Last Friday, there was 2136,000,000 litres less in our dams compared to 2006. Today, there's 172,000,000 more in our dams than this time last year. (The black line below tells the tale)
Rain's a great thing. Nah, really, it is. Just saying...
Showing posts with label YOU'RE TOPS. Show all posts
Showing posts with label YOU'RE TOPS. Show all posts
Monday, August 6, 2007
Send it down
Friday, April 27, 2007
You're Tops:
Dean Karnazes (Running Banshee)
Dean 'Karno' Karnazes is not a normal person.
Dean, based in San Francisco, left a successful marketing career to go for a bit of a run. It's been a few years now, and he's still running. Plenty. And I'm not talking about your 45 minute gasp around the suburbs. He's done a bunch of crazy runs including the Western States 100 Miler, the Badwater Ultramarathon and last year he ran 50 marathons in 50 days in 50 states. He published a book about some of his shenanigans called Ultramarathon Man. It serves to chronicle the fact that he is certifiable. One anecdote from the book pretty much sums him up.
There are a few team-based relay runs out there. Dean entered one, but instead of completing it with all the blokes from the Sales Department, or the golf club, or the myriad of ways running teams are formed, Dean was running by himself: Team Karno. In order to fuel the furnace that drives this running machine he had a pizza company deliver some pizzas to him at an obscure intersection late at night so he could eat them as he ran. Which he did. And if memory serves me right he washed them down with a thermos of coffee...
Most recently, Dean has been nominated as one of Time Magazine's 100 Most Influential People. You can vote for Dean to be included within the final 100 here. I'm into people who are into their thing––be that spelling, obscenely long runs or geo-politics. There's something about the obsessive and relentless pursuit of mastery and enjoyment in a field that's inspiring. Karno makes me want to have a go, to push things a bit, to turn what can be the suburban-treading-water posture to which I can so easily entropy into an adventure. And he's done it with a pair of shoes and a healthy disregard for self-applied boundaries. Go Karno, go!
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Top 5: Brands
Ok, so this Top 5 could be misinterpreted as an advocation of materialism, but hear me out.
While I'm not a fan of labels, I love brands. I've spent a fair chunk of my life reading about them and designing and creating, then building them. At their worst, a brand can create an attractive and alluring, though false, perception of a company. At their best, the brand embodies the company and paints a picture of accuracy that is one you want to climb aboard.
A brand is a set of assets (or liabilities) linked to a brand's name and symbol that adds to (or subtracts from) the value provided by a product or service. It's not just the 'logo' but a whole host of visual and non-visual elements that create a perception of who and what a company is. Some of these are intentional, many more are incidental.
Brands end up taking a life of their own. Strangely, they can have a soul of sorts. Illegitimate in a spiritual sense, yet resonating with some of the characteristics of soul we might ascribe.
Sure, there are some things we see and just 'want one. That's probably not what I'm on about. A brand is usually built by degrees. A whole bunch of factors that accumulate to tell a consistent story. And you have a growing affinity for the brand because you like the story.
A few years back, Kevin Roberts of Saatchis created the notion of 'lovemarks'. Essentially, these are brands that people have fallen in love with—not because they give status or credibility to the owner (although sometimes that might be true), but because they're attracted to what the brand communicates and how effectively it tells its story.
Strangely, thumbing through these Lovemarks, you'll find people. Princess Diana is in there. This isn't cynical. People aren't loathing or bemoaning, they're recognising. Some would hope effortlessly and incidentally, Princess Diana came to represent a bunch of different values—a persona that people could wrap their heads around and form an opinion about.
Once more with feeling, brands shouldn't be viewed as status symbols (though some clearly are). Whether you're a fan of Coke or Pepsi, they're still cola beverages—it doesn't make you morally or materially superior to have an opinion. You just might have an opinion formed by the way these two companies have built their brands.
And they don't mean you necessarily want one for yourself either. You may love the way Harley Davidson have marketed themselves for generations yet have no desire to wake the neighbours each morning with nasty noise pollution. You may never wish to enter a Starbucks yet respect the way they've gone about building a worldwide brand.
I've made one of these lists once before (in 1988). For the sake of posterity, here's two:
1988
1. Nike
2. Esprit
3. Apple
4. Honda
5. Clinique
6. Remo General Store
7. Pepsi
2007
1. Apple
2. Nike
3. Moleskine
4. Remo General Store
5. San Pellegrino
6. Krispy Kreme
7. Birkenstock
So, how 'bout you?
Friday, April 20, 2007
Dick & Rick Hoyt
I stumbled over this while looking for something else earlier today...Do you see what this means—all these pioneers who blazed the way, all these veterans cheering us on? It means we'd better get on with it. Strip down, start running—and never quit! No extra spiritual fat, no parasitic sins. Keep your eyes on Jesus, who both began and finished this race we're in. Study how he did it. Because he never lost sight of where he was headed—that exhilarating finish in and with God—he could put up with anything along the way: Cross, shame, whatever. And now he's there, in the place of honor, right alongside God. When you find yourselves flagging in your faith, go over that story again, item by item, that long litany of hostility he plowed through. That will shoot adrenaline into your souls!
