The Left Coast Biased

I had an epiphany recently. This was not one of the Thomas Edison kind of epiphanies where you spend hour after hour in the lab slavishly stealing the ideas of other people, but more the Archimedes kind where all of the relevant facts are rolling around in your head, pinging off old phone numbers and cheat codes (Up, Up, Down, Down, Left, Right, Left, Right, B, A, Start) until that moment when the pieces all fall together into a clear singular vision and you jump out of the bath and take of down the street naked as the day is long yelling " EUREKA!!" at the at the top of your lungs. The epiphany I had was this: I am fat.

Now, I am not orca fat. I could probably even pass for in moderate shape if you passed me in the street and were walking too fast to get a good look. I was practicing a fine act of self-deception, squeezing myself into the same clothes I wore a decade ago, hiding my fat face in a beard, sucking in my gut all day long and pretending that was where it was supposed to be. Slowly the hints began to creep into my awareness. People would be talking about finding a place to eat and say, "Ask that guy, he looks like he knows how to eat". My Wii Fit character looked like he swallowed a beach ball. My roommate started trying to force feed me vegetables. We were playing a game where you compare people to an animal and I got a hippopotamus. A girl that I coached started calling me Santa. One day all of these added up and I was forced to deal with the realization that I was overweight, grossly so.

This did not translate into anything resembling immediate action. I don't do immediate action. One time I slept on my couch for 4 months because my room was too dirty to put together my bed. I will live with something being miserable and broken forever rather than man up and fix the problem. See my relationship history. Fortunately for me, a surprisingly high number of soccer coaches in the club that I work for decided that they were tired of being slovenly pigs while screaming at kids daily to run for hours. That is the providence of football coaches. Acknowledging that we lack the discipline to correct this on our own accord we decided to bring the strength of our competitiveness into the equation and make a Coaches Biggest Loser Challenge. We each pitched in $30 and the winner (loser) takes all, because with gambling, everybody wins. The competition is judged on three categories: weight, body mass index, and body fat percentage. The coach who loses the most of the three combined is the winner. The competition began a week ago and runs for a little over 2 months. My opening numbers are 210.4 pounds, 30 BMI, and 27% body fat. This made me the consensus front runner, as the fattest coach and also the youngest. Sad, I know.

This is my plan. For those of you who don't know I work with the women's soccer team at Pima Community College, and teach a class on advanced soccer. As a result I have a good relationship with the whole athletics faculty, who I have convinced to work on my behalf in this endeavor. The fitness instructor has made me the special project for his team of interns, who will function as my team of personal trainers and nutritionists. They are being evaluated on how fit they can make me. At first I was a bit convicted about whether or not this was a violation of the spirit of the competition, but then I realized that the people with money were getting gym memberships, hiring personal trainers, loading up on supplements like Hydroxycut, and whatnot. Well I don't have money, but it should be open game with the things I do have at my disposal, like the team, and you, our beloved readership.

I realize that %90 of the people I know are in much better shape than I am, and not in need of an intervention on these lines, but I invite you to join the competition. Post your numbers in the comments section on a weekly basis and I will put together a data base of how we are all doing, and the winner will get to dictate to which charity I give the prize money. If I do not win our contest then I will put up $150 of my own money to give to the charity of the Left Coast Biased winner's choice. If you happen to be in grand shape, then there are other ways that you can join the fun. Have any weight loss tricks? Work out plans? Post them in the comments. Want to contribute in a more material way? If you want to donate money to the prize fund, or order me supplements, or have a line on some Anavar or Primobolan (steroids), or anything along those lines you can send them to the following address:

Left Coast Biased
c/o Ryan Ringdahl
3448 E 2nd St
Tucson AZ, 85716

Come on guys. Join the fun. It's for charity.

So I was thinking: A few years back some creative soul in da Burgh wrote a song about the Steelers. This was pre 2005, so for those of you not paying attention the Steelers only had 4 super bowl rings at this point. All of them won by Chuck Knoll. Anyway there was a line in the song that said "This is the year we'll get that one for the thumb"

Then it happened.

In my lifetime I have only known two people to man the helm for the Steelers. Knoll and Cowher. Now there is a third, and he has the Steelers in a position to do what the other previous incarnations have failed to do: Win a superbowl in their head coach's second season. I will give you a moment to let that sink in.

