box and use it for nefarious purposes. I never did see the conclusion of the story.
That's all I remember. I know it's not much to go on, but if anyone has any ideas, please let me know. It's been so long ago, and the memories are just fuzzy enough, that sometimes I wonder if I dreamed up the whole thing. Except that as an 8-year-old, I had never heard of nutmeg before I saw it on the show. I even remember asking my mom what nutmeg was because of the cartoon.
Anyone with information that leads to the resolution of this mystery will be handsomely rewarded. Namely with a bottle of nutmeg from our spice cabinet that we've never used before.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Poweralley: Mission 2012
Last year, I posted the results of my fantasy baseball draft. The reasons were two-fold: to have a permanent record of my though-processes at the time, and more importantly, to learn from my mistakes so that I don't repeat them in subsequent drafts. The lesson I took away from 2011was that no matter how well I found bargains in the middle rounds (which I did), if I whiffed on my first three picks--which I did--it's awfully hard to stay competitive. (Click here to see my draft results from last year.)
Indeed, it was a tribute to my "diamonds in the rough" of the later rounds that kept my team buoyant thru most of the season. And even though I ranked first overall in pitching, I was stuck squarely in the lower half of hitting categories. Ideally, it's best to have those scenarios reversed, since batters provide more scoring opportunities per week than pitchers do.
It's interesting to read my comments from last year, because I pretty much hit the nail on the head by predicting that my pitchers would dominate, but that I would struggle to stay in the top half of hitting categories. I think what got me in trouble was that when it came my turn to pick, I didn't like any of the batters who would normally go in that round, so I compromised by taking the best pitcher available instead.
That's why I had a renewed focus this year about finding as many productive hitters per position as possible before trying to round out my pitching staff. For the first time, I also integrated a new math formula into my draft strategy to help me target players I knew I wanted, and have a reasonable assurance that they'd be there when it was my turn to pick. Without giving away too much to my competitors, it has to do with standard deviations and average draft positions.
To recap, I'm in a 10-team Head-to-Head league, and we always carry over three "keepers" from the previous year's roster. Since two of my three keepers happen to be top-flight pitchers (Halladay and Kershaw), there was no reason for me to be thinking about adding to my pitching staff until the later rounds anyway. Also a refresher, since 30 "keeper" players are already off the board by the time the draft starts, we did, in effect, begin the draft in the fourth round.
4th round - Justin Upton. Yes, yes, yes. I knew this guy was going to have a breakout campaign last season, and he did not disappoint. He basically carried the Diamondback's offense into the playoffs. I actually picked Upton up in the seventh round last year, and it turned out to be a steal. I hated to throw him back into the player pool this year, but since I could only hold onto three players (Halladay, Kershaw and Votto are locks), he unfortunately became the odd man out. I was hoping that my draft slot this year would put me in a good position to swoop him up again, and in that regard, I lucked out. I was slotted in third position of a snake draft, which was a drastic upgrade from last year's eighth slot.
5th round - Eric Hosmer. This is more than me just wanting to have the Royals' top player on my fantasy team. I actually think he's going to have a terrifically productive year, and I wouldn't be surprised if he winds up competing for one of my keeper slot next season. Hosmer's average draft position (ADP) is closer to the eighth round in standard H2H leagues, so some people might call this a reach, but he has so much upside that I didn't want to risk waiting too long and then missing out on him.
6th round - Ben Zobrist. I honestly didn't think that the 2nd baseman for the Rays would be available this late in the draft, so when he fell to me, I didn't hesitate. Second base is an extremely thin position (called scarcity in the fantasy world), and even though Mr. Zobrist isn't a household name, he has done enough over the past few years to prove he's one of the more productive players at his position.
7th round - Brett Lawrie. Who? I know. I think he'll be much more well-known by the end of this season. He's the new everyday third baseman for the Blue Jays, and if he had gotten the call up from the minors earlier in the season last year, I don't think he'd be a 7th-round pick this year. He's an absolute beast, and I always like to target up-and-coming sluggers in the later rounds who generally fly under the radar. Call it the Votto/Upton strategy.
8th round - Mike Napoli. The catcher for the Rangers had a historic second half of the season last year, and if he can even reach 70% of that production again this year, he'll still be better than most available catchers. Again, position scarcity plays a part in this selection.
