Hero or Legend

Below is a brief but heated convo between Karl of the channel 9 morning show, and Mia, of mamamia.com, on the recent Tour de France win by Cadel Evans.



When I think of the word 'hero', I picture Doctors, Nurses, Ambulance drivers, Foster Parents, Missionaries, and the like. So, a person who saves someone, a person who heals, a person who cares for the homeless, the orphaned, the hungry etc. I never ever think of a cyclist. No matter what he has accomplished.
So, I can kind of get where Karl is coming from, but in all honesty, I can understand the point that Mia is making. However, Karl had already decided to send Mia through the mincer before the interview began, and had no real intention of letting her explain why she feels the way she does. I have always thought of him as an arrogant prick, so this only compounds that, nonetheless, he is entitled to his opinion, entitled to stand up for a fellow cyclist, and fellow Aussie.
There is no doubt about it, Cadel Evans will now go down in history as one of many Australian sporting legends and deservedly so, however, we have gotten the words 'legend' and 'Hero' intertwined.

Lets look at the word Legend.
Here I quote from http://www.thefreedictionary.com/legend
leg·end

1.

a. An unverified story handed down from earlier times, especially one popularly believed to be historical.

b. A body or collection of such stories.

c. A romanticized or popularized myth of modern times.

2. One that inspires legends or achieves legendary fame.

3.

a. An inscription or a title on an object, such as a coin.

b. An explanatory caption accompanying an illustration.

Does Cadel meet the true description of legend? Although he will most likely be called an Aussie 'Sporting Legend' for years to come, no. He does not meet the true meaning and description of Legend. He is not a mythical story passed on from generation to generation. He is also not romanticized, but he has achieved fame. So of course this is all my opinion, and you may or may not disagree, but I really do not think he meets the true description of the word legend. It's a crying shame really- because I thought it suited him.

Now lets look at 'Hero'.
http://www.thefreedictionary.com/hero

hero

1. a man distinguished by exceptional courage, nobility, fortitude, etc.

2. a man who is idealized for possessing superior qualities in any field

3. (Myth & Legend / Classical Myth & Legend) Classical myth a being of extraordinary strength and courage, often the offspring of a mortal and a god, who is celebrated for his exploits

4. the principal male character in a novel, play, etc.

So what about hero? You could definitely say Cadel is distinguished by exceptional courage. And he does possess superior qualities in his field, clearly. So it looks like Cadel does meet the true meaning and description of 'Hero'.

So now that I know that Cadel and other sporting 'legends' should be called 'Sporting Heroes', I believe that there should be a new word created to describe our caregivers, doctors and nurses who go above and beyond their ever day roles. I think there will always be a disagreement about who should be called a hero or a legend, because we have meshed the two words together and they are some what similar.
There is only really one answer to this dilemma, and that is to create a new word and let legends be legends and heroes be heroes. Separately.

The Best Donuts You Will Ever Eat!

Being the Kritikal Thinker that I am, and also the food enthusiast that I am, I have come across an apparent 'Secret Donut Recipe' in my search for the best home made donuts ever. However, the 'Big Secret' is simple. It's mashed potato. Donut makers across the globe know this is not a new invention, they know it's no secret. So here is my 'Not-A-Secret-Recipe' for lovely donuts that you really can't stuff up. Have a go at this delicious treat and feel free to comment on your success! Good Luck!

Kritikal's Donuts!

Ingredients
4 Teaspoons yeast
1 Cup of warm Milk
1/2 teaspoon sugar

1/2 cup mashed potato (The Big Secret) *Where did my sarcasm font go?*
2 cups flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup sugar
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
Vegetable oil- 2 inches in a pot/pan.

Method
Combine Yeast, 1/2 teaspoon Sugar and Milk in a bowl.
Set aside for ten minutes while you work on the next part.
Sift the Flour, 1/4cup Sugar, Salt, and Nutmeg into a large bowl.
Add mashed potato to the dry ingredients along with the yeast mixture and mix until a dough ball forms. Knead the dough on a lightly floured surface for about ten minutes, adding a little flour as needed.
Once kneaded, roll the dough out to about a half and inch thickness, and cut out your donuts. Set the donuts onto a lightly floured tray for and hour. This recipe makes approximately 10 donuts.

