Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Complete and Entirely Without Any Bridge

I’ve been in a time-warp lately. Mentally, I’m stuck some place around those amoebic years I refer to as “College.” I’m a little fuzzy on how I got to this point, but I think it goes something like this: I was attempting to recommend a book to someone. I remember the book as having quirky humor, most of which resonated in the form of obscure catch-phrases and abstract ideas not unlike the works of Monty Python but without the wide and deserving fan base.

So I started re-reading that book that I first read in college. All this time, I have been wondering, “Why?” My roommate back then recommended it for me. He thought I would enjoy it. In retrospect, that may have been a subtle insult. I tried to explain it to a co-worker.

“That looks like a big, old, book.”
“Not really. It’s several books in a leather-bound compellation of…um...4 or 5 books. It’s ironically referred to as a trilogy.”
“Is that why it says, ‘Complete and Unabridged’?”
“Uh… sure!”
“It looks funny. Is it funny?”
“It is if you don’t mind over-thinking things.”
“Oh. Nevermind.”

And that’s when I remembered why I was recommended to read it (which is really what happened.) I tend to over-think things. Some might say it’s my defining characteristic. It is also why I ended up with a minor in Philosophy. I’m still trying to work-out how to make that into anything other than a complete waste of money. The best I’ve got: “I bundled it.”

The author (Douglas Adams) describes the “book” (The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy) as “science-fiction humor.” That sounds more like a genre than a description, but it is technically correct. What is entirely correct is that his “humor” borrows from multiple branches on intellect, including, but not limited to, theoretical physics, actual physics, philosophy, mathematics, cosmology, and generally a bunch of stuff I really have no accurate labels for including those I just listed. But all that is just to lend plausibility to the plot—which is about some stuff that happens to some characters and how they react to that stuff. For real fun, he sprinkles in chunks of flare, like… cocktails… and grammar. Maybe I should give an example:

The Infinite Improbability Drive is a wonderful new method of crossing vast interstellar distances in a mere nothingth of a second, without all that tedious mucking about in hyperspace… The principle of generating small amounts of finite improbability by simply hooking logic circuits to an atomic vector plotter suspended in a strong Browian Motion producer (say a nice hot cup of tea) were of course well understood—and such generators were often used to break the ice at parties by making all the molecules in the hostess’s undergarments leap simultaneously one foot to the left, in accordance with the Theory of Indeterminacy. Many respectable physicists said that they weren’t going to stand for this, partly because it was a debasement of science, but mostly because they didn’t get invited to those sorts of parties…

The whole book doesn’t read like that, just interjectory explanation-stuff. But wait, there’s more! Like dialogue! And poetry! And drinking games! And poetry about drinking games!

Two contestants would sit either side of a table, with a glass in front of each of them. Between them would be placed a bottle of Janx Spirit (as immortalized in that ancient Orion mining song: “Oh, don’t give me no more of that Old Janx Spirit/No, don’t give me no more of that Old Janx Spirit/For my head will fly, my tongue will lie, my eyes will fry and I may die/Won’t you pour me one more of that Old Janx Spirit.”)

And, so, a bit on grammar is perfectly logical.

One of the major problems encountered in time travel is quite simply one of grammar, and the main work to consult in this matter is Dr. Dan Streetmentioneer’s Time Traveler’s Handbook of 1001 Tense Formations. It will tell you, for instance, how to describe something that was about to happen to you in the past before you avoided it by time-jumping forward two days in order to avoid it. The event will be described differently according to whether you are talking about it from the standpoint of your own natural time, from the time in the further future, or a time in the further past. Most readers get as far as the Future Semiconditionally Modified Subinverted Plagal Past Subjunctive Intentional before giving up; and in fact, in later editions of the book all the pages beyond this point have been left blank to save on printing costs. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy skips lightly over this tangle of academic abstraction, pausing only to note that the term “Future Perfect” has been abandoned since it was discovered not to be.

But, my favorite at the moment is this one:

The Bistromathic Drive is a wonderful new method of crossing vast interstellar distances without all that dangerous mucking about with Improbability Factors. Bistromathics itself is simply a revolutionary new way of understanding the behavior of numbers. Just as Einstein observed that space was not an absolute but depended on the observer’s movement in space, and that time was not an absolute but depended on the observer’s movement in time, so it is now realized that numbers are not absolute, but depend on the observer’s movement in restaurants. The first non-absolute number is the number of people for whom the table is reserved. This will vary during the course of the first three telephone calls to the restaurant, and then bear no apparent relation to the number of people who actually turn up, or to the number of people who subsequently join them after the show/game/party/gig, or to the number of people who leave when they see who else has turned up. The second non-absolute number is the given time of arrival, which is now known to be one of those most bizarre of mathematical concepts: a recipriversexcluson—a number whose existence can only be defined as being anything other than itself. In other words, the given time of arrival is the one moment of time at which it is impossible that any member of the party will arrive. The third and most mysterious piece of nonabsoluteness of all lies in the relationship between the number of items on the check, the cost of each item, the number of people at the table and what they are prepared to pay for. (The number of people who have actually brought money is only a subphenomemon in this field.) Numbers written on restaurant checks within the confines of the restaurant do not follow the same mathematical laws as numbers written on any other pieces of paper in any other parts of the Universe. On a waiter’s check pad, reality and unreality collide on such a fundamental level that each becomes the other and anything is possible, within certain parameters. Which parameters is, of course, impossible to say.

And over the course of it all, the reader discovers alternate explanations for the meaning of life, the universe, and everything. The answer is 42. In learning that, you are also given an explanation of why the earth was created in the first place. All of which is not to undervalue the subtle mis-interpretation people chronically express about our true relationship with dolphins and mice.

I’m still arguing with myself whether I should even finish it. I probably will. For some reason, I need the distraction. Don’t ask me why. It will only confuse you.

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Gainfully Unemployed

Being unemployed is not all bad. It turns out my world is better suited to the unemployed. It’s no wonder (any more) why being a working stiff was so darn stressful.

The first thing I noticed was the morning routine. I’ve been getting out of bed every morning for years with decreasing levels of success. Naturally, I thought, I’d have the aches and pains, the lethargy, and the undeniable conclusion that time speeds up with R.E.M. And I was slightly surprised by the memory lapses, the slurred speech, and the overwhelming despair… Just me? Sorry. I attributed most of that to aging. Now, I realize the problem has been the job all along. With unemployment, I have no good reason to get out of bed and, therefore, no reason to get to bed in the first place. Yet, I can’t wait to get to sleep as soon as socially acceptable and stay asleep as long as physiologically possible. (That time is pre-determined by the bladder, FYI.) First, I don’t spend money when I’m sleeping. Also, my metabolism slows to something just shy of a hibernating chipmunk, so silencing the siren song of any and all food in the house is an unexpected bliss. Sure, the aches, pains, snaps, crackles, and pops are still there, but since I’m in no rush, it doesn’t matter how slowly I ooze around the house.

That sense of non-urgency is the big revelation of my condition. I’ve heard so much about our rush-rush pace of life these days, that I was surprised how ill-suited the world is to accommodate it. I can’t afford gas, so I’ve been walking more. I live in a small town, so it is actually more practical than I used to believe. Sure, I used to be able to hop in the car, run to the hardware store, and get back home in the span of a long commercial break (depending more on the speed of the clerk than anything else.) So, the fact that I would only be a few blocks along the way in that same time is no big deal. I’ve got more time than money. I can walk any speed I want. No one else is walking to complain that I’m too slow or get in my way, either. Actually, I envy my friends from bigger cities. They don’t walk everywhere, but they walk to the subway or the bus stop, or even the parking ramp. I feel very self-conscious walking around town by myself. People turn and stare at pedestrians, here. I’m sure they are thinking, “That guy must be too poor to buy a car. Maybe he’s homeless.” They’re only partially correct, so I try to ignore their ignorance.

I used to get annoyed when I used a public restroom that only had those air hand-dryer things. I prefer paper towels. But, they don’t bother me that much now since I actually have 5 to 10 minutes to stand there doing nothing except rubbing my empty palms together.

All of this improves my carbon footprint, which is nice. I’m a little nicer, too. So what if the lines at the supermarket stretch back to the milk section? I’ve got time. Someone cut in front of me? Oh well, they probably actually have stuff they have to do before bedtime. Not me.

I even impressed my wife. “Want me to do that?” Yes. Yes she does. No, actually, it is no problem. Life is a whole lot of nothing these days. I may even get ridiculous. I could bake a pie from scratch. I could even do all the mixing with a fork and a limber wrist. Sure, it would take longer. So? I could track down an old washboard and take 15 minutes for every article of clothing in the pile. That could eat up most of my week. My lawn looks fabulous, of course. But, I could use one of those old push-blades. Heck, I could use scissors!

Yesterday, I drove my wife, daughter, and her friend around while they shopped. I sat in the car. Normally, this would drive me insane. Instead, I just sat there like a carpool-lane mannequin. I realized that all the insanity was premised on having other things to do, line-items to check, checklists to conquer, objectives to master, and goals to achieve. Cell-phones pioneered our pursuit to empowered productivity. The world-wide-web wafts wirelessly to limber laptops.

I’m just checking out Facebook statuses.

I used to scratch my head at the thought of celebrities hiring people to Tweet for them. That makes sense, now. I mean, those people are ultra-employed. They’re busy. More importantly, they are getting paid insane amounts of money for… whatever it is they do. For them, the world is moving too slowly, aiming too low, under-producing, even dressing too comfortably. In short, it’s disappointing.

Me? What I could really use is an appointment.

Friday, September 17, 2010

The More I Know

NBC had a series of Public Service Announcements titled, “The More You Know.” That’s it. Those four words do not a complete sentence make. It leaves off a crucial part, in fact. If I give them the benefit of the doubt, I’d say they intended to state something like, “The more you know the better off you are.” Or, if knowledge is power, the more you know the more empowered you become. For me, the more I know the more aggravated I become. Curmudgeon? Absolutely! Thanks for noticing.

All this I realized recently. I used to write rants like this quite frequently—at least once a month for a small, small newspaper. But, that was in college. In college, I was learning new stuff every day. The ranting possibilities were endless!

The more I learn about politics the farther away from it I want to be. The more I learn about successful businesses, the more disgusted I get. I have a 4 year degree in business. Then I quit going to school.

Those who study “Business” eventually end up studying “business models.” If the business was successful, then you’ll study why and how it was successful as a model for other businesses intent on success. Even an unsuccessful business has lessons to teach on what to avoid. All of that makes sense until you understand business success.

