On Duty
I don't submit this as a treatise on the subject, only some thoughts that have been rolling around in my head in response to my friend Alex's opinion on the matter of duty.
He rejects duty on the basis that it is a form of submission. His belief that the self and the understanding thereof is the ultimate greatest goal of existence leads him to the logical conclusion that duty because it is a form of submission has no place in the life of an individual.
Although I wouldn't classify myself as a "greatest-gooder" I do disagree with the idea that duty has no place in one's life. Individuals submit to a variety of systems on a daily basis. The laws that govern the nation, the traffic signals and rules are simple examles of systems that many submit to on a daily basis.(Copyeditors submit themselves to the dictates of style guides and grammar) These submissions not only contributes to the benefit of everyone, but it also contributes to the well being of the person who submits to it.
I agree that one should not run about willy-nilly following the whims of the masses. However, when the purpose is true and good then what is wrong with submitting to the greater goal? If submitting the self should result in the benefit of others, and also the self, then what is the harm of duty?
When is submission bad? When it strips members of society of their indiviual talents and creativity. Submission is a bad thing when it destroys freedom of thought and existence. There are numerous literary examples of this - Huxely's Brave New World, Orwell's 1984 and Rand's The Fountainhead. Rand is particularly forceful in her arguments about the supremacy of the individual over the general rabble.
I believe that there are causes that are more than "vaporous and transient" to use Alex's words. Helping others when it is in one's power to do so, protecting the environment for future generations by lowering pollution and waste are just a couple of examples.
Admittedly, my decision to teach school next year is largely formed out of my concept of duty.
Do I relinquish my liberties as an individual? No. Do I believe that my government and constitution grant me liberties? Not really. The government and constitution simply acknowledge that I possess them. Were there no government or constitution I would still retain those certain "inalienable rights" endowed to me as a member of the human race.
Finally, I believe that there are causes in which the result of submission surpasses the seeking of the self. Arguably, this submission for the greater good may be seen in the Civil Rights movement, the suffrage movement and the abolitionist movement just to name a few.

Citius, alius, fortius
On the whole I am not a committed sports fan.
College football, mild interest.
Professional football, not so much.
Baseball, I enjoy a game, I have no idea what all those numbers and letters mean.
I don't follow teams, I never read the sports page.
But for a couple of weeks every couple of years I am a rabid sports enthusiast.
I love the Olympics.
I suppose it starts in 1988, the summer games in Seoul. I don't really remember specific moments, I just have a sense of the brown carpet in our living room and my Mom's committment to the games. Through the years of my growing up are sprinkled the names of olympic greats - Louganis, Lewis, Boitano, Witt, Strugg.
I've never been particularly athletic either, but growing up I learned from Jansen and Blair that when hardwork is added to a dream good things can happen.
I've read the editorials that say the Winter Olympics are boring, but no where else is there such potential for speed, triumph and disaster.
It's not about the athletes who medal, most who go to the games don't "realistically" have a shot. They come to compete against other athletes in their prime, setting aside the politics and struggles of daily life for a brief period.
Because so much is ventured at these games, so much athletically, so much personally, so much in integrity and human spirit, because so much is given great and terrible moments occur. The games present a microcosm of the best and worst in human nature. There has been cheating. Poor sportsmanship. Rigged judging. But as terrible as the bad moments, the great moments are transcendent.
Jesse Owens triumphing in Berlin. An African-American winning not only the race, but a smaller victory against an evil dictator who wanted the games to showcase his master race. And not only Owen's, but Luz Long the German competitor who helped Owen's qualify for the long jump finals by making sure Owen's jumped before the fault line.
2002 when a young American teenager became the first woman to land 7 triple jumps in olympic competition and landed the gold as well.
Abebe Bikila of Ethiopa who won the marathon running barefoot.
Most who go to the games don't medal, but they compete under their flag for the pride of their nation and the joy of being healthy and strong and able to try great physical feats. And this is the olympics. Because no matter what the numbers say there is always the possibility and the hope that for a few minutes an athlete may overtake his or her fellows to see his or her flag raised and anthem sung.
The Olympics in such a compressed time and way show us what is to try great things, to dream, to strive, to push ourselves further than we have ever been. Is that such a bad thing to have in the world?
So I cheer for the Olympics. I follow them. I read the sports pages.
I hope they are not silly, nor outdated because the impetus behind them is good and strong.
We may not need the Olympics, but like art and music, I think they make us better individuals. The hope, the work, the ambition and passion that drive the athletes, those qualities placed in our own lives make us individuals better equipped to live well in a world and build something better for those that follow.

