Mountains, Monsters and Massacares

Demetri Martin - These Are Jokes

Today I went to Demetri Martin's show called (imaginatively) "These are jokes". As promised, the show was essentially Demetri Martin standing (, sitting, playing harmonica, walking around, rapping etc.) and telling jokes. I thought he had some good ones (though at £11 concessional ticket, it was steep). Here's a sampler:

I wonder how long it took to make the first clock.

I had a nice clock. The big hand broke off, but I didn't want to throw it away, so I wrote "ish" after every number.

I love kids. It's not the same as saying I love people only for a little while. How old are you? 13-years? Fuck off. You are yesterday's news. "I love kids" as a general statement is fine, but specificity is calling for trouble. "I love 12-year olds."

Infinity should have been a longer word. It's shorter than seventeen. That's ridiculous.

I like the word alphabet. That word is like a preview.

I thought I saw a d yesterday, but it was a p standing on it's head.

I don't like the letter Q. It's like a half-a-letter. C'mon, as soon as I hear Q, I'm like let me guess what's next. It's U. Talking to U, I' d say it's time you did your own thing. Everytime I see you, it's behind Q. It's like you are Q's bitch or something. I mean he's just a hole and a dick.

The word regards is very weird. Regards is something you can send to someone, but you can't give them directly.
"Give Frank my regards. Or hold it, I'm gonna take them over."
"Frank!"
"Yeah?"
"Regards." "Regarding you." "Hold on, hold on, take them."
"Hey man, this is ridiculous. Next time you want to give me regards, just send them over. I do wanna see you regardless, but don't bring along your regards."

A secret admirer is just a stalker with stationery.

I think most people are assholes, because whenever you see a bunch of people, and shout "Hey asshole", they all turn and look.

I think match-making would be a boring job.
"What do you do?"
"I'm a matchmaker."
"Oh, how romantic."
"No, I make actual matchboxes."

I stayed in a hotel, and asked for a wake-up call. When the phone rang in the morning, the voice said, "What are you doing to your wife?"

I like push doors more than pull doors. When I come across a door that says pull, I'm like, "Are you kidding me? You open in the opposite direction to where I'm heading. So, you're asking me to backtrack."

Revolving doors are the worst. Imagine forgetting something while in a revolving door.

I've always wanted to write "Pull" on a revolving door just to see how obedient people are.

Funny how a drink of water can make you rearrange your priorities. "I don't have a job. I need to pay the rent on my house." Then you drink water, and it's like, "I need to find a bush." Whenever I am having big problems, I drink a lot of water.

I always love coming back to Scotland. I love drinking water here. The bottle says Still Water. After all these years!

I make a phone call, "Is Trish around?"
The answer comes, "You have the wrong number."
I say, "No, I'm trying to avoid her."

It is said that people who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. Yeah, okay, how about "nobody should throw stones"? It's just shitty behavior, isn't it? My policy is no stone throwing regardless of housing. Here's the exception, though. If you are trapped in a glass house, and you have a stone, yeah, go ahead, throw it and get out.

These days so many people use digital cameras. Digital cameras are great in that they let you reminisce instantly.

I am never able to find the mystery section in a bookshop. I fear that if I go to ask the helpers, they'll say, "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

My roommate is an artist. He designs icons for agnostics.

Having a pet in the city means your need for companionship exceeds your disgust for scooping poop.

It would be funny if you are typing a ransom note on your computer and the little clip pops up, "It looks like you are typing a ransom note. Do you need any help with it?"

It's interesting how you can either say thanks or thanks a million, but nothing in between. How about thanks 256?
"Hey buddy thanks 256"
"You are crazy!"
"Hmph...it's thanks 255 now. Go on like that, when we reach zero, it will be no thanks."

There's a place near my house called Joe's Pizza. I've never gone in, but now I'm curious. I assume that the apostrophe is possessive, but what if it's a contraction?

The other day, at a store I met an amazing woman. She was the attendant, and told me, "If you need anything, I'm Jill." Wow! I've never before met a woman with a conditional identity.

I love women. You can always trust them. I was sitting in the park, and this woman with a dog came along. I asked, "Does it bite?"
She said, "Oh, no."
I'm like, "Yeah? How does it eat then?"

It feels so great to make someone's day. Little things can make someone's day. The other day, in the library, I went to the librarian's desk, "Do you have any books on awesome librarians?"

After having a dinner at a Mexican restaurant one night, I got a call from my friend in the morning, "Hey, that Burrito didn't agree with me."
I'm like, "Was the disagreement on whether or not you'll shit straight, by any chance?"

Yesterday, in the park, I read a book cover to cover. It only took a minute. I kinda went on the outside.

Conquering Ben Arthur

What's Really Wrong With US B-School Naysayers!

Two USC Marshall professors recently teamed up with a colleague from Simon Rochester to figure out "What's Really Wrong With US Business Schools". The paper was brought to my attention by an alumnus of my graduate school in India. Read the paper "here. My rebuttal follows.

Three academics/professors writing on the importance of academic research. Why am I not surprised? Oh, and did I mention that all of them work at schools that have been bordering at the edges of rankings for ages, and have not been successful in making any major breakthroughs? It could also be a case of letting out their frustration, considering that USC Marshall alumnus Scott Miller recently caused an almost total overhaul of the Marshall curriculum, to take effect when classes resume in September, with support from the new dean Yash Gupta.

Anyways, instead of the old, tried & tested method of discrediting the sources, let us look at the claim entirely on its merit.

