Here’s a funny joke we heard the other night at Crackers.
It’s the worst when you’ve been drinking and you fall asleep on the sofa and you wake up there the next day. Fully clothed. You know the feeling. Sunlight hits you and wakes you up. You realize you still have your shoes on. And your first thought is, “I’m probably… late… for whatever… I’m supposed to be doing…
That’s all I can think of tonight.
Put your personal feelings about Josh Groban aside for a moment. That song about someone raising someone else up is great.
It’s a love song, actually. A love song to you. Every one of your friends is more because of you. Their life is more worth living because of you. They love their life more because of you. You see, Josh is singing to you. It’s not a song about what others do for you. It’s a song about what you do for others. It is not about you. It is not about me. It is about others.
Of course there is no way I can know what Josh is thinking when he sings it. I can’t tell you what Brendan Graham meant when he wrote those lyrics. I can tell you only what the song evokes in me when I listen.
First, I think of the Irish ballad Danny Boy.
Because the song borrowed it’s melody in part from that song. And it’s beautiful to imagine how sorrowful and wonderful the singer of Danny Boy was.
Then I think about all the people in my life who have moved a little farther along their path because I was there to support them. And I think about the lives they have improved because I was able to help. And I think of those who have been there for me.
Besides, most days I feel that I am standing on the shoulders of others anyway. So why not own that others are standing on my shoulders?
Moisturizer. Use it. It works.
Our friend Larry is a good ole boy from Iowa. Raised on a farm and has plenty of farm in him. His haircut is farm. His mustache is farm. He rides his bicycle 80 miles in 80 degree heat wearing a cotton t-shirt with cutoff sleeves. He’s a good guy.
Also, he changes into some nice shorts that he got at Kohl’s on sale. “Kohl’s has some nice stuff,” says Larry in his farm accent.
Also, I had Larry pegged at about 45. We found out he’s in his 50s.
I asked Larry how he manages to look so young.
“All ya gotta do is take care of yourself. And moisturize.”
I heard someone say that moisturizer couldn’t possible be all that important. After all, went this guy’s logic, for millions of years human beings have survived without moisturizer. What kind of cruel joke it would be for nature to make it so that we needed moisturizer when we’ve only had it for a few decades.
This logic is bullshit. Look, I’m sure ancient humans used something like mud or root juice or avocados or animal fat or something to make their lips and skin feel better. Maybe cavemen and cavewomen didn’t give a damn about looking younger. Elderly 33 year old women probably didn’t feel like looking 26 mattered. But that lard sure did soothe that dry skin.
Also, think about this, paleo-skin-care people. When people lived to the ripe old age of 45, they probably didn’t even really care about looking younger. They cared about living to 46. Also, they didn’t have iPhones, but we like those don’t we?
Anyway, moisturizer works. So, use it.
I sat down on the wet, hard cement. The place smelled of chlorine and piss. How long would I have to choke back the tears before this would all be over? The damn string broke on my swim trunks. I had no idea how to fix that – I was only 6. Sitting in a stall of the locker room when I was supposed to be out there swimming. I cried. Crying was all I knew to do.
Some older kid poked his head in, “whatsa matter kid?”
“My string broke.” I cried.
“I’ll get The Coach.”
“No. Don’t!” see, the coach had earlier said that if he caught me crying again, I’d have to be with the girls for the rest of the week. Which was not with my older brother. Which was somewhere I didn’t want to be.
“Well, what do you want me to do?”
“Get my brother. He’s the tall one, with blonde hair.”
Salty tears ran into my mouth. I would give anything to be able to tie my shorts.
Mike finally came. Tied my shorts for me. Yelled at me. Told me to grow up.
The swimming part wasn’t much funner. Couldn’t swim.
While I was in the pool someone stole my cowboy hat. I hated Baptist Day Camp.
My new obsession is Battle: Los Angeles.
It’s Independence Day meets Blackhawk Down.
Act I: Marine Staff Sergeant… “My men should have lived. I should have died in the sand. I’m going to retire and stew in my regret.” Old buddy/superior officer… “Crisis time – you can’t retire yet. Here’s somebody else’s platoon and a green Lieutenant for you to take on.”
Act II: Saving Private Ryan
Act III: Independence Day meets Blackhawk Down
Act IV?: Blackhawk Down meets Rambo: First Blood II
Perhaps I’m overstating it. But I love this movie. It has a lot of elements that I like. Alien invasion. Hopeless odds. Crusty grunt who’s all used up being pulled in for one last mission. Realistic fire fights.