Hebrews 12: 1-3 (MSG)
Monday, April 16, 2007
You're tops: Brian Winmar
April 1968 - April 2007. RIP.
A mate of mine died last Monday. He was killed in a hit and run outside of his home. He was possibly lying on or near the road when a car hit him, dragged him 80 metres, then drove away. The driver has since turned himself in to the police.
I first met Brian working out the back of my Father's place in Oakford. An introverted guy (when sober) Brian was a worker. I can't really remember our introduction, but I'm guessing it involved minimal eye contact and a cheeky smile.
My second introduction to Brian was a little more decisive. I was at Riverview Church on a Sunday night and got an SMS from my father. Brian had been thrown out of his house after abusing a bit more than his privileges and was on the road with no shoes and only the dirty clothes he was wearing. Something struck an immediate chord in me. I'd just read The Gutter and I knew, at the very least, I could give Brian some shoes. Several hours later Brian showed up at my place.
I could write a book on Brian Winmar. His life was rich with tragedy, with near-death experiences, with resurrected hope and, oddly enough, a whole lot of humour and gratitude. Brian was a tragic example of how a dysfunctional upbringing can lead to the streets, which can lead to drugs, crime and a whole lot of stuff I hope I never fully find out about. To allow this side of Brian to occupy the pages of a book would be grossly unfair. Because, quite simply, he was a cute bloke. Struggling hard with addiction, discipline and a lack of boundaries, Brian had still figured right from wrong a long time back. And while his interpretation of the two would bemuse a whole lot of people, if you could take a moment to look through Brian's eyes, they made perfect sense.
Brian stayed out the back of my place that night. And for most nights over the 3-4 months that followed. In that time, he taught me a whole lot of stuff about people and about me that the previous 35 years had kept hidden.
For the first few weeks of him calling my place home, I was his carer and provider. I made sure he was up for work and showered. I cooked him breakfast, looked after his money and patted him on the back. He was struggling with a bunch of relationships that he'd screwed up so we talked about that and I encouraged him to write stuff down. He said he wasn't much for writing. A couple of days later he let me read what he'd written. I cried my eyes out. There was such a raw, innocence about Brian. Despite the amount of times he let people down, there was always a desire to give him a second chance.
Perhaps the person who struggled most with giving Brian a second chance was Brian.
I remember the second or third day after he moved in. I was swimming at 5.30am the next morning and told him he was too (that's kind of how things worked with Brian sometimes). After some cajoling, he agreed. You need to know a few things about Brian: he probably smoked a pack a day (when he could afford it) and he'd probably never been up at 5.30am in the morning unless he was still awake from the night before.
I got him in the pool and got him swimming. After two laps I saw him slinking out of the pool. He told me he was tired. He ended up swimming another 16 laps.
I look back at those first couple of weeks now and laugh. I was such an idiot. Doing my best to assimilate Brian into middle-class culture on the outside, I was actually trying harder to help Brian be more like the rest of us. He needed to figure out how to function in society, but not be like me. There's one of me already.
I remember the first week when we sat down to figure a financial plan to get Brian out of the hole. I'd had a speeding ticket or two. Brian had a wad of them...and they were the ones he hadn't thrown in the bin. He had debts with high interest lenders who were trying to sue him (if they could find out where he lived) and money he owed friends. He had letters from the Ministry of Justice instigating legal proceedings and payment plans. The idea of paying back debt didn't really wash with Brian. There's a feeling of freedom most of us have when we clear a debt - Brian never seemed to be bound by them in the first place. I loved the idea of helping Brian back onto his feet and being debt free. It was going to take about $2500. Brian couldn't give a toss. And it's strange. While it was a messed up logic, when Brian told you it was a waste of time, it kind of made sense.
Brian was bound by different things. Born in 1968, Brian's mother was institutionalised in a mental facility. I don't think he ever knew his Dad. He was indigenous to the core, but never really knew his ancestors. Brian was brought up by a matron in a home for children dislocated from their parents. He lived just down the road from Heathcote. He told me how, at the age of five or six, they came in one day and told him he had a mother (till then, he thought the matron was his mother) and they were going to take him to see her. They pulled out of Bridgeview, drove up the hill and into the asylum. They told him to walk up the corridor to where his mother would be. As he did, patients in the asylum screamed out and tried to grab or touch him. Before he really even saw his mother, he was petrified. He ran out of there - dazed and confused. I couldn't believe stories like this are some people's reality.
Not long after his age hit double-figures, Brian took to the streets. Escaping from the home, he thought it would be more fun on the streets. So began an adolescence in and out of correctional facilities. Brian had been to most of them. There was security for him in prison. It helped me understand the challenges of the juvenile justice system. If your only mates are in prison, the best way to be with your mates is to re-offend. Combine that with lots of drugs, alcohol, crime and fighting, and you pretty much have the next 20 or so years of Brian's life.
