...and you can expand your influence

After having breakfast at a local French café here in town one recent Sunday, my teacher wife and I wondered across Connecticut Ave to the Politics and Prose bookstore so she could pick up a couple of end of year gift books for her young student book buddy. I love that old-school bookstore, which is odd because I think the last book I read cover-to-cover in earnest was probably from the Curious George or Nancy Drew series. [By the way, don’t send me comments asking why I read things like “The Secret of the Old Clock” or “The Password to Larkspur Lane” and not The Hardy Boys (never read one)…I don’t have a good explanation].

 

Sure…every once-in-awhile I’ll read some James Lee Burke Dave Robicheaux mystery novel or something from the James Patterson Alex Cross series, but most of the time I’m too busy watching Deadliest Catch On Deck or catching up on Kim, Khloe and Kourtney (I just realized they all cleverly have “K” names) while finally answering a full-day’s queue of unopened emails to ever waste much time reading. I do try to do a re-read of Dale Carnegie’s “How to Win Friends and Influence People” every few (5) years, but with the proliferation of reality TV and NASCAR races in HD, I just can’t find any good reason to read.

Given that lack of enthusiasm, I’ve always thought my fascination with books was strange. I just like them...even the ones without pictures. When I go into Politics and Prose, I almost always walk over to the back right-hand corner of the upstairs section to where they have the business and self-help books. I usually try to find some book about communication, and almost always purchase at least one to work my way through over the course of the summer while sitting on the porch rocker with a mild cigar and chilled glass of Chardonnay.

 

While in that section of the store, I invariably check to see how many of the Dale Carnegie copies they have on hand, and while doing so this visit, I noticed there was one entitled “How to Win Friends and Influence People in the Digital Age” (or something like that…the book is upstairs and I’m watching an episode of Mad Men on DVR while I hammer out this blog).

The book is written by his daughter (or maybe it’s his granddaughter), and attempts to apply the still relevant (she contends more relevant than ever) “do unto others” principles of Carnegie in the modern era. The author claims that while the anonymity and non-face-to-face distance of certain technological tools provides a tendency towards cowardly snark in communications that was less prevalent when folks had to look into another’s eyes, the mere speed and reach of today’s electronic messaging vehicles actually provides an even greater opportunity to apply Carnegie’s approach. For some reason that just resonated with me, perhaps because I recognize my own tendency toward much colder electronic messages than I’d ever dare to communicate when standing toe-to-toe.

The irony of all this is while today’s technology has created an odd dynamic where you see couples in restaurants sitting across from one another in silence for long periods while starring down at their smart phones (perhaps their texting each other), the mere volume of daily electronic interactions actually provides us all far greater opportunity to apply the golden rule. Sure, it takes a little more time, but if you can take a few extra minutes to think about how your messages, blogs, posts and tweets can lift up others and be less rant like (like so many of my blogs), you’ll have more influence.  

Have a great weekend and if you can spare a few moments, think about the people that matter most to you and spend some time with those you love. If you can’t be with them face-to-face, see if you can’t use whatever communication medium you’re using to express that love as well.  With all these technological advances around today, your life and the lives of those you love can change in a heartbeat now more than ever. So make the most of the time you have right now…and do something that will matter over the long haul.

Gold will never buy you happiness...

...and Monday is a Holiday

People often ask me where I get the fortitude to wake up each morning at 4am to work out. Actually, usually they ask why I’m dumb enough to do it…then at some point, it turns to the question of will.  To be honest, it’s not something I enjoy and it certainly isn’t easy. Most days I wake up about 3:55…a few minutes before the alarm goes off, and glance over at the clock only to silently curse at the horrific reality that it’s time to leave the comfort of bed. I usually lie there wondering if getting up in the still of the night is really necessary. Often I think about how nice would be to just rest…and begin to tell myself that it’s unfair that I have to rise up so early just to fend off the meteoric physical decline of my rapidly aging assisted living body. Then, just about the time I convince myself it would be fine to just skate, I think about the exact same thing. I think about soldiers.