10 Musings...
1. I think our culture might be in a state of decline, possibly on the way to another dark ages. Discuss.
2. Esquire has certainly been paying a lot of attention to Rhett Miller of Old 97s fame. Fine with me.
3. I told someone today that the problem I had with James Frey's Million Little Pieces was not the fact that he lied, but rather that the writing was not compelling.
4. I've been thinking a great deal about Gatsby and how he reinvented himself. Is Gatsby a good life model?
5. I wonder what the great library at Alexandria was like.
6. Why don't I have ice cream right now?
7. If I took up curling, could I make it to the olympics?
8. Is anyone still reading this drivel?
9. What is the place of duty in one's life? Is duty an outdated idea?
10. These 10 thoughts are so not compelling.

Come a little closer…
There’s a weird time warp thing on I-35 between Dallas and Austin. Although the drive allegedly takes 3 hours, there is something that makes it feel like five and a half. I believe that the urban sprawl of Dallas and Austin contribute to this, and the flatness in between.
Time warp aside, the way that the plains of north Texas give way to the beginning of the hill country never ceases to be beautiful to me.
I stopped at the Czech Stop and got my usual order of 1 apple and 1 cherry kolache. Spend a quiet moment in memory with my fruit pastries, and got back on the road.

Do you fear this man’s invention that they call atomic power?
So Blythe and I are sharing a pitcher of beer at a dark little dive in Austin when the subject of the Apocalypse comes up, like it does. After solving all the problems the world we headed towards San Marcos for a small concert. Our friend Addie, whose boyfriend’s band was playing in San Marcos, told us about a honky tonk called Giddy Up’s just south of Austin.
There was a woman behind the Giddy Up’s bar who had impossibly long legs and hair that fell past the middle of her back. The regulars called her Blue and she wore cowboy boots with a red and white checked skirt and a black blouse. There was a pool table and folks two-stepping while a band played country tunes up at the front. And so it was here with a warm breeze blowing through the door, and a tall young man two-stepping a short grandma around the room that I wondered how I could possibly be leaving Texas again in the summer.

Like a band of gypsies, we go down the highway...
After introducing Blythe to the wonders of stuffed jalepenos, we set off for San Antone and the Rodeo. We found O’s new digs, met the cat and left on the adventure.
I’ve been to a couple of rodeos and one Spanish bullfight. Now, maybe I’m thinking about this too much, but isn’t it interesting that two cultures developed two different sports that involved angry bulls. Furthermore, if the bull is supposed to symbolize the struggle of life and death, then what does that say about American culture?
The bullfight wears the bull down before the matador comes out vulnerable and alone to face danger. Before the end of the bullfight, the bull has already been wounded multiple times, tired and bleeding it faces the matador.
In bull riding, the bull is healthy and the cowboy just hops on for the ride. The bull doesn’t die at the end. Does that mean that the American attitude is to just take all of life by the proverbial horns and hold on with all you got, while the European attitude is to wait life out and see if you can beat death at the end? I don’t think so, but it’s interesting, no?

And about that war…
While in San Antonio we got into a very forceful discussion about Iraq…tempers and passions and voices were raised. But I believe that we’ve got to keep talking about it, we’ve got to keep thinking about it and we’ve got to keep finding a way to make things better.

Home again
So I returned to Dallas, the laughter of my friends, the satisfaction of good discussion and the Texas wind in my hair.

Just to set the record straight…
Some folks are real picky about who qualifies as a Texan or not. I am a Texan by birth, the rest of my family are Texans by immigration and choice. But for some people, birth is the only valid claim anyone can make to being a Texan. Well, those people are snobby twits and not fit to be called Texans.
All Texans must make a choice at some point of where their home lies; no one chooses to be born here, but one may choose to leave their affections in this place. The original settlers who came from Missouri and other states made a choice to come to this hard and strange land. Texas has always been a place for wanderers, outlaws, idealists and other ragamuffin, vagabond souls. I don’t believe that Texas is an elite club entered only by birth. People get here all sorts of ways and at the end of the day they look back over their shoulders at the pink Texas sunset and call it home.
I believe that those “elite club” Texans are wrong, and shouldn’t call themselves Texans at all if they believe in ideas like “elite” and “clubs,” but they are a picky, bothersome noisy bunch. Thus, I would like to offer my own Texas citizenship in sponsorship for the recent immigrants.
Let it be hereby known that should Blythe, Bree, Aurora, Jason, or Matt ever wish to refer to themselves as Texans they may do so with full approval and endorsement of a native Texan.