Fry donuts in and inch or two of vegetable oil, that has been heated to about 175 c or 375f until lightly golden brown on each side. After cooking, place on paper towel to absorb any excess oil, then roll them in cinnamon sugar, or glaze.
Enjoy!

A couple of Kritikal Tips!

• The more you knead the dough at the beginning, the better your donuts will be-
  
• so put the effort in, and I promise it will pay off.
  
• Do not over heat the oil- burnt donuts suck.
• The donuts must float on the oil, if they are on the bottom of the pan, you need more oil.
  
• Test a piece of dough before frying your donuts to make sure your oil is hot enough- or better still, use a candy-makers thermometer.
• If the oil is not hot enough, the donuts will absorb a lot of oil and taste like shit.
  
• Slide the donuts into the oil away from your body to avoid nasty splashes.
• Use your common sense, don't leave the hot oil alone, and don't let the kids at it without supervision. Our burns units are already full.
• Always eat treats like donuts in moderation.

Kritical Krimes

Here's a messed up story of a woman imprisoned for the murder of her husband, or the organization of which her son carried out. Feel free to comment with your thoughts.

Family Portrait

A husband is found dead in a stable in what appears to be a horse accident. But when bullet casings and a bloody pipe are found nearby, blame shifts to his wife, whose daughter and son accuse her of plotting the murder and convincing her son to commit the crime.
Tamron Hall reports, Aug.30 2010

Word of the Week - Control

con·trol

tr.v. con·trolled, con·trol·ling, con·trols

1. To exercise authoritative or dominating influence over; direct.

2. To adjust to a requirement; regulate: controlled trading on the stock market; controls the flow of water.

3. To hold in restraint; check: struggled to control my temper.

4. To reduce or prevent the spread of: control insects; controlled the fire by dousing it with water.

5.

a. To verify or regulate (a scientific experiment) by conducting a parallel experiment or by comparing with another standard.

b. To verify (an account, for example) by using a duplicate register for comparison.

n.

1. Authority or ability to manage or direct: lost control of the skidding car; the leaders in control of the country.

2.

a. One that controls; a controlling agent, device, or organization.

b. An instrument or set of instruments used to operate, regulate, or guide a machine or vehicle. Often used in the plural.

3. A restraining device, measure, or limit; a curb: a control on prices; price controls.

4.

a. A standard of comparison for checking or verifying the results of an experiment.

b. An individual or group used as a standard of comparison in a control experiment.

5. An intelligence agent who supervises or instructs another agent.

6. A spirit presumed to speak or act through a medium.

5 Signs of a Controlling Relationship

A healthy relationship will always nurture, love and respect. It will never control, manipulate or blackmail. These are my five signs of a controlling relationship.

1) Losing Your Identity
Being in a relationship and sharing a life together with someone you love is wonderful, but when your identity is lost or overshadowed by someone else’s, it is no longer a healthy relationship. For instance you may no longer have your own email address, it is now shared with the controlling partner, which allows him/her to police your inbox. You might be spending more time on your partner’s projects or hobbies, and much less time doing the things you used to do alone such as your afternoon walk, a coffee out etc… The controller will dominate the relationship, and soon enough, his/her needs, wants, aspirations and goals etc, will overshadow your own. In the beginning this may seem like you are compromising for the sake of the relationship, or contributing to your partner's needs/wants, but slowly slowy, layer by layer, a controller will strip away your identity, until you are a shadow of your former self. I often think of a lady I knew who once said about a 20 year old photo of herself, 'I wore my hair like that because 'he' liked it that way, but I never thought it suited me'. If this is you, please don't let it be 20 years.

2) No Free Time
Is your time now fully occupied with chores, or other things that have been set for you by your partner? A Controller will slowly take over every moment of your time, some even create lists and inflexible time tables that allow no room for a moment of personal time which can also cut off family and friend social time. When you are not at work, your time belongs to him/her, and you may even find yourself having to account for any discrepancies in 'their' timetable such as being late home from work, or maybe you did not pick up the phone when they called. If you are finding yourself without time do with as you please, enjoy your hobbies, or go out with your friends, you are in a controlling relationship, and you must get out asap.

3) Isolation
A controlling partner may isolate you from family and friends. By making it uncomfortable for friends or family when they visit, or contact you. This won’t happen overnight, it may happen so slowly that you don’t recognize it. How long has it been since you went out for a beer with your mates? Had a coffee with your friends? Visited or phoned your family? Feeling isolated from your favorite people is being controlled.

