...and you have a couple of days to just chill

It may have been during the second manhattan, or maybe even the third, but though it occurred more than several years ago, I remember the exchange as though it was yesterday. A work buddy and perhaps unknowing mentor and I were sitting having a rare Friday after-work drink at a high-end watering hole not far from my former office. Normally there were at least four of us in this Friday group, but for some reason on this day it was just us two…and as was always the case with this good conversationalist, the flow was going well. We were covering the usual glory-day topics with the typical degree of exaggeration, sarcasm and cynicism, but on this day he seemed unusually reflective.  

At one point I looked over at my friend and his expression appeared especially whimsical. I asked him what was up and in what seemed to me at the time as an extremely rare glimpse inside this otherwise private man, he responded by saying the something pretty close to the following…

“You know…I was just thinking. When you’re young, you’re a kid and you’re stupid. You spend all your time running around not making most of your youth and without the perspective to really make it count. Then…you get married and have a family but you’re so busy climbing the ladder at work and you really don’t have time to enjoy things as much as you should. After that you get to a point where you can hopefully sack away a good amount of money so that you really can enjoy things later in life…so you spend your focus on accumulating some wealth. Then in the blink of an eye, you wake up one day realizing you’re much closer to the end than you ever thought was even possible…and you wonder what happened. Where did all the time go…how did it all pass by so quickly?”

At the time, the exchange was memorable less for the profundity of the words than the fact that it seemed an almost miraculously introspective for a cat that seemed almost incapable of sharing an intensely private thought. I recall taking another hit of my bourbon and sweet vermouth, not thinking much about it at the time. However as I grew older, the actual content of his words became more memorable, and as I crossed the 50-year mark in my own life, they became almost hauntingly prophetic and resonated even more.

My friend passed away unexpectedly last year…and his untimely passing left most of those that knew him completely blown away. True to his intensely private form, it appeared he had managed to keep his knowingly terminal illness away from most of his family and friends…probably in an attempt to keep any of them and us from focusing on him…or for feeling at all sorry for him.

I saw him just two weeks before he passed away…on a warm magical afternoon at a mutual buddy’s gorgeous riverside home during a small get together for a couple of industry-related friends. It was clear he wasn’t quite himself, and when I asked how he was doing he casually brushed it aside by saying his back was hurting a little, and that he was struggling with some minor pain.

I remember glancing over at him toward the end of the evening that day. After hours of great conversation, good food, live music and epic weather, I caught him in a rare smile. I looked over and asked him what he was thinking…and over the music he simply said… “If I had an opportunity to do it all over, I’d have spent more time doing things like this.”

Not sure what you’re planning this weekend, but whatever it entails, here’s to hoping it includes more riverside-like time than any kind of unpleasant work. Sure…you’ll probably have to devote some time to things other than play and loved ones and that’s actually OK (maybe even good)…but see if you can’t keep it all in balance. If you’re well-rested, you might even have the stamina to do a better job when you get back in the saddle on Monday. Have a wonderful couple of days, and if you want to give it a jump start…you can begin with a little good music.

Upon learning that I fiddle a bit with the ukulele, a work colleague of mine asked yesterday if I’d ever heard of the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain. I had not…but I have now and you can too by clicking this cool little hyperlink.

*Please excuse the pour grammar, bad spelling,  atrocious apostrophe work and the misuse of words like pour and poor (and maybe even profundity). There just wasn’t time to proof this today…and even when I do, I still manage to get it wrong.

...and you're in control of you

After spending a week in Fort Lauderdale doing some teaching that included in large part a focus on self-analysis, I was flying home a couple of days ago via U.S. Airways. While boarding the plane, I was thinking about the week’s training, and the benefits of working with a co-presenter that is a genuine pro. Much of my team trainer’s instruction during the course of the past few days included an understanding of the fact that with respect to control, there is a hierarchy that essentially goes in this order:

1.       Self

2.       Situation

3.       Others

In essence, his point is that while folks often worry themselves with stuff that is outside their actual influence, one actually can significantly effect a great deal by focusing on the things they truly can manage. You are in charge of what you do, what you say, how you act (or react) and even to a large degree how you think. In many situations, you can influence an outcome dramatically by focusing on how you behave. While you cannot control what others are doing, you can certainly maintain command of your actions and thus the potential outcome of any given situation. My co-trainer made a remark years ago while we were teaching on this subject that went something like “always remember…it’s usually the second angry remark that causes an argument or a fight…and you are in control of how you respond in any situation.”

