nobody asked…

Care deeply… give freely… think kindly… act gently and be at peace with the world.

That is the tagline of Paul Williams, the Oscar, Grammy, and Golden Globe winner who has been in America’s entertainment consciousness for four decades. This iconic diminutive giant is an extremely prolific songwriter, capped with classics like We’ve Only Just Begun, Just An Old Fashioned Love Song, and Evergreen. Acting credits comprise a very long list of movies and television shows. I first became aware of Paul’s acting about 1977 with the the movie, Smokey and the Bandit. Subsequently, he had significant roles in the other Smokey movies, and many others.

The Carpenters were one of Paul’s favorite performers for his music. Here’s just one of the many reasons why…

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I would rather be exposed to the inconveniences attending too much liberty than to those attending too small a degree of it. — Thomas Jefferson

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Trudging through life, coping with the day to day challenges and turmoil, we sometimes need a reminder that we too can survive, even beyond all odds. Those little reminders come in various packages. Sometimes it’s a child with a serious affliction who is happy and smiling; other times a warm, frisky puppy that has not a care in the world except to please you; and occasionally it will be the totally unexpected. Such was the case one day last week.

Arriving back at the office in late afternoon, something caught my eye as I walked from the car to the office entrance. Pausing, it took a few seconds for it to register that I was seeing an empty styrofoam cup in the center turn lane of the the busy street out front. There was a push of air from heavy traffic in both directions, causing the little truncated cone to roll in an arc first one way, then the other. The occasional draft of a larger vehicle would move it up and down its chosen lane a few feet. Then more rolling in arcs around its new pivot point until another large draft moved it a few feet forward or backward.

Becoming quickly mesmerized, I stood for perhaps fifteen minutes watching the struggle, the close misses, the movement to and fro. At some point I realized I was cheering the little cup onward in its quest to survive against the impossible odds of the multi-ton monsters bearing down on it from every side. And then it occurred to me how much like life that is. Wishing the dancing traveler well, I went on into the office. Half an hour later after checking email, washing up, and shutting down for the evening, I emerged to find the cup still at it. It had moved about 20 or 30 feet down the turn lane and looked to be slightly damaged, but not enough to keep it from rolling and arcing, performing its death defying dance. After watching a few more minutes, I had to leave the cup to its unique brand of madness, knowing full well that it would be flattened or completely gone come morning.

Imagine my surprise and delight to arrive back at the office the following morning to find the cup, not squashed by one of the many behemoths that passed this way during the night, but intact, resting gently on the grass a few feet from the street. It had a nick, but was otherwise alive and well. I thought of placing the cup back in the middle of the turn lane for another go, but decided it may prefer the resting place it had chosen and worked so hard to reach. Then I was tempted to take it in and leave it sitting on my credenza as a reminder. But such an adventurer needs freedom and would not fare well in captivity. So I left it where it was.

I do not have the cup, but I do have the memory of its struggles and the lesson it taught, which was the same as the message delivered so fervently by the late Jimmy Valvano

Never Give Up!… NEVER!

[This is one of my favorite posts, originally published September 26, 2006. I hope you enjoy it, whether anew or again.]

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Some time ago I discovered a weird word that I have been looking for an opportunity to write about. This little Cuss-O-Meter test gave me the perfect opportunity, so here goes…

Coprolalia is involuntary swearing or the involuntary utterance of obscene words or socially inappropriate and derogatory remarks. This uncontrolled, often obsessive use of obscene or scatological language, may accompany certain mental disorders, such as Tourette’s syndrome.

There’s another unusual word — scatological — which has to do with an obsession with excrement or excretory functions.

While coprolalia and scatology deal with serious mental and medical afflctions that should not be taken lightly, they also have a humorous underbelly, appearing on the surface to be just extreme examples of behavior that is part of our culture. Cursing is all around us — on the streets, in the workplace and schools, on TV and other media. There are probably studies backed by statistics and demographics and trends, but I am too damn lazy to go dig them out. Rather, I will share my opinions and feelings based on years of practice, experience, and observation.