4) Manipulation
The controller may manipulate and dominate by constant contact such as texting, emailing or phoning to check up on you, or find out where you are. Some have been known to text the partner from the next room to control a conversation. While manipulation can unfortunately be a part of any relationship, it is the controllers most used weapon. The controlling partner will use many forms of lies or emotional blackmail to manipulate and control the other person, and if the controller does not get his/her way, he/she may even become physically abusive to gain control over the partner. If you are in a situation where you have been abused, please seek help.

5) Asking for Permission
If you are a grown adult, can hold down a job, pay your bills and function as a normal healthy adult, and you are asking permission from your partner to do things you would ordinarily seek no permission for, then you need to rethink your actions and assess your relationship. If you don’t feel comfortable saying yes to a mate's party invite, or dinner out with your friends, simply because you worry that your partner may not approve, then you are being controlled, and you are being manipulated. This is quite different from simply asking for your partner's input or opinion, and not to be confused.

What is Easter to you?

Ok, well since this is not an open forum where everyone gets a say, I will share what Easter is to me.

As a child, it was about the chocolate. Lets be honest, it's when you get to shovel down chocolate until you can eat no more.

I was raised a Christian, so I understand the religious meaning of Easter and what the blood sacrifice of Jesus Christ means. However, I find it difficult now to count myself as a Christian if not impossible, since I don't believe that Christ was our Saviour. Please feel free to disagree, that is what that little button at the bottom of each post is for. I mean no offense, but my grown-up Kritikal interpretation of the Holy Scripture is much different, than the innocent childish beliefs I once had.

Having faith in a God that you can't see, hear, feel, or prove, is something I have great appreciation and respect for. I do not and will never mock a person who puts faith and trust in their own God. I am just not one of those people, although I have tried, and tried very hard, I am not. My understanding and personal interpretation of Jesus of Nazareth is that he did die on the cross, that he was tormented, and tortured for more than 6 hours on that cross, that he was murdered by a people that despised anyone different, and that it was one of the greatest injustices in the history of man kind. 

However that is kind of where traditional Christian interpretation, and my interpretation part ways. I won't go into what I believe happened next, or why Jesus is not my personal savior, I don't think it's very respectful on such a week end, to the people that believe quite differently. I may be Kritikal, but come on, a little respect. 

So, again, what does Eater mean to me? It means the gathering of one, sometimes one and a half extremely dysfunctional families, it means the thrill of loading my niece and nephews up with toys and chocolate eggs. It means sharing a long week end with my lovely man Splad. And to me, it means remembering a man, who even while being crucified for his individuality, for his friend's betrayal, for his unique love and understanding of every one around him, was still able to bring comfort to a criminal who was being slowly executed beside him.

What one of us could truthfully say we would die for another? Who of us could honestly say we would lay down our life for someone we never met? Yes many would. But how many say it, but could never follow through? This is not a question of ones honesty, or love for mankind. It's just my thoughts on Easter.

Kritikal.

Word Of The Week

Word of the Week- Premeditate

 pre·med·i·tate

   /prɪˈmɛdɪˌteɪt/ Show Spel[pri-med-i-teyt]  

–verb (used with object), -tat·ed, -tat·ing.

to meditate, consider, or plan beforehand: to premeditate a murder.

Origin:
1540–50;  < Latin praemeditātus  past participle of praemeditārī  to contemplate in advance. 

—Related forms

pre·med·i·ta·tive, adjective

pre·med·i·ta·tor, noun

Stealing is Stealing

I was a kid once. A Kritikal kid. I did bad things, I stole once or twice, I lied a few times more, and  I cheated in some sporting activities and I was mean sometimes. However, I have grown up, become more Kritikal, somewhat less childish, and I have paid for my mistakes, bad choices and regrets. I think I can look back now and say that although my parents raised me to know right from wrong, my choice was to learn it the hard way...

When you make the choice to take something from someone- with good intentions or bad, and you do not return that something to that someone, you will always end up reaping the consequences of that. In some way, shape or form, you will get what you deserve. I know I can say that without a doubt because I've been there- done that. Now, my rebellious teenage ways may not be child smuggling or murder, but crime is crime, stealing is stealing, and it does not matter who you are stealing from, it makes no difference when the rubber meets the road, you are still taking something that is not yours, and was never meant to be yours. 

