...and even better...it's summer too

About 10 years ago I started sending out a short message each Friday morning to coworkers reminding them it was Friday (as if they needed a reminder). The email was always accompanied by a song, that was not necessarily tied to the message or short story. There really wasn’t much to it, just whatever happened to pop into my head at 4am on a Friday morning as a hammered away on the laptop between bench-press sets in the basement gym.

In consideration of folk’s already crowded inboxes, I switched about two years ago from sending out a large group email and went to an online blog format where people can elect whether or not to receive the weekly drivel.  Not surprisingly, not a whole lot have opted in. Oddly, there is a growing number of readers in countries like Latvia, Russia, Ireland and Germany…though I’m not really sure why.

Other than switching the delivery format…not much has changed (except for the diminishing weight on the barbells) and it’s really pretty much the same writing process. I get up, stumble down the stairs, do a set of push-ups to warm up and then start typing whatever is on my mind (often confirming there’s not much). Usually I’m in a hurry…and I rarely have time to proofread. There is one thing however that has seemed to change though…and that is the overall tone of the messages.

Initially, every email was pretty much a feel-good “it’s Friday” message or story about the need to stop and smell the roses that included a hopefully uplifting song (usually some old-school crooner love song or nice operatic number). Over time, it seems to me that too many of the stories have become more rants…probably in a lame attempt to be more entertaining or to provide humor at some else’s expense.  Someone mentioned to me awhile back that the blog had a “the world’s going to hell in a hand-basket” theme.  That actually stung a bit, because it I often think the world would already be in hell were it not for an extreme shortage of hand baskets.

Anyhow…this is a good example of why this is hard to do this every week…sometimes you just don’t have much meaningful to say. It’s been tempting sometimes to fold the tent (I almost never skip a Friday but sometimes the auto email doesn’t go out until Saturday), but there’s always at least one or two people that mention they’d miss it. Ironically, nobody has even said they’d hate to lose the message…they really pretty much all same the same thing. “Where’s my Friday song?” Once-in-awhile, folks say they just like receiving a little reminder that it’s Friday.

Well…here is the reminder and a song. If you can’t close your eyes and enjoy the swaying palm trees and rolling waves on this first day of summer, well, you should probably unsubscribe. Have a fabulous first day of summer, and make it especially good because it fell on a Friday.  Enjoy the weekend, and if you can, spend a few minutes on the porch in a rocking chair with a glass of lemonade. If you’re lucky, you might even hear the sound of children laughing in the distance and the crack of a slamming screen door. It’s Friday…and it’s summer too J  

 

Gabby...

Just hit play all for more

...and the little things...are really the big things

Earlier this week I was sitting in my office dealing with yet another human resource related issue, when it dawned on me that the preponderance of my time is often spent on things that really don’t seem all that big. As it is in most organizations, it’s not on the really formidable challenges or endless opportunities that consume the majority of my time now…it’s really the seemingly little things. And when I think about it…it’s pretty much been that way just about everywhere I’ve ever worked.

About 15 years ago, I was a foreman for one of the country’s most successful electrical contractors on one of the largest construction projects in Los Angeles.  It was a high-profile studio project, and as the job ramped up and the number of electrician’s increased, the company and the union, in the cooperative  labor/management spirit  indicative of the organized construction industry, jointly asked me to be the labor liaison (or union steward). In equally typical fashion, the job was finished ahead of schedule and under budget…and committed to doing my part, I spent the lion’s share of my days installing conduit and pulling wire. However on the rare occasion that I did have to don the steward’s hat, it wasn’t complicated or challenging electrical systems that commanded the majority of that time, it was usually dealing with the basic wants, desires and feelings of regular human beings.

I remember standing one day in the afternoon sun chatting with the company’s superintendent on the south side of the sprawling jobsite which was bordered by the very un-picturesque concrete-coated Los Angeles River. We were both roughly the same age (mid 30s), though even at that young age he was a supervision rock-star in the electrical industry who I consider a mentor and still attempt to emulate today. We were talking about some mundane personnel  matter, and I remember then being amazed at how much time he and I spent dealing with these types of issues. This cat oversaw some large projects in his young career, and I remember asking him how much of his high-level supervision time was devoted to the installation of complicated electrical installations. “Oh…about 5%” he replied… “most of the time I’m more of a human resource guy or even a counselor and my biggest responsibility is to keep our people happy…and to make sure they have the tools and material they need to do the job. If I do that…they figure out how to deal with the really big stuff.”

Many years later, things are really not that different.  As I stand looking out the window of my office on any given day lamenting  the confluence of external forces committed to destroying the middle class values of fairness and equity that built this country, the reality is I don’t spend a lot of time addressing those big topics. Much of my days are taken up with dealing with people…discouraged because they were dissed by a colleague, left off an email, are being micro-managed, feel frustrated by constant headwind,  are overdue for a laptop upgrade, often excluded from an important conversation or flat out are feeling unappreciated.

 

This is hardly restricted to my organization, as even when I eavesdrop on high-level conversations at the local District watering holes, much of the conversation isn’t about big problems, but goes more like “what do I have to do to get copied on an email” or  “you’re not going to believe what so-and-so just did” or “do you believe that a-h*le took credit for my project and didn’t even say thank you?”