Microsoft is a successful business. Microsoft makes the Windows operating system that runs almost all the computers in the world. I hate Windows. But, before I get into that, I need to acknowledge that I have friends who work for Microsoft and I do not want to see any of them unemployed. They all work for divisions of the company that have nothing to do with the development of the operating system itself. As far as I know, they are good people. Actually, I’m pretty sure their product is very good. But, I have never had to use that product.

I am practically forced to use the operating system, though. It locks up for no apparent reason. It gets slower with each day that I own my computer. It allows in so much malicious and unwanted garbage that I have to pay another company extra to protect it. The more I know about it, the worse it gets.

This is what happened today: The commercials for this product advertise that it will allow me to stream live TV to my computer and even allow my computer to work as a DVR. Cool! But, it doesn’t just do that (of course not, silly!) So, I went to set that up. The information in doing so, says that I need to install a “TV Tuner” and right around the area where that information was provided is a link that suggests is there to go and get this necessary thing. But, clicking on the link takes one to a place that says, [great news, it’s included with your product] and another link to [go to it]. Ooooh, the building excitement is almost overwhelming.

Drumroll please…

Which loops you right back to the previous link. Worthless. Now, I have no doubt that my computer can be set up to do this amazing thing. However, I WILL NEED TO KNOW MORE TO DO IT. AND THE MORE I KNOW…

And that was only one of today’s issues. I’m composing this using another product of the company. It froze up for several minutes in the middle. No explanation. When it came back, (again, without explanation) the cursor was in a different place than where I left it, so it typed over and erased what was there. Clearly, that is the way it was designed to work because clearly customers such as me would WANT that.

But, (and it’s one big, smelly but) this company is one of the ultimate business models to date. Why? Does it dominate its market share? Yes… crushingly so. Is it profitable? Yes… astronomically. Then nothing else matters… yet.

The only hope is a dramatic change in one of those two factors. Technically, another hope lies in some altruistic initiative of the company to make an exceptional product complete with raving, fanatical, satisfied customers. Let me know when you’re done laughing.

History does not work in the customer’s favor on this one. And that is what makes it such a fiendish business model. This is one of the world’s most successful companies; yet, that status was achieved without ever having to focus on customer satisfaction. It throws so much of all the other things taught in business school right into the garbage. Schools teach that competition is so fierce and natural that no business should be able to succeed with unhappy customers. Dissatisfaction should create a void. Competitors should be able to step into that void and starve off the offender. How do you create a successful business? Find a need and fill it!

Oh, that is so old-school.

At least, that is what this business model teaches. This business, it turns out, took another approach: make yourself necessary and no one can avoid contributing to your profitability. And if a competitor tries to step forward, kill them quickly, and get good lawyers—really good lawyers. Not even the courts were able to impede this monopoly. Such are the lessons which business schools and their students can’t ignore.

I don’t see any of them lamenting it, either—quite the opposite. After all, making good products that actually work requires investments in research and development. It’s much more fun to funnel that money into “investments” in your own wallet.

If there is a company that is worse… I mean “more successful,” it’s AIG. Make yourself necessary? Check. In fact, they took it to a grand new level: They invented the phrase “too big to fail.” Not only will market forces fall impotent to their profitability, but the very government that allows it to operate and regulates it will be forced to 1) prevent its bankruptcy with huge cash infusions paid for by tax payers (which just happen to double as customers that already contributed to profits in the traditional sense) and 2) watch powerlessly as those funds are siphoned off in bonuses to some of the people that caused the problem—even if they are no longer employees.

Genius!—if by genius you mean “profitable” and “dominant.”

And, you should know, it does.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Faith

I don’t know about you, but from time to time memories flash back to me that make me groan. Some of them are really old, like first grade. Some are very recent. And there is an ever-growing cache in between. The very nature of them is somewhat interesting to me, although part of that may just be a resignation to take interest in something that won’t seem to leave me alone if I ignore it. I have some theories about memories. One of the theories is that a new memory can modify an old one in a way that makes the old one dim if not fade away almost entirely. Related to that, is a theory that old pains stick around until they are healed. The mystery lies in just how to do that.

Some hope lies in the occasional opportunity to revisit an old situation, learn something new, and replace the old pain with a modified memory. I have learned this true gift that reunions present, despite all of my old objections to them.

Likewise, some despair surrounds the memories that seem to present no such opportunity. The saying “You can’t go back” is true until we figure out a way to do it. For many, I have discovered no such path. Many.

Something happened at work one day. Now, it seems to have taken on a level of permanence in my memories. It really was a work-related situation, so it may seem less interesting to anyone reading this. The work at hand was manufacturing. Assembly lines make it really easy to forget that nothing is free. When we make hundreds of something, work at it, labor through it, grind them out, the finished product loses its unique luster. Not to the customer, though. And that customer is paying for that product with their own money. So, when a defect showed up, we had a choice. Really, there should be no choice, maybe we created it in our minds. The problem was, fixing the problem the best way meant we would have to un-do a bunch of work and then re-do it with the replacement part. That would involve more than just time (which we really did not have—efficiency demands that products are built on schedule in the minimal time, and the price the customer pays for the product demands that efficiency) replacing the part would also require physical labor… at the end of the day… done quickly because we had no allotted time. So, we tried to get out of it. We convinced ourselves that a touch of paint would be good enough. I was not really convinced, and I’m not saying that out of some moral positioning. But, I was the new guy, so I stifled my judgment in favor of those with more experience. That is not often a great strategy, which I knew. Better to defer judgment to a true superior, someone with more responsibility, and/or someone with a more objective position. “Seniority” that is nothing more than time on the job brings out bad habits—short cuts.

However, the defect was noticed at final inspection. In that process, then, we had the Inspector at the scene, who called in the Supervisor, who called in the Line Engineer. This was not so much policy as it was them wrestling with the same issue we did: yes, but what should we DO about it? Can we fix it here somehow? Do we have to take it apart? But, along that way, they called the two of us to the scene. But, not together. I don’t know what I was doing, but, I was unaware of the crowd until they called me over. By that time, my coworker was already there… and she already told her version. Her version was, “Oh, really? I’ve never seen that before. Sorry, we missed it.” The motives are sketchy, but not hard to understand: First, it meant we could go home at the end of the day, which was in a few minutes, rather than fix it now. Second, it means we are not guilty of conspiracy, only complacency—or blindness. Simple goof. Oh, well.

When I got there, the question that met me was, “Did you see this scratch?” I could tell from the phrasing of the question and the look on her face what my co-worker had said. What happened next happened much quicker in real time than my thoughts or ability to express here. First, I shot her a look. I’m not sure what it looked like, but what I was thinking was disappointment. I think the next thing I did was look away and kind of sighed, or a grunt of disgust directed at the scratch and… well, I walked away, but I can’t remember if I said, “No” or some such lie. Either way, I didn’t fool anybody, nor did I want to. The engineer followed right behind me and offered an olive branch (I’ve noticed since that he has done that on multiple occasions, but I don’t know if just for me or if he does that habitually.) He was saying something like, “It’s OK either way, we’ll fix it on the next shift, I’m just trying to understand what went wrong.” I jumped at the opportunity, especially since I had managed to reduce the number of eyeballs on me to two.

“No, we saw it. But, we decided that touch-up paint would be enough for it. We thought it was a judgment call. Obviously, we were wrong.”

Now, I don’t know what you are thinking as you read through all that. But, what I was thinking was: I want to tell the truth here. I want to handle this the right way—right for the customer (it really should be fixed correctly) and right in the way that I want them to know that they can trust me to live by the truth, and not try to lie my way out of things. My co-worker had decided to try to lie out of it. I have seen her take that road before, too. Many people do. And I don’t say that to disparage her. People have very sane reasons for lying. It really is understandable.

Now, just because I very deliberately chose another road does not mean I am any different, actually. Let me explain it this way:
The commandment reads like this, “Thou shalt not bear false witness…” which means don’t lie. But, that is not why I did it. If I put it in outline form, it looks like this:
I. Thou shalt not bear false witness is a commandment from God in The Bible.
A) One reason people don’t follow it is self-preservation
B) Another reason people don’t follow it is simplicity
C) Another reason is…
II. No one is perfect enough to never lie, in fact.
So, I know about I. I also know all about A through Z or however far it goes. And, I’m not claiming the perfection in II., either.

The difference is actually something else: Faith. Some people think Faith is all about point I. and is some sort of robotic, habitual, or ritualistic set of braces we artificially strap onto our free will in order to follow a pre-set path, unnaturally. Others think Faith is about point II. and some claim to be able to choose a “correct” path at every opportunity because of some maturity or self discipline or outright gift that makes that choice easier for them than “normal” people who fail consistently.

But that’s not it. My faith in the matter is in being fully aware of all the consequences that have created objections A through Z, but to face them directly and to leave the outcome in the hands of a power greater than myself to control, which I cannot.

And that is my contribution, here, in writing this.

My hope is that it would shed some light in the darkness, or clarify the muddy waters—the gray where we seek black or white. Because I can jump across to either side of the river. I can nod appreciatively to the Christians as they treasure the teaching of The Bible, but I can also understand the atheist and the agnostic or the whatever when they cast their doubt. I can understand what they mean when they think that I don’t know what I’m talking about.

I was at the hardware store yesterday asking for a specific tool thing. Actually, it was the bracket that is used to secure the leg of an oven to the floor so that it does not tip over when handling things through the door. Yes, it comes with the oven. But, I don’t need an oven. I just need the bracket. What if the bracket got lost in a move? What if the bracket becomes damaged? Why would replacements not exist? Whatever the reason, they did not have one. So, the guy “helping” me offered his alternatives. The problem was, I did not want it for the intended purpose. I had another use in mind. This led to me explaining what I did need it for. And that led him to explaining his solutions to that problem rather than my own. His solution, however, included the claims that the thing I was trying to secure would not move, that the new designs do not vibrate like the old versions because they operate entirely differently.

And my reaction was just like a “non-believer” listening to a Christian. IF THAT WERE TRUE, then I would not be here, would I? I watched the thing vibrate with my own eyes. I saw it moving. It will get damaged if I listen to you. YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT. And when I told him that I watched it happening, he seemed surprised. He gave up his argument. He offered what he considered to be the best substitute for what I really wanted and walked away.