9th round - Matt Moore. OK, now that I've selected a starter for 1B, 2B, 3B, C and OF, I'm comfortable with going after another pitcher. I would have preferred to pick up Andre Either as my second outfielder here, but he was gone. He was one of the few players I had targeted who I wasn't able to draft. That's OK though, I love starting pitchers who have relief pitching eligibility, and Moore may be the hottest pitching prospect since Stephen Strasburg. You know what? He may be better than that, and I can't believe I got him in the 9th round.
10th round - Mat Latos. Another pitcher. He's always had ace-type stuff, but he's been hampered by playing for the Padres. Now that he's with the Reds and pitching for a contender, that should help his win totals, although now he doesn't have the benefit of pitching in spacious Petco Park anymore.
11th round - Brandon Beachy. A pitcher for the Braves. He was tops in the majors last year with 10.7 strikeouts per 9 innings. I love power arms, and it was pure dumb luck last year that prevented him from winning more games. Luck has a tendency to even out over time, but strikeouts are fantasy gold.
12 round - Anibal Sanchez. A pitcher for the Miami (not Florida) Marlins. May wind up being the staff ace for this team if Josh Johnson continues to struggle with injuries, and the Marlins figure to be a good offensive ballclub.
13 round - Erick Aybar. A funny-named shortstop with the Angels. Did you notice that I hadn't drafted a shortstop yet? This is the worst position in fantasy. Once the top three players are off the board, which they were before I ever made my first selection, then all you have left are a bunch of low-level scrubs. The thing about low-level scrubs is that you can pick one up pretty much anywhere in the draft you want. Aybar, thou art my scrub.
14 round - Jordan Zimmerman. An unheralded pitcher in the Nationals rotation who only produces solid outings. A perfect fifth starter to round out my pitching staff.
Final picks - Jeff Franceour, Brennan Boesch, Logan Morrison, Lucas Duda (OF); Brett McCarthy, Homer Bailey (SP). I still needed two more outfielders to go along with Upton, so I'll have to mix and match the first few weeks of the season until a couple from the group above emerge as consistent producers. The reserve pitchers, if they're doing well, can be inserted into my starting rotation if they get two starts in any particular scoring period.
Indeed, it was a tribute to my "diamonds in the rough" of the later rounds that kept my team buoyant thru most of the season. And even though I ranked first overall in pitching, I was stuck squarely in the lower half of hitting categories. Ideally, it's best to have those scenarios reversed, since batters provide more scoring opportunities per week than pitchers do.
It's interesting to read my comments from last year, because I pretty much hit the nail on the head by predicting that my pitchers would dominate, but that I would struggle to stay in the top half of hitting categories. I think what got me in trouble was that when it came my turn to pick, I didn't like any of the batters who would normally go in that round, so I compromised by taking the best pitcher available instead.
That's why I had a renewed focus this year about finding as many productive hitters per position as possible before trying to round out my pitching staff. For the first time, I also integrated a new math formula into my draft strategy to help me target players I knew I wanted, and have a reasonable assurance that they'd be there when it was my turn to pick. Without giving away too much to my competitors, it has to do with standard deviations and average draft positions.
To recap, I'm in a 10-team Head-to-Head league, and we always carry over three "keepers" from the previous year's roster. Since two of my three keepers happen to be top-flight pitchers (Halladay and Kershaw), there was no reason for me to be thinking about adding to my pitching staff until the later rounds anyway. Also a refresher, since 30 "keeper" players are already off the board by the time the draft starts, we did, in effect, begin the draft in the fourth round.
4th round - Justin Upton. Yes, yes, yes. I knew this guy was going to have a breakout campaign last season, and he did not disappoint. He basically carried the Diamondback's offense into the playoffs. I actually picked Upton up in the seventh round last year, and it turned out to be a steal. I hated to throw him back into the player pool this year, but since I could only hold onto three players (Halladay, Kershaw and Votto are locks), he unfortunately became the odd man out. I was hoping that my draft slot this year would put me in a good position to swoop him up again, and in that regard, I lucked out. I was slotted in third position of a snake draft, which was a drastic upgrade from last year's eighth slot.
5th round - Eric Hosmer. This is more than me just wanting to have the Royals' top player on my fantasy team. I actually think he's going to have a terrifically productive year, and I wouldn't be surprised if he winds up competing for one of my keeper slot next season. Hosmer's average draft position (ADP) is closer to the eighth round in standard H2H leagues, so some people might call this a reach, but he has so much upside that I didn't want to risk waiting too long and then missing out on him.