I'll never forget a coffee I had with Brian one afternoon at 130s. We were talking about the future, the past and grace. Brian thought there was no way God could ever love him, let alone forgive him. 'I've done some bad things, Simon', he said. I could only imagine the depths of that comment. I realised as I spoke to Brian about the grace of God towards him that I was speaking to myself. We all find it difficult to accept Jesus' sacrifice and God's grace. Brian was no different. It was one of many conversations we'd have about God's love for him.
Brian wanted to change so badly it hurt. It hurt others around him and it hurt him.
I look back at my journals around the time and I remember the pattern all over again....About 4-5 weeks ago Brian moved in. This has challenged my notions of love, grace, patience and forgiveness in a fresh new way. There seems to be a 7-8 day cycle of destruction and recovery that Brian has been on and, for me, this has been a source of frustration, concern, pleasure and grief. I want him to be well and strong and full of joy, yet it seems sometimes an uneventful week would do just fine.
The cycle with Brian seemed to be around 8 days. It went from remorse to hope and resolution, to optimism, to a cataclysmic event (usually an alcohol or drug-related event that was often near-death), to silence, to shame, to re-connection to remorse...and so on.
...Brian hit rock-bottom about 3 weeks ago. Since then he's been doing a little better. It's a long, long road and I have to believe it's a road God wants me on. I don't know who else can help right now. For now, I think I'm the hands and feet. This is frustrating and hopeful. The uncertainty is that I could go home today and find that he's AWOL, he's in prison or he's hocked my stuff!
One time, on a Saturday afternoon, I went with Brian to Burswood Casino. In a moment of optimistic resolution that followed a near-death bender, I convinced him to instigate a self-imposed ban from the casino (where he typically went to get broke and drunk - in various orders). There was something both wrenching and pathetic about approaching the information desk and saying, 'I'm here with my mate - we'd like to get him barred from your casino'. I was holding back the tears. We then went in to another room where we filled out pages of details and had photos of him taken for security. He was already quite famous there.
Brian disappeared from my life not long after that. He stole some stuff from me and hocked it at Cash Converters. I'd found the paperwork out the back of my place and when I asked him about it I think the shame was too great. In some ways I wish I'd never said anything. But with Brian you were always having those kind of internal conversations.
Amidst the brokenness in Brian was the sweetest guy. I know he would have gone into bat for me if he needed to (maybe even if he didn't). His gratitude for the smallest thing always came with just a hint of surprise ('why would you do that for me?') and there were few that didn't find his puppy-dog dependence more than a little endearing.
One thing I know for sure. Brian would never expect to have seen his name and 'you're tops' in the same sentence. He would have given a self-conscious shake of the head and said 'awwww nahhh....really?...awww naaahhh...think-you'. There was something about the way Brian said thank you that reminded you what it meant to be grateful. I'd ask him to say grace sometimes - it was always a treat.
I sometimes tried to imagine Brian as an old man. It was hard. He had flirted with death many times before and, in some ways, it was astonishing to me that he was still alive. He had the reckless abandon of someone who hasn't been told they're not invincible. What surprises me most is the nature of death.
I'm not sure anyone has taught me as much about grace. And I don't think one person has helped me see our need as humans for love, community, forgiveness and compassion.
I sure will miss him.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
You're tops: Rain
As far as my backyard (and the rest of the Perth metro area) is concerned, it's been a long time between drinks. All that changed today when the rain arrived. As it did, one of my indulgences was sated: meteorological monitoring.
I love rain. Sure for some it takes sunshine on their shoulders to make them happy, but for me it's rain all the way. I'd quite possibly be cured of my infatuation if I lived in a rain-drenched city, but I don't. I live in a city, state and nation that teeters on the brink of drought from season to season. So I'm way more likely to agree with Depeche Mode who just can't get enough either.
I love it pouring down when I'm falling asleep in bed. I love driving through deep puddles on the road and I love running when the heavens open and turn my running shoes into a Slurpex (well, I kind of like it). I also love it when the water tanks out the back of my place are overflowing with the bounty of nature's outpouring and footy players do those long 30m belly slides as the oval turns to mush.
Rain purifies, fuels growth, replenishes, cleanses... it is replete with Biblical and spritual metaphors.
And it feeds statistical curiosity.
I'd love to say that all my reasons for rainfall connection are altruistic. I'd love to tell you that it's all about the farmers and the dams (which incidentally are currently at 21.1% capacity). I'd love to tell you that it's a desire to see the local rainfall exceed 862.7mm each year to allow us not to drain the Yaragadee aquifer. All of those would be telling half-truths. But they wouldn't be absolutely truthful.