I count myself as a person with common sense, although I am Kritikal, and sometimes a tad narrow minded, I also count myself as a law abiding citizen who wishes to forget the past, and move on to bigger and better things. 

I have discovered one of my friends is a black stone in the bucket of Diamonds that I call my friends. 

She not only chose to deceive a community of people, who would have given anything to support and love her through thick and thin, she chose to take money from them. The reason I am being so Kritikal about this, is because although as I said earlier, I am no stranger to wrong doings, and deceit, I said good bye to all of that when I grew out of my silly teenage years. 

This person, this black stone in the bucket of Diamonds, is a 30 something, independent, grown up, who all of my friends and I had placed great trust in, without a second of doubt. The thing is, it wasn't a great deal of money, it was only a few dollars each, but when you add it all up, it's quite a lot. 

I take great assurance in Karma/fate/reaping what you sow, or whatever you would like to call it. I know that when you do something wrong, you will get what is deserved, and when karma comes crashing in, she packs a whollop. 

It does not matter if you steal from a group of little old ladies at the bake sale, collecting money for diseased and lame animals,  blind children in a 3rd world country, or if you take a bit of change from someones bench top because you 'know you will return it so there is no harm.' Stealing is stealing, and no matter whether you are rich, poor, young or old, you cannot escape reaping what you sow.

And besides that, no one should steal because it simply is wrong. Choosing not to steal because you might get caught, or because you might have to face consequences, or because you will be humiliated when it all comes out in the wash shouldn't have to be a deterrent. 

A person's reason for not stealing, should be simply that it is wrong. It's called having a conscience but I guess some people are just born without one.

Kritkal.

Funeral Etiquette Kritic

People Please! For all that is holy!

When attending a funeral for a non-family member, remember to NEVER EVER, EVER, EVER sit in the front row seats where family are sitting. Unless you have been personally asked to sit beside family members, DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE sit in the front row.

The front row is for FAMILY ONLY. In fact, if it is a big family, it is common courtesy to sit a few rows back to allow the front rows for the family. I have only been to 6 funerals, but without anyone having to tell me, I knew instinctively that the front row is for FAMILY!

Now let me explain why I am yelling at you all!

I was a Pall Barer for my Pop, so I with my cousin 'Grub' and two of my brothers, carried Pop's casket into the chapel. Once the casket was placed onto the slab/table/thing, I went to find a seat with my family. Three people who I barely knew, and who I know hardly knew my Pop were sitting with my family.

Because they would not move, I with my loving other half- Splad, were then left with no option but to sit on the other side of the chapel, away from my family. It was very painful to sit, isolated from my family, where I was not able to comfort them, and I could have no comfort from them.

I watched across from me, as my brother sat crying, and feeling utterly helpless. I wanted to sit with them so much. And I Kritically resent the three no-body's who chose to steal from me, what I count as my right to comfort my loved ones at such an important and painful time.

Please if you take anything away from my blog, let it be this important request. Please allow family to sit together. 

Kritikal.

Morbidly Kritikal Part two

What will be your last out fit? What will you wear to your funeral? (number 2)

A week went by, I began to think hard about what Pop's 90th birthday would entail. I thought about what sort of party could I arrange that would work in a hospital. Then on Thursday morning, one week and one hour after I had last saw my Pop, my mobile rang, that's cell phone to you yanks.

Mum on the other end saying "it's Pop, he's gone.' I don't remember the rest of the conversation, just a feeling of non-reality. Feeling as if the world was fake, or transparent. It's hard to put into black and white. My Mum arrived at my house about 40 minutes later. The rest of the day went in a flurry of tears, shock, more country driving, and more shock. We arrived in 'Helldinin' that evening about 6pm.

Nurses were as usual having tea. The hospital was quiet, but elderly patients were still wandering around doing what ever they do. We were lead to where Pop's body lay, which was just a normal hospital room with the air conditioning set on the lowest setting. Being a backwater hick town, they don't even have a proper cool room for people who have passed on.