But I have been on both sides of the believer’s position. I like the river metaphor. I have jumped to the other side. I know how it looks from their side. Now that I’ve been on the other side, I understand the difference in perspective. And I can leap back and see what they are seeing. But, mentally, I understand the difference. It is not the obstacle they think they are looking at. And yet… There is a good reason that the situation is referred to as a leap of faith. Standing on their side, they see a river and no bridge, no raft, no way to cross. And if they step lightly, they get caught in the current and swept off to the unknown. The only way across is to leap, and that means letting go of their current patch of solid ground.

I took that leap, eventually. Everyone that has done so has the story that goes with it. I believe there is a story for everyone standing there, too. What set of circumstance would cause them to abandon their ground and go for the other side? It is different for everyone, in a way. It certainly feels unique. It should. It is the very definition of “personal.” But, the stories also have a familiarity after you hear some of them: a family crisis, an addiction or psychological battle, a relationship, death of a loved one… there are many. So, I know what happens when you land on the other side. I know how it modifies the memory of the other shore. I know how it replaces what used to be there. I know what I’m talking about.

And yet, I can’t build a bridge. I can’t tell you where one is hidden out of sight. I can’t advise you just to walk into the water either. The current is swift and strong and will likely take you someplace neither of us wants. It is real.

All I know is that you will survive the leap, and be glad you jumped. I know what it means to not know how it will all turn out or what will happen along the way, but to trust in the Authority that does know and can control the outcome—and wants nothing else except what is truthfully the best for you.

Saturday, May 22, 2010

The Final Result 2010-05-22

I've got this thing on my mind. It seemed the best thing to do was to express it. And since no one really reads this blog anyway, I'm just gonna use this thing. I am exercising this summer. Actually, there's a diet/exercise thing going on. So, this is me working through that...

Blog, blog, blog...
Distance: 6.2 miles
Time: Somewhere between 60:45 and 63:40
Weight: Don't know. Don't care right now.
MP3 Highlights: None. Didn't think it was allowed, then didn't want to worry about it after I found out. There was sporadic music along the route. Three live bands. The highlight of them was the bag-pipers in full-on outfits on Broadway.

I went the distance. I did it in the time I wanted. I accomplished the goal. I don't care who you are or what the goal, accomplishing a significant goal feels great!

It was a little stressful. I had all the "bib" numbers for the whole team, their gift-bags, all of that stuff-- because that is how they do the registration process: one packet for the whole team. And that is fine, except all four of us were coming separately and somehow I had to get everyone ready to run before I took off on leg number one. In the end, everything worked out. I even found out later that our leg 2 guy missed the bus and had to catch a ride to make the exchange. At the time I lined up to run, I had handed out only 1 bib and left the other two with the husband of our #3 runner. At least the one I handed out was the 2nd leg and I knew I could run around and make phone calls after that first exchange. The only real bummer about that was that I spent the whole time waiting and watching for my team (which was almost futile) instead of mingling and meeting all these great people (including friends I knew who would be running.)

My knee did hurt, but I was not crippled. I was really not held back, according to the results. I also was not completely exhausted. Did I mention that we started in cold, windy, rain? Yeah. Never trained in anything like that. The wind was not really an issue as wind. It did make the wetness cold, though. I ran with a warmup jacket and cap and never felt compelled to take it off. I did take it off right before the exchange to make it easier for my teammate to find me. Runners dodged puddles from time to time. That was interesting.

Marathon runners are a friendly and outgoing people. They chat as they run. They come from all over and talk like people that know each other, but just have never met yet. That's pretty cool.

Thursday, May 20, 2010

The Daily Blog 2010-05-20

I've got this thing on my mind. It seemed the best thing to do was to express it. And since no one really reads this blog anyway, I'm just gonna use this thing. I am exercising this summer. Actually, there's a diet/exercise thing going on. So, this is me working through that...

Blog, blog, blog...
Distance: No idea. The plan was to pedal up hills for an hour.
Time: an hour
Weight: 188 lbs.
MP3 Highlights: None. Didn't take it with me -- regrettably...

Today I had the idea to climb a longer hill rather than the steeper, shorter hill so many times. So, I rode up 5th Ave NW. It slopes for all 12 blocks, but the real hill is from 9th St to 12th St.

For some reason, when I had this idea I thought I would not have to climb the hill very many times over the hour. If I had done the math, though, I would have realized that the section I was riding was from 6th St to 12th St or only 6 blocks. I have been told that a mile is about 12 blocks. I really should verify that. Anyway, that means it's only 1/2 mile to climb the hill, and only half of that is really climbing. So... I probably climbed the hill 12 times.

It felt productive, though. It felt like I feel when I run. It required me to push myself, but was not overly exhausting. It would be nice to have a hill like that 6 miles long, so I wouldn't get the chance to coast back down over and over.

Or, if my knee will just cooperate so I can actually train for running by running. Yeah, that seems more reasonable than a massive geologic phenomenon...

But, that's it. Tomorrow is Friday. The event is Saturday morning, so I will not be training tomorrow. I'll let you know how the event went, in the end.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

The Daily Blog 2010-05-19

I've got this thing on my mind. It seemed the best thing to do was to express it. And since no one really reads this blog anyway, I'm just gonna use this thing. I am exercising this summer. Actually, there's a diet/exercise thing going on. So, this is me working through that...

Blog, blog, blog...
Distance: No idea. The plan was to pedal up hills for an hour.
Time: an hour
Weight: 189.5 lbs.
MP3 Highlights: None. Didn't take it with me

Yesterday I climbed the 4th Ave hill, rolled back down and out through City Park, turn around and climb the hill again, over and over. It's something like 8 blocks one way... but, that's not the point. I ended up climbing the hill 3 times, but I got distracted a few times (recognized people and talked to them) which means I was standing still for some of that time.

Also, out of curiosity, I weighed a bottle of water that I would likely drink between the workout and bedtime. It weighed 2 lbs. So, I'm never going to get excited about any difference less than 5 lbs, because that could be anything, really.

Today, I climbed 4th Ave, then after turning around and going down, I pedaled over to and up the hill by the Tech Center/Wintershow. At the top of that hill, I road around the little block, rolled down the hill that intersects that hill again about half-way up and around again. So, it's like running intervals (jog, sprint, jog, sprint...) It worked out pretty well. The climbing felt productive, and the other two sides went just fast enough (about 30 seconds) to keep it that way.

Surprisingly, the climbing went a lot like running -- after a while, I got a second-wind and it seemed to get easier. Also, it got boring and monotonous. I might take the MP3 again, since the area is generally safer for not being able to hear as well (traffic is minimal and moves less than 25mph).

Tomorrow (like today) I'll try to ride in the heat of the day since the forecast for the actual marathon is for the hottest day of the year (so far-- near 90) and windy. Not sure how the wind will be a factor. For one thing, it depends on how strong it blows, of course, but even then the course is still around Fargo, which has many trees and buildings to break it up.

Monday, May 17, 2010

The Daily Blog 2010-05-17

I've got this thing on my mind. It seemed the best thing to do was to express it. And since no one really reads this blog anyway, I'm just gonna use this thing. I am exercising this summer. Actually, there's a diet/exercise thing going on. So, this is me working through that...

Blog, blog, blog...
Distance: No idea. The plan was to pedal up the hill on 4th Ave. and keep pedalling for an hour.
Time: an hour
Weight: 189.5 lbs.
MP3 Highlights: None. Didn't take it with me.

The hill on 4th Ave is pretty steep. Steep enough that the city hesitates to pave it (because it's slippery in the winter) and steep enough that my rear tire spins as I crank. But, I knew that it would make me gasp at the very beginning, which was the objective.

I'm still not convinced it's as beneficial. At least I can do it, rather than sitting around waiting for my knee to cooperate. I'm thinking the thing to do is just go longer. Pedalling a bike makes my thighs burn. So, part of the problem is that doing the things that make me breathe harder (hills and going faster) are more like weight training-- which means I get too fatigued to keep at it long enough for it to be valuable as cardio.

Speaking of weight... I weighed myself right away in the morning, out of curiosity. 192.5 -- So, 1/2 pound difference from last night after supper. Then 189.5 after the workout. Could that be all water? Seems like a lot of water.

The Daily Blog 2010-05-16

I've got this thing on my mind. It seemed the best thing to do was to express it. And since no one really reads this blog anyway, I'm just gonna use this thing. I am exercising this summer. Actually, there's a diet/exercise thing going on. So, this is me working through that...

Blog, blog, blog...
Distance: No idea. The idea was to pedal out for 35 minutes, then turn around.
Time: about an hour
Weight: 193 after supper
MP3 Highlights: None. Didn't take it with me. Riding a bike is not as boring as running on a treadmill.



Mostly I was glad to be able to take that ride without my knee hurting. I don't feel as exercised as I would expect to be after an hour, though. So, what does that mean? Did I get the workout I need? Did I get a 5k workout over a 10k time?



As for the weight thing... I figured that would be my peak weight, and therefore a useful benchmark.

Friday, May 14, 2010

The Daily Blog 2010-05-14

I've got this thing on my mind. It seemed the best thing to do was to express it. And since no one really reads this blog anyway, I'm just gonna use this thing. I am exercising this summer. Actually, there's a diet/exercise thing going on. So, this is me working through that...

Blog, blog, blog...
Distance: On bicycle: 10 miles. Running: 1/2mile
Time: I dunno... 30 minutes?
Weight: Don't know that either
MP3 Highlights: None. Didn't take it with me. It was the first sunshine in 2 weeks-- that was enough!

Yeah, it's like, Friday. My knee still hurts-- I'm actually worried. It's weird, though. I'm not so sure it's ligament damage. Actually, it only hurts doing a very specific motion, which just happens to be lifting with a bended knee. So, normal walking hurts and running hurts. Lifting it to climb stairs hurts, but leg curls don't hurt. Sitting doesn't hurt and I have no trouble sleeping. Standing and kneeling are even do-able. Most important, I found out today that biking is not an issue, except big hills.

So, the plan is to condition as much as possible on the bike for the next week. If I feel the same way on marathon day (one week from tomorrow) I plan to take some painkillers and suck it up. I will probably be hurting for a few weeks for doing it, though. But, I can live with that.

I'm thinking distance is irrelevant on the bike. What is important is to get winded and stay winded for about 90 minutes. It's not the same motion, but at least it uses my legs and cardio. I should be able to run my distance in 90 minutes, so that is the logic there.

I stopped paying attention to weighing myself when it became clear that I was not really doing anything in the rain (which I thought would be done yesterday.) The treadmill was too painful. I don't have a stationery bike. I do have a weight machine, though. I did some of that. I could have/should have done more. At least it is something.