Not long after it starts to bucket down, my desire to head to the Bureau of Meteorology website germinates. If there's something that rivals the sound of rain on a corrugated iron roof, it's the minute-by-minute monitoring of a torrential downpour on the BOM wesbite. If there's no rain coming down there's not much excitement (a bit like watching grass grow, but less exciting). But when the rain comes the site becomes a dynamic feast of activity. Enough to inspire Third Day to write songs.
The rain has stopped for the moment, but it's coming back in about 30 minutes...I just checked the radar.
Yep, rain is tops. Noah loved it, I love it.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
You're tops: The Moleskine Notebook
I'm not sure what I did before Moleskines. I think I used some boofy A4 spiral notepads (not the Spirex variety that Karyn Ash has a penchant for) that some paper companies had given me.
My writing life changed quite radically in 2002. I discovered the humble Moleskine notebook lurking in a store in King Street, Perth. Since then I've written and designed my way through a tower of these marvels of simplicity.
The Moleskine (pronounced with an Italian tongue, mola-skina) carries on in the tradition of the legendary leather-bound notebooks of intellectuals and artists such as Van Gogh, Matisse and Hemingway. For these giants, the notebooks carried the sketches, thoughts and musings of their day. They briefly disappeared after centuries of production in 1986 but re-appeared following the outcry of one man: Bruce Chatwin. Bruce got the ball rolling once more and we're the beneficiaries of his passion.
There's nothing remarkable about the Moleskine other than its elegant simplicity. A rigid black moleskine cover, an elastic closure and thread binding. Either blank, lined or squared and two sizes: pocket and large. While a lithe 80-page cashiers-style journal exists, the classic variety is the hard-covered, 240-page icon.
And that's about it. Except that there's something alluring about these babies. A call to write, design, plan or ponder that still calls me.
From the first one I purchased I realised that there was some heritage to live up to. There was something about the first moments of taking it from a 'book in a bag' to 'my journal' that gave it gravity. Since then, mine have all begun in exactly the same fashion: name, phone, reward.
Along the way there's been some different starts and false starts. Journal Numero Uno began a little something like this:This is a creative writing space. No daily journalling—no matter how succinct, inspirational or piquant—should ever find its way into here. Unless of course, its creativity and craftedness renders it a necessary addition. It may contain some 'occasional thoughts'. After all, a premise such as this should be liberating, not stifling. One more challenge: use this space wisely. Stretch your writing, expand your thinking, hone your craft. Make it a place of depth and length and breadth. And take it a little further than before.
Yep, it's fair to say I'm prone to a little hyperbole when let of the leash...
A new journal in 2003 begins with this inscription:These are the thoughts and musings of a man with an eternal destination made possible through the inexplicable grace and mercy of the Lord Jesus. A man who will, on that glorious day, be presented faultless, spotless and without guilt or shame before His presence with exceeding joy.
And so it goes...
These days I don't attempt the profound opening inscription but usually begin with a fresh 'prime' journal reflecting the 'word of the year' and the year ahead (usually the same thing). My 2007 word is 'spacious' so the first entry in this year's journal articulates what it means to have a spacious year/be spacious/embrace spaciousness/extend boundaries. 2006 was robust, 2005 - gidiup!, 2004 - fresh, 2003 - simplicity, 2002 - revel, 2001 - also. 2000? No idea - I was probably surprised we got past midnight.
I have about six on the go at the moment (I dealt with the narrow usage specifications a little while back):
1. My basic writing and devotional journal (240pp, black)
2. A journal for lectures, sermon notes, cell-group prep. and BusinessLife notes (240, black)
3. Slimline version #1: For my weekly songlists for leading worship at Riverview (80pp, kraft)
4. Slimline version #2: Household budgeting and financial planning (80pp, kraft)
5. Slimline version #3: Globe work gear: meetings/budgets/goals and stuff
6. My 2007 Moleskine Diary
I'm pretty sure that I've boarded the M-train.
There's something sensorily-stimulating about running your fingers over the handwritten text contained within a Moleskine. I limit myself to using a ball-point for any writing so that I can embrace the pleasure.
I'm not alone in my veneration of the little black book either. Blogs pay homage. And, just recently, an exhibition in London featured the artistic works contained within 72 different Moleskines.
Moleskines don't scream from the mountaintops. Nor are they hungry to consume space. They're understated, simple, functional, reluctant heroes capable of being home to the profound, the mundane, the trivial and the memorable. Beware of using the Moleskine... decisions can be made, books written, ideas hatched, dreams incubated and desires nourished that may result in radical life-change. Deeper intimacy with God, greater clarity of purpose, a financial plan, a better way, increased courage and, perhaps, more succinct expression. I'm still working on that last one.
Come to think of it. If it does half of those things, don't beware—just go out and buy one. Tell your story.
Friday, April 6, 2007
Good. Friday.
Today isn't like any other day we reflect on or remember. It's different.
