July 30: Disappointment, Jordyn Wieber, "Carol" Dip

So I watched the Olympics last night.  Of course, there were a lot of events that were covered, but the one that really struck me was the women's gymnastics competition.  I think the term "women's" is a little misleading, because most of the athletes competing are these tiny little teenage girls.  That being said, I was really moved by the story of American gymnast Jordyn Wieber.

Here's a girl who's been working her whole life for this Olympic moment.  She's the reigning world all-around gymnastics champion.  She posts the third best score of the night, but because of a rule that only allows the top two scorers from each country to compete in the women's all-around finals, Jordyn Wieber will not be able to fulfill her dream of trying to win an all-around Olympic gold medal.

That wasn't the part that really move me.  The part that moved me was Jordyn Wieber's disappointment, which was immediately evident and immediately heartbreaking.  She alternated between tears and stiff-upper-lip.  As the father of a girl who dances competitively, I just about died watching Wieber's post-competition interview.  I've sat in an auditorium and witnessed my daughter receive a medal I knew she wasn't happy with.  I don't care if my daughter takes bronze, silver, gold, or platinum in competition.  I care about the disappointment she feels in herself.  That's what I saw last night with Jordyn Wieber, and I could barely stand it.

This post isn't about the United States being screwed out of a chance for a gold medal.  Or an unfair Olympic rule.  Or unfair Olympic judging.  It's about a little girl who isn't even going to get a chance to make her dream come true.  That's really depressing to me.

It is a Monday, and, therefore, it's time for a Carol dip.  I've been thinking long and hard about the question I was going to ask this morning.  I think it's going to have to do with disappointment:

Will I be disappointed with the employment contract that's currently under negotiation at the university?

And the answer from the ever-wise Charles Dickens is:

...The misery with them all was, clearly, that they sought to interfere, for good, in human matters, and had lost the power for ever...

Wow.  That answer depresses me even more this morning.  Misery.  That doesn't sound very appealing.

Excuse Saint Marty now.  He needs to go take some Prozac.

I just want to give her a hug

May 15: Reeked With Crime, Crystal Meth, Trailer Park

They left the busy scene, and went into an obscure part of the town, where Scrooge had never penetrated before, although he recognised its situation, and its bad repute.  The ways were foul and narrow; the shops and houses wretched; the people half-naked, drunken, slipshod, ugly.  Alleys and archways, like so many cesspools, disgorged their offences of smell, and dirt, and life, upon the straggling streets; and the whole quarter reeked with crime, with filth, and misery.

The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come brings Scrooge to this quaint little neighborhood.  Scrooge will soon witness a trio of unsavory characters selling items they have stolen from his death chamber.  Most of this stave reeks with crime and filth and misery.  Despair is rampant.  Tiny Tim is dead.  The Cratchits are in mourning.  To top it all off, the Ghost brings Scrooge to this London ghetto.

I live in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.  I'm surrounded by forest, and the shores of Lake Superior are only about 20 miles from my doorstep.  The town in which I live is tiny, and the university where I teach is filled, mainly, with students who grew up in the U.P.  Sounds idyllic, doesn't it?

However, the area is economically depressed, like the rest of the country.  Businesses are closing.  Alcoholism is a huge problem, always has been.  Most of the available jobs are for minimum wage (read that as"not enough to pay the rent and buy oatmeal for dinner").  And crystal meth is a huge problem.

Over the last few days, I've been watching local news coverage about the newest crystal meth lab bust.  It was in a local trailer home park.  The news keeps showing footage of the drug dealer, a man around my age who looks like he's been rode hard and put away wet.  I'm not joking when I say he looks like he's approaching 70 years old.  He's a tattooed piece of shoe leather.

Most people who live in the U.P. live here because we are, supposedly, so far removed from the urban problems of poverty, drug abuse, murder, and the like.  Late last year, there was a homicide in another crystal meth house.  We also had our first drive-by shooting in town that didn't involve a rogue whitetail deer.  (Again, I think it involved drugs.)  Like Dickens' Victorian London, the U.P. is not immune to the darker elements of human existence,

Some of my friends and family tend to blame "outsiders" for these problems, people who come to upper Michigan to take advantage of our welfare system.  That is a fallacy.  Most of the problems I just described are as home-grown as blueberries and iron ore.  When you have people living in an isolated environment with an unstable economy, you're going to have problems.  People will turn to drugs and alcohol out of sheer desperation.

Things haven't changed that much since Charles Dickens wrote A Christmas Carol.  Until human beings learn to look out for every segment of society, there will always be things like crystal meth labs.  Drive-by shootings.  Crime.  Filth.  Misery.

Saint Marty isn't a desperate segment of society.  Not any more.  He's had breakfast.

This is your face...               This is your face on meth...

April 17: The Phantom, More Bad News, Gloom

The Phantom slowly, gravely, silently approached.  When it came near him, Scrooge bent down upon his knee; for in the very air through which this Spirit moved it seemed to scatter gloom and mystery.

I think you can all guess which spirit the above passage describes.  Yesterday's rejection fest didn't end when I got home.  I got a call from a friend shortly after I walked through the door, and she told me I didn't win an award for which I was nominated.  I've been nominated for the same award several times in the past.  Each time, I have lost to a very deserving person, and this year is no different.  However, I really didn't need to receive that news last night.  It just managed to spread a pall over the rest of the evening.  This morning, I am Dickens' Phantom, scattering gloom wherever my ass happens to land.

I never begrudge deserving people success.  I may joke and complain about it, but, in the end, I can suck it up and admit defeat graciously.  However, I really thought I had a shot this year.  Meryl Streep won an Oscar a couple months ago.  The year 2013 was supposed to be my Iron Lady year.  Me and Meryl, taking home the gold.  Now, I'm just sitting in the audience, listening to another person's acceptance speech.

I hope I don't sound bitter and angry.  I hope I sound witty and sarcastic.  It's a more attractive persona.  Perhaps next year, I will deliver a stronger performance.  Perhaps next year, I could play Julia Child or Margaret Thatcher.

This year, Saint Marty has to watch Kathy Bates win for Misery.

I'm smiling and clapping in my seat