6th round - Ben Zobrist. I honestly didn't think that the 2nd baseman for the Rays would be available this late in the draft, so when he fell to me, I didn't hesitate. Second base is an extremely thin position (called scarcity in the fantasy world), and even though Mr. Zobrist isn't a household name, he has done enough over the past few years to prove he's one of the more productive players at his position.
7th round - Brett Lawrie. Who? I know. I think he'll be much more well-known by the end of this season. He's the new everyday third baseman for the Blue Jays, and if he had gotten the call up from the minors earlier in the season last year, I don't think he'd be a 7th-round pick this year. He's an absolute beast, and I always like to target up-and-coming sluggers in the later rounds who generally fly under the radar. Call it the Votto/Upton strategy.
8th round - Mike Napoli. The catcher for the Rangers had a historic second half of the season last year, and if he can even reach 70% of that production again this year, he'll still be better than most available catchers. Again, position scarcity plays a part in this selection.
9th round - Matt Moore. OK, now that I've selected a starter for 1B, 2B, 3B, C and OF, I'm comfortable with going after another pitcher. I would have preferred to pick up Andre Either as my second outfielder here, but he was gone. He was one of the few players I had targeted who I wasn't able to draft. That's OK though, I love starting pitchers who have relief pitching eligibility, and Moore may be the hottest pitching prospect since Stephen Strasburg. You know what? He may be better than that, and I can't believe I got him in the 9th round.
10th round - Mat Latos. Another pitcher. He's always had ace-type stuff, but he's been hampered by playing for the Padres. Now that he's with the Reds and pitching for a contender, that should help his win totals, although now he doesn't have the benefit of pitching in spacious Petco Park anymore.
11th round - Brandon Beachy. A pitcher for the Braves. He was tops in the majors last year with 10.7 strikeouts per 9 innings. I love power arms, and it was pure dumb luck last year that prevented him from winning more games. Luck has a tendency to even out over time, but strikeouts are fantasy gold.
12 round - Anibal Sanchez. A pitcher for the Miami (not Florida) Marlins. May wind up being the staff ace for this team if Josh Johnson continues to struggle with injuries, and the Marlins figure to be a good offensive ballclub.
13 round - Erick Aybar. A funny-named shortstop with the Angels. Did you notice that I hadn't drafted a shortstop yet? This is the worst position in fantasy. Once the top three players are off the board, which they were before I ever made my first selection, then all you have left are a bunch of low-level scrubs. The thing about low-level scrubs is that you can pick one up pretty much anywhere in the draft you want. Aybar, thou art my scrub.
14 round - Jordan Zimmerman. An unheralded pitcher in the Nationals rotation who only produces solid outings. A perfect fifth starter to round out my pitching staff.
Final picks - Jeff Franceour, Brennan Boesch, Logan Morrison, Lucas Duda (OF); Brett McCarthy, Homer Bailey (SP). I still needed two more outfielders to go along with Upton, so I'll have to mix and match the first few weeks of the season until a couple from the group above emerge as consistent producers. The reserve pitchers, if they're doing well, can be inserted into my starting rotation if they get two starts in any particular scoring period.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Read this blog--It'll be better than the movie
Chances are you know someone who's always comparing a movie they've seen to the book it's based on. Usually their comments consist of the movie being "not as good," or they "weren't able to enjoy the movie" because it was too different from what they had read. This is not something I've every done. Why? Because up until last year, the last time I read a novel was during the Clinton administration. For years, I've been unburdened by source material awareness, which has allowed me to critique movies based on their own merits, for better or worse.
That in and of itself would probably earn me a stigma in some learned circles, but it's not as though I've entirely eschewed the written word. I am a journalism major, after all. I've just chosen to do most of my reading with newspapers, magazines and, most recently, the internet, since that is where most of our news is transitioning toward anyway. But I was never much of a book guy. Maybe that's because the books I was required to read in school, often referred to as classics, were never any good. Or maybe it's because I enjoyed my stories as bite-size morsels, not a six-course meals. Whatever the reason, 2011 was the year my appetite began to change.
The catalyst was an article I read online (ironic, I know) about how Universal was planning on adapting The Dark Tower novel series, written by Stephen King, into a major motion picture, followed by a TV series, and then ending with a final film. The entire story arch covered seven books, so there would be plenty of material for such an ambitious project. Ron Howard was slated to direct. At that moment, something inside me wanted to know what all the fuss was about before the movies came out. For the first time, I wanted to be one of those people in the theater thinking to himself that's not how it happened in the book.