History's course changed on Good Friday. After thousands of years of bringing sacrifices from our own efforts; from our own farms, by our effort, purchased for the purpose of sacrifice and atonement for a finite duration, the perfect and spotless lamb came. To take away the sin of the world. The spotless lamb shed his blood in obedience to his Father, so that the world might be saved not condemned. An old covenant for a new covenant. One perfect sacrifice carrying the imperfections and vileness of all humanity. Made once in obedience; resonating through eternity. Setting captives free, loosing chains that bound us and ensuring that the power of sin passes over the citadels of our lives because of the terrific sacrifice of God's own Son.
And me? I go free too. He hung and bled and died for me.
How can it be that you were the one on the cross, lifted for all our shame?
How can it be the scars in your hands are for me? You are the King of all.
Lord, your sacrifice, your blood and your cross overwhelm me. But what amazes me most is that you were obedient to the Father in the face of the painful knowledge of the cup set before you. I can tell myself that you were fulfilling your mission, that you were doing what you knew you came to do...but that sanitises the humanity of it all. You despised the shame for the joy of your Father. That's fully God and fully man. Fully good. Way more good than I can comprehend.
Amazing love how can it be that you my God would die for me?
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
Early morning, April 4
Free at last.One man come in the name of love
- Bono
One man come and go
One man come, he to justify
One man to overthrow
In the name of love
What more in the name of love
In the name of love
What more in the name of love
One man caught on a barbed wire fence
One man he resist
One man washed on an empty beach.
One man betrayed with a kiss
In the name of love
What more in the name of love
In the name of love
What more in the name of love
(nobody like you...)
Early morning, april 4
Shot rings out in the memphis sky
Free at last, they took your life
They could not take your pride
In the name of love
What more in the name of love
In the name of love
What more in the name of love
In the name of love
What more in the name of love...
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
It's not that noisy at 8848m
Or is it? I dunno. 2 My help comes from the LORD, 3 He will not let your foot slip— 4 indeed, he who watches over Israel 5 The LORD watches over you— 6 the sun will not harm you by day, 7 The LORD will keep you from all harm— 8 the LORD will watch over your coming and going
Michael Dunjey is leaving on a jet plane tomorrow morning to climb Mount Everest. That's all.
I'm planning to see my mate, quasi-brother-in-law, fellow 9CC-er and avowed cacophonist off on a journey that is planned to be punctuated by a moment at the top of the world (looking down on creation). I'm trusting that the years of running coaching come in handy...probably on the way down. No matter how much they plaster him over the TV, he'll always be 'Scunge-belly' to me.
You can track his progress on this website when you feel the mood takes.
For the moment though, a song for the ascendant:
We're praying for you big guy. Be bold and courageous!Psalm 121 (A song of ascents)
1 I lift up my eyes to the hills—
where does my help come from?
the Maker of heaven and earth.
he who watches over you will not slumber;
will neither slumber nor sleep.
the LORD is your shade at your right hand;
nor the moon by night.
he will watch over your life;
both now and forevermore.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
You're tops: To a great character
We’re paying homage to a character that needs little introduction, yet is the object of confusion and derision to the extent that extinction may be just around the corner.
Cautionary note: Before we even begin, this is an absolute tome – 1998 words in all – so I would highly recommend a) jumping ship now or b) fetching yourself an extremely good cup of coffee. In fact, if you make it to the end, let us know – the steak knives will be in the mail.
The apostrophe. Maligned. Misunderstood. Abused. Overused. Underused. Excluded. Ignored. Yet it remains one of the symbols of our time.
Take off the blinkers and you’ll see the little tacker poking up his motorcycle-helmet-clad-head all over the shop. Sometimes in places he should never be, sometimes in exactly the right place at the right time and sometimes wondering what he accidentally acquired…but we’ll get to that later.
For years, the apostrophe has served us so well. In fact, if the apostrophe had a middle name, it would be a toss up between ‘efficient’, ‘possessive’ and ‘versatile’. Therein lies the problem: the little fella’s so flexible it’s confusing. The fact is, even my grammar checker didn’t know what to do with him in that last sentence. One moment he owns stuff, the next he’s saving real estate on the page – or ink from the pen.
The problem as I see is that that which isn’t understood is feared. And, out of fear, we pursue one of two courses of action: abstinence or blithe overuse.
Now, I’m first to admit that the journey from caring for this little ‘above-the-line’ critter to being labelled ‘anally retentive’ is only a short one, but I’m prepared to go into bat for it all the same.
I don’t profess mastery either. I probably invite him along for the ride a little too often—it seems more inclusive than leaving him on the bench. So, in the interests of helping you with your condition, I’ve come up with a ‘Fast Five’ for discovering whether you’re suffering from being overly enamoured and defensive with regard to the motorcycle-helmet-clad-head (a.k.a., the apostrophe).1. You carry an Artline pen or can of white spray paint in the car with you (or saliva for the blackboard) just in case you need to fulfil your responsibility to the literary world.