In any event, his point is usually that an individual will be much more fulfilled if they focus on the things with which they actually have influence, as opposed to lamenting the multitude of things over which they have zero control. As often happens, I got a glimpse into this reality on the flight home from Florida just yesterday.

Thanks to a first class upgrade (I got skunked on the trip down and suffered in steerage with the masses), I was thankfully seated in row 1D far-removed from the flip-flop/cargo shorts/tank top wearing depravity of the lower-life forms that make up the economy classless cabin behind me.

Shortly after being seated I was enjoying a clear plastic cup of the carrier’s best boxed red wine (along with some Snyder’s of Hanover pretzels) while watching the proletariat file back to the lower decks sporting a combination of Florida’s best men’s beachwear and poorly coordinated women’s print sun dresses and moo moos. Many of the passengers literally had bright pink skin, that seemed to also indicate they’d somehow missed the 3-dacade memo regarding the perils of overexposure of white fat to unregulated sunlight. Thankfully, the parade of Hillbilly Hand-fishing extras was over…and we prepared for takeoff.

Shortly after preparing the cabin doors for “cross-check” and having the aircraft back away from the jet way, the First Class flight attendant Abraham* got up and did something I’ve never witnessed before. He stood in front of the cabin and gave a short little speech that went something like this:

“Hello…can I please have your attention in the first class cabin? Thank you…now this might sound corny, but my name is Abraham* and I am a proud flight attendant for the world’s greatest airline. If you’ve followed the news of late you know we’re also about to become the world’s second largest airline, so I just want to thank you all for your continued business…and for providing me with the privilege of serving you all. Our new company is going to be great…and I’m looking forward to serving you as part of this new airline. I have the greatest job in the world…it’s awesome actually…and I just want to invite you to make sure I do all I can to serve you on our two-and-a-half-hour flight. If you need anything…just let me know.”

Now…first off, Abraham was dead on…it did sound pretty lame. However,  when he completed his little speech he received some pretty enthusiastic applause (I shook my head in disgust)…and it was clear to me that despite the corn…it was indeed appreciated. He then went on to call every first class passenger by their last name (best I could tell after referring to his passage list only once…and there were 16 of us), and he appeared to me to be the quintessential pro. Abraham struck me as having as having a superb attitude…committed to making the best of his job and staying firmly in command of things he could control. He was so upbeat, and while I typically can’t stand people like that, his infectious positive attitude was tough to ignore.

Because I was seated in row 1, I could also hear the conversation he was having with fellow flight attendants. He mentioned that he was the “running for union office” and was quizzing his co-workers about how to better-serve their needs and asked for ways to ensure they had the information they needed regarding the upcoming behemoth merger. In many ways Abraham epitomized professionalism and was the perfect ambassador for his airline, his union and his profession.  

I took a minute to chat with him as we prepared to land and asked him about the state of the industry. He responded by saying “it’s chaos” and completely out of his control…but that he comes to work every day focusing on making the things the best he can and that every day is a great day. “I have the world’s best job he repeated.” “But you just said the environment is insane” I responded… “how can it be a great job?” “I make it a great job” he said. “I make it that way…every day.”

It’s not often I get to see a week’s worth of teaching principles play out in front of my eyes…but it’s nice when it does. It’s also helpful because while I like to think I’m at least adequate at training around such values, I’m consitently pathetic at actually demonstrating their worth by example. Abraham’s decision to focus on the things he can influence was a vivid reminder that we are actually in control of ourselves…and that usually impacts a host of things including our overall happiness...and sometimes even those around us.

It’s Friday, so if you’re lucky enough to have a couple of days off thanks to the historical work of the labor movement, make the most of the next two days by doing something you enjoy with the people you love. This time on earth is a temporary gig, and as you get older you recognize the run is much shorter than you initially thought. Make the time matter with the people you love…it’s all in your control. Matter-of-fact…you are in command of starting your weekend with some quality music by clicking right here.