All this makes me think of some real irony. As others much smarter than me have noted, it’s really the focus on the little things that allows people to deal with the big things. If we take the time to consider other people’s points of view, their needs, their interests, and their yearning to be appreciated, then they like me, are in much better condition to take on the challenging work that must to be addressed if good is going to prevail.

“Be master of your petty annoyances and conserve your energies for the big, worthwhile things. It isn't the mountain ahead that wears you out - it's the grain of sand in your shoe.”

- Robert Service

If it weren’t for my family, friends, red wine, books, pushups, red wine, trash TV, cigars, jumping rope, my speed bag, bourbon, crystal-meth (just kidding) copious amounts of red wine (not kidding) and an occasional cigarette, I wouldn’t be able to cope with the self-imposed frustrations at work. My best days, are those where I focus on the things I can control, and brush aside the annoying little grain of sand while focusing on the importance of the people that do the work that matters. The worst days are the ones where my lack of concentration on the value of human beings becomes the grain of sand that ends up in some hard-working colleague's own shoe…and I worry that still happens way too often today.

Have a great weekend and try not to let the little things get you down. Whether it’s family, friends, a chilled straight up Manhattan, hiking, pets, a relaxing dinner, books, holding hands, exercise or wine, do something that brings some genuine chill to your life.

 

This old house here by the road...

 

Sorry for all the typos, misspellings and poor grammar.

...and "it's a beautiful day for football in the Coliseum"

“I’m on the 50” my old man used to say… “33 rows up, smack dab in the middle of the Coliseum. I’ve got the best seat in the house.” That’s how my dad would respond when people asked where his season seat was for his beloved Los Angeles Rams. For as long as I could remember as a kid, my father was a season ticket holder for his favorite football team. He always seemed kind of excited as he’d head off to the game on Sundays after church, and I still remember the light brown binocular case he’d have slung over his shoulder as he headed out the door to hop into his black ’65 T-Bird to head downtown to the game.

Once I was older…about 6 or 7 or so, my dad would take me along to the game with a buddy of mine (usually Billy Horning from down the street on Esther Ave) and drop us off in near tunnel 28 in the General Admission section on the Peristyle end of the famed on Coliseum. The Rams organization had a program for years called “Free Football for Kids,” so my father and I would stop by each week at the Rams ticket office on West Pico (adjacent to 20^th Century Fox Studios) and pick up a general admission ticket for four dollars which came with two free tickets for kids under 12. My day would then accompany us into the game through the General Admission turn-style, tell us to stay out of trouble, and proceed to his 50-yardline perch while we happily watched the game  from the corner of the end zone.

Regardless of the many times I’d been there, it was always a magical feeling to emerge from tunnel 28 and arrive inside the historic Coliseum. Just the bouquet of colors alone was overwhelming at that young age, and it was always fun to watch my beloved Rams warm up in their beautiful blue and white home uniforms. I knew every player…every player…and I truly loved many of them. Dick Bass, Les Josephson, Willie Ellison, Billy Truax, Kenny Iman, Jack Snow, Roman Gabriel and Merlin Olsen…the position didn’t matter…if they played for the Rams…I knew their name. My favorite player of all time was number 75…Deacon Jones. He was part of the Rams notorious defensive line ominously named The Fearsome Foursome. They were all good (Lundy, Olsen, Grier and Jones) but Deacon Jones was my guy.

I suspect part of the love for Jones was simply his name. I just thought Deacon Jones was a really cool sounding name. But the thing I liked about him most was the tenacious but humble way he played. He was credited for coining the term “sack” and rushed the passer in an era were marquee players were known less for their idiotic antics than for their actual ability to play the game. In all the years I watched Deacon, I never recall him celebrating after a sack (ala Mark Gastineau), he simply made the play and then walked back to the huddle like it was routine. I suspect he didn’t want to draw attention to himself, but I’m also guessing he didn’t want an offensive lineman dancing around like a moron every time he’d successfully kept Jones off the quarterback.

 

Hall of Fame defensive end Deacon Jones passed away earlier this week at the age of 74, and it made me think about how yet another part of my childhood is gone with the wind. It made me think about Sunday afternoons in the warm sun at the Coliseum in Los Angeles watching my team play as I listened to Dick Enberg’s play-by-play on my cool little cutting-edge transistor. It made me think about a time when talented players like Deacon Jones quietly went about their business and let their ability do the talking. It made lament the decline of humility, and welcome the attractiveness and drawing power of that characteristic on the rare occasion you see it today. It made me think about missing my dad.

This useless blog ends pretty much the same way every week, with some lame appeal to think more about the things that matter most and an urging to spend more time with the people you love. When you’re young, you assume things will stay the same way forever. Then one day, you wake up with shingles and realize that many of the people and things you thought would always be here have vanished.  So…keep the priorities clear…and if you can, make your time this weekend count.

I was driving home from work the other night when this song came on the radio. It sounded to me like Alison Kraus and James Taylor…and when it was over the DJ confirmed that suspicion. This won’t be everybody’s thing, but if you can’t appreciate serene beauty of this tune popularized mostly by Elvis Presley, well then, I really don’t know what to tell you.

Have a great weekend, and I really am sorry about the poor writing, bad spelling, and lousy grammar.

How's the world treating you?

...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