And whats more, this year's team might be the most impressive defensive presence ever assembled by man or God. Sorry Big guy, I know you command angels...but this Steelers D is maybe just that good.I remember texting with ryan during the regular season and he said something underwhelming to the effect of: Man this defense is really good. But do you think they are as good as the Ravens? I responded with statistics and then the announcers somehow knew we were having this discussion and lended their statistical analysis. Then something happened.

They got better. Yeah. They did. The Steelers Defense went from being one of the best, to being statistically the best in every measurable category (except 1 i think where they were 2nd) Everyone knows that you can't run on the Steelers, so you should just beat them with the pass. Guess what these guys did? Oh just went 14 straight games without allowing an opposing offense to gain more than 300 yards. I will give you a moment to let that sink it. That streak dated back to the previous season. And that means you stop the run and the pass. What makes this Steelers D different from previous versions? They actually can stop the pass. Like when they stopped TO, and both of the Moss's. In the same season.

To quote one of my favorite movies: "Who are those guys?"

So yeah, maybe the Cards have a great receiving duo. Maybe the best since Rice played. But let me hit you with something: Fitzgerald had all his touchdowns in the first half. The eagles kept him reeeeaaaal quiet in the 2nd half. Oh, that and Boldin was too busy yelling at his O-Coordinator to realize there was a football game being played and he wasn't a part of it. So how do the Steelers stop Fitz and Boldin?

1. Pressure the QB. I don't care if he does have God on his side, Warner will piss his pant when he watches Woodley come from his front side and then gets train-wrecked by Harrison from his blindside. I can spell concussion, but after a few of those hits Warner won't be able to.

2. Double Up on Fitzgerald. But if you do that, will it make a difference? Yes. Now I have been heard to utter: That guy will catch any ball thrown in the building. Larry Fitzgerald was noted by Coach Tomlin as being the best receiver in the world. Of those still actively playing football, that is a true statement. Rice is still alive remember. Anyway, back to the point. The Steelers have some good cover corners. But won't that leave Boldin open, you say. No it won't. I just found this statistic today of which I was previously unaware: 70% of the earth's surface is covered by water. The other 30% is covered by Troy Polamalu.

I am not sure I have much else to say after that. Except that if anyone wants to join me I will be at Harold's in CaveCreek. I will be the one in black and gold face paint waving a terrible towel ans screaming at the top of my lungs. Oh wait...the entire Steeler's nation will be too. And yes...we travel well.

Two weeks ago I was ready. I had analyzed the teams, contrasted personnel strengths, evaluated various statistical trends. I knew that the Cardinals were going to kill the Eagles. Maybe I wasn't expecting them to take their foot off the gas and stop running the ball, letting the Eagles back in the game, but my prediction for half time was 28-12. Here is a recap of the salient points from my pregame chat with my boy Webster:

1- God and Puppies: Kurt Warner is currently the Shining Light of Christianity in professional sports. Not of the "I want to thank God for this win before I go beat my girlfriend and shoot myself in the leg" variety, but rather the actual believing, regularly attending church, really loving people, and hoping to make a difference in his community and the world in a positive way variety. He is everything you would want a Christian athlete to be, regardless about how you feel about Christians, or athletes. The timing is going to work out perfectly for Kurt to pass this mantle on to Tim Tebow, but for know it still rests gloriously on his shoulders. In addition to this, Kurt, well, his wife, promised his children that if he won the Superbowl they would get a puppy!! Sound familiar? If Obama has taught us nothing else, know this- with out hugely compelling reason you should never buck God and puppies.