Harry & Linda DeAngelo of USC Marshall team up with Jerold Zimmerman of Simon Rochester to say that US business schools have entered a misguided competition for rankings and are diverting resources from long-term knowledge creation, which earned them their global standing in the first place, into quick-fix solutions like continuous syllabus changes, in order to look good in the rankings. Research, undergraduate and PhD programs suffer as a consequence and if this continues, the US business schools may find it hard to survive.

The authors assert that fifty years ago business education was irrelevant to most students, employers and society. Subsequent promotion of research led to betterment of business education. From 3200 masters' degrees in business awarded in 1955-56, the figure reached 135,000 (students enrolled in MBA programs) in 2001-02. Hmm...but hey, the MBA program is a 2 year program, right? So I would infer that about 67,000 degrees were awarded in 2001-02. Their argument still stands, but their intentions and integrity are certainly questionable now.

Coming back to the 3200 to 67000 jump, let's look at the circumstances of the time. The late 50's were a time when the business schools were really starting out. Business had never been known as an educational discipline, and then the so far manufacturing (and thus engineering) driven companies were just beginning to realize that managers need to have a more well-rounded understanding of business outside the confines of technical expertise.

Business education started as late as 1881, when the first school for business management in the US, the Wharton School, was established in Philadelphia. Dartmouth and the University of Wisconsin added business-administration departments in 1891, as did Harvard in 1908. Queen's University in Kingston, ON, started a School of Commerce in 1919; New York University began the practice of training business teachers in 1926. So how many graduates do you expect of this nascent phenomenon in 1955?

Like every product, MBA's too have a product life cycle, and the companies recruiting MBA's were few and far between at the time - not because the focus was on "soft skills" as the authors suggest, but simply because they were the early adopters of the product and the product hadn't begun to cross the chasm to an early majority yet.

Cut to 2001. More companies recruiting MBA's than ever. Not because of "hard skills" being taught, but because the product has reached the maturity stage and has a late majority following. Ford Foundation's critical reports of early 1960's expressed concerns about the wide inconsistency in quality of teaching at the MBA programs, not about "lack of research" or "focus on soft skills".

When I was at a school in India, there was this panel chaired by a university dean in which a captain of business commented on how useless "knowledge for the sake of knowledge" is, and that education should be more practice-focused. The dean, of course, took issue with that position and recounted the ways in which "knowledge for the sake of knowledge" is helpful and, in fact, crucial. This put the experienced, established, and celebrated captain of industry on the defensive. I thought both of them completely missed the boat on context.

Fundamental research vs. applied research has been a long standing dilemma that scientific laboratories have had to grapple with. To me, it is quite clear: both are important and there should be separate organizations devoted to both. While it is for Edward Lorenzes of the world to invent a chaos theory, it takes the unnamed thousands to use it for fractal graphics in computer games (or to predict earthquakes). In medical schools, they teach how to practise medicine, not do research on brain-mapping.

Yes, long-time knowledge creation is important. But that is not the purpose of a business school. Business schools have 2 markets, and 2 products: for the students, they have to get jobs; for the companies, they have to get suitable talent to manage them.

Why is creating new knowledge not the purpose of a business school, you ask? Well, the simple answer is that business or management, though regarded as an academic discipline, is not really a specialized domain. Managers do not have to be specialists in some magical craft called management. Instead, they have to have an understanding of various disciplines - economics, decision modeling/ statistics, finance, accounting, psychology/ sociology/ motivation/ organization behavior/ marketing/ negotiations/ communication/ leadership - that help them manage their businesses better. That's what recruiters want, and that's what the schools should teach. Knowledge creation should, thus, be done at schools of statistics or economics, and its business application taught at business schools.

Knowledge creation led to business schools becoming better, the authors claim. How many business school professors have won Nobels? Heck, how many business professors have created new knowledge taught at even business schools? What is the original contribution to the business world of Philip Kotler, the most celebrated author of marketing text books? Except for some obvious-even-to-the-dummies banter, that is. I remember the BCG & McKinsey matrices, and the McGraw 7Os, but no Kotler model. Nash, Marshall, Drucker, Peters, Hammer, Maslow, Taylor, Milgram, Zimbardo, - none of them was a b-school professor. Yeah, Porter and Prahlad are b-school professors, but frameworks like 5-forces can hardly be called "new knowledge"...they are just frameworks to structure thinking. Again, the b-school professors are not at fault. They are not creating new knowledge, and creation of new knowledge is not their job.

On page 5, the authors say that ranking changes are more statistical noise than news. In this area, they are actually talking about what is wrong with US b-school rankings, not about what is wrong with US b-schools; I may not agree even with their assessment of rankings, but I'll reserve those comments for another time and place. At the moment, all I want to say is that "statistical noise" sounds like an authoritative academic note, but the authors have not provided even a shred of evidence anywhere in the paper to ground their assertion that ranking changes are noise, not news.

On the same page, they use the example of Stanford's fluctuation to say rakings are flawed..."For example, during the dot-com boom, the graduating Stanford MBA class apparently alienated traditional corporate recruiters with their arrogance, causing a drop in Stanford's rankings. This ratings decline obviously was not indicative of a true decline in the educational quality of the Stanford MBA program, let alone a real erosion in Stanford's position as one of the best business schools overall" Seems to me that these academics have lopsided notions of quality. As I said before, the product of a business school is not the exact curriculum or the "education"; it is but the MBA's it produces. If the MBA's produced by a school are less valuable for the customers because of whatever reasons (including arrogance/ low EQ), then obviously the school becomes less valuable. What could be more straightforward than that?