Now, I’ll confess to four out of five of these. While my wife may disagree, I’d like to proclaim innocence on the second criteria. I’ve certainly succumbed to all others though. For random acts of literary vandalism (or enhancement), I both apologise and confess my sin. And, for the record, I’m quite capable of practicing grace in the area of the apostrophe – I just don’t think we should wallow in our confusion.
2. You can’t observe the mistreatment of the little fella without drawing the attention of those around you to the injustice that has been perpetrated.
3. When reading a book, the paper, or a magazine in a café, you find it very difficult not to correct error for the benefit, clarity (and perhaps admiration) of the next reader.
4. You’ve been known to exclaim ‘hello apostrophe’ while driving the car on observation of the work of serial overusers.
5. You find yourself posting tributes to the noble mark on blogs that hitherto had precious little to do with grammar.
This post is not intended to be a grammar lesson, but a celebration of the apostrophe. So, why I feel a need to mount a defence for the fella’s appropriate usage, I don’t want to stray too far off the highway of celebration. Yet, for some paragraphs, I would like to provide a perfunctory guide to its (no, not it’s) use. Perfunctory in that it is limited by the writer's literary intellect.
Key usage #1: Apostrophes own stuff
Indeed, they own many things: cars, houses, balls, jobs and, strangely, even people. The apostrophe steps in after the owner and usually before an ‘s’ to make the declaration: “I belong to him (or her, or it).”
Note 1: This is Fiona’s car, it is a Festiva. (This is also a demonstration of rhyme)
Note 2: This is Spot’s ball, just throw it and he’ll bring it back to you.
Pretty simple so far? Indeed. Yet there are a few clarifications that need to be made here.
If a group of people own something, leave the apostrophe until last.
Example One: The Cacophony Ensemble: A writers’ collective
Now this can be confusing and this is partly why the little fella needs to be stewarded well. If you have a Writers’ Blog, you’ve got yourself a blog for writers. If you have a Writer’s Blog then you have a blog that belongs to one person. Just one.
Curious fact#1: If you’re really, really, really famous and your name ends with an ‘s’, you can leave of another ‘s’ after the apostrophe has done his job.
Example One: At the table were Jesus’ disciples.
My point here is to demonstrate the common rule: using an ‘s’ twice interrupted by an apostrophe is just fine. In fact, it’s correct. You can read Thomas’s book all you like and you’ll still be, quite fairly, reading the book that Thomas wrote (or owns).
There’s definite grey in this one. Few would dispute Thomas’s book, but many would say Bill Hybels’ church or David Griffiths’ house. English is not always monochromatic! So, at risk of being nebulous and non-absolute, if the apostrophe follows the ‘s’ in a name that ends with ‘s’ and it sounds better (un-clumsy), just leave it be.
Let’s move on. I’m not an English teacher and I’m feeling as if I’m on treacherous ground.
Key UN-usage #2: Don’t use an apostrophe for plurals
Bear this rule in mind when you’re shopping for vegetables, as Grocers and the occasional pet shop owner seem to be permanently ensconced on the list of serial offenders. If it’s a plural, it doesn’t need an apostrophe!
Un-example One: ‘Potato’s $2/kilogram’ (No, the potatoes don’t own the money) For the record, potatoes will do just fine.
Un-example Two: From Guppy’s to Puppy’s (Someone, please, restrain me!) Again, for the record, From Guppies to Puppies will do just fine unless you’d like to get a little more specific and make it From Guppy’s aquariums to Puppy’s kennels….but I digress.
We’re moving on – all this chalk is bleaching my fingers.
Key UN-usage #3: Apostrophes can stay at home and stuff will still be owned!
Okay, listen up. If you’re going to mask the identity of the owner, or if the owner is inanimate, then sometimes you’ll just go with ‘IT’. This becomes a bridging rule of sorts, because we’re crossing over from Mr Possessive to Mr Efficient. It would be confusing if the same spelling and insertion of grammatical marks denoted the same literary intent, so the wise folk made it easy for us.
Let’s get there in stages.
Step 1: You should check the milk’s expiry date. (Yes, a carton of milk can own stuff. In this case it owns an expiry date!)
Step 2: You should check its expiry date. (No apostrophe)
Now, we just need to assume that whoever is being asked about the expiry date is aware it’s in relation to a carton of milk, but the big deal is this: when you’re using ITS to denote ownership, leave the apostrophe in the cupboard—his services are not required. In fact, the helpful rule here is this: any time you see IT’S, you should be able to re-state the sentence with ‘it is’ instead of ‘it’s’.
Step 2/Take 2: You should check it is expiry date. Ba bow. That won’t fly
We could unpack the literary rationale for the rule but it’s (it is) quicker simply to say: ‘don’t do it’.