2- Nobody believed in them (karmic balance): It is a widely known fact that sports team draw tremendous motivation from being told that they can't or won't be able to accomplish something. Movies are made, the Rocky theme song is played, tears are wept. Underdog stories are compelling. Now, I mean real underdogs, not the 12 seed in March that literally everyone and their monkey is calling to upset the 5 seed. To really be an underdog, the idea of you winning anything, from a coin flip to a playoff game has to be laughable. As in makes people laugh. The only way that you earn that level of contempt in the sports world is to produce such a consistent supply of failure that it isn't even a snub anymore when you are picked to finish last in your division. It just makes sense. So many things have to go wrong over the years for this to happen, what with the leagues all focusing on parity and salary caps, and whatnot. Your coach blows up on national television screaming "They are who we thought they were!!". Your defensive captain goes off to fight in a war. You draft Jake Plummer. What this leads to is what I am going to call a colossal karmic debt. Has any team in the NFL accrued more karmic debt than the Arizona Cardinals? Seriously? Even the Lions don't come close. The karmic pendulum has swung so very far to one side with these guys that the back swing has come, inevitable and heavy.

3- The Quarterback: Neither team has a running game to speak of, as Brian Westbrook has been operating under the impression that the Eagles didn't make the playoffs and is currently vacationing in Maui and his doppelganger can't run. Donovan McNabb is crazy. That isn't to say that he isn't a good quarterback, and capable of changing a game, but did you see him run over to the Giants sideline and use their phone? He is equally likely to throw 3 touchdowns, 3 interceptions, or both. It's a three way coin toss. On top of that the Cardinals defense is leading everybody with 12 takeaways in the postseason, twice as many as the vaunted Steelers defense. Donovan McNabb, I would like you to meet Dominique Rodgers-Cromartie. Whereas Warner is living the dream right now. He plays in a dome and gets to just sit back and bomb balls up to the best receiving duo on the planet. The mediocre running game doesn't really hurt him because he is at heart an arena league quarterback who just wants to play seven aside anyway.

4- The Dome: This somehow consistently escapes the notice of the rest of the country, but the Cardinals might play in the nicest stadium in the league. the grass is flat and even, the dome opens to allow a breeze and sunlight, and the seats go almost straight up sitting the entire crowd of 90,000 pretty much directly on the field. For this game, they are closing the dome. They want to trap the sound in make, create a hostile environment. Add two more factors, A) you are dealing with a state that is starved for success. A single glimpse from the Diamondbacks is all that they have had to relieve the tension of being teased by the Suns for the last two decades, and B) the ticket operator were asking for drivers licenses at time of purchase and hanging up on every one with an out of state license. They sold out in 6 minutes. On top of all of that there are the Arizona classic Sonoran hotdog vendors pushing carts around the stadium. Do you think that with all that delicious Mexican aroma in the air Andy Ried will be thinking about football at all? My bet is that he starts calling out Mexican foods half way through the first quarter, screaming "Caramello!", "Asada burrito!", and "Pollo chimi!" at McNabb who only stands there looking confused and a little hungry.


In any case, that game was clear and easy for me. The presence of Steelers defense and a coach who is capable of going more than 15 minutes without craving a Steak and Shake complicates things. I do think that points 1-3 still stand. Big Ben is not quite so prone to implosion as Donovan, but his top end is not nearly as high, despite what the cultists from the 'Burgh may tell you. Over all, he is just a little less exciting. He won't win the game for you, but he probably won't lose it, either. The crowd won't be as much of a factor in this game, given the open stadium and divided crowd, but that might benefit the Cardinals, too, as Steelers fans are notorious for travelling well. In the end I think that the game will come down to the Steelers defense, and Anquan Boldin. The Steelers defense will have to put points on the board. Their odds of doing that are directly related to how Anquan Boldin is feeling, both in his leg and in his head. If he wants to play, and is healthy, then the Steelers are going to have to find a way to do what no one else has been able to do: stop the best recieving tandem since Rice and Taylor.

I don't think they can do it. There is too much on the other side. God, Puppies, the Karmic Balance, the triptych force that is Warner, Boldin, and Fitzgerald. My call: Cardinals 24 - Steelers 13. But there is always the chance that the Steelers win by 30.

Chances are very good that you do not know me. You may have met me, possibly even know who I am, where I went to school, what I do for a living, but knowing about a person is not the same as knowing a person. Let's take Michael Jordan as an example of what I mean. I could tell you an inordinate amount of facts about Michael Jordan: where he went to school, what size shoe he wears, what his career scoring average is, where his mother lives, where his kids go to school, how he was feeling on April 20th, 1986, and so much more. I am not alone in this, literally thousands of people could tell you these things and more, but we don't know Michael Jordan. He would not stop and talk to me if we passed each other on the street, he doesn't even know my name. Insert your own particular celebrity fascination for a clearer picture. This is the age in which we live. The Information Age. Relating has been replaced with communicating. Instead of stopping by my neighbor's house to say hello, see how he is doing, put my feet up on his coffee table and share stories of the holiday over a tin of popcorn and a tasty beverage I will just shoot him a text: how was the trip? To which he will respond: great.