I also find laughable their assertion that to capture meaningful changes in program quality, there should be a statistically detectable correlation among ranking changes. Rankings of different publications, expectedly, look at different aspects and assign different weights to the attributes. I'll oversimplify for the sake of illustration.

Let's say there are 3 schools - A, B and C.
Three publications - X, Y and Z.
X uses 3 criteria for publishing the rankings - H,I,J - and assigns them the weights of 50%, 40% and 10% respectively.
Y uses 4 criteria - I,J,K, L - with weights 20%, 20%, 30%, 30% respectively.
Z uses 3 criteria - H, J, L - with weights 10%, 30%, 60% respectively.

In Y1 scores (of 100 points) are:

	H	I	J	K	L	Total(X)	Total(Y)	Total(Z)
A	80	50	70	70	40	67	57	53
B	70	60	50	80	60	64	64	58
C	40	50	80	60	90	48	71	82

A is ranked 1st by X, and 3rd by both Y and Z.
B is ranked 2nd by all of X, Y and Z.
C is ranked 3rd by X, and 1st by Y and Z.

Now, let's say B is able to "improve" its performance on L to 90 points by diverting resources from H, meaning that its performance on H falls to 30

	H	I	J	K	L	Total(X)	Total(Y)	Total(Z)
A	80	50	70	70	40	67	57	53
B	30	60	50	80	90	44	73	72
C	40	50	80	60	90	48	71	82

In X, B's ranking goes down, in Y it goes up while in Z it remains the same. Statistical correlation in ranking movement = none. Was it statistical noise (which a heavy-sounding term for sampling error)? Certainly not!Whom do these professors think they are fooling?

From page 7-12, the authors focus on the horizon-problem for deans of business schools. They say that since the deans' contracts are typically 5-year ones, they focus on present benefits and can indulge in false, or creative reporting etc. This sounds convincing at first, especially in the shadows of Enron et al. However, closer examination will dissipate any aspersions. Though they work on 5-year contracts, not many b-school deans among the top business schools work for less than 15 years or so....essentially they stick till retirement. Besides, even 5 years is a long enough period in the fast paced American business to expose the "true state of affairs" and affect demand.

The authors seem quite stressed by (page 8):1 constant upheaval, "whose turmoil impedes student learning and faculty knowledge creation"2 "distortions" in MBA curriculum3 pressures to trade off instructional quality in undergraduate and in other graduate programs (go on, say it...say PhD) for the full-time MBA program4 adverse changes in the student composition of MBA and other programs5 temptations to manipulate the data schools supply to media6 a reduced emphasis on PhD education

With regards to points 1 and 2, I'd just want to ask these "ivory tower academics" to go out and have a look at how Lever or P&G continuously research customers and improve their products to reflect those learnings.

3, and 6 are bogus points. Why should business schools care for the undergraduate of PhD programs at all? PhD programs are solely there because of the rankings. Undergraduate programs are created in response to the excessive demand - these are flankers created to capture the overflow benefits of the flagship product - the MBA. Because the MBA is great, there are many undergraduates who want to come study at the school. What do you expect then? Should the school divert resources from MBA to the undergraduates? Preposterous.

Regarding point 4, authors say (page 11-12), "Sometimes these concerns lead schools to systematically exclude students with high GMATs whose personal characteristics make them difficult to place. Other times they lead them to reject students with marginally lower GMATs whose other attributes would improve the collective learning environment". Supply and demand. Obviously the schools want to take students that are easier to place. If a batch of Coca-Cola is too sweet, Quality Assurance will throw it out as rejected lot. Ditto for a lot with way too much fizz. Conformance quality maintenance. Supply and demand.

Point 5 - If the concern is that unethical and "creative" reporting methods (page 12) are being used in some places, which seems quite doubtful at least among the top 50 or so schools, then the solution is to force the schools to report correct numbers a la SEC reporting, not to eliminate rankings.

On page 10, the authors say quote Pfeffer and Fong who have noted "disturbing" trend toward handing out Power Point slides to save students from taking notes - "“Students now routinely expect summaries of course readings and materials. For instance, at Stanford and many other business schools, it is now customary to pass out copies of overheads at the end of each class session summarizing the main points and ideas of the class, in response to student demands for “structure” and “take-aways.” The problem is that when students are relieved of any sense of responsibility for their learning and much involvement in the learning process, the evidence is that they learn much less.”"

This was personally very funny to me, because when I went to my first MBA class, I had planned to a speech-to-text converter program to take notes from the class. I hadn't bought a microphone by then and the professor distributed copies of the slides before the lecture, so that plan never took off. But these oldies took me back a year. I can understand their disgust at distribution of PowerPoints though. They took notes when they were students...that is how students are supposed to behave....how dare the dean make them distribute notes! I have hardly ever taken notes in class...I just find it distracting. My mind is a terribly single-processing machine, and I am able to assimilate, analyze and think about the topic under discussion if I don't have to worry about taking notes.

But it's really a generation gap that causes the trouble. Some time ago, teachers were strictly against taking notes - knowledge transfer was oral. Socrates worried that relying on written texts, rather than the oral tradition, would “create forgetfulness in the learners' souls, because they will not use their memories; they will trust to the external written characters and not remember of themselves.” He also objected that a written version of a speech was no substitute for the ability to interrogate the speaker, since, when questioned, the text “always gives one unvarying answer”. So, we'll just leave this objection of the authors as neophobia.