For the most part, though, I tried to keep the caloric intake reasonable. But, nothing to brag about. I'll have to see if I remember to weigh myself tomorrow.

Seussian

Nothing came to inspire me when writing at my desk last eve.
I could not see, I could not write with Nothing on my desk all night.
I thought Something, surely, could lend a hand, but then Something brought in a band.
With Something playing catchy songs, I could not move my work along.
Anything might have been better than Everything seizing my letter.
I tried to resist the small invasion in my room on this occasion,
But Nothing was going to make it stop until Something got my feet to hop.
Then Everything joined in the dance along with feet and shoes and pants.
Anything was fine with me moving so outrageously
Something told me, “That’s the spirit!” loud enough that I could hear it
Everything encouraged, too, distracting from my work to do.
Anything was permissive: no inhibitions, nothing dismissive.
Then my nose began to quiver! Something had started making liver!
I smelled onions and some fava beans, the air a smelly yellow sheen.
I rushed to open up a window, but Everything suggested dojo.
Ninjas sent their weapons flying, Anything in-full complying.
As Something tumbled ‘round my head, wounded Ninjas dropped like lead.
As I lost grasp of all cognition, Something started demolition.
With hard hat and a wrecking ball, my house was just about to fall.
The last I heard was a rumbling growl as Nothing made a chainsaw howl.
With a snort I bolted upright! Everything gone from the fire light.
My loud snoring dashed my dreams and all the nonsense, so it seems.
But all was not a wasted night, since now I have something to write.

Monday, May 10, 2010

The Daily Blog 2010-05-09

I've got this thing on my mind. It seemed the best thing to do was to express it. And since no one really reads this blog anyway, I'm just gonna use this thing. I am exercising this summer. Actually, there's a diet/exercise thing going on. So, this is me working through that...

Blog, blog, blog...
Distance: 6.21 miles
Time: way too long 72-ish minutes
Weight: 191 lbs
MP3 Highlights: None. The Amazing Race finale

First, you might want to know that I am writing this the morning after the night it actually happened. Or, you might not...

So, I tried the running thing. My knee really hurts. It feels like a ligament issue. I can barely walk. But, I'm a whiner.

Obviously, I started hurting while running. I decided to ignore the knee. Then, my side started hurting. I know enough to know that a side-ache will go away eventually. But, then I don't really know much. I tried slowing down. Still hurt. I tried putting my hands on my hips, or up on my shoulders. Still hurt. Eventually, I decided to try flexing my abs-- basically to hold the area still internally. That worked. Plus, you know, abs... To my surprise, later, my kidneys (or something in that area) started hurting.

Bottom line, with all these pains, I decided to go the distance anyway. But, to do it, I was down to 4mph-- which is really just walking. So, it took ridiculous long. And, it's not like I went 7 or 8.5 miles, either. And this morning my knee hurts worse.

So, I am planning to not run for a couple days and see what happens. I am thinking about stuff like what will happen if I take some "Tylenol" or something, or if I walk and garden or something like that to use my knee outside running... what will happen?

I'll let you know.

The weight fluctuation is interesting, too. It was Mothers' Day weekend, so I ate well, but I was surprised. I am not going to get mired into those results. I am not that concerned. This is the kind of thing that happens when you watch it too closely.

Friday, May 7, 2010

The Daily Blog 2010-05-07

I've got this thing on my mind. It seemed the best thing to do was to express it. And since no one really reads this blog anyway, I'm just gonna use this thing. I am exercising this summer. Actually, there's a diet/exercise thing going on. So, this is me working through that...

Blog, blog, blog...
Distance: 3.105 miles
Time: 31:04 minutes
Weight: 187.5 lbs
MP3 Highlights: None. I watched the news on TV.

Well, that was interesting. Today was the day I intended to run at least 7 miles. I couldn't do it. I was exhausted the whole time and never got a second wind. After mile 2 I just kept watching the odometer, which is never a good sign. It took forever. Plus my left lower leg aches.

But, this is part of the reason I started blogging this stuff. I wanted to take notes. Notes like the surprises, high points, barriers, etc.

So, this is my plan: I remember casually reading another runner friend's advice she received before a marathon on how to taper the training. It was pretty detailed. But, I'm not running that far, or that fast. What I do remember is the advice to stay ENTIRELY off her feet the day before the race, if at all possible. I'm blaming today on the daily wear and tear fatigue, which is new to me. I planned to take the weekends off anyway. So, by my new rationale, the best day to run a greater distance is the day after tomorrow, not tomorrow. Since that will be Sunday, I'll try it on Sunday.

It could be other reasons. I basically ran right after supper, which is also my excuse for weighing in a pound heavier than yesterday. I'm really curious to see what happens on Sunday.

Maybe it was the news... (far more depressing than my music).

Thursday, May 6, 2010

The Daily Blog 2010-05-06

I've got this thing on my mind. It seemed the best thing to do was to express it. And since no one really reads this blog anyway, I'm just gonna use this thing. I am exercising this summer. Actually, there's a diet/exercise thing going on. So, this is me working through that...

Blog, blog, blog...
Distance: 3.105 miles
Time: 31:00 minutes
Weight: 186.5 lbs
MP3 Highlights: Whip It!, 99 Luft Balloons, Yer So Bad, 2 songs by Blink 182

I felt like crap pretty much the whole distance. That's actually a good thing, because I ran anyway. If I allow myself to only run when I feel like it (or any exercise at all) eventually, I'll be back to sitting around all day. That reminds me of an element that seems rather important right now: There was a period after the surgery when I was in the most pain/discomfort when I DID NOT walk. So, as much as I did not want to do it, I knew that I would feel worse if I did not than I would doing it.

Motivation is tricky, but I think it's really important. Many of my friends use their Facebook status to make note of their training, especially milestones. I ran my first mile without stopping in early January 2010. I ran my first 5k in February. Now, I run 5k every day. I haven't mentioned a word of this on Facebook.

Not that it's a secret or anything. I'm posting here, after all. When I committed to the team relay at work, it appeared on the bulletin board. But, I don't talk about my running unless somebody asks. After I ran the 5k in February, I was all set to announce it. Then, I decided not to. The thought that went through my head was, if it's about the recognition or the "attaboys" from friends, then that will become an excuse at some point. Sure, we can all encourage each other, but what also happens is we get tired or bored with encouraging others and it trails off. So, if I am motivated by something that will fade, or that is in the control of others, then I will eventually fade, too.

But, just blogging this is motivating, even though I'm not expecting anyone to read it. I don't expect anyone to read anything I write. I'm glad when they do. I enjoy their feedback. But, I do it for my own reasons in the end. Otherwise, I wouldn't do it.

As I was running today, one thing that helped keep my mind off the negative was the anticipation of getting to post about it later (which is now, technically). So, writing is a motivation for me. That's good to know.

The Yer So Bad song was a pleasant surprise because I got turned on to that song when Brad Jones played it on his guitar out on the deck on a beautiful summer evening at a party with some cherished friends-- a little less than half my age ago. The stream of memories that conjured is just the kind of thing that makes it so much easier to put one foot in front of the other long enough to get where you need to go.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

The Daily Blog 2010-05-05

I've got this thing on my mind. It seemed the best thing to do was to express it. And since no one really reads this blog anyway, I'm just gonna use this thing. I am exercising this summer. Actually, there's a diet/exercise thing going on. So, this is me working through that...

A few weeks ago, I went to buy some running clothes. I don't want to look like a slob or an idiot-- not in public, anyway. One of the things the salesperson talked about was specific undergarments that provide "compression." Basically, they are very stretchy but are supposed to fit tightly so as to avoid chaffing while running. I had never thought about chaffing. The distances I run were never a problem before.

Guess what happened last night?

Chaffing. And not chaffing under my shirt, either. So, now I'm being irritated by a mild abrasion in the upper thigh area. What's up with that? Compression clothes are expensive, by the way.

A word about the diet side: Running at 6mph burns about 1,000 calories per hour. Useful bit of trivia, there. Here's another: to burn 1lb of fat requires about 3,500 calories. So, if a person were to run, say, 3 miles per day at 6mph, 7 days a week, that would net 1 less pound each week. Whether that is encouraging or not depends on how much you want to lose, I guess. Of course, you can also run farther, and/or faster and/or eat fewer calories to net more gain.

One of the people that I acknowledge as an inspiration to run is someone I worked with at the job where I ended up with back surgery. She runs marathons. With an "s." Plural. Competitively. And she's much older than me. But, when asked what her favorite food is, she replied "beer and pizza." Which, she points to as one of the reasons that she bothers with all the running-- so she would not have to watch the dieting side so carefully as to take all the fun out of life.

I really like that idea.

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

The Daily Blog 2010-05-04

I've got this thing on my mind. It seemed the best thing to do was to express it. And since no one really reads this blog anyway, I'm just gonna use this thing. I am exercising this summer. Actually, there's a diet/exercise thing going on. So, this is me working through that...

First of all, I meant to start this yesterday. That does not surprise me, but it disappoints me. I never was very good at journalizing because I am not a consistent writer. I like to write when I have something to say, but that is not everyday. When I force myself to write, I am more disappointed by the results than I am disappointed by not writing at all. So, there is that. We'll see what happens. This, incidentally, is why I do not pursue any professional writing/career. If someone is going to pay me, sooner or later they are going to start pushing their expectations, and I...just... don't... care... about their expectations. I'll make money some other way and preserve the writing for all things good.

Second, I have been exercising for a while now. In the summer of 2007, I had back surgery for a ruptured disc. For the 10 years prior to that, give or take, I had white-collar jobs. That felt good at the time in the I'm-using-my-expensive-education way. It was horrible for me physically. The food was good, though. I like food. I'm about 6'1" and peaked somewhere around 230lbs. No one ever told me I was overweight. I could see it, though, especially in pictures of myself. In 2004, I started what I thought was the absolute best job I had ever had. It used my education, used what I thought were my strengths, paid what I thought was pretty well, and some other good stuff. Three years later, I needed back surgery. Sad. I have done plenty of physical work in my life. I grew up on a farm and even did some after graduating. I worked in a shipping/receiving position that involved a whole bunch of loading and unloading stuff by hand. But, it was the desk job that did me in. Interesting.