Northerners cuss more than Southerners. Urban people use more profanity than rural folks. Males curse more than females. Golfers yell shit more often than do tennis players. The probability of a sideline coach disgustedly screaming fuck goes sky-high if a TV camera is locked onto them at close range. There is no discernable difference in quantity or quality of cursing among people of various religious affiliations and those who walk a more secular path. The very young don’t know to curse, the very old have learned that it doesn’t really help, but those in-between ride high on the bell-curve of cursing. Divorce causes a permanent, irreversible uptick in the use of blue colored language, and every subsequent thought of that bitch or son-of-a-bitch spikes the volume of cursing and blood pressure a little bit more.

I do not consider it inherently wrong to curse, and I make no moral judgements about those who do or those who don’t. One person’s curse word list will include some entries that others consider perfectly acceptable. Carlin’s Seven Dirty Words might be a lowest common denominator starting point for most of the population, but even a couple on that list have become more tolerated as their ubiquity has grown. In fact, I have used two of Carlin’s words in this post, but would not use a couple of the others anywhere other than in private conversation with someone I know well.

Like it or not, so called curse words are a legitimate and useful part of our language. Whether used to express mood, demonstrate or emphasize a point, or in complete jocularity, these colorful collections of alphabetic characters have been part of our language for hundreds of years, and are not likely to disappear anytime soon. Before we get our noses out of joint and become all incensed over someone’s use of a word that offends us, we should, as Carlin suggested, consider the thought and intent behind the word. There are no bad words, only bad thoughts and bad intentions. If you get pissed-off because I say shit, it is more of a reflection of your thoughts than of my morality.

[Cuss-O-Meter created by OnePlusYou]

[A wiggle-waggle of my damn Titans cap to Ginger, who has a sweet, clean mouth at 2.7%...]

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THERE IS A PLEASURE IN THE PATHLESS WOODS

by Lord Byron, (George Gordon)

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne’er express, yet cannot all conceal.

The first few lines of Lord Byron’s poem appeared on screen at the beginning of the movie, Into the Wild, which Roomie and I watched over the weekend. The film is based on a true story about a young man, Christopher McCandless, who died in the wilds of Alaska while seeking adventure, searching for himself, and probing for true meaning in and of his existence. This is a much better movie than I expected, and I do recommend it.

Reading and pondering the meaning of Lord Byron’s words brought to mind a couple of other writers who also sought their own individualistic experience and expression of life. In The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost addresses the value of independence and personal freedom in making choices at the forks in life’s road. And, of course, one cannot view the movie without thinking of Thoreau and his desire for simple living and self-reliance by embracing and becoming one with nature, as expressed in Walden.

Many other writers, philosophers, and thinkers over the centuries have expressed similar or companion notions that opt for freedom of the individual over the bonds and trappings of society and government. Whether it is labeled transcendental idealism, pragmatic existentialism, rational individualism, or some other construct of human seeking, there remains a strong romantic appeal to a simpler life free of the shackles of society.

Now, I must go to work because the mortgage is due again next month…

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I have frequently heard that Ben Franklin said something along the lines of moderation in all things. Those words actually came from Aristotle, whose principles likely influenced Franklin as he composed his 13 Virtues. The ninth virtue read:

MODERATION: Avoid extremes. Forbear resenting injuries so much as you think they deserve.

Related to his position on moderation was his first virtue:

TEMPERANCE: Eat not to dullness. Drink not to elevation.

From the well documented life of Franklin, we know that he possessed a abundant proclivity for good food, strong drink, and the companionship of women. Yet, in Poor Richard’s Almanack he advised:

Be temperate in wine, in eating, girls, and cloth, or the Gout will seize you and plague you both.

We also know that he suffered gout for much of his life. So, as savvy as old Ben was, and as much he represents so much of what was good in our early days as a country, he had his flaws. He frequently seemed to be saying, do as I say and not as I do. Or perhaps he was attuned to the words of W. Somerset Maugham that would come a couple of centuries later:

Excess on occasion is exhilarating. It prevents moderation from acquiring the deadening effect of a habit.

Now that is a rule I can live with!

After the above was written and ready for publishing, I found this applicable and appropriate thought from Thomas Paine, old Common Sense, himself, over at Papa’s place:

A thing moderately good is not so good as it ought to be. Moderation in temper is always a virtue; but moderation in principle is always a vice.

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Funny how there are so many things in life that we never stop to think about but just take for granted as being part of our environment, part of the background noise. Like air. And why are stop signs red and octagonal? Why do men torture themselves by wearing neckties? And the origin and meaning of the peace symbol.