And, of course, you wouldn't want me to comment on the authors' assertion that outside-class activities, or "ancillary activities" are bad for business school quality and impose heavy costs on MBA students in terms of time. Just reminds me of Mark Twain, who, when asked about the reason for his spectacular success, said, "I've never let my school interfere with my education."
Although, I do not feel a real need for PhD program at business schools, I feel an urge to refute a very lame assertion the authors make on pages 13-14. "Superior foreign-born PhDs are not interested in US faculty positions simply to teach - they can do that just as well, and probably more comfortably, in their home countries. They seek employment at US business school for their research environments, which are currently superior to those of foreign business schools."

What should I say to that? Firstly, I guess one reason for foreign PhD's being interested in US faculty positions is the money - I haven't come across many US b-school professors from the Scandinavian countries. Then, the "research" the authors mention is not research in genetic engineering or nanotechnology. A market research study or referencing of 20 books can be done as easily in any part of the world.

The authors have written a whole section "Research competence does not mean teaching incompetence" (page 17-19) defending research. The fact is, most schools that have "cutting-edge research" faculty have low student access to those faculty. I'm sure you have heard horror stories about how the faculty are engrossed in research and don't even teach classes - relegating the lowly teaching work to teaching assistants. Speak of TA's, let me tell you about something a professor I was TA'ing for told me. He said that some department heads can actually become upset if your students give you very high course evaluations, because that would mean in all probability you are diverting time from research to teaching. Go figure!

Finally, in case you have any illusions about business schools elsewhere being any "better", this should cure you: Gary Hamel (of "core competence" fame), who is a part-time visiting professor at London Business School, where he is preparing to launch the world's first university-based "Management Innovation Lab", was quoted by the BusinessWeek as saying "I'm not sure academia is the best place for management study. There's too little priority to connect minds in business schools with companies... [I chose London Business School because] it's the best business school outside of the U.S...[In the U.S., faculty members are] more absorbed in papers."

I'll drink (Pomgreat) to that.

P.S. -
1. I do believe that the rankings are somewhat arbitrary, and the huge differences in rankings of some schools from publication to publication and from year to year do nothing to boost my confidence in them. However, I also believe that the schools that manage some consistency across publications and an upwards or stable pattern across years do tend to be the real thing. Any ranking attempt of anything involving multiple attributes will involve a subjective element, and that's fair enough. Schools consistently ranked 1-5 will usually be comparable, as would those ranked 6-10, or those ranked 11-20.

2. Prof. Henry Mintzberg of McGill says in his "Managers Not MBAs: A Hard Look at the Soft Practice of Managing and Management Development" that "[MBA students'] classes are focused on analysis and technique instead of clinical experience."

Sixty things Scotland gave the world

That's the name of a comedy show I saw today at The Stand, a cramped, smoky, hot and humid comedy-club in Edinburgh. It is presented by comedian Vladimir McTavish, a creation of Paul Sneddon, who also appears as football pundit Bob Doolally. In case you haven't caught on, McTavish is a funny surname to have in Scotland.

Anyways, this particular post is not about the show that "celebrates the contributions of a small nation to the world". Rather, inspired by the name of the show, I have set out to list 60 things Scotland gave the world. My list is not even halfway there yet, so feel free to let me know of items to add.

Without further ado, 60 things Scotland gave the world:
1. Golf
2. Proferssional football
3. Haggis
4. Kilt
5. Bagpipe
6. James Watt/ Steam-engine
7. Television
8. Telephone
9. Bus
10. Skyscrapers
11. Penicillin
12. Cloning/ Dolly
13. Loch Ness monster
14. Whisky
15. Irn Bru
16. Diseases with anything to do with excessive smoking or drinking
17. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle/ Sherlock Holmes
18. James Barrie/ Peter Pan
19. Robert Louis Stevenson/Jekyll & Hyde, Treasure Island, Kidnapped
20. Ian Fleming/ James Bond
21. Sean Connery
22. J.K.Rowling/ Harry Potter
23. Rob Roy
24. William Wallace
25. Mel Gibson (okay, well, so he's Irish)/ Braveheart

All I really need to know, I learned in kindergarten

Another lazy Saturday in August’s Edinburgh. Another show at “the festival”. Of course the shows are pretty expensive and I am not a rich kid by any stretch of imagination, so I finger through the Fringe guide for shows for £5.00 and under. “All I really need…” attracts my attention. At £4.00 for a concessional ticket, it appears promising. So far, I haven’t gone by reviews or WoM (word of mouth) and have done alright. So this can’t be too bad. I talk my roommate into joining me for the show, though he needs to leave early.

Well, as it turns out, today is the last of the four showings of this particular “play”. Interestingly enough, the venue Greenside appears to be some sort of a chapel rented out as a “festival” venue. Even so, the A.H.S. Drama/ American High School Theatre Festival production of Robert Fulghum’s collection of short stories, “All I really need to know, I learned in Kindergarten” turns out to be one of my best-value buys at the Edinburgh International Festival.

Granted, the actors were just raw high-school kids, and the direction was jerky at best, but the it’s not for nothing that these short tales by Fulghum are used as the first performance at school theaters all over the United States. In fact, the show I was at received a standing ovation.

Here are the scenes for your pleasure (for some scenes, I didn’t have the story, so I’ve jotted down the titles…you are welcome to post those). You be the judge:

Credo

Each spring, for many years, I have set myself the task of writing a personals statement of belief: a Credo. When I was younger, the statement ran for many pages, trying to cover every base, with no loose ends. It sounded like a Supreme Court brief, as if words could resolve all conflicts about the meaning of existence.