Anyway, after the surgery, the best thing I could do for my back and myself was to walk alot. For weeks after the surgery, I was supposed to avoid sitting altogether. Standing still drove me crazy. Thus, walking... After a while, I started wondering about running. Part of that was the high school reunion. At the same time as that event there was a running event in town (it's an annual thing) and some of us joked about it. Some of my non-classmate friends were also participating in marathon events local to them. So, I started wondering just what I was capable of accomplishing. But, that event came and went. I exercised off and on. Another inspiring event was the end of a Biggest Loser series where the remaining contestants ran a marathon. Keep in mind, even after losing almost 200lbs, these people were still obese. And they all finished. It only took them around 5.5 hours. That really got me thinking.

I'm not going to run a marathon, though. What I am going to do is run a marathon relay with 3 other people from work. The distance is either 5.5, 6.2, or 8.5 miles. I don't know which I have to do yet.

So, this is day two of running 3.105 miles (5k) per day. I have run 6.2 miles at one time twice, now. The plan is to run the 3.105 each day and on Saturday 7+ miles and then maybe have to run as far as 8.5 miles at the 5/22/2010 Fargo marathon.

Friday, April 30, 2010

Simplicity

I used to see a therapist. I know, you’re shocked. And when I say, “see a therapist” I mean actual psychological therapy, by the way. It seemed like a good idea at the time. What I was trying to do was find someone to bounce my ideas on, to share my thoughts with someone who was supposed to be making a professional effort to understand me. At the time, I was not entirely sure that my thoughts were sane, for one thing. But, more importantly, what would such a person respond after their professional analysis? At least, I knew they would listen and give some sort of reply, which was not happening with my other acquaintances.

It turns out, that is a pretty expensive way to get someone to listen to you. And, they were not as helpful as I hoped. Actually, at one point, I was helping them out. My therapist heard something I said and noted a comparison with another client. The therapy was making little, if any, progress. Without breeching confidentiality, my therapist shared that this client was, essentially, a bigot. At least, that was why they were there. The expression of bigotry got them into trouble and part of the solution was to see a therapist. My therapist was fixed on the idea that bigotry was an expression of fear, at its core.

I had a different idea. But, then, I am not the professional.

Maybe it is a shade-of-gray manifestation of fear, but I think people are xenophobic and bigoted out of a need to oversimplify their lives. Let’s face facts: our world is complicated. Our universe is complicated. On one hand, we have impressive capacity to learn and understand and grow. On the other hand, we can never understand it all, and “it” grows much much faster than our capacity to learn it all. We have no choice but to choose what we will and will not seek to understand. How we do that, when we do that, and how it looks to other people when we do, is all very complicated, too. For some reason, I am very interested in this realm of psychology. (Although, to even call it psychology is a simplification of its own.)

Some people take the hermit approach. I would, for example, put the Amish in this category. Not because I claim to know that much about them. They are just well known. They are reported to have deliberately excluded so much of the world from their lives. At least that is the outsider’s perception. I understand that they live without electricity, their livelihood comes from farming and other “natural provision” (as in renewable, from-the-earth resources like woodwork and domesticated animals) and that they avoid outsiders and are remarkably pacifistic. In my opinion, the whole thing works only because of the pacifism. If they were like other people and were easily compelled to react and defend, on the offensive, then they would either have been annihilated or corrupted by now. It’s their willingness to live and let live (as long as there is enough room to do it separately) that allows them to simplify to their level of comfort and let the rest of the world go its own way and pace.

Some people take the label-maker approach. They carry in their minds categories and definitions. How many categories depends on the openness of the specific mind. Likewise, the breadth and scope of the definitions is restricted by their own mind. So, as they go through the day, they find comfort when what they see and hear fits into their pre-determined categories and understanding. Trouble arises when the categories and definitions are challenged. This forces the person to either create a new category or plane away the edges of the “square peg” so that it fits into one of their nice, neat “round holes.” Being reshaped offends the square peg, and stretching the mind offends the label-maker. The skirmish that results in the process is something seen all over the world every day.

Other people find resolution in faith. I understand, however, anyone that finds that ironic. The world is full of religions. The label-makers are in their finest form trying to sort out religions. Even Christianity, being one such religion, has seemingly innumerable factions. But, nevertheless, people find peace in accepting their specific place in the world of their deity, their growth and pace of it, and leaving the rest in the control of that higher power, outside of themselves. Again, the success of this is directly tied to the level of pacifism that a person can practice in resigning themselves to their position of faith. Christianity, specifically, relies on forgiveness to compliment the pacifism. We have all seen what happens when these practices fail—and how often they do.

Which brings us back to the therapist and the bigot. My sessions ended before the case was resolved, if that says anything about the technique. I was never convinced that my therapist agreed with my perspective. As far as I know, they were still working on fear mitigation. If that is such a fantastic answer, why was the progress so slow?

I still think I’m right. When I see people expressing their intolerance or their exasperation, I am not struck by any notion that says, “this person is afraid of…” What I see is either that this person is ignorant and a little too lazy to learn or they are mischaracterizing the person or people. Often, just a little more information helps the situation. The only times it has not, for me, is when they just don’t want to hear anything else at all. They’re grumpy or crabby, but they are not afraid. On the contrary, they are usually empowered and boisterous in their position.

Unless it’s true that all resistance to learning is, actually, fear. That seems like an unqualified stretch of the word fear. If I don’t want to put in the effort to open a dictionary or research something online, is that a fear of the effort? If I don’t want to exercise 30 minutes a day, is that a fear of exercise? If I don’t want to eat my fruits and vegetables, is that a fear of them? Or is it all a fear of change? If I wedge 30 minutes of exercise into my schedule, that changes my routine. But am afraid of that change? No, I don’t agree with that. That is giving fear too much power. Is it any more correct to say, then, that it is not a fear of change, but a fear of discomfort? Is my preference for comfort over discomfort really a fear of discomfort? Would my willingness to tolerate increasingly long periods of discomfort, by itself, be an improvement?

Of course, the therapist directive against fear is to “face it.” A person is to expose themselves to the fear in small ways, realize they can tolerate it, and grow that tolerance to a point that the person no longer seems “afraid.” So, I still end up having to exercise a little more each day, or research, or eat brussel sprouts.

I just don’t accept that my objection to these things is equal to a fear of them. I make far more progress in my exercise, or in any change of habit, by embracing the positive results much more than developing a numbness to the objection. I am not encouraged by numbness. I am encouraged by results. Is that the same thing?

At the end of the day, people are still required to simplify. The world—the universe—is still too complicated to comprehend all of it, even if we can make a little progress every day on some portion of it. The only difference is what we simplify, how we simplify, and whether we are “better” for it.

To a Nazi, the world was “better” by simply eradicating their world of Jews. Hitler wrote a whole manifesto about it. Others agreed, for some reason. Great effort and resources were committed to the idea. I don’t think that is better at all.

I don’t think “better” ever includes intolerance or un-acceptance—or hate. I don’t think we all need to be Amish, but I do think we need to be more pacifistic—and forgiving, which are concepts the Amish are practicing to their benefit. Non-Amish Christians that practice these concepts also experience their benefits.

Why not, then, embrace the benefits, rather than confront the fear?

I have often wondered how I would react to a prison cell. I don’t know why. For the sake of discussion, I’m not talking about the prison “culture,” which is a genuine fear of mine—I am afraid of prolonged, sporadic pain. Think solitary confinement, not community showers. I have no doubt that it would be uncomfortable. It would, however, be definitively simplified. I would have no choice whether I would practice incremental tolerance for this new reality. The only other option is to go insane. What role would fear play? I fear it as I consider it, and that impacts my daily actions, so that I might avoid it. But, if I had no choice but to live it, fear is irrelevant. Tolerating it, or thriving in it, would come from a different place.

For one, I would have to be grateful for what little I had. I could not cling to any hope that I had the power to be better off by acquiring new luxuries. Whatever I had would have to be good enough. Those who have lived through it profess that this is entirely possible—even liberating, abounding!

For another, I would have to find peace with my own mind and thoughts. I could no longer rely on distractions or chemicals to subdue them. This, too, is possible. I suspect that I would do what I am doing now (writing), except not in any tangible form. I could speak out-loud, but whether those words ever remained for posterity would be entirely up to other people recording them.
Likely, my words would remain forever on my own ears, in my own head, or in the hearing of some entity that could be there with me. This would have to be an entity that could not be separated from me, could not be restrained from doing so, would be willing to listen, and had the power to preserve these thoughts or words.

So, I guess I would be praying, then… and happier than I can ever imagine… or insane… Who would know the difference?

Sunday, March 28, 2010

Who Are You?

I decided to run outside today. You know how I feel about running. But, the weather today (3/28/2010) was simply inspiring. Running outside is wayyyy better than running on a machine-- provided the weather is not a deterent.

Running outside, however, means running in public. So, I ask you, "What do you think when you see someone out for a run?" Only you can answer for you. But, here's one answer: it's a little like driving a hybrid. Driving a hybrid means you paid extra for a vehicle that gets better fuel economy CITY MPG than a typical gas vehicle. Lots better. In fact, better than many average vehicles get on the highway. But, if you do the math, you'll never likely own the vehicle long enough for that improved gas mileage to pay for the premium price. So, you do it for the benefit of... something else. The environment, for example.

And that is the conundrum, my friend. See, in making the decision for the benefit of something besides yourself, you (knowingly or not) inform everyone that sees your decision that you made such a decision. Those who are concerned about the environment applaud that. Yay! Those who have NOT reached such a decision, however, are somewhat offended. Boo!

And that can happen with public displays of exercise, too. Simply by doing it, you send the message that you have put into action something that, statistically, most people have not. Many of those who have not, kinda think they should, but haven't yet. Then, there are those who are so far away from taking that step themselves that they are offended. The fact that you even exercise at all offends them. The fact that you are exercising in front of them really ticks them off.

But, what are you going to do about it?

I said all of that to tell you this story: So, I was out for a run on this beautiful day and I was about 80% done when I ran past this house. In front of the house was a pile of old boards. Carrying an armful of those boards was a dude who yells to me as I ran by, "If you're feeling so ambitious, why don't you help me out here?"

Now, I told you all of that so that when I say that I knew what he was thinking, you know that I knew what he was thinking. So, I just smiled, and non-chalantly replied, "Well, I could... You should have caught me before I started." And just kept running.

But, I couldn't NOT think about that as I finished my run. And when I run, I end up where I started, which is home. So, I went inside, drank some water, grabbed my cap and some gloves, and casually jogged back over to his house. A) it wasn't that far, and B) it was a productive way to cool down.