Key Usage #2: A well-employed apostrophe will save you space (ie. Mr Efficient)
Here’s where the little fella comes struts his stuff (right there at the beginning of the sentence). Apostrophes can be used to contract words. Not all words, but a fair swag of common ones. Shakespeare was liberal with the apostrophe. He contracted whenever he felt moved to do so. There are a bunch of words that have commonly accepted contractions though. Here’s a bunch of obvious ones:
It is = it’s
We are = we’re
You are = you’re
Do not = don’t
Does not = doesn’t
Will not = ahhh…let’s not go there
Let us = let’s
I am = I’m
Sometimes it suits to spell it out, sometimes contractions help change the tone. Generally, it’s a little more casual. And other times, it just fits the meter of what the writer is on about.
So: ‘I am, You are, We are Australian’ might work, but ‘I’m, You’re, We’re Australian’ doesn’t quite fly. Sure, they say the same thing, they just don’t fly.
I think the lesson is over. We’ve avoided a lot of territory, but this isn’t intended to be a lesson in grammar, but the celebration of a hero. This fella is among the hardest working characters in the caper. And that’s only taking into account his ‘above-the-line’ work. Bring into play the work of his ‘on-the-line’ mate, the comma (an identical twin in all facets other than location) and you’ve got two of the dominant literary players of our time.
My plea is this: please respect the apostrophe. He means no harm. He only exists to bring clarity and brevity into the literary world. Simply acknowledge his strengths and his weaknesses. He can’t be all things to everybody, so don’t force him where he shouldn’t be. Sure, he just got three gigs in the last sentence, but let’s not overuse him by confusing homonyms with acceptable usages (i.e. It was ‘where’ back then, not we’re).
And, while I’m a voice in the desert crying out for mercy for this character, I’m also quick to acknowledge that our lexicon is a movable feast. It’s evolving. Words appear in our dictionary today that only years ago we’d never heard of (or were considered colloquialisms or slang). Words like ringtone, blog, detox and hoodie all want to be spell-corrected, yet you’ll find them in the latest edition of your dictionary. Some would argue, so long as you get the idea of what the writer is attempting to communicate, just leave it be. That’s fine. Whether I ‘right’ this sentence or I ‘write’ this sentence, it’s probably reasonable to accept that you get the gist. The apostrophe is worth fighting for though. Abuse this little critter and you could have a friend that is a dog rather than a friend who owns a dog. I’m all for having a dog as a friend, but it’s good to have clarity.
The apostrophe doesn’t leave us without real-life application either. You see, we’re all capable of being apostrophes, or treating others like one. We’re capable of being used where we shouldn’t (just because it’s obvious we must fit in there somewhere). And we’re also capable of being overused. To be burned out because we’re available and willing. And so, motorcycle-helmet-clad-heads get placed in square holes where they almost look appropriate until you discover that they’ve actually re-interpreted a context, or owned something that was never theirs in the first place. Or brought brevity to a context that was brief all on its own.
As you go about your work-a-day lives, look out for the apostrophes—in literature and in life. Spare a thought for their plight. Love and cherish them. And bother enough to discover, in concert with them, exactly where they belong and where they thrive. They’ll rejoice in being able to run with the freedom that comes from being in the exact place they were always intended.
Amen.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
You're tops: Steve Prefontaine
Ok, I'm buzzing a little at the moment. Partly because I've just come home from church, but also because I just had a freak encounter with a guy at Riverview called Ben Fields.
But I'll back up the bus a little before I get there.
I run. I'm a runner. I love running. I began when I was about 13 and since that time, barring ugly injuries (of which there have been a few) I've run pretty much constantly for the last 25 years. Sometimes up to 140-150km a week, these days a more sedentary 40-50km a week. Long distance running's my bag and as you go along, you grab a few heroes along the way.
Locally, I can't go past Herb Elliott (no relation), John Landy, Ron Clarke, Rob De Castella and Steve Monaghetti.
Beyond these shores though, I've got five big heroes: Sebastian Coe, Said Aouita, Haile Gebrselassie, Emil Zatopek and Steve Prefontaine. Each of these runners were renowned as much for the way in which they ran as for their accomplishments. I'm only going to talk of two of them for now...
Emil Zatopek, a Hungarian, won the 5000m and 10000m at the 1952 Olympics in Helsinki and then decided he'd give the marathon a shot. He'd never run one before so at the 20km mark, when he could stand it no longer, he asked Jim Peters (England) who had been the pre-race favourite whether the pace was 'a bit slow'. When Peters looked at Zatopek as though he had been smoking something strange to be asking such an insane question, he made his own arrangements. He won a third gold medal in the Helsinki Olympics, cleaning up the all the long distance races in process. And he did it looking ugly. That's one reason why people loved him. He ran with a contorted, almost demented head tilt as though ever sinew was stretched and he was about to burst something. But he dominated. Actually he crushed other runners; grinding them into a pulp with withering bursts that were powered by pioneering interval session that are emulated to this day.
