A War of Semantics

There is a serious problem in our society and I readily admit that I am accomplice to the same crime as those around me. It’s something that has gone on long enough and it has to stop. While in a way I feel that our hand has been forced to take the road we all seem to have collectively chosen, it doesn’t justify the disservice we have done. Friends, lets pledge here and now to put an end to the madness.

We have completely and absolutely destroyed the meaning behind calling someone a douchebag.

Not too long ago in the name calling world, dropping the DB on someone deserving was like the Enola Gay unloading Little Boy on Hiroshima. It was powerful, destructive, and got results. Now I hear the term for any little offense, and it has lost all meaning. In short, we overused one of our most powerful weapons.

I think I know how we got to this point. As I previously stated, there is blame to share. How can a word not get overused when we have an influx of collar popping, skinny jeans wearing, chest shaving, flatbilled-hat sporting toolsheds walking around us constantly? I mean, have you been to the Belmont lately? Quite simply, its entrapment. Still, someone asking for it is not a good enough excuse. I’d be willing to bet most criminals guilty of violent crime thought the other person was asking for it. That doesn’t make our abuse of the term any more justified.

Despite the tremendous opportunity presented to us daily to pepper others with the douchebag tag, we need to be stronger. By playing it so free and loose with the term, we have essentially killed it as an effective way to cut someone down who is truly deserving of the label. Remember the Rumble in the Jungle? It was in this famous title fight that Muhammad Ali forced George Foreman to expend all of his energy too early in the fight by employing the “Rope a dope” strategy. He stayed back and let Foreman throw punch after punch until he had nothing left and couldn’t successfully fight in the later rounds. You might also remember this strategy from every Rocky movie ever made.

The lesson here? Save something for the later rounds. Don’t unload the big guns right out of the gate. If someone acts in a way that over the previous years would have been described as douchey, call them a tool, punk, loser, or prick. You can even invent new words. Be creative. But let’s save the big guns for those special cases that actually deserve it. The K-Feds of the world, if you will.

This is a fight that needs fighting. We are the soldiers in this war, and it must be a team effort. Together we can restore meaning to a term that if used correctly can bring down the biggest of men. Let us all vow to engage in this war of semantics effectively and without mercy. Future generations are counting on us.

Please. Don’t let them down.

Get out of the Way!!

I don’t think I’m alone in wanting to be rich. There are a myriad of reasons for wanting money, and I’m sure that most reasons are unique to each individual. Some people want to be able to travel all over the world. Others want to be able to buy nice houses and beautiful cars, not to mention electronic luxuries, while others still seek to add to their never ending wardrobes. There is absolutely nothing wrong with any of these reasons, and I admit they all sound great. But I’ve got a new one. I want to teach the citizens of Provo how to be pedestrians.

What does that mean, you say? I’ll tell you what it means. I am so sick of pedestrians in Provo. It seems like all creatures on earth have a survival instinct, with the exception of those dim-witted morons crossing our fair streets everyday. To me, walking in front of oncoming traffic seems like a poor decision. Apparently I am in the minority. Every morning I drive to work, half asleep mind you, and end up having to slam on my breaks to avoid hitting some jackass that thinks a crosswalk means you don’t have to look to see if cars are coming.

Martin Luther King Jr. had a dream, and so do I. While not as high minded, I desire to see my dream fulfilled just as passionately as Dr. King. My dream is this: to have enough money that I can hit pedestrians when then dart out in front of my car. Sadistic? Yes. Necessary? I believe so.

It is my belief that the idiotic pedestrians of Provo need to be hit by oncoming automobiles. It is the only way they will learn. If you get hit by a car, how willing will you be to march on into the road without making sure the coast is clear? Not very, I presume. I’ve heard the excuse from some of these half-wits that the driver of the car would be at fault, and therefore would have to pay for their doctor bills and maybe even a settlement. This is true. But how much money do you get if you are dead? How much money would you gladly sacrifice in order to have the ability to walk?

It doesn’t really matter if the cars are supposed to stop. That is the message I want to drive home, literally and figuratively. Someday I hope to have the means to make this dream come true. Until then I will continue to silently fume as I try my best not to comply with the death wish of the soon to be brain dead pedestrians of Provo.