The Credo has grown shorter in recent years – sometimes cynical, sometimes comical, sometimes bland – but I keep working at it. Recently I set out to get the statement of personal belief down to one page in simple terms, fully understanding the naïve idealism that implied.

The inspiration for brevity came to me at a gasoline station. I managed to fill and old car’s tank with super-deluxe high-octane go-juice. My old hoopey couldn’t handle it and got the willies – kept sputtering out at intersections and belching going downhill. In understood. My mind and my spirit get like that from time to time. Too much high-content information, and I get the existential willies – keep sputtering out at intersections where life choices must be made and I either know too much or not enough. The examined life is no picnic.

I realized then that I already know most of what’s necessary to live a meaningful life – that it isn’t all that complicated. I know it. And have known it for a long, long time. Living it – well, that’s another matter, yes? Here’s my Credo:

ALL I REALLY NEED TO KNOW about how to live and what to do and how to be I learned in kindergarten. Wisdom was not at the top of the graduate-school mountain, but there in the sandpile at Sunday School. These are the things I learned:
Share everything.
Play fair.
Don’t hit people.
Put things back where you found them.
Clean up your own mess.
Don’t take things that aren’t yours.
Say you’re sorry when you hurt somebody.
Wash your hands before you eat.
Flush.
Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you.
Live a balanced life – learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work every day some.
Take a nap every afternoon.
When you go out into the world, watch out for traffic, hold hands, and stick together.
Be aware of wonder. Remember the little seed in the Styrofoam cup: The roots go down and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why, but we are all like that.
Goldfish and hamsters and white mice and even the little seed in the Styrofoam cup – they all die. So do we.
And then remember the Dick-and-Jane books and the first word you learned – the biggest word of all – LOOK.

Everything you need to know is in there somewhere. The Golden Rule and love and basic sanitation. Ecology and politics and equality and sane living.

Take any one of those items and extrapolate it into sophisticated adult terms and apply it to your family life or your work or your government or your world and it holds true and clear and firm. Think what a better world it would be if we all – the whole world – had cookies and milk about three o’clock every afternoon and then lay down with our blankies for a nap. Or if all governments had as a basic policy to always put things back where they found them and to clean up their own mess.

And it is still true, no matter how old you are – when you go out into the world, it is best to hold hands and stick together.

Yes! Of course I can


Cinderella

A kindergarten teacher I know was asked to have her class dramatize a fairy tale for a teachers' conference. After much discussion, the children achieved consensus on that old favorite, "Cinderella," the classic rags-to-riches story that never dies. "Cream will rise" is the moral of this tale: someday you may get what you think you deserve. It's why adults play the lottery with such passion.

"Cinderella" was a good choice from the teacher's point of view because there were many parts and lots of room for discretionary padding of parts so that every child in the class could be in the play. A list of characters was compiled as the class talked through the plot of the drama: there was an absolutely ravishing Cinderella, the evil stepmother, the two wicked and dumb stepsisters, the beautiful and wise fairy godmother, the pumpkin, mice, coachman, horses, the king, all the people at the king's ball: generals, admirals, knights, princesses and, that ultimate object of fabled desire, the Prince: good news incarnate. The children were allowed to choose roles, As the parts were allotted, each child was labeled with felt pen and paper and sent to stand over on the other side of the room while casting was completed. Finally, every child had a part.

Except one. One small boy had remained quiet and disengaged from the selection process. A somewhat enigmatic kid -"different" -and because he was plump for his age, often teased by the other children. "Well, Norman," said the teacher, "who are you going to be?"

"I am going to be the pig," replied Norman.

"Pig? There's no pig in this story."

"Well, there is now."

Wisdom was fortunately included in the teacher's tool bag. She looked carefully at Norman. What harm? It was a bit of casting to type. Norman did have a certain pigginess about him all right. So be it. Norman was declared the pig in the story of Cinderella. Nobody else wanted to be the pig, anyhow, so it was quite fine with the class. And since there was nothing in the script explaining what the pig was supposed to do, the action was left up to Norman.

As it turned out, Norman gave himself a walk-on part. The pig walked along with Cinderella wherever Cinderella went, ambling along on all fours in a piggy way, in a costume of his own devising -pink long underwear complete with trapdoor rear flap, pipe cleaner tail, and a paper cup for a nose. He made no sound. He simply sat on his haunches and observed what was going on, like some silently supportive Greek chorus. The expressions on his face reflected the details of the dramatic action. Looking worried, sad, anxious, hopeful, puzzled, mad, bored, sick, and pleased as the moment required.

There was no doubt about what was going on and no doubt that it was important. One look at the pig and you knew. The pig was so earnest. So sincere. So very "there." The pig brought gravity and mythic import to this well-worn fairy tale.

At the climax, when the Prince finally placed the glass slipper on Cinderella's foot and the ecstatic couple hugged and rode off to live happily ever after, the pig went wild with joy, danced around on his hind legs, and broke his silence by barking. In rehearsal, the teacher had tried explaining to Norman that even if there was a pig in the Cinderella story, pigs don't bark. But as she expected, Norman explained that this pig barked. And the barking, she had to admit, was well done.

The presentation at the teachers' conference was a smash hit. At the curtain call, guess who received a standing ovation? Norman, of course, the barking pig. He was, after all, the real Cinderella story. Word of a good thing gets around, and the kindergarten class had many invitations to come and perform "Cinderella." Sometimes the teacher would have to explain what it was about the performance that was so unique.