So I got cracking. The first novel in the series, called The Gunslinger, sets the stage for King's magnum opus. The main protagonist is Roland Deschain. He's a lawman of sorts, complete with two six shooters. The first sentence of the first chapter tells us he's in pursuit of the man in black in a place called MidWorld. From that point on, we're part of Roland's quest, which starts out as a straight-forward western and ultimately plays out as anything but.
Fair warning: the first book is kind of a drag. Stephen King even admitted as much in the forward; but he assured the reader that if one sticks with it, then the series would start to pick up steam. He was right. I smoked through the first four books in a few months. Wizard and Glass was my favorite. Then I kind of bogged down during the fifth book. I needed a break, so I picked up a different novel: The Stand by, uh, Stephen King. I heard that Ben Affleck had been tagged as director for the movie adaptation. I know, I chuckled when I heard that for the first time, too. But honestly, it shouldn't be any worse than the dreadful ABC miniseries made back in the '90s. Plus, that's not a point anymore. It's that now I have a frame of reference on how successful Affleck will be in in cramming a 1000-page story into a 3-hour feature film. That's not how it happened in the book!
OK, so back to The Dark Tower series. I finally made it to the end of book number five, Wolves of the Calla, sometime last summer. It could have been entirely omitted from the series, in my opinion, but I was hopeful that the final two novels would redeem my time. Then the unthinkable happened: in late July it was reported that Universal was pulling the plug on the entire movie/TV project because of cost prohibitions.
Well, fart.
I couldn't stop reading the series at that point. Not after I had started caring about the characters. So I marched on. I finished the sixth book a couple of months ago, and I've just begun reading the final entry after a prolonged wait from the library.
But the question remains: will I ever get to see Javier Bardem play the notorious Roland Deschain on the big screen? I dunno. There's been talk that another studio may step in, but nothing's been confirmed. Am I glad that I turned over a new leaf anyway? Sure. There may be something to this novel reading after all. Who knows, I might actually pick a book not written by Stephen King next time.
That in and of itself would probably earn me a stigma in some learned circles, but it's not as though I've entirely eschewed the written word. I am a journalism major, after all. I've just chosen to do most of my reading with newspapers, magazines and, most recently, the internet, since that is where most of our news is transitioning toward anyway. But I was never much of a book guy. Maybe that's because the books I was required to read in school, often referred to as classics, were never any good. Or maybe it's because I enjoyed my stories as bite-size morsels, not a six-course meals. Whatever the reason, 2011 was the year my appetite began to change.
The catalyst was an article I read online (ironic, I know) about how Universal was planning on adapting The Dark Tower novel series, written by Stephen King, into a major motion picture, followed by a TV series, and then ending with a final film. The entire story arch covered seven books, so there would be plenty of material for such an ambitious project. Ron Howard was slated to direct. At that moment, something inside me wanted to know what all the fuss was about before the movies came out. For the first time, I wanted to be one of those people in the theater thinking to himself that's not how it happened in the book.
So I got cracking. The first novel in the series, called The Gunslinger, sets the stage for King's magnum opus. The main protagonist is Roland Deschain. He's a lawman of sorts, complete with two six shooters. The first sentence of the first chapter tells us he's in pursuit of the man in black in a place called MidWorld. From that point on, we're part of Roland's quest, which starts out as a straight-forward western and ultimately plays out as anything but.
Fair warning: the first book is kind of a drag. Stephen King even admitted as much in the forward; but he assured the reader that if one sticks with it, then the series would start to pick up steam. He was right. I smoked through the first four books in a few months. Wizard and Glass was my favorite. Then I kind of bogged down during the fifth book. I needed a break, so I picked up a different novel: The Stand by, uh, Stephen King. I heard that Ben Affleck had been tagged as director for the movie adaptation. I know, I chuckled when I heard that for the first time, too. But honestly, it shouldn't be any worse than the dreadful ABC miniseries made back in the '90s. Plus, that's not a point anymore. It's that now I have a frame of reference on how successful Affleck will be in in cramming a 1000-page story into a 3-hour feature film. That's not how it happened in the book!
OK, so back to The Dark Tower series. I finally made it to the end of book number five, Wolves of the Calla, sometime last summer. It could have been entirely omitted from the series, in my opinion, but I was hopeful that the final two novels would redeem my time. Then the unthinkable happened: in late July it was reported that Universal was pulling the plug on the entire movie/TV project because of cost prohibitions.
Well, fart.
I couldn't stop reading the series at that point. Not after I had started caring about the characters. So I marched on. I finished the sixth book a couple of months ago, and I've just begun reading the final entry after a prolonged wait from the library.