It had never occurred to me that something like the peace symbol might have a birthday. But thanks to Crooks & Liars, I now know that this universally recognized icon was born 50 years ago. Developed in 1958 by a British textile designer and conscientious objector named Gerald Holtom, the symbol combined the graphics for the semaphore letters N and D, for nuclear disarmament. On Feb. 21, 1958 the symbol was adopted by the Direct Action Committee Against Nuclear War. The symbol soon began to be used in anti-nuclear protests across Britain and then spread around the globe. Over the years, the meaning has broadened to become a general symbol for pursuit of peace.

Some of us remember the nuclear threats of the Cold War days in the 1950s and ’60s, the period that spawned the peace symbol. We remember the peace symbol becoming an instantly recognizable emblem defiantly worn and displayed by those who objected to an ill-conceived and ill-fated war in Vietnam. Today, a majority of Americans object to another ill-conceived and ill-fated war in Iraq. A war defined as a fight against an enemy we cannot see, have not found, and do not understand. A war fought for reasons never understood and long ago forgotten. A war that continues for reasons not apparent to rational men and women.

Symbols and protests do not end wars or redirect our misguided politicians. However, there is ample evidence that in the Vietnam War and in the struggle for Civil Rights, symbols and protests by those who had deep convictions definitely helped this nation to focus more clearly on the issues. Where are today’s hippies and protestors wearing the peace symbol, marching in the streets, demanding an end to the atrocities? Where are the taxpayers, who should be protesting the continued drain of their pockets to finance this war to the tune of $275 Million each day, mortgaging America’s present and future? Is there no visible protest because there is no threat of a draft? If there was a draft, is the Canadian border still open to young Americans fleeing to avoid the war? How have we as a people become so blind and stupid and complacent that something like this can happen? And keep on happening?

Anti-war does not mean anti-US. I am against the war in Iraq, but I love my country, and I fully support our military men and women assigned to Iraq. They should be supported with the best and enough of everything they need to ensure their safety and well being. But the greatest support we could give them would be to bring them home safely and quickly. Don’t believe me? Ask them…

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scha·den·freu·de (shahd-n-froi-duh) n. Pleasure derived from the misfortunes of others.On first seeing this word years ago, I grabbed the dictionary immediately. Damn. Just damn. Until that epiphanic moment, I had no idea there was an actual word to describe bosses and ex-wives. It remains a very interesting word, one that is not to be sprinkled into daily conversation, but used sparingly when speaking of the devils among us — Bush and Cheney and McCain and their ilk. And of course, bosses and ex-wives.On a more serious note, this commentary is from the Online Etymology Dictionary, Douglas Harper, Historian:

What a fearful thing is it that any language should have a word expressive of the pleasure which men feel at the calamities of others; for the existence of the word bears testimony to the existence of the thing. And yet in more than one such a word is found.

These words speak volumes about the human condition and about the outer fringe boundaries of our attitude, behavior, and treatment of each other. I also found it somewhat troubling that none of the online reverse dictionaries or thesauri yielded even one hint of a word for the opposite of schadenfreude, which would mean unbridled joy for the fortunes of others. Sure, we can describe the flip-side with a phrase, but apparently not a single word. Since schadenfreude is from High German, perhaps there is an antonym in German. Dr. Stu?

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If the facts don’t fit the theory, change the facts. — Albert Einstein

Most of us would probably agree that old Al was a fairly bright dude. And I think we know what he meant by this little jewel, especially in his fields of scientific and mathematical pursuits. After all, in addition to being one of the brightest bulbs in the chandelier, he was also known to have a very wry sense of humor. I seriously doubt he had in mind, or would approve of, the rewriting and spinning of facts and history as they unfold, a la Big Brother style.

Big corporations do it, as in Microsoft calling software bugs, features. Big government does it by telling us that the disaster in Iraq is going well and making progress. Politicians do it by saying whatever their people think the audience wants to hear, all sounding alike, and all telling convenient lies. And big media does it by spinning almost everything to their own purposes of advertising dollars, profits and their almighty god, share.

We as a people, as a culture, have such tremendous capability, such enormous opportunity. It is shameful that the zeitgeist of our time is written in lies, rewriting of history, spinning of facts, cheating, greed, and the most powerful nation ever to emerge on the planet being drained and sucked into bankruptcy and oblivion by an unwinnable guerrilla war against an unseen enemy in a godforsaken country halfway around the globe.