The aliens are badass enough to make it seem like crazy odds but not so powerful that it seems impossible. They have weaknesses that can be exploited. But they are definitely badass.
Then there is the story element. There is an overall arc (aliens must be defeated). And there are many sub-arcs. Old demons that must be overcome. Civilians that must be rescued (the Saving Private Ryan part). A central weakness that can be exploited. Here is where it is even better than Independence Day. The central weakness is just the air combat command and control center for the Los Angeles area. Taking it out just takes out one small piece of the alien war plan. There are at least 20 other of these C&C centers that will have to be taken out. And taking one out only weakens the alien air superiority. They are still pretty tough on the ground. In Independence Day, I get the impression that the aliens who are smart enough to travel across the galaxy are stupid enough to have a single point of failure. In Battle: Los Angeles, they are a little more interesting than that.
Finally, at the end we have the soldiers doing the only thing soldiers know to do. Return to the fight. Like in Blackhawk down when the CIA operative walks back toward Mogadishu. Like when Rambo walks back into the jungle. The marines head back into LA without even having breakfast.
Most of us spend our time in suffering and our time in battle trying to get out. Working to survive and make it back to comfortable. Not these heroes. They are only comfortable when they are not comfortable. When they are fighting and dyeing and suffering.
We should all be so lucky as to have a cause we believe in strongly enough to skip breakfast for.
Travelling Jesus
Look at him. Look at that face. Not approving. But not judging. But He still has His beads. Not only has He forgiven you, but He is giving a subtle nod to the good time you had last night.
This is Travelling Jesus. Of Le Fer Hall at St. Mary of the Woods College.
For decades He’s been providing absolution of everything from sleeping through mass to sneaking back onto campus after curfew.
What did He do to get those beads? Whatever it was, He is obviously proud. Why else would He still be wearing them?
He has also been providing entertainment. Well meaning Catholic girls who work hard at a competitive school need to blow off a little steam. Or move Travelling Jesus around La Fer Hall. Either way, He is happy to help.
By the way, what is that on His chest? Mick Jagger’s lips and tongue? An acorn? Is it faceless Moe Howard? Maybe one of the Catholic girls will know.
My personal relationship with Him is retroactive. I know Him only through stories. Even though I was a student at Rose-Hulman “just across the tracks,” and even though I spent many days at The Woods and Le Fer Hall visiting my college sweetheart, and even though I participated in my share of shenanigans, I never knew Him. Never even heard of Him. But after college, I heard all sorts about Him.
Like many things in life, it’s about the memories. In this case, it’s about other people’s memories. Maybe He will forgive me for not knowing Him sooner.
For those of you who missed it, I was a suspect in an alleged kidnapping yesterday. Actually, there was no kidnapping. And I’m not even sure it was alleged. I was briefly suspected though, of trying to kidnap Simone. I don’t think the Castelton Square Mall security officer suspected me. But, she did her duty and checked out the situation after a mall patron reported a man walking out of the mall with a screaming little girl.
Here is the original Facebook post:
In case you were wondering… If you mention to a mall cop that you saw a man leading a child by the arm while she screamed, “daddy! daddy! daddy!” over and over… The mall cop will follow the man and child into the parking lot, roll up on her Segway, and ask the man if he’s the child’s father. And if the man simply says yes, then the mall cop will apologize and roll off. At least that’s what happened today when I was that man and Simone was that child.
The first question from a Facebook friend was:
Where was Elizabeth?
My answer:
Elizabeth was walking with us. And they’re wearing similar dresses. That’s probably why the mall cop bought my “yes I’m the dad” story.
Not sure if it was this answer or the original post that prompted this comment from a friend:
Good. She did her job. She assessed and felt you were not a threat. She also saw the look of fear of your daughter when she came up. NOT fear at you, but instead fear in Simone’s eyes for what the cop was there for. And they Simone might have her dad hauled off to jail and her stolen from your arms, and sent to foster care. Ok, maybe she does not understand the foster care example, but she did dear she would cause you to be hauled off.
This comment was not very popular on the thread. Others made some pretty good points. How did she know I was the father just because I said I was? What if I had the kids so frightened that they were afraid to rat me out? Why not do a little more investigating?
Even though my post or my answer about Elizabeth might not seem like it, I do think the security officer did the right thing. Here’s the scene. Elizabeth had a question for the ear piercers at Claire’s Boutique (by the way, if Claire’s is a boutique, my high school cafeteria was a five star restaurant). Anyway, while Elizabeth was looking around, Simone spotted some stuffed animal toys she wanted. I said no. And the screaming ensued. My loyal fans will remember an earlier challenge. It was like that, but in a mall. (Don’t worry about Simone, by the way. She’s fine. She’s probably on the high end of the curve, but she’ll be fine.)