Text message. Email. Facebook. Myspace, if anyone is still using that who isn't 12 or a spamdroid. Twitter. All of these are born out of a need to get more done in less time, and all of these are robbing us of the depth and reality of our relationships. Information is passed along so quickly and with so little effort that the business of getting to know someone has become burdensome and tedious. It has gotten to the point that we don't even recognize the difference in our relationships anymore, as though a black and white lens has been dropped over our emotional eyes and we no longer can even recognize the depth and vibrancy of colors. We are losing the ability to sit and enjoy time with people. It is easier to 'hang out' with someone by texting them than to go for a walk and spend time in actual physical proximity.

I miss my friends. I miss my brother. I realized this Christmas that I don't know all that much about my brother. I got home from Christmas vacation and people were asking me questions for which I had no answer. Has he been arrested? Has he had a girlfriend? Does he drink? Has he smoked? Has he ever been in a fight? What tv shows does he watch? I don't know any of those answers, and a million more I am sure. But I am also sure that I know him as well as any person on this planet. I know him because we shared experiences together, shared joys and pains. Even if the pain was mostly his. There is a knowing of someone that is deeper than facts and details, that is built on emotions together, and that is the knowledge that we are slowly losing, as surely as global warming is stealing our ice caps.

My personal solution for this is stories. We need more stories, and better stories, stories that bring you into the moment and invite you into the emotions. Ancient societies recognized the power of stories. Certain Greek cultures would evaluate your entire life based on how good the story would be. Good story? Good life. So I will share some stories with you, even if they would be better shared in a dingy 24 hour dinner, competing with the accordion in the next room for acoustic dominance over a plate of over done tater tots and more or less fresh coffee. Baby steps. Here's hoping this story, which would be completely impossible in a world where 10 year olds have cell phones, helps you get to know who I am a little better.


So, the first girlfriend. Here's how it went down. I was in fifth grade. And let me be clear, I was a pretty dang cute fifth grader, a little behind the style curve, but dang cute. I am the one with the killer blue sweater, the other one is the aforementioned brother. This might be a little before fifth grade, but I'm sure you get the impression. Personally, I think I might have peaked, aesthetically, right about the time this story takes place. My boy Webster thinks it was freshman year, but given that he didn't even meet me until junior year of high school, how could he really know? I'm going to keep my money in elementary.

Let me back up. I went to a private school through elementary and middle school. Not exactly a social powerhouse, so when I fell in love in second grade I didn't really know what to do about it. In all honesty it was probably just a proximity crush on the cutest girl in our class of twelve, but it's all the same when you're eight. In any case, I didn't even realize that there were steps to be taken in response. You just liked a girl, and then maybe you would kick a ball at her at recess, or make fun of her freckles. Then in fourth grade a friend that I had gone to preschool with transferred back from the realm of wisdom and lore that was public school. He explained all manner of wonders to me, including girls and curse words. To the former I was a sponge and the latter I pretended I already knew.

If you liked girls, you asked them to be your girlfriend.

Changed my whole perspective on stuff. How do you do it? You just ask them. Just ask. Amazing. Naturally I lacked any form of courage, and went the infamous route of 'the note'. Yeah, like the song. Little boxes- yes and no, check one. I must have given her that note twenty times in fourth grade alone, and more in fifth. No. Always no. Sometimes circled, sometimes underlined. Once with an asterisk, which I thought was a little excessive. Then one day: yes. Yes. I was the happiest little fat kid in Sierra Vista.

No, I wasn't a fat fifth grader, it's an expression of speech. Picture a a round little kid on a hot day, holding an ice cream cone that is almost dripping over his hand. His cheeks squeezed around his little smile, maybe a single drop of sweat crawling down his brow. I was that kind of happy.