I think about young men and women in places like Yorktown, Lexington, Concord, Antietam, Hampton Roads, Gettysburg, Flander’s Field, Normandy, Iwo Jima, Okinawa, The Chosin Reservoir, Tet, La Drang Valley, Fallujia  and Mogadishu. I think about all the young people that fought in those places and that didn’t come home. I think about the terrible conditions they had to endure,  largely so I’d have the freedom to lay in the comfort of bed on American soil pondering the injustices of things like getting up early, inconsiderate bicyclists that block rush-hour traffic and the pathetic nature of our present “everybody gets a trophy” entitled society. 

By virtue of pure timing and luck, I never had to serve our nation in time of war. I wasn’t around for WWII or Korea, and was too young for Vietnam. By the time we went to Iraq I was well past my prime…so for the most part, my biggest struggles in life have been crises like prized bikes stolen in childhood, college football failures, squirrels in the attic and leaking air-handler dip pans.

After I reflect for about 30 seconds on those that served so I didn’t have to, I feel momentarily shammed and swing my legs onto the floor and slip into my Columbia moccasins for the limp down to the basement gym or to fetch my running shoes. Usually the minute I feel the pain of my first few arthritic bench reps or initial miserably slow strides down the darkened street, the feeling of gratitude quickly subsides and I return to my private incessant kvetching. But at least for a few moments, I do appreciate those that gave so much so that I can whine about my big little things.

Not sure what you’re doing this Memorial Day Weekend, but whatever it is, spend some time doing something you enjoy with the people that you truly love. Some folks paid a significant price to give us all that luxury, so out of deference to them, let’s make their sacrifice count.

Hurrah...

...and if you feel your blood starting to boil...just walk away

I was sitting last Monday evening in the main U.S. Airways lounge in Charlotte, NC waiting for a 10:15pm flight to Washington, DC and feeling sorry for myself because I was unable to get on the earlier 7:55pm flight. This meant I wouldn’t likely get home until about 12:15am or so…and that was with the added benefit of having my boss graciously agree to drop me off on her way home. She was arriving into National Airport at roughly the same time on her way back from a business trip to Arkansas. 

I decided to drown my sorrows in a glass of complimentary house wine and figured I’d kill some time by eavesdropping on a few of the conversations taking place around me. If I was fortunate, I may even be lucky enough to drop in on a discussion between folks lamenting even uglier travel woes. If I was real lucky, their experiences might be so bad it would make me feel better about my own airport predicament.  

Mercifully, it wasn’t too long before I noticed a clean-cut and well-dressed cat having a rather controlled chat on his cell phone. He looked like the classic business traveler at the end of a long day…blue suit, kind of a coral tie with a loosened Windsor just below the undone top button of his wrinkled white dress shirt. He was sort of slouched in the faux leather blue chair by the window overlooking the D Concourse and all the departing flights he wasn’t on. He just kind of looked like a combination of defeated and sad.

He was talking calmly about his travel travails and told the listener on the other end of arriving late in Charlotte (after sitting on the tarmac for an hour somewhere else) and then having to run across the entire airport only to have the gate agent close the door and refuse him entry just as he arrived (his version). He mentioned that he was stuck in Charlotte for the night with no change of clothes (really…who would notice in Charlotte?) because it was supposed to be just a day trip. He also shared that he was entitled to a “distressed” hotel rate (is there another kind in Charlotte?) but that he thought it was wise to come into the club to chill a bit before having to deal again with anybody else from U.S. Airways.

He seemed remarkably relaxed given the circumstances, and though he used words like “frustrated,” he never uttered even one expletive. He told the person on the end that he was about to kill the guy at the U.S. Airways Guest Services desk and said he figured it was best to just walk away before he did anything he’d likely regretted. He revealed that he was going to have a beer, a cup or roasted chicken-noodle soup and some baked Tostitos before having  another go with the US Airways folks. Before wrapping up the call, he stated that as it stood now, the airline didn’t have another plane out for him until about 7:15pm the next evening…but he was determined to see if he could do better now that he was more relaxed.