Freaked him out. He was still working on his pile of wood when I got there. I just walked up and asked where he was hauling it. "Uh... just around to the back..." and then, "...So, why are you helping me?"

Big grin on my face. "Why not?"

It only took a few minutes. We talked a little. He has a wood burning stove. He'll burn the wood for heat. Actually, it is a really cool antique. 1906. He showed it to me. He explained how he had the fire department check it out and how all he had to do was change the venting a little. When the pile was moved, I just wished him well and ran back home.

Because, you see, he had a point: Running does take some ambition. But, I am the primary beneficiary of that ambition. I could be the ONLY beneficiary of that ambition. And what good is it for me to be healthy if it only benefits me? What good does it do for me to live longer if I am only living for myself?

He may have been joking, but he asked for help. I was more than capable of helping, so why should I not help him? I was publicly displaying my capacity to help, so why should he not ask? Or why should he not expect a positive response?

Because it just doesn't happen very often.

Because I did, now I have this little story to tell. Cool. But I didn't go for a run so that I could find something to write about. Who benefits from my running? Why be healthy? Why live longer? Children? Spouse? Friends?

Children don't need another relative. They need a Dad. A wife doesn't need another relative, she needs a husband. My employer doesn't need another clock-puncher, they need efficient, profitable, productivity.

And complete strangers? Well, if they need a helping hand...

Friday, February 19, 2010

Ranting

I’m kind of a whiner. You may have noticed. My friend Stacie says, “Cool people don’t whine, they express themselves in an alternate tonality.” So, allow me to correct myself: I do not whine, I rant!

I first started ranting, I think, when I was in grade school. When I got sick and had to stay home from school, I had to stay in bed all day. It was a rule—part of the deal. When my older brother came home, he would stop in to see how I was doing. So, I told him—in my sarcastic and thorough manner. The more he’d laugh, the more I kept going. He used to say he liked me better when I was sick. You gotta love siblings.

I enjoy comedians that rant, too. George Carlin was a genius ranter. Sam Kinison was good. Dennis Miller has his moments. I especially like Dennis Leary. Of course, all of these guys swear up a storm when they rant. I would not classify Richard Pryor as a ranter. But, I laughed my fool head off listening to him. I can barely remember any of his routines, but I do remember his extensive (and might I say pioneering) use of a word that rhymes with mother duck. He is a comedic legend, but it’s the swearing that sticks with you.

It takes more than swearing or cursing to be funny. But, it can take you pretty far on its own, apparently. It seems to be a prerequisite, now. If you expect an audience to pay good money to sit and listen to you for any considerable length of time, you better swear at them. They want you to. Apparently, they just don’t hear enough of that in their everyday life. Strange, says I, since so many people can’t form a complete sentence without every other word rhyming with duck, ducking, ducker, or ducked. I haven’t yet determined if they can’t relate to a comedian that doesn’t talk like them or if they feel repressed in their own expression and want to hear someone say the things they cannot. Either way, it has become a crutch for both the entertainers and the entertained… unless you’re in to that kind of thing. It seems to be working, either way.

For the record, I would hope that those who know me would describe me as someone who does not swear all the time. But, I can’t say I never do. I have a short temper and general impatience that do get the better of me. Those same people would probably admit that they have heard me curse—even “the queen mother of dirty words” as Ralphie defined it in A Christmas Story. And, for the record, I’m not the guy who is going to jump down your throat if I hear you get your duck on. I will even laugh along with you—which is often why you are saying it—or commiserate, as the case may be. I visited New York City when I was 21 and picked up an accent within an hour. I couldn’t help it. It was a strange phenomenon for me, and I now realize that I do that wherever I go without trying to. So, there ya go.

There was a time when the only Dennis Leary I knew was this guy that did MTV commercials. There he was with his cigarette unleashing more words in 15 seconds than most of the audience watching had ever written in their longest school papers. Brilliantly funny. And, of course, since this was not premium cable, he could not swear. But, you got the impression that the repression was about to cause him to explode. He paced and he sucked on that cigarette the way most of us would have to inhale throughout such a monologue. And he just RANTED. I don’t remember any of it, specifically. I just remember the style. I DO, however, remember when he reprised the shtick for the movie Demolition Man. He had the ultra-cool role as the “leader” of the underground (literally). Which, is to say, that he was enemy #1 to the powers that be, but was actually the person you really wanted in charge. I had that monologue recorded and memorized at one point in my life. I also owned his “Lock n Load” cd at one time. These days, he has a major role in a critically acclaimed drama on cable that I haven’t seen, but he also does voice-over work for Ford Trucks that remind me of why I like him.

Dennis Miller actually had an “album” called “Ranting Again” which I owned. What I really liked, though, was the one episode of his talk show that I remember where he ranted about the f-word itself. Genius. I can’t repeat any of it. Did you ever see the movie, Planes, Trains, and Automobiles? Steve Martin has that classic scene born out of extreme frustration… “You can start by wiping that f’ing dumbass smile off your rosy f’ing cheeks. Then you can give me a f’ing automobile! I don’t care what f’ing color…” LMFAO.

Mark Twain is quoted as saying: “Under certain circumstances, urgent circumstances, desperate circumstances, profanity provides a relief denied even to prayer.” I completely understand. On the other hand, I happen to know that prayer is way more effective. Actually, it’s almost a stretch that we even call it “cursing” and “swearing.” A curse is something, say, a voodoo witch would do. They "put a curse on you." They call down the powers of evil to cause negative things to happen to you. And that is the problem, right there. Evil powers do actually exist and if you are calling on them… well, God has a problem with that. I don’t do that. I don’t want that for anybody. At least, not that literally or with such malice. Yet, for some reason, I tend to curse THINGS. Like, when tools don’t work or stuff breaks at work or at home, I think or say stuff that might give onlookers the impression that I believed the thing was alive and deliberately mocking me. The most pathetic part of all of this is that it suggests that I must believe all that cursing will make the thing “behave” more properly. What does a hunk of steel care what I think about it? Actual swearing is like taking an oath you could never really deliver on. People “swear on their mother’s grave” or “swear on the Bible” which is supposed to convince listeners that what they are saying is not a lie. For the record, I’m almost never convinced. How do you know if someone is lying? Their lips are moving. But the Bible calls this practice “swearing” and advises to simply not do it. Let your yes be yes and your no be no and stop trying to give more weight to your words than they deserve (to paraphrase James 5:12.)

I have said before that since stress is so unhealthy and physiologically damaging, I use sarcasm strictly for medicinal purposes. I happen to think sarcasm is funny. Some people don’t. Usually, I see a correlation that they are not particularly funny or even fun people. It could just be a personal preference, I don’t know. I DO know that not everyone “gets” a joke all the time. I pretty much think people that don’t like sarcasm just lack the proper sense of humor. Pttthhbbbb!

What I’m saying is that I don’t swear to give my words more weight. If anything, I “swear” to lace my words with more humor. I’m not trying to make you sick like me, I’m trying to make you laugh about me being sick. Hey, whatever makes you laugh…

Friday, February 5, 2010

The Joy of Running

I hate running.

It’s SO boring. Entire industries have been created because running is actually boring. How many IPods have been sold to compete with the boredom of running? Before the IPod, millions of CD players were sold for the same reason, and people bought several of them, each time buying into a new promise that it would skip less than the last one as it jogged along. Nike + exists because running is boring. Talking shoes--they don’t just talk (which would make it even worse) but they “encourage” runners. They inform you how far you’ve gone and how far you have to go… stuff like that. How much would you pay someone to run with you and say the same things? But, THAT would be ridiculous, right?

People buy all kinds of different “running apparel” to cope with the fact that they would go insane if they didn’t do SOMETHING about their issues with running. The jogging suit has changed considerably over the years. There was a time when Hip Hop fans wore fancy expensive jogging suits as everyday apparel. They didn’t run at all. They are not THAT stupid. The suits were comfortable, stylish, distinguished… it was like the suits evolved faster than the running itself. Clothes designed to make the whole experience more bearable actually made buyers realize that the best way to do that was to forgo doing it in the first place. Genius.

Running and evolution have an interconnected DNA. People have been running as long as they have existed. There was a time when people ran for two reasons: to catch food or to avoid being food. Running has historically been absolutely necessary for both reasons. The corollary of that is that people have been finding was to avoid doing it just as long. People domesticated animals to avoid having to chase them. We also domesticated them so we could ride on them when it was necessary to chase other animals. I don’t think many people, historically, actually ran to get from one place to another. At least, not for long distances. We walked. Or, we rode our domesticated animals. Or, we found other ways to accomplish stuff that did not involve travel at all—like sending a domesticated pigeon. Or a postman. I prefer a text, myself. I’ve never seen a postman run his route.

So, why do people run marathons? It’s pretty stupid, if you think about it. The only reason we call it a marathon or set it at 26.2 miles is that the first person, on record, to do it died when he finished. He was a messenger (aka a domesticated human animal) sent to inform the recipient that they won the war. I’m not sure whether it was his idea or his job description, but he ran the distance rather than, say, walking it or riding a horse. Whatever his logic, it killed him. So, naturally, it has occurred to millions of people since then that they just HAD to try THAT! Woo hoo!

So, is that like a death wish? But, then, people will jump out of a perfectly good airplane for the thrill of it. To them, it’s not a death wish so much as thrill seeking. Because, you know, it might be awesome to go through it and actually survive. “Mere mortals have died doing this. Clearly, I am the epitome of awesome.” Some people walk barefoot on burning coals, others run… over normal-temperature surfaces, in high-tech shoes for extended distances. It’s the same.

That’s why I do it, of course: because it makes me awesome. Are you impressed? Clearly, millions of people are. Marathons are not just events for highly competitive, highly trained athletes to race each other and the clock simultaneously. The percentage of them in the crowd is extremely miniscule. No, millions of people run marathons each year and could not really care less what their time is or who finishes ahead of them. They run for “personal” reasons. Many do it as part of a larger exercise program or goal. The race itself is a motivation for slogging through the boredom for some metaphysical benefit. Some run to support a cause or another runner. If you’re going to run, it also helps to have crowds along the way cheering you on, particularly if they also don’t care about your position or time. Or, people run for a physiological benefit. And this is what we (humans) have become. We have avoided running for so long—because we COULD! HELLO?!!—that we have actually had to force it back on to ourselves or face “death” for some other reason than lack of food or becoming food ourselves. We even say stuff like, “You are what you eat” because we have made food acquisition so easy that we “are” fat, sugary, crème puffs… if you will. Thus, we run AWAY from our food… in a way. You may have to think about that one. Evolution is not as logical as you have been told.