My Bucket List

Visit every major league baseball stadium
Kiss someone at the top of the Eiffel Tower
Attend the Masters Golf tournament in Augusta, Georgia
Break par on 18 holes of Golf (not miniature)
Have season tickets to the nearest major league baseball team
Attend the Super Bowl, World Series, NBA and Stanley Cup Finals, and the Collegiate National Championship in Football, Baseball, and Basketball
Skydive
Bungeejump
Travel to all 6 hospitable continents (no desire to freeze my ace off in Antarctica)
Publish a book
Live in Europe for a year
Visit every state in the Union (still have 6 to go)
Bench Press 275 pounds
Catch a foul ball at a major league game
Attend a Premier League Soccer game in England
Successfully complete the Gallon Challenge
Celebrate New Years at Times Square
Go on an African Safari
Serve a Mission with my wife
Go on a cruise
Stay in a 5 star hotel
Visit all 19 Presidential Libraries
Walk on the Great Wall
Visit Stonehenge
Visit the Pyramids in Egypt
Jerusalem (see it all)

I will continue to add to the list as necessary but I think this is a pretty good one to start with. It would be amazing to accomplish all of these things. Most of it relates to sports and traveling, as they are two of my greatest loves. Any thoughts or suggestions?

Suck it Korea!

Oh, BYU. You were awesome again this weekend. Please continue your dominance. Even if it results in me visiting Cindy in Korea, which I have promised to do if we win the national championship. Who would have though it was actually a possibility? Not me. Nevertheless, I would be happy to visit under such circumstances. That is all. Yes, Cindy, this is copping out. Two blogs to come this week as penance. Loves.

For Love of the Game

I love sports, absolutely and completely. It’s hard to say what it is I love most about them, or even why I fell in love in the first place. I love competition and how it either brings out the best or the worst within us. I love to see people excel at something they have devoted their lives to, and I love the utter joy or despair that comes after giving your all and either winning or losing. I love the endless possibilities of a new season as well as the finality of that season’s end. But most of all I love the passion.

A very good friend of mine and I were discussing the subject of passion a while back and I still think about that conversation today. When I talk about passion, I mean the pure love of something to the point that you devote your whole self to it. This can be a hobby, a profession, an interest or just about anything. Often this is something over which we have little control. The beauty of caring so deeply for something partially or wholly out of your control is that by totally and completely immersing yourself in it, you can win big or lose big.

This is why I’m a sports fan. There is nothing like devotedly following a team and having that team win. I’ve known people that have loose affiliations with a team and when that teams wins, they are happy, but nowhere near as happy as the person who dutifully followed that team from the beginning, experiencing all the highs and lows that led to the victory. To experience that highest level of joy, you have to be there for the losses, and those losses have to hurt. It is a much more difficult way to be a fan, but the payoff is unquestionably worth it.

My dad called me after BYU beat Oklahoma last night, and all of these thoughts about passion came flooding back into my mind. He was elated. My dad is an alumnus of BYU, and he has been their most loyal fan. For 30 years he has been there for the good and bad times, enjoying a national championship as well as losing seasons; riding the wave of emotion from a trip to the Elite Eight and dying a little with every first round NCAA tournament loss. As we talked about the unbelievable victory, I remembered why it is I love sports and why I will continue to put my heart and soul into rooting for the teams I love even when the other team’s field goal try doesn’t sail wide left.

I’m so glad my dad taught me how to care deeply and passionately. By and large I think this is something sorely missing in the world today. People get hurt and they either stop caring, or guard themselves against caring too much, but either way, they miss out on the treasure that is rewarded passion. One of my favorite sports writers, Roger Angell, summed up my feelings on this topic more eloquently and beautifully than I could hope to:

It is foolish and childish, on the face of it, to affiliate ourselves with anything so insignificant and patently contrived and commercially exploitive as a professional sports team, and the amused superiority and icy scorn that the non-fan directs at the sports nut (I know this look -- I know it by heart) is understandable and almost unanswerable. Almost. What is left out of this calculation, it seems to me, is the business of caring -- caring deeply and passionately, really caring -- which is a capacity or an emotion that has almost gone out of our lives. And so it seems possible that we have come to a time when it no longer matters so much what the caring is about, how frail or foolish is the object of that concern, as long as the feeling itself can be saved. Naiveté -- the infantile and ignoble joy that sends a grown man or woman to dancing and shouting with joy in the middle of the night over the haphazardous flight of a distant ball -- seems a small price to pay for such a gift.

Amen. And go Cougars!!