I was a great boyfriend. I would sit next to her at lunch, try to hold her hand, I even picked her flowers on the way to school, though they got a bit beat up by the wind while I was peddling my Schwin. Seriously, I had a Schwin, a red one. I didn't really know what else to do with the whole girlfriend thing; I hadn't been introduced to the magic of the makeout, yet (thank you church camp) but I felt like I was making a pretty good go of it for a first timer.

Then the world fell out from under my feet. The same alleged friend who had opened wide the world of youthful angst approached me at recess when I was on the way to swing with my little lady and broke it to me gentle like, "Look, Ryan, I've been going out with @#&*# for the last three months. She was just pretending to be your girlfriend 'cause I told her to."

"Yeah, I know...."

"I was just playing along"

Everyone knew. They laughed, sometimes out loud, sometimes silently. I cried, sometimes out loud, sometimes silently to myself. I didn't talk to anyone for the next two weeks. Ruined my whole fifth grade year. Then I moved to Illinois and there was that whole "Mexican poncho- is it a shirt or a jacket?" debacle. Let's just say that middle school was rough.

Dear Left Coast Biased,

I am pleased as punch that the CryBoys were soundly beaten by the Eagles on Sunday, thereby keeping them from the playoffs. And I felt confident that we would see a melt down of Owenian proportions. But we haven't yet...what gives? I was sure that we would see TO resorting to blaming everyone but himself while managing to call his QB's sexuality into question. But he and Romo were united in their blame of the play calling. And Wade Phillips wasn't fired! What can we expect of the soap opera that is TO?

Sincerely, Giddy in Philly

LCB: Dear Giddy,

We here at Biased feel your pain, and offer our sincere condolences at your parents choice of nomenclature. Look on the bright side: you won't ever cause our friend Jason more angst and anger. So you know, one of us personally put money on either a meltdown or a sob session in the post game interview. Alas, one of us has a slightly lighter wallet...all things being equal. But do not doubt, fair reader that you will yet see a resolution to this madness. This is our theory: for all the media warmongering Owens did this season, he is actually not bringing his full insanity to bear. Rather he is keeping it pent up, letting it build inside of him waiting until he is retired and doing Viagra and Crest tooth whitening commercials to let it all loose with a fury we haven't seen since OJ let the crazy out of the closet and into the Bronco. Mark our words: Owens will eventually pull an OJ.

Dear Left Coast,

So it appears that Brett the Jet will take a few weeks to make a decision about whether or not to return to the Jets. If he retires, which team will he play for next season?

Andre, Buffalo

LCB: Andre,

The answer to your question is so brilliant that I am not even going to address it for a minute. the J-E-T-S, Jets, Jets, Jets ownership has stated that it would like to keep Brett as the Jets starting quarterback for next season, although how that will be affected by the recent decision by the rest of the Jets players to put a bag over distant and alienating Brett's head, kick him in the nuts and shove him in front of an entire caravan of Greyhound buses remains to be seen. But can we take a moment to get back to the Worst Game Ever Played? How did we stop talking about how atrocious the Cowboys are just because some guys who are never going to even visit the Hall of Fame are a little resentful of the Darwinian fact that living legends get treated differently than working stiffs? But there it is! Brett goes to Dallas and backs up Romo! They can havepostgame competitions over whose drawl is more sincere and take turns blowing important games late in the season. Romo takes all the indoor games, Brett gets all the outdoor games unless they are in Florida in which case they run the wildcat all day through Felix Jones. Throw in the necessary Ocho Cinco signing and is there any group that would be more entertaining? I would want to follow them around with a camera waiting for the inevitable moment after their 8-0 start when the wheels for off resulting in an Anchormanesque royal rumble in the parking lote pitting Brett and the disgeruntled recievers against the Romo/Witten coalition against the Jonses Felix and Adam with Terrance Newman that gets taken to a whole new level when Keyshawn and Michael Irving set aside thier personal differences and coke to come lay down the law. On the side of the scrum Bradie James beats up any fans who try to hold them accountable. The thing is, you can actually see this happening! How much would you pay to see this? Could we get it on pay per view? I'm excited just thinking about it.