I will say this about running: it’s hard to fake it. You can “bike” for 26.2 miles, or even double that, but in the process you can coast from time to time, especially downhill. Sure, physics suggest that you can only coast because you first provided the energy to sustain that motion in the first place. Sorta the same applies to rollerblading, if less so. When you stop moving your running legs, you stop. You cover zero distance until you start running again. You can slow down to the point of walking, even walking very slowly. But, you can’t coast. Some people “run” marathons at speeds that could easily be achieved by simply walking. Not that walking that far is very easy to do without practice, either. But, it’s easier to do than running at 6mph or faster.

6mph is arbitrary, granted. I chose 6mph for pragmatic reasons. 6mph means you are running one mile every ten minutes. You can easily understand how you are doing even if your odometer is measuring tenths of a mile (1 minute each). Also, I am forced to move my legs faster than I can “walk” when I keep that pace. More importantly, whether running for a specific distance or calorie count, the faster I run, the sooner I get it all over-with. If I could run at 10mph for a long enough time, believe me, I would.

But, I am miserable the whole time. In order to do it, I have to find some inner strength and motivation. That sounds way more impressive than the reality. For one thing, as all runners learn, there is a physiological phenomenon known as “second wind.” What that means is, if you think you could never start running because you would die trying, you’re half right. For the first mile or so, you will feel certain, slow death overtaking you. But, that feeling reaches a plateau, and after that your only real obstacle is the boredom. Well, your knees could buckle or your shins could ache or your side might feel ready to rupture—but ASIDE from all that, you won’t really get more winded. Somehow, the lungs are whipped into some form of submission and they continue to function at that necessary level rather than cause you to pass out and regain your sanity unconsciously. You may have to work up to it over several sessions, but it’s there. In a way, it’s a betrayal rather than a motivation, but I digress.

My real motivation, evidently, is anger. Hatred is more specific, I think. I hate running so much I refuse to submit to it. So, I fight against it. It tells me to stop. I run past it. It tells me I’m wasting my time. I waste more time. It tells me I have more interesting things I could do. I start yelling profanities at it. Oh, did I mention that I run in the privacy of my basement? My wife joined a gym. Many people join gyms. My wife thinks that men at the gym are funny (in an annoying way) when they grunt while lifting weights. Well, it’s better than listening to my steady tirade of profanities. But, I’ll spare everyone that one. So, yeah, I get the job done… in a miserable, grumpy, horrific haze of unpleasantries.

I’ll bet you love running, don’t you? Then, I hate you, too. BAH! Ok, not really.

Monday, January 18, 2010

Don’t You Know That You Are A Shooting Star?

On a dark and clear night, I can look up and see a sky full of stars. I actually grew up on a farm, so I could see many more than most for two reasons. For one, there was virtually no other man-made light to compete with the starlight. Second, I can literally see for miles around where I grew up. I liked to take it to another level, literally, by climbing up on a roof, lying back, and looking around. They don’t call it “the milky way” for no reason. It really looks like a streak of milk in very black coffee—on a dark and clear night.

A scientist actually sees more than I do. They see planets and moons and all of that. I know which one is Venus, but that is it. So, I call them “stars.” But, I know there is more to it than that. I also know that a shooting star is not really a star at all. A shooting star is an object that is burning up as it passes through the earth’s atmosphere, leaving a brief visible trail. That’s just the kind of cold, factual analysis that you would expect from a scientist. But seeing a shooting star is awesome! It’s a flash of brilliance! Then, it’s over so quickly that it leaves you both wishing you could see more and almost wondering if you really even saw it the first time.

Let me tell you about a shooting star that flashed through my own life.

Lynn was the new kid in our class in fourth grade. Her last name and my last name are alphabetically close, so she sat in the desk in front of me. She was very quiet. Well, in a way… She wasn’t really shy. She had moments when her convictions would overtake her and she would speak up or act out passionately and/or loudly as the case may be. But, she was not a loud kid, or a bossy kid, or a joker, or anything most of the time. She would just sit there and not say anything, but there seemed to be a whole lot going on inside. Kids don’t really know what to do with that. They can “sense” it, though, and it caused most of us to keep our distance for the most part, but I don’t know why. So, Lynn was a loner, I guess you could say.

By the time we reached junior high, Lynn had a reputation as a bookworm. Schools these days have programs to encourage students to read. They have elaborate point systems for different books, online tests they take, and grand awards ceremonies for their achievements. Many kids get recognized in those ceremonies. We had nothing like that. Almost no one else was reading anything. Lynn, however, was extremely impressive. The teachers and librarians not only noticed but were so impressed that they created awards to recognize her achievements each year. No one else got any such award or were interested in trying, as far as I know. When we would hear the statistics of the tens or hundreds of thousands of pages she had read and the hundreds of books, it just boggled our mushy brains. We knew she was always reading something, but it was just so un-fathomable. We were not in her league by any measure.

Our little school only went through junior high. The town only had one high school, too. So, everyone merged into the “big” school at that time. That meant more and different friends to go along with more and different opportunities. Lynn, like the rest of us, was mostly the same, just more grown up—more emboldened. Her locker was still near mine. One day, she surprised me by moving in—into whisper mode—and asking what she should do if she thought someone was taking drugs. Not your average every-day conversation, y’know? Of course, I did not know what to say at first. Lynn was good for that kind of thing. She said nothing so much and then when she did it was monumental. Also, she was good for asking my advice on her monumental ordeals. I felt privileged to be her councilist. I thought about it a second and decided I needed more information. She said she thought she saw a dude (classmate, locker a few doors down) sneaking some pills a minute ago. He was looking around suspiciously and trying to hide it—that sort of thing. I thought some more. I knew who he was. So did she. It’s not like we were really friends, but we had classes together, we had talked before and were likely to talk again. For both of us, part of the issue was doing the right thing—for us and him—without “ratting” on him. I finally advised her to tell someone with authority. I think my specific advice was the School Counselor. He would take a softer approach than the principal and give us the best chances for anonymity. I know she told someone. I know the question was asked. But, I don’t think he got “busted” in any way involving cops or courts. He was miffed, but it worked out well, all things considered.

Not everyone would have done that. Not me, either. I only got involved because she brought me into it. I don’t have a great track record for that kind of thing. I was at a dance that same year. It was a big deal for me because it was a high school dance, not a junior high dance. It was also a public dance, not a school dance. The lights were darker. The security was more lenient. The crowd was older and rougher than I was used to. One kid was obviously drunk. Well, he wasn’t the only one, but he got my attention when he backed his girlfriend up against a pillar in the room in an argument. As it got worse, he had both of his hands around her shoulders, too. I remember just staring at the whole thing wondering when or how to do something. He was not necessarily hurting her yet. But, obviously this could escalate. (No, I did not use CSI terms like escalate back then, I just knew that this was likely to get worse before it got better.) So, there I was, frozen and useless, waiting for him to hit her, I guess. I don’t know what I would have done, because he was much older and would easily have kicked my ass. Plus, I was pretty sure he really wanted someone to give him a reason to become his personal punching bag. I knew I was in big trouble when she turned her head and looked around in a silent plea for someone to help her. I’ll never forget the look on her face—the fear. And that is when a pack of girls stepped between them so quickly and effortlessly that it left me wondering what happened. Before I knew it, there were several of them, Lynn among them, in his face verbally affronting him. How they got in there so deftly, I still don’t understand, but they didn’t do it physically. They just started hurtling questions at him, “What are you doing? You’re hurting her! Can’t you see how scared she is? What are you thinking? What’s wrong with you?...” and he was drunk, so he had no mental capacity to respond to any of it. So, he just sort of stood there all slumpy like a kid getting a lecture from his mom. Then they turned to her and enveloped her like only a group of girls can do and whisked her off to safety. I was amazed. I’ll never forget that whole scene. I’ll never forget feeling so helpless and then being so awestruck by the shear brilliance of how it was resolved. I learned a lot from that which I still carry with me to this day. For not unrelated reasons, I almost never went to dances after that.

That’s not to say I don’t like dancing. I really do. I just don’t like drama. But, my favorite Lynn story happened our junior year. Ever the advocate, Lynn came up to me in whisper mode again and bluntly asked, “If a girl wanted to ask a guy to a dance, how should she do it?” Again, why me? Who does she think I am? But I didn’t say anything like that. She was asking for some help that she thought I could provide, so I owed it to her to give it my best shot. That is how I thought about it. Of course, I was also thinking that I was giving HER advice on how SHE should go about asking some dude. I was pretty sure that she was not going to be asking me. The thought went through my head, but I quickly dismissed it as being too weird and direct, even for Lynn. So, I thought for a second about all of this and advised her to just go right up to him, make sure she got his full attention, eye contact, that sort of thing and ask politely but in very direct and unmistakable words so he would have no easy way to avoid giving the direct answer she deserves. She seemed to think that was pretty good wisdom. She thanked me and walked away into the crowd of students in the hall making their way from and to the next class. Then, somewhere out of that crowd came Suzi. And in a polite but direct language she proceeded to look me straight in the eye and ask me the Snowball Dance. What a dope I am. How did I not see that coming? Here’s the thing about Suzi. There’s nothing wrong with Suzi. One of the many activities our school had in Physical Education (aka Phy. Ed., gym, you know the one) was dance. Social dance—like training for a wedding dance of the day. So, we learned to waltz and square dance and two-step and even jitterbug (which you might call swing.) And over the course of that, Suzi and I were dance partners. And over the course of that, it was a mutual decision to be dance partners. I really enjoyed dancing with her, and I got the same impression from her. But we were not a couple, in high school terms. Neither of us really dated anyone. Give me the same situation and 10 times out of 10 I take Suzi up on her offer. And, I did, technically. I was so surprised by the whole thing that I was less than smooth about it. I think I probably sent several discouraging signals to her in my fumbling. I did have some stupid high-school-boy “reasons” for not wanting to go out with Suzi, but this was just one dance. As it turned out, the whole thing got canceled by weather and that was the end of all of it. Now, it’s just one of those awkward high school memories that hangs on as if to demand a better closure, as irrational and unlikely as that may be.

I lost track of Lynn after high school. I never went to our 10 year reunion. Somewhere in there, I did get a brief call from Lynn. It was out of the blue. I had not spoken to her in all that time. She was very excited about getting to see all of these old friends. I was not. And that was essentially the awkward end to the call. But, that was how I felt at the time.