But the question remains: will I ever get to see Javier Bardem play the notorious Roland Deschain on the big screen? I dunno. There's been talk that another studio may step in, but nothing's been confirmed. Am I glad that I turned over a new leaf anyway? Sure. There may be something to this novel reading after all. Who knows, I might actually pick a book not written by Stephen King next time.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
The Day We All Remember
In the mid '90s, a semi-popular drama titled "My So-Called Life" aired on ABC. It starred an angst-ridden Claire Danes trying to navigate her way thorugh high school and teenage awkwardness. In one episode, her character Angela Chase monologues during an especially boring history class about how she's envious that her generation (read: my generation) doesn't have a collective "moment" it can call its own, unlike her parents, who could remember exactly where they were and what they were doing during the Kennedy assassination.
Our moment came soon enough obviously, and it resulted in not one death but thousands. Angela got her wish, which is its own cautionary tale, but even for those of us who weren't pining for another national tragedy, the morning of 9/11 is a memory none of us can escape, nor should we allow it to...
Our moment came soon enough obviously, and it resulted in not one death but thousands. Angela got her wish, which is its own cautionary tale, but even for those of us who weren't pining for another national tragedy, the morning of 9/11 is a memory none of us can escape, nor should we allow it to...
***
That September morning started out for me like many others as a student attending the University of Kansas: way too friggin' early. To help subsidize my student loans, I had secured a part-time researching job with a local production company in Lawrence called NewsTV. By "research," I mean I monitored the morning news shows. By "monitor," I mean I transcribed what was said during each news segment and included notes of what type of footage was aired. Basically I go paid to watch television. It sounds a lot cooler than it was, especially since it required a rise-and-shine time of 5:30 am that ran antithetical to the lifestyle of a typical college student.
In the NewsTV office, which was actually a converted two-story house on the edge of downtown, were rows of makeshift shelves holding TV monitors and VCRs, each one airing and recording a different channel. They provided me with a front-row seat to what was about to unfold.
I think it was Andrew who first spoke and told us to all look at the monitor airing ABC--the first network to break into live coverage of the initial plane crash.
It didn't surprise me that Andrew was the first one to take notice. He was a high-strung type, but likeable. He usually walked around the office barefoot and with a noticeable limp, those two peculiarities intertwined by a goiter or other such mass on the bottom of his foot. Years later, after he had moved to Florida, he wrote us a letter, letting us know that doctors in the Sunshine State had diagnosed his goiter as a malignant tumor. They had to amputate his leg above the knee. He remained in good spirits throughout the ordeal, he wrote, and was now passing his time on the dock of a lake with his fishing pole. Good for him, I thought.
At first, the other researchers and I stopped what we were doing and just stared at the monitor, somewhat befuddled. (When it's your job to monitor continual news segments on a daily basis, desensitization is a real phenomenon, but this caught everyone's attention.) It wasn't long before every network cut into their normal programming, and soon we were literally surrounded by WTC coverage.
I was pulling NBC duty that morning, which was nothing new, since "The Today Show" was the only morning news program I could bear to watch for three hours without getting nauseated or infuriated. This was back when "The Today Show" was in its heyday, in my opinion. Matt Lauer still had most of his hair, Katie Couric didn't have a permanent scowl tattooed across her face yet, and Al Roker was still rotund and jolly. It was actually Roker who had the most memorable quote that morning. It was shortly after the second plane had crashed, but before the hijackings were confirmed:
"What are the odds of two separate planes hitting both towers?" he asked.
Now, let me say, there are two ways you can interpret his inquiry. The first is to assume that Roker picked up on what was happening almost immediately, and posed his question more as a rhetorical statement to point out that the crashes were deliberate. The second option is to take his question at face value, where he was merely speaking out loud was his mind was thinking: that this must be the uber-ultimate coincidence of all time. Watch the tape, and you can come to your own conclusion.
Regardless, Roker's comment pales in comparison to blundering CBS host Bryant Gumbel. At the time, "The Early Show" was mired in last-place ratings. Gumbel was supposed to fix that, but personally I believe he had the opposite effect, because the general consensus of anyone who had to watch him or write about him for an extended period of time was that he was a jerk. That reputation certainly didn't improve when he botched an on-air phone interview with an eye witness to the second plane crash. The caller had already put two and two together, but Gumbel was still two steps behind, and he asked the caller "Why do you say the second [plane] was intentional?"