 

*Name changed

...and waiter...we'll have another bottle of Silver Oak please

On Saturday I flew from the nation’s capital to attend a weekend 30^th birthday party for my first cousin (once-removed) in Scottsdale, Arizona. The US Airways flight departed Reagan National at 7:00am EST and landed at Sky Harbor in Phoenix at approximately 10:20am MST. By about 10:45am the birthday girl’s husband picked me up in their shinny-new 2013 Buick Enclave (the one you can start remotely with your smartphone) and whisked me away to my first cousin’s (the birthday girl’s mom) vacation compound just north of Camelback Mountain in the ritzy Paradise Valley region of Scottsdale.

The gorgeous desert property is a true testament to the consequence of American business success and the byproduct of old-fashioned hard work. It is one of two vacation homes (the other is a Minnesota lake place) owned by my cousin and her husband who normally reside in Texas where they own several GM car dealerships. It is also a reminder, at least to me, of another reason to appreciate the bailout of General Motors. Had it not been for that bold rescue plan which saved that company from certain doom, my cousin would likely no longer have their dealerships (employing over 100 hardworking people)…and they’d probably hold far fewer parties at the Arizona playground.

On this trip I stayed in the guest casitas nestled at the base of a mountain just behind the main residence building. Though it’s only a one-bedroom cottage, the furnishings alone make it seem markedly nicer than the home (one of one) that we live year-round in DC. My cousin’s Arizona place has a six car garage, a pool, sauna, built-in outdoor fireplace, BBQ/outdoor kitchen and a very nice gym. At least four of the six garage stalls are home to vehicles markedly nicer than my 2002 Chrysler 300. 

Needless to say I love going to visit my cousin in Arizona (or anywhere else for that matter) and reaping (essentially sponging) the benefits of her family’s hard fought prosperity…and this trip was no exception. It was about 17 degrees when the taxi arrived at my home at 5am in Washington, and as I rested poolside after my 3-mile jog in Paradise Valley about 12-hours later that same early February afternoon…it was just shy of 80

Aside from the perfect weather, my cousin’s family has also mastered the art of genuine hospitality, and they generously share the various amenities made possible by their hard-earned wealth without hesitation or expectation of any reciprocity. It is their unparalleled graciousness that makes these trips so nice…and I’d be flat out lying if I didn’t confess to enjoying these periodic glimpses into the good life…or at least an existence far more comfortable than my life and the lives of so many others. Their selflessness has also served as a guidepost for me, and though I’ve failed miserably, I’ve tried to emulate their hospitality and generosity in some small way. But while it’s nice to enjoy the all these finer things even if only by extension, there is something that tugs at me whenever I’m surrounded by such luxury.

First and foremost…it’s  jealousy. At the very core, there is this undeniable and a basic sense of personal inadequacy.  My cousin’s family had no more seed money or any other kind of benefit than did I…but they’ve clearly done better. The fact of the matter is they’re just smarter, or harder working, or have a greater risk tolerance and have thus achieved exponentially more. The second thing that I can’t help but feeling is less tangible…but there’s no question that it’s there.

After sitting by the pool a spell and cooling after my run, the birthday girl’s husband (my airport pickup guy…I also consider my cousin by marriage) asked if I’d like to hike to the top of the mountain behind the house. I should have known better, as this thirty-something, zero-body-fat rabid cyclist is the physical antithesis of my assisted living, commitment to flubber and trash TV/couch potato aging body. He mentioned the views were spectacular up there, so not wanting to seem intimidated by the young buck, I said “sure.”

Well, after about a 30-minute climb that included heavy breathing, irregular heartbeats and to me seemed like ascending Everest absent any basecamp assimilation…we were on top of the mountain. He was right…the views up there looking over Scottsdale were inspiring…and on this February afternoon of perfect Arizona winter weather…the experience was epic. Standing up there…one couldn’t help but notice the sheer enormity and scale of all the desert estates. They were everywhere…and immediately behind us was a near complete 40,000 square-foot complex that reportedly belongs to some Berkshire-Hathaway executive. There were 8,000 - 10,000 square-foot homes almost as far as the eye could see…many with huge surrounding properties that included pools, stables and even a couple of grass tennis courts.