And then, one day I got a different phone call. It was a reporter. She wrote for a Chicago news paper. She was calling me because I (unknown to me) was the only classmate who appeared in Lynn’s class on Classmates.com—a relatively new tool at the time. She was trying to get background information about Lynn from those who had known her. Wait a minute! “What do you mean HAD known her?”
“Oh… I thought you would have heard by now… I’m so sorry to have to tell you like this…but…umm… Lynn was murdered on St. Patrick’s day.”

Stunned does not begin to describe how I felt. Why? No, that’s not the question. How? Well, it turns out that Lynn had decided to give a woman hitch-hiker a ride. That did not surprise me. It also did not surprise me that Lynn had chatted her up in the process. Evidently, as they drove Lynn cordially pointed out the apartment where she lived as they passed nearby on the Interstate. Later this woman went back, found her, stabbed her many times to death, robbed her, and tried to burn the place down. Actually it was worse than that. I’ll spare both of us more details.

So, Lynn had managed to whisper-mode me one more time. I answered the reporter as best as I could. The problem was that my whole perspective was from 4th grade to high school. So, I said stuff like how it made sense to me that she would be trying to do what she felt was the right thing and trying to help someone out and how that was the kind of person I knew her to be. And all of that sounds fine, except for what it leaves out.

I had to do my own interviews with friends who were closer to Lynn and had kept in touch to learn who she had become over the years that I missed. I was very convicted to do so. I felt like I had deprived her of the chance to show and tell me herself. If I had been through so much and changed so much, certainly she had her own stories to tell and I never even gave her the chance—for my own selfish and self-centered reasons. And it was really cool to hear some of those stories. She had become much more socially out-going. She enjoyed clubs and going out with friends. She had been looking forward to St. Patrick’s Day celebrations. But, also, she has a mutual friend with me that became a pastor. She had also had those questions and conversations. She had recently been inspired to work at a soup kitchen. And, well, who knows what else?

The 1975 Bad Company song “Shooting Star” is about a different kind of death, and life, than Lynn’s. But what is the same is the brevity. What is the same is the brilliance. What is the same is the feeling after a shooting star flashes through a dark, clear night sky.
“Wow! “
“Did you see that?” “
“That was awesome!”
“Did you see what I saw?”
“Is it over already?”

But, mostly, how lucky am I to have been in the just the right place at just the right time to have seen it.

Saturday, January 16, 2010

Dragons Live Forever, But Not So Little Boys

It’s been a long time since I was a little boy. In many ways, my mind is stuck in those days. In others, I have to really think hard to bring it all back. Some ideas are forged together strangely—from the heat and pressure, I guess. I saw the movie Pete’s Dragon in a theatre as a young little boy. For some reason, whenever I hear the song “Puff the Magic Dragon” I think of Pete’s Dragon. Part of me wants to see the movie again, so I would actually know what it was about, but a bigger part wants to just leave those scattered images right where they are, as they are. But, there’s much, much more behind that thought.

See, I had a friend named Pete, too.

I first remember Pete from first grade. My desk was right behind his. We both had the same color of red hair, which is that un-mistakeable color of red. Not a redish hue of blond, or a lightish brown. Red. Leprechaun red. Other people in our families had the red hair, too, but no one else in the school did. Granted, it was a small school, but the impact was the same. Evidently, red heads look funny to other kids. Although, anything that is not like everything else is “funny” to kids and subject to ridicule. Maybe everything is subject to ridicule. I don’t know. Either way, we did not enjoy being red heads. Adults seem to enjoy us little red headed kids, but that mostly just made it worse.

Our houses were nowhere near each other, so Pete and I only spent time together in school and with the other kids around. But, again, it was a small school, so the whole class playing together was still a pretty close-knit group. We had the most fun a recess. For many years, of those early years, the fad of the day was marbles. Now, I can say marbles and everyone knows what I’m talking about, but the way we played marbles and what it all meant was probably different than the rest of the world. For one, we played one at a time, and we always played for keeps. In other words, I would challenge one of my marbles against one of yours. And much negotiation took place in this process. We were always trying to win better marbles, so I was negotiating to try and get you to wager a marble that impressed me. And you would be doing the same thing. Some of the prized possessions were what we called “boulders” which were particularly large (about 1 inch diameter or slightly larger-- bigger was better) and among the most elite of these were “steelies” (actually large ball bearings, but they were large!... and shiny!... and didn’t scratch… and they had that great heft to them! ) or “clearies” which were the translucent, one color type. They looked like rounded gem stones. Beautiful. Of course, envy played a gigantic role in all of this. Without knowing anything else about a person, we sized them up by their marble bag. Pete and I (and many of my other elementary school friends) played and traded many marbles.

We played football a lot! For one thing, this is North Dakota we’re talking about. We have snow 6 months out of the year some years. Also, football season begins when school does and lasts just over half the school year. We loved to watch it, but mostly we loved to play it in the snow. Snow on the ground, even a mere few inches somehow makes landing softer. The sliding also leaves fewer stains on clothes and scratches on skin. We played all our rough and tackle games in the long snowy winters of ND. It was awesome! If you know how to enjoy it, winter is really fun.

Back in those days it seemed like the Pittsburg Steelers and/or the Dallas Cowboys were in the Superbowl every year. I grew up a Steelers fan. We had a conveniently even split in our class. So, we almost always played Steelers vs. Cowboys football at recess. Back then, we had as many as 3 recesses a day. The morning and afternoon recess was only 15 minutes. Lunch was half an hour. That seems paltry as an adult, but was plenty of time for a game as kids. Some of those years, I spent time as the QB of our team. It was an informal process as to who was QB. We pretty much based it on success. As long as we were winning or moving the ball, we stuck with what worked. When things went downhill, we’d unceremoniously fire that guy and quickly decide who we thought had the mojo to win. Call it a pecking order. Call it a “team captains picking order” or whatever. Young boys know what’s what.

We had no pass rush. The QB had to stay behind the line of scrimmage at all times. Everyone else was a receiver. That’s how we played. Everyone on defense was covering a receiver. Pete was an excellent receiver. Some guys just know how to get open. One way to do that is to “go long.” Pete was good for that. It’s actually pretty hard to cover someone that is just running as fast as they can. If you run ahead of them, all they have to do is stop and turn around to catch the ball. If you run behind them, they QB just has to lead them. Pete was good for both. But, mostly he was just plain committed to catching the thing. If he had to jump on your head to do it, he would. If he had to dive for the ground and load his sleeves and collar with snow, he would. Receivers like that make QBs look good. Any time you can consistently go long and make a successful catch, that’s going to be a fun game. Ah, the glory days! They’ll pass you by…

We played basketball some. For the longest time, we did not have the proper equipment on the playground. When we reached junior high, we got a new principal and he made some great changes from our perspective. Early fall and late spring provided some decent basketball weather. Basketball is hard to play in mittens, boots, and coats. The great thing about playing basketball with Pete was that he was fearless. We called him Pistol. Yeah, as in Pistol Pete, but not really. We called him Pistol because we could get him to shoot from anywhere. It didn’t matter where he was on the court or if he was well defended. All we had to do was yell, “Shoot it!” and he would. It was more fun than a real game. We were not that good, and we were often congested on the court. This is where a trained player or coach would go into the supreme aspects of basketball as a team game which creates opportunities to get open and find the open player. Whatever. We only had 15 minutes. We wanted to watch Pete launch it from half court with a hand in his face. That was fun! He actually made several of them, too.

Another improvement that principal made was computers. At first, we only had two. They were set up in the science room and we had to sign up to use them. It was a huge issue, logistically, for anyone in our family to not have to ride the bus home, which left right after school let out, basically. Same thing for “before school.” That was the only access time (because science classes were going on at recess). But, it did happen. I use to get so excited that the first thing I had to do was go to the bathroom. It was a big deal. Some of us used to take babysitting jobs just because the parents had a computer that we could use once we got the kids to bed. That was our payment. And we actually thought it was a pretty good deal. A few years later, my two brothers and I pooled our money together and bought that computer. It was an Apple IIe. Over the next few years, I learned and did much programming on that thing. My greatest accomplishment was a program I called Draw. I figured out how to make a glorified Etch a Sketch. The graphics were a poor definition in those days—about as good as an Etch a Sketch. So, holding down the “m” key to draw a line from any desired point on the screen down, made sense. I was old enough to get the formulas right to make a circle when I hit “c” and entered my desired diameter. It’s not much of stretch from there to make an arch or an oval. You get the idea. The biggest problem was that the world has never been sold on Apple computers. All of my programming skill was mostly useless by high school.

Pete was smarter than that. Pete used the computer to play games. One of his favorites was this game where he was a gun that arched 180 degrees left to right. Out of the sky would descend little paratroopers. The objective was to shoot the plane and the paratroopers. You could succeed either by shooting the trooper himself or dissevering him from his parachute and watching him splat to the ground. It was pretty fun. But, all video games are inherently fun. It goes without saying. Pete took a perverse pleasure in that gun, though. He made his own sound effects for good hits and the various deaths of his enemies. It was just as fun to watch and listen to him play as to play myself. He once joked that the game represented his ideal life: just him on his own island and a great big gun!

Pete and I and our small class of mates mostly lost track of each other around high school. Our small school only had nine grades. Today, it is only an elementary school. So, we all went to the one big high school with everyone else in town. We had more people to meet and know. We had more opportunities and interests. And we had the greater freedom that high school provided, including the ability to drive out of town from time to time. We started running in different circles. But, we still knew each other. We still bumped into each other and generally knew what each other was doing. We just were not doing it together for the most part.

After high school, Pete went into the military. I went to college. I saw him a handful of times when we both happened to be “home.” Eventually, we both ended up living in our home town again. But, we were almost strangers by that time. Our circles had grown further and further apart. Young men have other things on their agendas, if you know what I mean.

And then one day, the whole town heard the tragic news. You see, Pete had been murdered. By his own brother, who was living with him at the time. It was a murder/suicide, actually. Gunned down, through the apartment window, in fact. In a small town, any killing is a big, tragic story. This one was even bigger than that.

Their apartment is very near the high school. I see that house very often to this day. That and many other things often remind me of Pete. People like me write about stuff like that. It’s just what we do.

Pete was killed about 7 years ago, as of this moment. At our class reunion, we planted a tree to his memory, with his family. To anyone other than us, it’s just another tree in the park. To anyone other than us, we are just more faces in the crowd, small heads in old pictures, names in old books, and memories in old heads. But, memories are timeless. Memories live forever.