I can’t tell you how this fellow’s story ended…for all I know he could still be stuck in Charlotte in the same clothes (and again…with a full-compliment of teeth, he was going to stand out in North Carolina either way). But I have a feeling he fared better after he cooled off a bit and made his case again with the airline. It made me wonder why more people (I) don’t follow that sage advice more often…and just walk away from a deteriorating situation before it gets any worse.

I’m increasingly amazed these days in airports watching all the rightly irritated passengers that are byproducts of a de-evolving air travel industry verbally berating the few airline personnel that are probably among the only folks in the world that can help them at that specific time of need. Their (my) strategy is to often imply the airline employee they’re dealing with is a moron. I’m sure it happens, but somehow I’ve never witnessed anyone that’s just been insulted respond with something like “you know…you’re absolutely right…my way is dumb and I’m essentially incompetent…so let me do all I can to make you happy.”

What’s the point of this convoluted story? Well…seems to me there’s about three things so here they are:

1) No matter how wrapped up you are in your own problems, there’s always somebody (it’s always a lot of folks…really) with a much bigger cross to bear.

2) There’s a lot to be said for walking away from a deteriorating situation. Chances are you’ll have it go much better if you’re calm.

3) When you are dealing with folks, the old Dale Carnegie golden-rule tenet of “treating others the way you want to be treated” usually produces far greater results in these situations than telling the people that they’re useless imbeciles…or my favorite…that they’re a waste of human flesh. I routinely deploy that line (with conviction…because I believe it) but I almost never get my way. However despite the obvious track record of keeping one’s emotions/temper in check and using tact, this practice somehow eludes many people (me) in these situations…and the penalty for that can often be an awful lot of unwanted nights (are there another kind?) in places like Charlotte.

3b) Even if you’re just going to Charlotte for a day trip, bring a change of overalls.

By the way…if you’re from Charlotte, please don’t be offended. Just trying to have a little fun here and I actually love the city and especially the airport. Just the rocking chairs in the common area between concourses makes it special and in all honesty, you see some of the best dressed local folks and business banking people around. 

I was listening to 100.7FM KHAY Country while driving eastbound in my American made Jeep rental car on Highway 126  from the golden beaches of Ventura, California over to Interstate 5 this past Sunday, and somewhere around Lake Piru, CA (not far from the area where they filmed the TV seires Baa, Baa Black Sheep…click here for more info), the song below started to blare. There’s something about the beat of this rocking number that is just catchy, and though the tune by Old Crow Medicine Show has made the Friday Song offering before, this version is by Darius Rucker of Hootie and Blowfish fame and at least to me, it may even be a little better. Enjoy…

Rock me mama like the wind and the rain...

...and I'm longing to finish fourth

The trophy awards “banquet” at Palms Park in West Los Angeles was always a HUGE deal when I was a little kid, and I looked always forward with great anticipation to the well-earned spoils (big audacious trophies) at the end of any flag-football, basketball, or T-ball season. Bigger than most of my peers in those early years, I was a bit of a sensation at that small neighborhood park from years 8-13 or so before I moved onto middle and high school where the reality of a much deeper and more diverse talent pool reduced me to levels far below mediocrity (and a college career that was even worse…you can read about it by clicking here if you want to know just how bad).

But those early wonder years were my only athletic glory days, and whether lighting it up on the black-top outdoor hoops court by the library on Overland Avenue, bombing out home runs on the T-Ball diamond down by the old Southern Pacific railroad tracks, or running for touchdowns on the slopped football field on the east end of the park, my solid blue-collar building trades roots made me a standout among my more affluent, entitled Cheviot Hills peers.