Now, while I’m green with envy, I don’t begrudge anybody for doing well. Some of these palaces were probably the consequence of inherited privilege, but I’m guessing many of these beautiful properties probably belong to folks like my cousin, that worked without charity from humble origins. So, at least in my book, they should unashamedly reap the rewards of all that genuine effort. However every single day of the winter, I drive home through downtown DC passed hundreds of folks that are sleeping outside in the cold. They don’t have multiple vacation homes…and if they’re lucky, they have some dry cardboard and a couple of warm furniture blankets. I guess to me the issue isn’t why some folks have so much, it’s more how they can have it while so many more have almost nothing. How can one person have a 40,000 square foot second home, while millions don’t have any home or live in abject poverty?

I don’t pretend to have the answer to this conundrum, but while vilifying the rich that have worked hard for their wealth doesn’t seem to be the answer, the acidic and condescending Romney-style “47%” comments made by people born on third base while sipping Silver Oak and eating caviar don’t make much sense either. To me it’s about equity…and as I looked out from the top of that mountain over all that excessive extravagance, I couldn’t help but wonder how much better the world would be if all those 10,000 square foot second homes were say 9,700 square feet…so that at least a few more folks wouldn’t have to sleep outside.

The truth is I am fortunate to live pretty well too, so I guess a more honest question would be what am I willing to do or give up to make things better? Like most things I don’t have the answer…but as I go about the weekend in complete comfort, I’m going to try to think a bit about the people that struggle with so little…while I enjoy so very much.

Think about it over some music...

  

 

 

...and it's a good day to just listen

A dear friend and mentor sent me short poem over the holidays that I’d never heard of before…or at least don’t remember ever hearing. I’m guessing like a lot of people that watch NASCAR, Gold Rush and New Jersey Housewives…I don’t read a lot (any) or know of many (any) poems…so the fact that it wasn’t familiar doesn’t seem too unusual. In all the years I worked in construction, or for that matter in almost any other job (newspaper boy, ski technician (bum), high school football coach and union administrator), I don’t recall anyone ever even referencing a poem, or sonnet or rhyme (OK…there’s the classic Nantucket limerick every construction apprentice should know).  As a matter-of-fact, until that cat I’d also never heard of (Richard Blanco) read that "One Today" sonnet at the recent inauguration of President Obama’s second term…I’m not sure the last time I even heard someone reference a poem.

If you fashion yourself as a learned academic or culturally enlightened type, it’s vogue to gush about the magical beauty of  the Blanco offering. But I just read it again and well…I dozed off before reaching stanza forty seven. To me it was like too many of these blog posts…it was just too long. The great thing about the poem sent by a friend in December is that it was nice and short…and more importantly to someone like me…very easy to understand.

There are multiple versions of this brief and simple old nursery rhyme, including one popularized in WWII which tweaked the last verse in an attempt to tie silence to security. However as best as I tell from a rudimentary internet search (using what I’m told is now the antiquated, assisted-living browser internet explorer), the most recognized version, which plays on the perception of owls as the traditional symbol of wisdom, goes something like this…

“A wise old owl lived in an oak
The more he saw the less he spoke
The less he spoke the more he heard.
Why can't we all be like that wise old bird”

Now, I so want to think this was sent to me because my silence means I remind the sender of the owl…but it’s also possible it was a message to stop talking so much or that I should stop presuming anyone wants to read this nonsense every week. But I’m hoping they sent it because I am quiet a lot.  As an example I routinely sit in silence and don’t say much in groups, but it’s not because I’m like a wise old bird…it’s because I can’t follow much of the conversation. I’ve always had this complex about not measuring up intellectually. It’s not fun to feel dumb, but I routinely sit quietly listening to others while failing to understand much, or at least even some, of what is said.

Sure, much of it is my own fault. If tuning out others was an Olympic sport, my trophy case would reduce Michael Phelps’s gold medal achievements to a mere footnote. But the more alarming problem is that even when I try to listen…I actually feel as if much of what is said is just gibberish. Many times, you could hold a gun up to my forehead and ask me to summarize a recent speaker’s comments…and I’d have nothing. What’s worse…is that while I’m legitimately and completely lost, I often glance around at others that are hearing  the same thing and notice they seem to be actually following the conversation, even nodding occasionally (god…I have trouble spelling that word) as though they understand and are in agreement. Though I want to believe some are faking it…I do think there are those that actually understand. Even more disheartening, there are even a few people that will refer to what an earlier speaker said…as if there was some nugget of wisdom in something I couldn’t even follow.