"It has a pig in it, you see."

"Oh, really?

"Yes, the star of the show is... a barking pig."

"But there's no barking pig in 'Cinderella'."

"Well, there is now."

Hide and seek


Larry Walters flies


Donnie, the leaf raker


The stuff in the sink


Problems and inconveniences


The bench


MOTB

I have married more than a thousand times. Officiated as the minister at a whole lot of weddings and usually managed to get so involved in each occasion that it felt like I was the one getting married. Still, I always look forward to marrying again, because most weddings are such comedies.

Not that they are intended as such. But since weddings are high state occasions involving amateurs under pressure, everything NEVER goes right. Weddings seem to be magnets for mishap and for whatever craziness lurks in family closets. In more ways than one, weddings bring out the ding-dong in everybody involved.

I will tell you the quintessential wedding tale. One of disaster. Surprisingly, it has a happy ending, though you may be in doubt, as I was, as the story unfolds.

The central figure in this drama was the mother of the bride (MOTB). Not the bride and groom or minister. Mother. Usually a polite, reasonable, intelligent, and sane human being, Mother was mentally unhinged by the announcement of her daughter's betrothal. I don't mean she was unhappy, as is often the case. To the contrary. She was overcome with joy. And just about succeeded in overcoming everybody else with her joy before the dust settled.

Nobody knew it, but this lady had been waiting with a script for a production that would have met with Cecil B. DeMille's approval. A royal wedding fit for a princess bride. And since it was her money, it was hard to say no. The father of the bride began to pray for an elopement. His prayers were not to be answered.

She had seven months to work, and no detail was left to chance or human error. Everything that could be engraved was engraved. There were teas and showers and dinners. The bride and groom I met with only three times. The MOTB called me weekly, and was in my office as often as the cleaning lady. (The caterer called me to ask if this was really a wedding, or an invasion he was involved in. "Invasion," I told him.)

An eighteen-piece brass and wind ensemble was engaged. (The church organ simply would not do - too "churchy.") The bride's desires for home furnishings were registered in stores as far east as New York and as far south as Atlanta. Not only were the bridesmaid's outfits made to order, but the tuxedos for the groom and his men were bought - not rented, mind you. Bought.

If all that wasn't enough, the engagement ring was returned to the jeweler for a larger stone, quietly subsidized by the MOTB. When I say the lady came unhinged, I mean UNHINGED.
Looking back, it seems now that the rehearsal and dinner on the evening before the great event were not unlike what took place in Napoleon's camp the night before Waterloo. Nothing had been left to chance. Nothing could prevent a victory on the coming day. Nobody would EVER forget this wedding. (Just as nobody ever forgot Waterloo. For the same reason, as it turned out.)

The juggernaut of fate rolled down the road, and the final hour came. Guests in formal attire packed the church. Enough candles were lit to bring daylight back to the evening. In the choir loft the orchestra gushed great music. And the mighty MOTB coasted down the aisle with the grandeur of an opera diva at the premier performance. Never did the mother of the bride take her seat with more satisfaction. She had done it. She glowed, beamed, smiled, and sighed.
The music softened, and nine - count them, nine - chiffon-draped bridesmaids lockstepped down the long aisle while the befrocked groom and his men marched stolidly into place.

Finally, oh so finally, the wedding march thundered from the orchestra. Here comes the bride. Proceeded by four enthusiastic mini-princesses chunking flower petals, and two dwarfish ringbearers - one for each ring. The congregation rose and turned in anticipation.

Ah, the bride. She had been dressed for hours if not days. No adrenalin was left in her body. Left alone with her father in the reception hall of the church while the march of the maidens went on and on, she had walked along the tables laden with gourmet goodies and absentmindedly sampled first the little pink and yellow and green mints. Then she picked through the silver bowls of mixed nuts and ate the pecans. Followed by a cheeseball or two, some black olives, a handful of glazed almonds, a little sausage with a frilly toothpick stuck in it, a couple of shrimps blanketed in bacon, and a cracker piled with liver pate. To wash this down - a glass of pink champagne. Her father gave it to her. To calm her nerves.

What you noticed as the bride stood in the doorway was not her dress, but her face. White. For what was coming down the aisle was a living grenade with the pin pulled out.

The bride threw up.

Just as she walked by her mother.

And by "threw up," I don't mean a polite little ladylike *urp* into her handkerchief. She puked. There's just no nice word for it. I mean, she hosed the front of the chancel - hitting two bridesmaids, the groom, a ringbearer, and me.

I am quite sure of the details. We have it all on videotape. Three cameras' worth. The MOTB had thought of everything.

Having disgorged her hors d'oeuvres, champagne, and the last of her dignity, the bride went limp in her father's arms, while her groom sat down on the floor where he had been standing, too stunned to function. And the mother of the bride fainted, slumping over in rag-doll disarray.
We had a fire drill then and there at the front of the church that only the Marx Brothers could have topped. Groomsmen rushed about heroically, mini-princess flower girls squalled, bridesmaids sobbed, and people with weak stomachs headed for the exits. All the while, unaware, the orchestra played on. The bride had not only come, she was gone - into some other state of consciousness. The smell of fresh retch drifted across the church and mixed with the smell of guttering candles. Napoleon and Waterloo came back to mind.

Only two people were seen smiling. One was the mother of the groom. And the other was the father of the bride.