I sat outside the room for the first few minutes, my Mother went in to have time alone with her father. I was worried about her, how she was in there, if she was ok. In her line of work she sees dead bodies all the time, so she is used to handling/moving bodies around in hospitals. However, this was her father. So of course it was totally different. I was also worried about myself, I had never seen anyone dead apart from on the internet, or on strange late night tv. So all manner of thoughts crossed through my mind,  was he going to look different, would he smell bad, how would I react, should I plan my reaction so that I avoid any bad reaction.

I was in the beginning of grief, that denial is so strong. I was still thinking to my Kritikal self, they are so negligent in this shitty little hospital, that they obviously have mistaken someone else for my Pop! It's not him in there, there has been a big mistake, and when I go in there, I will see that all is well, and then we will have to go find Pop.

A few moments passed and my Mother came out from the room. She asked me if I wanted to go in, if I was ok, and if I was ready. I nodded and went in. My heart sank. I saw that it was my Pop, since he had his tattoos in the right places. His color was gone, and I knew he was gone also, but I sat next to him on the bed, and waited for him to speak.

Any moment now, and he will say something. We sat in that room for maybe 20minutes. In quiet, in whisper, in silence.

We waited for the undertaker to arrive from Parrigon which is about an hour or so from Helldinnin and of course I have given this town a new name for reasons stated above. We met the undertaker and he was lovely, I am guessing an old time Mason, or maybe a traditional catholic, I don't know, but there was something religious about him, not in the church sense but in the cross every 't', dot every 'i' sense. He was good, but had a hand shake as cold as ice. My mother and I both saw both the irony and humor in that. After speaking to him for a while, we were somewhat clear on the steps that we were about to take, however the whole thing is a blurr.

Mum and I both then went in to say what seemed to me, to be the final good bye. I gently put a new beanie on Pop, and I heard him say to me in his funny irish accent, 'Give us a kiss love.' So I leaned over, kissed him on his cool cheek and said good bye. As I left from the hospital that night, I had to fight with all I had in me not to run back in, pick him up and take him with me, to safety, or to comfort, or to escape. I have no idea what I was thinking, but I hated leaving him there in that place, where they let him die. 

That night we hardly slept and the next morning my older brother Sonny arrived at the hotel. It was a relief to see him, another familiar face, another person who would understand the pain that really only a family member, or I guess an extremely close friend could know. The next day or so went in another whirl of strange blurr. There is really no telling what exactly happened in those next days so I will move on to the reason why I began this post, and my question, what would you wear to your own funeral.

Organizing a funeral in this day and age should not be more confusing than death itself. Losing Pop has been confusing, and although I would like to get to the bottom of why the hospital staff let my Pop die, I was really shocked at the confusion of organizing a funeral. I am not going to get into all the red tape, the government's policies on what happens with a person's body, or what you can and can't do when you lose a member of your family. It's April 2011, and today it is still so difficult and so chaotic to organize a funeral. Maybe 100 years ago, it may have been easier, because family may have been able to make every decision without some rediculous governmental department breathing down your neck to make sure that you follow all the rules, and keep up to date with all the changes in policies, rules and regulations. 

The whole grieving process would have been made so much less difficult if we could have all just got a shovel each, bought a plot of land, dug a hole, and laid him to rest. Now I know, some may find that harsh, maybe even a little revolting, but to my mind, I think it would have been better that way. To be able to grieve without interruption. I bet Pop would have preferred to be buried with his animals. He always had a little ceremony for every one of his animals when he lost one. He loved them and respected them, made a little plot for them, marked the ground and paid respect to that animal that probably bought him much love and companionship. 

Once again, I digress. I do that a lot.

The viewing for Pop was at about 9am. I was there with a picture of him to go onto the casket. My mother and I were the only ones to view Pop, which is probably a good thing since he was laying in the casket in the Beanie I had placed on his head, and the hospital pajamas that he wore when he died.

My Pop died in a shitty little back water hospital, in the crappy pajamas I fought so hard to get him out of. 

I hear you ask the question, 'why was he still in pajamas?' Well the answer to that is simple. We were told that he was in a neat shirt, and it was quite suitable for a viewing. I was fool enough to believe it.

The rest of the day only got worse. It got worse before it got better, and it was not until the day was completely over, that I was able to go home, to my comfortable, usual, normal norm, that I could come unglued. And that is what I did.

Once again, I will ask you, what will you wear at your own funeral?

Kritikal.