What’s the point of all this…heck if I know. I guess part of it is that I wish I’d paid more attention in school. I should have exercised my brain better, stayed at UCLA, read more,  learned a couple foreign languages (even gibberish) and focused more on developing my listening and cognitive reasoning skills (you’re right…I really don't know what that means either). But while I’m willing to accept most of the blame here…I don’t want to put this all on me. I still have this visceral sense that many increasingly overvalue talk and undervalue action. We used to have a saying on the jobsite when folks stood around and talked too much. It went something like… “Let’s hear a little less signing and a little more picking.”

I picked up a book (big font and lots of pictures) recently ahead of a flight to Los Angeles entitled “It’s Not What You Say, It’s How You Say It.” Just a few pages in, there’s a quote from English novelist George Eliot that reads “Blessed is the man who, having nothing to say, abstains from giving us worthy evidence of that fact.” I don’t heed that advice near enough…but I’m going to try to apply it more going forward. I’m going to try to be more like that bird.

Have a great weekend. Try to take some time to enjoy the people and pets that matter most to you. Turn off the TV, tune into people and do the things you enjoy.  One phone call, a challenging diagnosis, some unexpected news or one x-ray, can flip your priority list on its head in a heartbeat and instantaneously trivialize the stuff you thought was so worthy of time, attention and stress.

Start the weekend with some music...

...and I just don't get Twitter #overthehill

It’s not a good feeling to wake up one day and realize the game has passed you by. In what seems like a blink of an eye, it feels as if I’ve been transported from a spot at the head of the pack to some inconspicuous viewing position where I’m no more than a casual bystander watching the parade go by. The worst part is that I’m simply not clear on how it all happened so quickly.

Sure, I’ve always been an old soul…but at least for most of my professional life, I’d managed to more or less stay ahead of, or at least in, the game. It certainly didn’t hurt that a good part of my career was spent in an organizational culture where being in your 40s was tantamount to being a teenager, but suddenly I woke up at 50, just plain feeling old. The exponential growth of a social media culture that has managed to infantilize younger adults to the point where they almost seem incapable of glancing up from their smartphones hasn’t helped, but sadly whatever caused my rapid decline can’t be blamed on others. This is clearly something that is wrong with me and there is no better manifestation of this swift aging transformation than my inability to understand or even care about Twitter.

The real irony is that at least among my peers, I have one of the oldest Twitter accounts around. I opened it in the Fall of 2006 ahead of a social media presentation I was doing with a colleague to a large group. Most of the folks at the time had never heard of the information network…or even the concept. It took a long time to actually compose my first tweet…I just couldn’t figure out anything that warranted the need to put it down in 140 characters…and more importantly…rose to the level that required sharing. (BTW… u can follow me by clicking here #bored2tears). I don’t check my twitter application on my smartphone too often (can’t read the small print) but when I do, it’s clear to me most others are struggling with the same dilemma…that is…what exactly warrants passing along.

 Sure…there is some value in following groups for breaking news or minute-by-minute updates on public transit or local traffic, but most of the personal tweets I read are mind numbingly boring. Some are interesting or informative, and some are pretty funny. But too often it seems people are trying too hard and that the humor is motivated by some odd need to provide biting comments at the expense of others.

The bigger issue to me though is the odd presumption by habitual tweeters that other people give a rat's ass about where they are, what they're doing or most importantly of all, what they think. This may sound strange coming from someone that hammers out a 20,000 character (that's just a guess) blog most Fridays, but let's put that aside for now (for good). To be honest, reading most of the 140 character or less offerings leads me to believe that most folks are composing messages just because they can…or worse, because they’re in some competition and worried what folks will think if they are not seen as hip tweeters. What else would be the rationale for why some celebrities and high-profile folks need to have their tweets composed by others?

This  phenomenon reminds me of many of the useless conversations you’d hear during the advent of cell phones. My wife and I used to spend a few weeks in Hawaii each winter (staying w/ her brother #freeloading). While siting on the beach each day, we'd observe person after person arriving in the magical tropical setting, putting down their towel and glancing out at the Pacific and Diamond Head in the distance. After a few minutes they'd seemingly get bored, pull out their cell phone and place a call where at least the caller's side of the conversation went something like this.