What did we do? Well, we went back to real life. Guests were invited to adjourn to the reception hall, though they did not eat or drink as much as they might have in different circumstances. The bride was consoled, cleaned up, fitted out with a bridemaid's dress, and hugged and kissed a lot by the revived groom. (She'll always love him for that. When he said "for better or worse," he meant it.) The cast was reassembled where we left off, a single flute played a quiet air, the words were spoken and the deed was done. Everybody cried, as people are supposed to do at weddings, mostly because the groom held the bride in his arms through the whole ceremony. And no groom ever kissed his bride more tenderly than he.

If one can hope for a wedding that it be memorable, then theirs was a raging success. NOBODY who was there will EVER forget it.

They lived as happily ever after as anyone does - happier than most, in fact. They have been married about twelve years now, and have three lively children.

But that's not the end of the story. The best part is still to come. On the tenth anniversary of this disastrous affair, a party was held. Three TV sets were mustered, a feast was laid, and best friends invited. (Remember, there were three video cameras at the scene of the accident, so all three films were shown at once.) The event was hilarious, especially with the running commentary and the stop-action stuff that is a little gross when seen one frame at a time. The part that got cheers and toasts was when the camera focused on the grin on the face of the father of the bride as he contemplates his wife as she is being revived.

The reason I say this is the best part is not because of the party. But because of who organized it. Of course. The infamous MOTB. The mother of the bride is still at it, but she's a lot looser these days. She not only forgave her husband and everybody else for their part in the debacle, she forgave herself. And nobody laughed harder at the film than she.

There's a word for what she has. Grace.

And that's why that same grinning man has been married to he for forty years. And why her daughter loves her still.

Fathers and sons


Pigeons


Spider

This is my neighbour. Nice Lady. Coming out her front door, on her way to work and in her “looking good” mode. She’s locking the door now and picking up her daily luggage: purse, lunch bag, gym bag for aerobics, and the garbage bucket to take out. She turns, sees me, gives me the big, smiling Hello, takes three steps across her front porch. And goes “AAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!” (That’s a direct quote.) At about the level of a fire engine at full cry.

Spider web! She has walked full force into a spider web. And the pressing question, of course: Just where is the spider now?

She flings her baggage in all directions. And at the same time does a high-kick, jitterbug sort of dance – like a mating stork in crazed heat. Clutches at her face and hair and goes “AAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!” at a new level of intensity. Tries opening the front door without unlocking it. Tries again. Breaks the key in the lock. Runs around the house headed for the back door. Doppler effect of “AAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!”

Now a different view of this scene. Here is the spider. Rather ordinary, medium gray, middle-aged lady spider. She’s been up since before dawn working on her web, and all is well. Nice day, no wind, dew point just right to keep things sticky. She’s out checking the moorings and thinking about the little gnats she’d like to have for breakfast. Feeling good. Ready for action. All of a sudden all hell breaks loose – earthquake, tornado, volcano. The web is torn loose and is wrapped around a frenzied moving haystack, and a huge piece of raw-but-painted meat is making a sound the spider has never heard: “AAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!”

It’s too big to wrap up and eat later, and it’s moving too much to hold down.

Jump for it? Hang on and hope? Dig in?

Human being. The spider has caught a human being. And the pressing question is, of course: Where is it going and what will it do when it gets there?

The neighbour lady thinks the spider is about the size of a lobster and has big rubber lips and poisonous fangs. The neighbour lady will probably strip to the skin and take a full shower and shampoo just to make sure it’s gone - and then put on a whole new outfit to make certain she’s not inhabited.

The spider? Well, if she survives all this, she will really have something to talk about – the one that got away that was THIS BIG. “And you should have seen the JAWS on the thing!”

Spiders. Amazing creatures. Been around maybe 350 million years, so they can cope with about anything. Lots of them, too – sixty or seventy thousand per suburban acre. Yes. It’s the web thing that I envy. Imagine what it would be like if people were equipped like spiders. If we had this little six-nozzled aperture right at the base of our spine and we could make yards of something like glass-fibre with it. Wrapping packages would be a cinch!

Mountain climbing would never be the same. Think of the Olympic events. And mating and child rearing would take on new dimensions. Well, you take it from there. It boggles the mind. Cleaning up human-sized webs would be a mess, on the other hand.

All this reminds me of a song I know. And you know, too. And your parents and your children, they know. About the itsy-bitsy spider. Went up the waterspout. Down came the rain and washed the spider out. Out came the sun and dried up all the rain. And the itsy-bitsy spider went up the spout again. You probably know the motions too.

What’s the deal here? Why do we all know that song? Why do we keep passing it on to our kids? Especially when it puts spiders in such favourable light? Nobody goes “AAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!” when they sing it. Maybe because it puts the life adventure in such clear and simple terms. The small creature is alive and looks for adventure. Here’s the drainpipe – a long tunnel going up towards some light. The spider doesn’t even think about it – just goes. Disaster befalls it – rain, flood, powerful forces. And the spider is knocked down and out beyond where it started. Does the spider say, “To hell with that”? No. Sun comes out – clears things up – dries off the spider. And the small creature goes over to the drainpipe and looks up and thinks it really wants to know what is up there. It’s a little wiser now – checks the sky first, looks for better toeholds, says a spider prayer, and heads up through mystery toward the light and wherever.

Living things have been doing that for a long, long time. Through every kind of disaster and setback and catastrophe. We are survivors. And we teach our kids about that. And maybe spiders tell their kids about it, too, in their spider way.