Steve Prefontaine never won an Olympic medal. He did run in the 1972 Munich Olympics but finished fourth in a race that he wished he could erase from his memory. At one point, Steve held practically every American distance record from 1500m to 10,000m (that's 1500m, 1mile, 2000m, 2-mile, 3-mile, 5000m and 10000m if you're wondering). The guy was a freak. He reckoned that anyone who sat on the shoulder of another runner to let them do the work before running to victory was a whimp. Steve's philosophy was that every time you get to a start line, you pull out you're very best (he held the same thinking on many of his training runs too!). You run hard. Not surprisingly, Steve was a front-runner. As much as his coaches tried to convince him otherwise, he always led from the front and basically said to everyone else: 'catch me if you can'. If you're good enough, you'll beat me...but you'll have to catch me first. Steve said: 'A lot of people run a race to see who is fastest. I run to see who has the most guts, who can punish himself into exhausting pace, and then at the end, punish himself even more'. He ran to see who had the most guts.
The crowds loved Pre. They wore 'Go Pre' T-shirts, they chanted 'Go Pre' in the concluding stages of most of his races (which was usually a chant to victory). Adding to the folklore, Steve's coach at the University of Oregon, Bill Bowerman, used Steve as a guinea pig for some running shoes he concocted using his wife's jaffle iron. We now now those shoes as Nike... Steve was part of the genesis of all that.
Steve died tragically in a car accident on the evening of May 30, 1975. He'd run in a meet that afternoon and was perhaps a little ticked off. He'd had a few to drink. But what probably killed him was an insatiable love for speed. On foot and behind the wheel.
Steve once said, 'To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the Gift'. He believed that if you're given an extraordinary gift, with it comes the responsibility of stewarding that gift and not wasting it.
He was full of great one-liners (like the one on the poster just here). He once said: 'Some people create with words, or with music, or with a brush and paints. I like to make something beautiful when I run. I like to make people stop and say "I've never seen anyone run like that before." It's more than just a race, it's style. It's doing something better than anyone else. It's being creative'.
The guys cult-status and legend was phenomenal when he was alive. It has only grown since. As with anyone cut off in their absolute prime there is a sense of loss and frustration about the unanswered questions of what he might have gone on to achieve. Yet all this fuels the legend as well. How he ran, why he ran and his attitude towards running.
If you're still with me, all this is both a homage to a hero and a preamble to why I'm buzzing.
I was singing at Riverview tonight and happened to be wearing one of two 'Pre' t-shirts that I recently purchased.
So, the service is over and a guy called Ben Fields walks up to the platform and says 'I couldn't help notice your t-shirt, I went to school with Steve'. At this point I just about fell off the stage. Ben went to Marshfield High School with Steve Prefontaine. They ran together in the track team. I told Ben about my other 'Pre' T-Shirt. This one is a replica of a shirt that used to be awarded to guys on the team who racked up 2000miles in a season and has on the front 'Pirate 2000 mile Club'. Ben excitedly told me that he had that t-shirt. The legit version. I asked Ben what his event was. Ben was a mile runner with a PB of 3'59!! Yep, a bloke walked up to me at Riverview knowing I must have been a runner to be wearing a Pre t-shirt and let me know he was a 3'59 mile runner who ran with Steve Prefontaine. Yikes! Ben seemed a bit excited too! I don't blame him!
I could go on, but I'm tired. I hope this isn't the last of our 'You're Tops'. I doubt it will. There are a whole lot of incredible people out there. For very different reasons. Steve's just one of them...
Friday, February 2, 2007
Label me Elmo
So... a portion of the creative genius that comprises The Cacophony Ensemble have colluded to define some broad creative parameters for the labels/categories/genres that combine to form the writings you'll find from the ensemble. Believe us, they're plenty broad.
Above all, the intention is to shed some light (however filtered, misguided or well-informed) on the noises that surround us. Sometimes as amused onlookers and reporters, sometimes as curious participants, sometimes as participants, sometimes as frustrated folk and sometimes as people with a thought for a way out of the noise.
So, the labels/categories are thus:
JESUS_is more than alright with us
RUNNING_the simplest and most efficient form of physical exercise
LEADERSHIP_without followers is merely taking a walk
REVIEWS_movies, music and literature
THE CHURCH_gentle observations and thoughts about Christ's bride.
TRIVIAL PURSUITS_random gear and curious fun
SPIRITUALITY + THEOLOGY_God in the cacophony
CULTURE_the cacophony that surrounds us
YOU'RE TOPS_there's been some fine people who've walked this earth. We pay homage.
STUFF'N'THINGS_have you seen the iPhone yet?
CULTURAL ICONS_Chuck Norris et. al.
STRENUOUS WHOLENESS_getting tidy at being a well-formed human
VENT YOUR SPLEEN_step on to the soapbox and let rip
TOP5+_FOr lovers of lists, order and clarity
PHILOSOPHY_a bunch of words to confuse, bewilder or illuminate
All of us have our different inclinations and passions. That'll be pretty obvious as we get going.
It's what we're thinking. Thoughts?
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