"Hey...what's up?" "Where are you?" "What are you doing?" "Is it cold  there?" and then came the real intent of the meaningless call “Guess where I am?

Now sadly, I'm old enough to remember when a phone call was a pretty big deal. You could actually tell folks were calling long distance by the crackling on the line...sometimes, there'd even be a delay.  Actually, if there was too much clarity on the line...you might even excitedly (or horrifically) presume the normally long distance caller was in town. After hearing their unusually clear voice you might even ask “are you here?” The point is you had to restrict these calls to instances where you had something of value to say. You usually didn't call just to rub in the fact that you were in some tropical clime while your call recipient was freezing their ass off. The bigger point was there just wasn't the presumption that you mattered that much. So many of the tweets I read now seem to be screaming "I'm important and "I'm doing something you're not." Even many of the hashtags seem to suggest the tweeter is doing something you’re not.

So…I actually took a look at some random personal tweets on my account. Most are retweets of messages from people I don’t know. I know they matter…I’m just begging someone to tell me why.

·         Inaugural parade set to begin. Waiting for Obama. That’s a spine-tingler I needed to be aware of right now…especially since there was absolutely no way to know this by watching the 407 channels of non-stop cable coverage of this snorefest.

·         Aahhhh "I want to look one more time" -BO Really? Nice sentiment sure but does this warrant a tweet? I’m guessing the answer is yes…but again…I’m completely lost as to why?

·         Sound cutting out on speakers on the mall. Ppl listening on their phones. Guy says: "This is what happens in steerage." OK…this is somewhat funny…but again…why do people need to know this and why did this need to be retweeted?

·         It’s reasonable to hope that the images landing on her retinas were influencing the sounds bursting from her throat: http://wapo.st/WVyzST This means something to somebody I’m sure…but not me.

·         "The new status symbol isn’t what you own — it’s what you’re smart enough not to own" http://wapo.st/10oTi47 #SharingEconomy Drats...this was actually pretty interesting.

·         "...The top 1% of income earners took home 93% of the growth in incomes in 2010..." - Joseph Stiglitz, @NYTimes: Zzzz @boringashell #whogivesash*t?

· I'm at Walter E. Washington Convention Center for The Inaugural Ball w/…I’m @ home in my pajamas stoned on my 3rd glass of Malbec…but really…do/should u care?

What’s the point of all this? Not sure…probably just further evidence my weekly rantings about being on the threshold of assisted living are warranted. The perpetual need to tweet however does remind me of a sign that hung over the door of Mr. Piteski’s 7^th Grade band class at Palms Junior High School in Los Angeles. I used to glance up there from the clarinet section each day and it read simply “Silence is the only real substitute for brains.” That advice is golden, and I prove most Fridays why it’s a bad thing to ignore. Seems to me a lot of tweeters could benefit by not making that same mistake.

Start the weekend with some music...

...and here's what you shouldn't do

So…the new year is almost three weeks old and my pledge to try to be a better person, or to at least treat people with a little more consideration is going about as poorly as most of my other failed resolutions (see last post). Because I usually receive abysmally low marks on follow-through with goals of this nature, I can’t be too surprised things aren’t going particularly well. Sure…I’m trying to do it in some small ways…things like unloading the dishwasher without being asked, smiling more, composing better-toned emails, saying please and thank you more and even remembering to walk on street-side of the sidewalk (at least some of the time). So, while my resolution performance has been characteristically unimpressive at best, I did have a particularly un-resolution-like setback last week that bears mentioning. If nothing else, it might serve as yet another good blueprint of something you shouldn’t do.

After a relaxing morning that including a fast-paced (at least by my assisted living standards) 4am 3-mile run, some trash TV reruns and a light breakfast, I left the house and hopped in my car for the short commute to work. As I headed up the narrow street in my urban residential neighborhood, there was a taxi parked in the middle of the street of the next block up which appeared to be waiting for a traveler. The cab was not parked as far to the right as it could have been, and it was questionable at best if I could navigate to the left and make it between the taxi’s driver’s side and the cars parked on the left without significant damage to the cab, my car, and the vehicles parked to my left.