Once Elizabeth had her answer, we headed out. I lead Simone by the arm. She kept yanking her hand out of mine, so I gripped her forearm. She didn’t pull or sit down or anything like that. I just kept walking with purpose. She kept screaming. And Elizabeth walked quietly next to us.
When we arrived at the car, Elizabeth got in and I lifted Simone up into her seat. Buckled her belt. I opened my door and was about to climb in when I heard the officer calling from the rear side of the car. You know the rest.
So why am I okay with her buying my claim without more investigation? My guess is that a patron notified her of the “suspicious” behavior and she began hot Segway pursuit. She likely saw the three of us walking in the parking lot. The two girls were wearing similar dresses and Elizabeth was walking without coercion. She was not crying. We all have similarly colored hair and similar features. She may even have noticed two car seats, though it would have been difficult for her to see that from her vantage point. All of this combined, in my opinion, to give the officer reasonably strong gut-feel material that there was nothing nefarious going on here. And I’m glad she chose to err on the side of what was likely going on – a misbehaving kid at a mall.
Had she been a law enforcement officer, I’m guessing my girls would have had the opportunity to see their father subordinated to an authority figure. Think about the incentives. Law enforcement officers (government employees) have absolutely nothing to gain by letting me go. Even if they are 99.9999% sure there’s nothing bad happening, there is no upside for them to let me go and only downside. On the other hand, there is very little downside to subjecting me and my family to invasive search and maybe seizure. Other than some extra paperwork, they have nothing to lose and everything to gain.
The privately hired mall security officer, on the other hand, has a different set of incentives. How many customers would the mall lose if every time your child misbehaves and someone complains, you were hauled into the office. Or they called the police. No thanks. I’d rather stay home. They also have incentive to prevent actual kidnapping. Again, how fast would the mall be out of business if it became perceived as unsafe? Lafayette Square Mall might offer a clue.
So, I like the privately hired security officers set of incentives better than the government hired law enforcement officer’s. At least the mall security officer is hired, trained, and developed to understand that she serves the patrons. She is not there to ensure that nothing bad can ever be blamed on the mall. She is there to make the mall as safe as possible while also seeing to it that the shopping experience is maximized. She is there to serve and to protect. Remember when that’s why the police were here, too?
Let’s be honest. After my 90 day run of 90 posts in 90 days, I will not worry about “catching up”. If I miss 2 days as I did this weekend, I will simply write on the third. For it does no good to worry myself with “catching up”. My post-90 day commitment is to write every day. Not to write a certain amount in a certain period of days or weeks. So, if I do not write today, I can not make it up tomorrow. When it is tomorrow, how can I possibly write today.
This can extend to arcs that are longer or shorter than a day. For example, if I were to fail to write 90 posts in 90 days (which I will not, but hypothetically), it would seem ludicrous to write 180 posts in 90 days to make up for it.
This is not unlike a commitment to lead a life worth living every day. If I am not courageous today, I can not be extra courageous tomorrow to make up for today. I will either be courageous tomorrow or I will not be courageous tomorrow. If I am not present and aware today, I can not be extra present and aware tomorrow to make up for today. In fact, to the extent that I am concerned tomorrow with not being present and aware today, I will not be present and aware tomorrow.
So it is with a twinge of irony that I say… If you miss a day of anything, simply forget about it. That day is done and gone. It will do you no good to think on it. It will only take away from today. I missed a week of writing once. I asked a friend how I should go about getting caught up. He said, forget about getting caught up. Just write today.
Do that’s what I’m doing. I’m writing.
1 play the [fill in the blank] card
2 create straw men
3 pick off the weakest arguments; ignore the strong ones
4 generalize
5 create guilt by association
1. Carrots are the roots of young Queen Anne’s lace.
2. Some people ski without an ACL.
3. The people of Easter Island cut down all of their trees. Rats ate all the seeds. Without trees, they couldn’t make canoes. So they were stranded on their own island. Overfished what they could reach from shore. One of Earth’s first man-made ecological catastrophes?
4. According to Professor Norman Hammond, “bulldozing Maya mounds for road fill is an endemic problem in Belize.” Those Mayans were generous enough to leave road fill materials in conveniently stacked piles.
StevenVinson.com 