"Because...there appeared to be nothing wrong with the aircraft, and it was flown very deliberately into the building," the witness said.
"Ya," was all Gumbel could say, obviously unconvinced.
Well played, Gumbel. There's nothing like blowing it during the biggest news story of our time while millions were watching--or not watching, in CBS' case.
That morning, I stayed in the office glued to the monitors well past my normal shift. It wasn't until after the towers had collapsed that it dawned on me that I needed to be on campus, because I was the assignment editor for the University Daily Kansan that semester, and like every other newsroom across the country that day, it was madness. I was proud of the issue we produced that day, and I've kept a copy of it for my archives.
Still, ten years later, I hope the memory of 9/11 is still too fresh for us to file it away as just a "where were you?" moment. I hope it reminds us to remain vigilant against those who consider us to be their enemy. And I pray that our children never have to encounter their own generation-defining tragedy.
[ What's do you remember about that day? Let me know in the comments section. ]
In the NewsTV office, which was actually a converted two-story house on the edge of downtown, were rows of makeshift shelves holding TV monitors and VCRs, each one airing and recording a different channel. They provided me with a front-row seat to what was about to unfold.
I think it was Andrew who first spoke and told us to all look at the monitor airing ABC--the first network to break into live coverage of the initial plane crash.
It didn't surprise me that Andrew was the first one to take notice. He was a high-strung type, but likeable. He usually walked around the office barefoot and with a noticeable limp, those two peculiarities intertwined by a goiter or other such mass on the bottom of his foot. Years later, after he had moved to Florida, he wrote us a letter, letting us know that doctors in the Sunshine State had diagnosed his goiter as a malignant tumor. They had to amputate his leg above the knee. He remained in good spirits throughout the ordeal, he wrote, and was now passing his time on the dock of a lake with his fishing pole. Good for him, I thought.
At first, the other researchers and I stopped what we were doing and just stared at the monitor, somewhat befuddled. (When it's your job to monitor continual news segments on a daily basis, desensitization is a real phenomenon, but this caught everyone's attention.) It wasn't long before every network cut into their normal programming, and soon we were literally surrounded by WTC coverage.
I was pulling NBC duty that morning, which was nothing new, since "The Today Show" was the only morning news program I could bear to watch for three hours without getting nauseated or infuriated. This was back when "The Today Show" was in its heyday, in my opinion. Matt Lauer still had most of his hair, Katie Couric didn't have a permanent scowl tattooed across her face yet, and Al Roker was still rotund and jolly. It was actually Roker who had the most memorable quote that morning. It was shortly after the second plane had crashed, but before the hijackings were confirmed:
"What are the odds of two separate planes hitting both towers?" he asked.
Now, let me say, there are two ways you can interpret his inquiry. The first is to assume that Roker picked up on what was happening almost immediately, and posed his question more as a rhetorical statement to point out that the crashes were deliberate. The second option is to take his question at face value, where he was merely speaking out loud was his mind was thinking: that this must be the uber-ultimate coincidence of all time. Watch the tape, and you can come to your own conclusion.
Regardless, Roker's comment pales in comparison to blundering CBS host Bryant Gumbel. At the time, "The Early Show" was mired in last-place ratings. Gumbel was supposed to fix that, but personally I believe he had the opposite effect, because the general consensus of anyone who had to watch him or write about him for an extended period of time was that he was a jerk. That reputation certainly didn't improve when he botched an on-air phone interview with an eye witness to the second plane crash. The caller had already put two and two together, but Gumbel was still two steps behind, and he asked the caller "Why do you say the second [plane] was intentional?"
"Because...there appeared to be nothing wrong with the aircraft, and it was flown very deliberately into the building," the witness said.
"Ya," was all Gumbel could say, obviously unconvinced.
Well played, Gumbel. There's nothing like blowing it during the biggest news story of our time while millions were watching--or not watching, in CBS' case.
That morning, I stayed in the office glued to the monitors well past my normal shift. It wasn't until after the towers had collapsed that it dawned on me that I needed to be on campus, because I was the assignment editor for the University Daily Kansan that semester, and like every other newsroom across the country that day, it was madness. I was proud of the issue we produced that day, and I've kept a copy of it for my archives.
Still, ten years later, I hope the memory of 9/11 is still too fresh for us to file it away as just a "where were you?" moment. I hope it reminds us to remain vigilant against those who consider us to be their enemy. And I pray that our children never have to encounter their own generation-defining tragedy.
[ What's do you remember about that day? Let me know in the comments section. ]
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