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What my musings are all about...

Blogging might well be the 21st century's form of journaling. As a writing teacher, I have always advised my students to keep a daily journal as a way of organizing their thoughts for future writing projects, a discipline I have unfortunately never consistently practiced myself. By blogging, I might finally be able to follow my own good advice.

The difference between journaling and blogging is that the blogger opens his or her writing to the public, something journal- writers are usually reluctant to do. I am not so reticent.

The trick for me will be to avoid cluttering the internet with more blather, something none of us need more of. If I stick to subjects I know: sports and literature, I believe I can avoid that pitfall. I can't promise that I'll not stray from time to time to comment on ancillary subjects, but I will make every attempt to be interesting and perhaps even insightful.

Monday, July 30, 2012

Stars Earn Stripes

This morning I read on the Internet that NBC will produce a television show called Stars Earn Stripes co-hosted by retired General Westley Clark. On this show, celebrities will pair up with members of the armed services to compete at war-like tasks that include long range weapons fire.

Is NBC insane? Movies show graphic depictions of war. Video games are filled with simulations of war played nightly by hundreds of thousands of men and boys. Now were going to extol the virtues of war on television and call it sports. As an athlete I am deeply offended.

We are in the middle of the 2012 Olympics, dedicated to peaceful competition between athletes of all nations, and what do the nitwits at NBC come up with? War sports. Shame, and double shame on them.

If there is anyone out there as horrified as I am, please comment on my blog.

Here is a small poem I wrote about War wondering at some of the stupid games we played at as little boys.

The Origin of War    by Tom Meschery

I stepped forward into the long arc of the branch,
he had stripped of its leaves and meant to hurt,
because we were no longer ten and a dare at eleven
must be accepted no matter what, especially if it were doubled,
which it was. I took the blow on my chest but did not flinch.
Then it was my turn. I swung the branch
from side to side imagining his worst pain.
Walking home together, he screamed,
This is war! Tomorrow, one of my father's
two-by-fours. We'll see who'll cry, have the last laugh.
It started like a lot of games do, with a dare.
I should have known better.
In the end, what else could I do but surrender.

1 comment:

3243 said...

re NBC's war show: Are we really that far from the Romans?