Lost Coast Biased,

If there was a fantasy acting league where actors got points based on movie grosses, tv cameos, talk show appearances, and acting awards, or something along those lines, who would you draft first? You would have different slots for leading actor, supporting actor, tv actor, and maybe director? You could play Kiefer Sutherland in any slot and Eastwood too. Maybe Branjelina as one actor? It would be hard to balance the scoring sytsem out, but wouldn't this be a way to get the E! audience into fantasy sports?

Amy, New Jersey

LCB: Amy,


We like the idea of being able to field a team of Hayden Panetierre, Megan Fox, Britney Spears, and Rachael Bilson while being competitive. Throw in points for magazine covers, include pictures in the weekly lineups and you have our full support.

Labels: sports

I spent the week leading up to Christmas in a cabin with my family next to a frigid lake in Oklahoma. When I sat down to write this, I was planning on doing this whole bit about the frustrations of Christmas, replete with scriptural allusions and caustic bitterness. You know, almost precisely what you would expect from me. It started pretty easily. Most of the aspects of Christmas annoy me. 2000 years ago a guy who never bought anyone a present in the entirety his much debated and nevertheless world changing life was born in a shack, probably some time in August. On top of the inherent ludicrosity (yeah, I made that word up) of thee when and how we celebrate this day, the consumerism we have built into the day is pushing the holiday season deeper and deeper into the autumn weeks, which are brief enough in Arizona as it is. The evils of Christmas Creep have been much bemoaned elsewhere, but in case you happen to own a major media or consumer company and you haven't been paying attention: QUIT PUSHING CHRISTMAS ON US!!! The 12 days of Christmas have been more than enough for thousands of holidays before this year, we don't suddenly need 12 weeks of it now. Give us time to enjoy Halloween and Thanksgiving before settling into the materialist driven stress of the fat man. There are plenty of things about this holiday, and this whole season (see footnote for example) to go off about, but There was a moment that against all odds lightened my pervasive gloom and got me thinking about all the things that make this a special time of year.

We are visiting with my grandparents here, who are getting on in years, approaching that twilight where gets a bit more beautiful for its imminent paucity. Not quite there, but closer. We were all sitting around paying rapt attention to the clinic that I was holding on the bridge table when my grandmother's youngest son walked in to surprise her. She wasn't expecting to see him this season, and she broke into tears when he came through the door. This is the kind of moment that is truly at the heart of everything that we do this time of year. it is an excuse to allow ourselves to really delve into the depth of the emotion that we feel for our loved ones, with a reckless abandon that would be exhausting if we pursued it year round. A lot of this is accomplished by pushing the ever invasive world at large back to arms length and letting ourselves just dwell with a bit more awareness in the togetherness of family moments, whether it is the comfort with which we fight over taking pictures, the stories that we all laugh at for the hundredth time, or the moment when everyone decides to spontaneously throw mashed potatoes at the youngest sibling. The other, and much less significant way that we show this emotion is in the giving of gifts.

Gift giving is an incredibly powerful and vulnerable experience. I learned this the way kids learn anything: the hard way. I was in my early teens, and there was a cd that I was soooo excited about. For all of you who were not big on the mid 90's music scene, this was just around the time of Napster, before the onset of glorious iTunes, and I lived in the sticks so there was no high speed internet. The short of it is, you had to still go buy the actual disc to get your music. So imagine living in this pre-musical liberation world and there is a cd that you go around talking about for weeks, months even. Ok, enough with dodging the issue. It was the first NSync album. I watched the Disney concert, knew the dance moves, all the words. Yes, I still liked girls. In any case, I was hyped on this album and Christmas morning rolls around and my mother actually went to the tree and grabbed one of the presents and brought it to me, standing there watching as I opened it. Her face was glowing, eyes eager, the anticipation that only comes when you know that you are about to make one of the day of one of the dearest people in the world to you. I unwrapped that shiny blue case with Justin and JC and the boys smiling out at me and my mother caught her breath, waiting for the reaction... I looked up. "Mom, I bought this last week." Derisively I tossed the cd to the side and reached back into the pile. out of the corner of my eye I see my mother's face fall, tears welling up in her eyes, and she starts telling me that I can return it. This moment has never left my mind. Giving a gift, that is, trying to give a good gift, is a very vulnerable experience. And to be clear, a gift card is never a good gift. I am not saying that they are bad gifts, but a good gift is a painstaking, deliberate searching out for that thing, that moment which will not just be appreciated but be the key stone of a glorious arch of joy and utility. it says that I know you, intimately, and value who you are and what is meaningful to you. A gift treasured is an affirmation of that knowledge and a validation of the relationship. A gift spurned is is precisely the opposite. You cannot really give a good gift to someone until they begin to embrace the world around them and engage in things passionately, so to some people who roll through life as mere bystanders you can never give a good gift. This was my mother's first real effort to give me a good gift and my reaction had consequences that rolled down through the years. Since then I have made every effort to give as good of a gift as possible, to risk that moment of vulnerability, to tell all the people that I love how much they mean to me.