Seeing the inconsiderate taxi in the middle of the street caused the flame on my blood burners to go up a notch....however, I tried to relax by listening to the Pimsleur Italian language CDs and waiting for the cab’s passenger to come out of the house to begin their leisurely cab ride so I might be able to continue my commute to work without scrapping paint off both sides of my automobile.  I waited about 30 seconds (maybe 15) and then decided to inch up to the rear of the taxi in hopes of conveying the urgency for him/her to stop blocking the street. Shortly after working my way just up to the taxi’s rear bumper, the cab driver flipped on his hazard lights. As far as I could discern there was no flat tire, steaming radiator, or any other “hazard” that should require the activation of those lights, so it was hard to interpret the move as anything other than a luminous way of him or her telling me to go fornicate myself.   

Now…at this point I had a couple of more cerebral options. I could just chalk the moron up to a world of wasted-flesh idiots and let it go. I could have put my car in reverse and backed up about 100 feet and then proceeded west toward Reno Road and taken a detour to work. I could have even got out of my car, remembered my Emily Post training,  gently tapped on the driver’s window and politely asked him/her to inch over slightly to the right so that I (and the rest of his/her fellow man commuting on that street) could get around. But comminted to few things with the fervor as I am to proving I’m a painfully slow learner, I chose none of those courses.

Instead, cognizant of my previously simmering blood now transfering to a slow boil, I backed up car, and proceeded to navigate around the left side of the cab. It was tight, and there couldn’t have been room for a gum wrapper on either side of the car as I squeezed by. As I did, the cab made no discernable attempt to move over. Once by the cab, I pulled ahead of the cab, blocking about the same amount of the street as the taxi. Then, I backed up a bit until I was immediately in front of the cab and put my vehicle in park (leaving the engine running).

Shortly after doing so, the cab’s passenger came out of the house and jumped into the waiting taxi. Not long after the passenger’s door closed, the cab driver lightly tapped on the horn apparently informing me he (I know knew it was a male) needed to move forward.  So, thinking like an inconsiderate moronic taxi driver…I flipped on my hazard lights in an attempt to let him know that he too was more than welcome to find another way to continue his journey.

Now, despite all the evidence to the contrary, I’m not an hot-headed idiot looking for a unnecessary fight that could easily be avoided by a couple of deep breaths and some basic perspective. I wasn’t about to get into a pre-dawn, pre-work altercation with some jackass without reasonable assurances that I might prevail. Though my back window was fogged over, I watched closely out my driver’s side mirror ready to assess the cab driver’s size and perceived fighting ability. If some 6’6”, weight-trained, 240 pound, chiseled golden-glove like young man emerged, I was prepared to be content that I’d made my point and quickly put the car in drive to continue on my merry way (run). However while the man that exited the driver’s side in anger was more like 250lbs, he was also closer like 5’8 and maybe even  balding a bit so I liked my chances. At first glance I saw no sign of a weapon, so being the deep-thinker that I am, I too flung open my car door and jumped out of the car.

By this point the cab driver  and I were nearly face-to-face, and he was screaming in some barely intelligible high-pitched foreign accent. He asked “What are you doing…are you trying to start something?”  “Why do you ask I responded?” The cab driver then shouted that he was simply “waiting for a passenger.”  “Yeah…I’m waiting to pick up someone for work”…I retorted…  “feel free to go around.” He then informed me I was “blocking the street,” to which I replied “yes…I may be…but I flipped on my hazard lights to let you know that your problems didn’t matter to me.” He continued to scream as he walked back to the car, calling me “crazy.” I followed him over to his car door and ask him what the problem was…and then inquired…”what’s wrong… you seem pissed.” “I am” he shouted… “you’re an as$hole.” “Good” I said… “now you know exactly how I feel.” He said some more words...and I responded in a fashion which made it clear he shouldn't get into a cussing match with a product of  the Los Angeles inner-city and the son of a WWII U.S. Navy electrician.