So the neighbour lady will survive and be a little wiser coming out the door on her way to work. And the spider, if it lives, will do likewise. And if not, well, there are lots more spiders, and the word gets around. Especially when the word is “AAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!”

The briefcase


Christmas/ Valentine’s day


A tomb with a view


Are there any questions?

"Are there any questions?" An offer that comes at the end of college lectures and long meetings. Said when an audience is not only overdosed with information, but when there is no time left anyhow. At times like that you mostly assuredly do have questions. Like, "Can we leave now?" and "What was this meeting scheduled for anyhow?" and "Where can I get a sandwich?" The gesture is supposed to indicate openness on the part of the speaker, I suppose, but if in fact you do ask a question, both the speaker and the audience will give you drop-dead looks. And some fool-some earnest idiot-always asks. And the speaker always answers. By repeating most of what he has already said. But if there was ever a little time left and there was a little silence in response to the invitation, I usually asked the most important question of all: "What is the meaning of life?"

You never know-somebody may have the answer, and I'd really hate to miss it because I was too socially inhibited to ask. But when I asked, it's was usually taken as a kind of an absurdist move - people laughed and nodded and began to gather up their stuff and the meeting was dismissed on that ridiculous note.

Once, and only once, I asked the question and got a serious answer. One that is with me still. I went to an institute dedicated to Christian understanding and Biblical truth in rural Montana. At the last session on the last morning of a four-day seminar on Christian influence in American culture, led by intellectuals and experts in their fields, the man heading up the seminar, Dr. Alexander Lapagia rose from his chair at the back of the room and walked to the front, where he stood in the bright sunlight of an open window and looked out. We followed his gaze across the river to the iron cross marking a cemetery from the WW II era. He turned and made the ritual gesture: "Are there any questions?"

Quiet quilted the room. These four days had generated enough questions for a lifetime, but for now there was only silence. "No questions?" Lapagia swept the room with his eyes. So, I asked. "Dr. Lapagia, what is the meaning of life?" The usual laughter followed, and people stirred to go.Lapagia held up his hand and stilled the room and looked at me for a long time, asking with his eyes if I was serious, and seeing from my eyes that I was.

"I will answer your question." Taking his wallet out of his hip pocket, he fished into his leather billfold and brought out a very small round mirror, about the size of a quarter. And what he said went like this: "When I was a small child in Italy during World War II, we were very poor and we lived in a remote village. One day, on the road, I found the broken pieces of a mirror. A German motorcycle had been wrecked in that place. I tried to find all the pieces and put them together, but it was not possible, so I kept only the largest piece. This one. And by scratching it on a stone, I made it round. I began to play with it as a toy and became fascinated by the fact that I could reflect light into dark places where the sun would never shine-into deep holes and crevices and dark closets. It became a game for me to get light into the most inaccessible places I could find. I kept the little mirror, and as I went about my growing up, I would take it out in idle moments and continue the challenge of the game. As I became a man, however, I grew to understand that this was not just a child's game, but a metaphor for what I might do with my life. I came to understand that I am not the light or the source of the light. But the light of Jesus - truth, love, understanding, knowledge - is there, and it will only shine in many dark places if I reflect it. I was once a broken shard of mirror whom Christ has shaped into a better tool for shining light. I am a fragment of His mirror whose whole design and shape I do not know.

Nevertheless, with what I have, I can reflect light into the dark places of this world-into the black places in the hearts of men-and Jesus can use me to change some things in some people. Perhaps others may see and do likewise. This is what I am about. This is the meaning of my life." And then he took his small mirror and, holding it carefully, caught the bright rays of daylight streaming through the window and reflected them onto my face and onto my hands folded on the desk.

Much of what I experienced in the way of information that summer is gone from memory. But in the wallet of my mind I carry a small round mirror still. I can now "reflect" upon what I learned on the meaning of life.

Are there any questions????

Mind your language

While cleaning up the officespace today, I found this interesting old notice, that "celebrates" the use of expletives in day-to-day conversations in Scotland.

Staff Notice
Notification to all staff regarding language

It has been brought to our attention that some individuals have been using foul language during the execution of their duties. Due to complaints from some employees who are more easily offended, this type of language will no longer be tolerated.

We do realize, however, the importance of staff being able to properly express their feelings when communicating with other employees. With this in mind, the Human Resources Department has compiled a list of code phrase replacements so that the proper exchange of ideas/ information can continue in an effective manner without risking offense to our sensitive co-workers.

	Old phrase	New phrase
1	No f**king way	I'm fairly sure that is not feasible
2	You're f**king joking	Really
3	Tell someone who gives a f**k	Have you run that by...
4	No c**t told me	I was not involved in that project
5	I don't have the f**king time	Perhaps I can work late
6	Who f**king cares	Are you sure that is a problem
7	Eat s**t and die	You don't say
8	Eat s**t and die motherf**ker	You don't say, sir
9	Kiss my a**e	So would you like me to help you
10	He's a f**king prick	He is somewhat sensitive
11	She's a ball-busting b**ch	She is an aggressive go-getter
12	You have not got a f**king clue	You could benefit from more training
13	This place is f**ked	You are a little disorganized today
14	What sort of f**k wit are you	You are new here,aren't you
15	F**k off, s**t head	Well, there you go
16	You are a f**king wanker	You are my team leader and I respect you
17	Ha! Suck eggs	I wasn't here that day
18	You are f**king paranoid	So, you are from Glasgow
19	You are f**king useless	So, you are from Edinburgh
20	f**k off	I'll look into that and get back to you