--

Labels: personal

We might as well have this out sooner rather than later. At some point in time during your perusal of this collection of our idyllic ramblings you will begin to wonder whether I am being serious. Did these stories really happen? Do I really believe these philosophies that I am espousing? Let me anticipate the question with this answer: I am always serious, especially when I am joking. For reasons that I don't delve into, as there are fears of delving to deep and awakening things better left to sleep, I have always had a more fluid relationship with the concept of truth than that with which most people are comfortable. Let us just say that for those of us who are more flexible when reaching that place where subjective perception intersects with objective reality sincerity is always very easy while honesty is somewhat more difficult to achieve. So to guide all our interactions heretofore let this be your rubric: if you think that I am joking then I likely firmly hold to what I am professing, and if I appear more earnest then the chances are good that I am having a laugh. That being said...

I have long been a fan of polygamy, both as a theory and a practice. I like the idea of having a larger relationship, of them being friends, of creating my own little fiefdom. I am a love the community of family and I want to have as much of it as I can. Polygamy (e.g., Warren Jeffs, Big Love, Mitt Romney) tends to get a bad rap, in my humble opinion (a phrase you are not supposed to use, because you are obviously the one writing; of course it is your opinion). We have so long operated under the assumption that polygamy is a dirty word and a dirtier concept that there aren't any rational arguments against it. The objections run the gamut from ad hominem to ad baculum without ever pausing in the realm of validity. Let's run through them:

......

Polygamy is pedophilia. True, some polygamists dip into the wine before it is fully aged. But these are the religious nut jobs who are equally as likely no ask everyone in their commune to chase a comet with them. No offense, Brigham. Polygamy isn't any more inherently oppressive to women than a monogamous male-female marriage. Should we abolish booze (again) because Tara Ried goes on nightly benders?
.....

If you legalize polygamy, it's a slippery slope, and next you'll have to legalize men marrying goats. Not really. Two (relatively) rational adult females who are capable of declaring yes or no do not equal one insensate and incoherent goat.

.....

Polygamy is an affront to God and the Bible. Perhaps. Depends which part of the Bible. In the Old Testament, you know- the part where it was unbelievably strict and judgmental, polygamy is accepted without a cross word. I read about a man after God's own heart who had eight wives, and his son holds the record with 700. All the New Testament says is that you can't be a deacon.

......


It's bad for the kids. The studies are vague. And actually, anthropologist Philip Kilbride says that polygamy would reduce the divorce rate and be better for kids. Given that most kids suffer from a lack of attention and absentee parentism, wouldn't more parents be better?

.....

There would be a single-man surplus. This is actually the most realistic and severe problem. The math is simple: The rich men will snap up several women. Bill Gates will rack up Solomon-like numbers, leaving the rest of us schmucks crying alone in our rooms. (This will be true even if polygamy is a two-way street, as it should be. Women should be allowed to marry multiple men. But most won't. DNA and testosterone say that men will be the ones who do most of the spouse collecting.) And yet...so what? Isn't that the point of the free market? Why should love be any different from business? It'd be good incentive for us other guys to start our own software mega company. Given the laws of evolutionary progression, aren't the more successful among us the ones we want breeding anyway?



If the government legally required that all men earn the same salary, that system would be described in a book called Das Kapital. And that's the marital system we're living under. Which isn't to say that I think a socialist society wouldn't be better. I'm just asking for a little internal consistency.

Polygamists of the world, throw off your chains.

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