The anticipation leading up to the season ending awards ceremonies were like the days before Christmas, and it was always fun to dream about the big (they were pretty impressive) trophies or plaques the winning team would get each year, along with various other ancillary awards like most valuable player. There was a real hierarchy to the honors in those days. Early on,  only the winning team received trophies and they were massive…seeming to come up to my waist. They got smaller over time, and eventually they added little awards for second place and plaques (or ribbons) for third, but there was always a discernible difference between those that finished first, and those that did not. Actually, the people at the bottom of the heap, typically didn’t received anything. They had to sit there humiliated, only dreaming of (and hopefully getting motivated to find out) what it might be like to win. Sometime along the line in the early 70’s when I was a seasoned veteran of about 11 or so, I recall them introducing a new award called “Most Improved Player.” That always seemed to me like an odd thing to recognize…and I remember wondering why they didn’t add additional trophies for things like worst shooting percentage, most fumbles or fewest base hits.

In my last season at Palms Park before moving on to Little League at the neighboring Rancho Park (this was tantamount to the bigs), I remember showing up to the awards ceremony more excited than ever. Our basketball team had won (dominated would be a more accurate description) the season outright that year, and I was particularly hopeful at the what I thought was the likely prospect of taking home the coveted (and very large) MVP award.  They held the event outdoors that year, on a charming evening down by the picnic table/brick BBQ area that was on the south side of the park by the pedestrian bridge that crossed the aforementioned railroad tracks. As was often the case on those ceremonial nights, I was the first to arrive (my parents actually let me ride my bike about 2 miles to the park…alone from the time I as about 8) and as soon as I got there I rushed to the picnic area in hopes of sneaking a peek at the huge trophies.

As soon as the park director John Consiaaldi pointed to the table with the trophies, I knew something seemed terribly wrong. For one thing, they were a lot smaller than they’d been in previous years…and there seemed to be way too many. I asked the director where the first place awards were being stored…kind of speculating that they must be so impressive that they had to be unveiled or something, and I almost shrieked when he responded that all the trophies were already on the table. “We made them all a little smaller this year” he said. “A little smaller?” I shot back… “are you kidding me?” I started doing the math and recognized they’d indeed ordered way too many trophies. I laughed when I asked why there were so many, and I will never forget what at least for me, was a shocking and very sad response. “This year, everybody gets a trophy.”

I remember being flabbergasted. “What the heck did we just play the whole season for?” I inquired. “Well,” he said… “winning and losing isn’t everything, and a lot of the parents thought it would better for those that didn’t win to get a trophy so everybody would feel better.”  “But I don’t care if everybody feels good,” I answered. “We won the league and deserve to feel better.” I will never forget it…I was absolutely convinced the world was coming to an end.

Well thankfully they still kept score at the rough-and-tumble high school were I would later attend, and the teams that won the most games finished higher in the competitive Western League standings then those that lost more. It was a good lesson for me (we went 0-9 my junior year), and we lost a gut-wrenching season ending homecoming game to the eventual league champion Venice High (the school where the movie Grease was filmed) to add extra insult to injury. We didn’t get any trophies for going winless in 1978, and I don’t remember one representative from Los Angeles Unified School District swinging by to give us a pep-talk to make sure our self-esteem wasn’t too damaged,  As a matter-of-fact, I recall the Bear Bryant style tyrant I played for holding his nose in disgust (as to indicate we stunk) as I jogged to the sidelines toward the end of blowing that game against Venice.

A younger work colleague of mine was telling me she went to a school for a while that gave out “colors” instead of letter grades. She mentioned they did it to help promote better self-esteem among those students who typically struggled. I don’t get this odd emphasis on self-esteem. If I ever go under the knife to have open heart surgery, I’ll take a doctor that is highly-trained and thoroughly competent with low self-esteem over any marginal surgeon that happens very to feel particularly good or confident about his or her mediocre work.    Learning how to win and lose seems like a valuable lesson to me, and even if it’s not…it still seems to reflect pretty much how the real world works. 

Have a great weekend, and whatever you do, try to take some time to do the things that matter with the people you love.

Start with some good music...

 

Sorry for all the mistakes, typos and lousy spelling. I know this is a mess but just didn't have the time. E