Gwan to Syracuse
In 1956 my sixth-grade teacher, Mrs. Dykehuisen (“DIE-kyoozin”), bewailed “so much potential is going to waste.”
Convinced by my parents, et al, of my stupid inferiority, I concluded it was just the usual badmouthing.
I had taken what I guess was an IQ test a year-or-two earlier, and nearly aced it.
But I felt that was because I followed their instructions, which were to “Guess the answer and quickly move to the next question.”
But I guess you hafta have pretty good marbles to guess right most of the time.
I guess I’m pretty smart, although it’s never gone to my head.
In college I nearly aced Physics — and that was despite prediction I’d never get hold of it.
All-off-a-sudden I understood algebra; that it was just a tool. Use it that way, and I could ace exams.
Others were trying to memorize formulas — which you could look up; like “gimme that Phillips-head, honey!”
Mired in useless garbage = no idea what they were doing.
A math professor wanted me to take calculus, expecting that unlike most I’d probably get the hang of it.
Other professors told me I should be a scholar.
There was just one problem: I’m a railfan. I’d rather chase trains.
As a result, any marbles I had were “wasted” chasing trains.
The other problem is I’m also an artist. Defined as “If I have anything to do with it, it better look good.”
I began dabbling in photography; first racecar, now trains.
My counselor calls that “a hobby.”
“You don’t know how many retirees I see bored silly.”
WRONGO-WRONGO-WRONGO-WRONGO!
“Not a hobby,” I say. “An avocation. Every job I had supported, and was thereby secondary to, the avocation.”
Recently I visited a friend I once worked with at the Mighty Mezz in Canandaigua.
I feel he’s another example of marbles gone to waste.
Although it’s not a waste to me, and my guess is it isn’t to him.
Photography has moved beyond the darkroom with its stinky chemicals.
With digital photography I can manipulate photos in my computer.
Yellow-Father (Kodak) didn’t allow that. Black-and-white yes, but color you handed over.
The software I use to fiddle color photographs is Photoshop-Elements®, an el-cheapo version of the full Photoshop® a newspaper or magazine might use.
It does most of what full Photoshop can do, or at least what I need.
My friend has become an expert in Photoshop, and I guess self-taught like me.
“Put that manual away!” I’d scream. “Real men don’t use manuals. Just show me.”
No manuals, no classes unless I think they’ll make possible what I want.
So, drag all the way to Syracuse to visit my friend, who I hadn’t seen in years.
But it was the old waazoo: “What can you show me that will improve what I’m doing? You already have. You got my ‘clone’ tool working, and now I’m dickering ‘levels.’”
We set up our MacBook-Pros side-by-side on the dining-room table of his rooming-house.
“What can you show me about ‘layers?’”
Yakita-yakita-yakita-yakita; punctuated by “Whoa-dude! Say all that again.”
We tried things on-my-own. “I want that grab to work for me, not just you.”
Thankfully my friend is party to this. “Here, you try it.”
“Whoa! Howdja do that?”
“Keyboard shortcut, man. Command-Option-D.”
I’d try it. Boom-zoom!
We worked together. “I want the results you got with my friend’s ’49 Ford. Your version looked better than mine.”
Thankfully, I already know enough to not zone out with a deluge of information.
But I think another thing is at play here: using what marbles I have to get what I consider a class-act.
The waste for me is to use those marbles to infer superiority.
• I see a “counselor” because of my wife dying — April 17, 2012.
• The “Mighty Mezz” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired over 11 years ago. Best job I ever had — I worked there almost 10 years (over 11 if you count my time as a post-stroke unpaid intern [I had a stroke October 26th, 1993, from which I recovered fairly well]). (“Canandaigua” [“cannan-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city nearby where I live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 14 miles away.)
Convinced by my parents, et al, of my stupid inferiority, I concluded it was just the usual badmouthing.
I had taken what I guess was an IQ test a year-or-two earlier, and nearly aced it.
But I felt that was because I followed their instructions, which were to “Guess the answer and quickly move to the next question.”
But I guess you hafta have pretty good marbles to guess right most of the time.
I guess I’m pretty smart, although it’s never gone to my head.
In college I nearly aced Physics — and that was despite prediction I’d never get hold of it.
All-off-a-sudden I understood algebra; that it was just a tool. Use it that way, and I could ace exams.
Others were trying to memorize formulas — which you could look up; like “gimme that Phillips-head, honey!”
Mired in useless garbage = no idea what they were doing.
A math professor wanted me to take calculus, expecting that unlike most I’d probably get the hang of it.
Other professors told me I should be a scholar.
There was just one problem: I’m a railfan. I’d rather chase trains.
As a result, any marbles I had were “wasted” chasing trains.
The other problem is I’m also an artist. Defined as “If I have anything to do with it, it better look good.”
I began dabbling in photography; first racecar, now trains.
My counselor calls that “a hobby.”
“You don’t know how many retirees I see bored silly.”
WRONGO-WRONGO-WRONGO-WRONGO!
“Not a hobby,” I say. “An avocation. Every job I had supported, and was thereby secondary to, the avocation.”
Recently I visited a friend I once worked with at the Mighty Mezz in Canandaigua.
I feel he’s another example of marbles gone to waste.
Although it’s not a waste to me, and my guess is it isn’t to him.
Photography has moved beyond the darkroom with its stinky chemicals.
With digital photography I can manipulate photos in my computer.
Yellow-Father (Kodak) didn’t allow that. Black-and-white yes, but color you handed over.
The software I use to fiddle color photographs is Photoshop-Elements®, an el-cheapo version of the full Photoshop® a newspaper or magazine might use.
It does most of what full Photoshop can do, or at least what I need.
My friend has become an expert in Photoshop, and I guess self-taught like me.
“Put that manual away!” I’d scream. “Real men don’t use manuals. Just show me.”
No manuals, no classes unless I think they’ll make possible what I want.
So, drag all the way to Syracuse to visit my friend, who I hadn’t seen in years.
But it was the old waazoo: “What can you show me that will improve what I’m doing? You already have. You got my ‘clone’ tool working, and now I’m dickering ‘levels.’”
We set up our MacBook-Pros side-by-side on the dining-room table of his rooming-house.
“What can you show me about ‘layers?’”
Yakita-yakita-yakita-yakita; punctuated by “Whoa-dude! Say all that again.”
We tried things on-my-own. “I want that grab to work for me, not just you.”
Thankfully my friend is party to this. “Here, you try it.”
“Whoa! Howdja do that?”
“Keyboard shortcut, man. Command-Option-D.”
I’d try it. Boom-zoom!
We worked together. “I want the results you got with my friend’s ’49 Ford. Your version looked better than mine.”
Thankfully, I already know enough to not zone out with a deluge of information.
But I think another thing is at play here: using what marbles I have to get what I consider a class-act.
The waste for me is to use those marbles to infer superiority.
• I see a “counselor” because of my wife dying — April 17, 2012.
• The “Mighty Mezz” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired over 11 years ago. Best job I ever had — I worked there almost 10 years (over 11 if you count my time as a post-stroke unpaid intern [I had a stroke October 26th, 1993, from which I recovered fairly well]). (“Canandaigua” [“cannan-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city nearby where I live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 14 miles away.)
posted by BobbaLew at 2:01 PM
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