What was accomplished by this? Not a damn thing if I had to guess. I’d like to think the shithe*t cab driver will give a little thought to his actions the next time he double parks, but I’m thinking that’s probably not likely. It would be good to believe the bigger sh*thead would learn a lesson too and just avoid unnecessary altercations going forward, but I’m not liking my chances.  It  was probably a total waste of my energy and just regrettable behavior,  then again, I needed some Friday blog material so risking my life (he could have had a gun…or worse...have been a wrestler) for a relatively uninteresting story wasn’t completely insane.

It’s inauguration weekend so try to have some fun.  If you get Monday’s MLK day off, use the extra time and spend it with the people and pets you love doing the things that matter most. You may want to start the three-day break with a little good music. If you have a chance to chill this weekend, kick back, put on some good tunes, and reach for the high shelf booze.

...and it's resolution time

New Years’ resolutions have never really been my thing. Most years I don’t even bother, knowing full-well my dismal record of throwing in the towel on my latest flavor of the year pledge sometime well-before March demonstrates I won’t have any luck pulling it off for twelve straight months. I’ve tried them all…better diet, learning more Spanish, watching less Housewives’ Reunions, playing the piano better, shedding unwanted pounds, implementing a more rigorous fitness regime, brushing up on German, brushing up on my teeth, learning the Uke, and even just trying to just be a better person (I know what you’re thinking on that last one…low bar). I’ve even tried stuff that’s easy to quantify…like drinking two bottles of water a day, or imbibing alcohol no more than two days a week, taking the metro at least once a month or even just taking at least one shower a week…but nothing seems to stick (except when I don’t regularly bathe).  

This year I considered a couple of things that seemed  pretty attainable. I’d love to cuss a little less, but I had more freakin’ F-bombs than Tannenbaums in December so I’m thinking I’m doomed. I haven’t had a drink of alcohol yet in 2013,  but it’s only January 4^th  (and it’s still early in the day) and I’m not even counting the two beers (which really is the same as nothing for me) I had at Guapo’s on New Years’ Day. Thought about being a little nicer to people, or being a more considerate husband, or being a better friend and spending more time with the people that matter, but even after a year that included the loss of two good friends, an honest glance in the rearview mirror of late shows there’s really not much evidence to expect any perspective gained by those painful experiences are going to hold.

Treating people better in the workplace would be a noble resolution goal, but despite routinely committing to do so, my constant transgressions in that area reveal I’m not liking my chances over the long haul. I could strive to just do my job better, or to serve and support my selfless boss more effectively, but again…I’ve got the mirror problem. Actually just trying to live by the Golden Rule would be a good aim, but if I did onto myself the way I’ve done unto some others of late, I’m not sure I would even like me. This probably seems kind of depressing, but in all candor, I’m just being honest and really can’t really think of anything fresh that might work…and more importantly, that I might be able to apply for 365 straight days.

There is one reason to be optimistic though, and while I don’t like my chances to stick to anything new in 2013, there is always the chance (and even the likelihood) I can keep the streak going I’ve managed to maintain every work day for three straight years. In late December 2009, I committed to walking up the stairs from the parking level (9 floors) every day for one year. Amazingly, and quite out of character, I was able to pull it off. Just as a side note I also committed to lose 10 pounds in 2010, but I recall ending the year heavier than I started it…so the stair thing didn’t seem to help in fat reduction department (probably all muscle weight in my quads). I was so emboldened by the first year stair performance that I continued it in 2011…and then again in 2012. So far, at least for the 2^nd, 3^rd and 4^th of January, I managed to walk up all flights in 2013 too (mostly while cussing in pain in English, and thinking about consuming red wine while watching the NJ Housewives when I got home after skipping my evening speed-bag workout).

What’s the point of all this? If you know, you must have resolved to decode more drivel in 2013.  It isn’t easy coming up with meaningful content every  week, and if you don’t believe that, just subscribe to this blog. Enjoy the first weekend of the New Year and if you have any resolutions, do your best to stay with them (unless it’s to be an even bigger A-Hole). If you don’t, feel free to grab any of the ones where I’ve miserably failed. For what it’s worth…you may want to start with the “spending time with the people that matter most” pledge. Just like the people, at the end of the game, it is that kind of time that will matter the most.

See you in the stairwell…or at least at the wine store.          

As always…sorry for the poor writing, typos, bad grammar and misspellings. No time to proofread…too busy providing links to good music.

Remember those days hanging out at the Village Green...