Meanwhile, the great beast of China quietly moves in and takes us over, just as we are being infested at a phenomenal rate by a seemingly unstoppable flow of millions of illegal aliens from south of the border. Some of you will object to these words. Check the labels on everything you purchased in the past month. Check the lines at the employment office, driver license station, Medicare/Medicaid office, or any human/family service agency. [Thanks! I needed that. Rant over...]

I do not like myself at my skeptical worst. I do not like the fact that I have let myself become that way. I do not like that I have little choice but to question everything, trust no one. It has always been my nature to accept everyone openly at face value, to trust them implicitly until given reason not to. That has always worked for me, other than with a couple of lowlife bottom feeders that had such a good act that it took me longer than normal to wake up. That trait so deeply colors who I am that I continue to trust individuals until they show different stripes. Having said that, I also admit that I do so through a more critical eye than in the past. It takes less to move me from trust to don’t trust than in the past.

Organizations, whether business, government, non-profit, religious, or other, have collectively lost my trust, at least until they prove trustworthy, and even then it is day-to-day. In the end, it all comes down to individuals. Individual trust is at the core of all relationships.

It would seem that we have come far afield from Einstein’s thought that kicked off this post. Or have we? Perhaps we’ve just come full circle. Some things to think about in the private echo chamber of your mind: Who do you trust? Do you trust more or less than in the past? How accepting are you when introduced to someone new? Do you approach the trusting of individuals differently than you do organizations? Is your overall trust level, especially as it applies to organizations, different than it was years ago? If so, why? If your trust level has shifted, are you at ease with that?

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Funny… I already had this quote found, thot upon, keyed inta, and ready to post. My WordPress Writing section typically has a few quick and easy items ready to fill the gaps when I get too busy to think or too tired to type. The attribution on this one-liner was my personal prophet, the high priest of whatthefuck, George Carlin. I thought nothing of it as I keyed his name in a few days ago. Until yesterday…

While taking a break from installing and configuring a couple of workstations on a customer’s network, I made a stand-up visit to the necessary room. There, above the mirror, were these very same words:

Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away. — Author Unknown

This was a church, mind you. Their version had no attribution at all. I chuckled and wondered if they knew the source — the very same mouth that proclaimed the 7 Dirty Words.  Nah… if they had a clue they would not have hung that sign.

Today, with temperatures in the teens and unable to do much else, I got to thinking about it. Then I remembered that on Carlin’s site there are several long postings of things wrongly attributed to him. So I checked it out. This one was not listed there, but several other sites and quotation references show it as unknown. So, I’ll label it as such and hope that George doesn’t get too pissed if it really is his work.

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Sometimes it takes a simple tune to capture our attention. One like The Rainbow Connection, the opening song from the The Muppet Movie (1979). Written by Kenny Ascher and Paul Williams, Rainbow has been covered many times by a wide range of artists, from Willy Nelson to Debbie Harry to Justin Timberlake, but the one that warms me most is the original sung by Kermit the Frog, which of course was Jim Henson (R.I.P.). Kermit’s rendition may be the only song I am drawn to that I would refer to as sweet. The music and words speak to me, calling my name. Lyrics are below the YouTube window, so sing along like no one is listening. Enjoy!

The Rainbow Connection

Why are there so many songs about rainbows
And what’s on the other side?
Rainbows are visions, but only illusions,
And rainbows have nothing to hide.
So we’ve been told and some choose to believe it
I know they’re wrong, wait and see.
Someday we’ll find it, the rainbow connection,
The lovers, the dreamers and me.

Who said that every wish would be heard and answered
When wished on the morning star?
Somebody thought of that, and someone believed it,
And look what it’s done so far.
What’s so amazing that keeps us stargazing
And what do we think we might see?
Someday we’ll find it, the rainbow connection,
The lovers, the dreamers, and me.

All of us under its spell,
We know that it’s probably magic…

… Have you been half asleep? And have you heard voices?
I’ve heard them calling my name.
… Is this the sweet sound that calls the young sailors?
The voice might be one and the same
I’ve heard it too many times to ignore it
It’s something that I’m s’posed to be…
Someday we’ll find it, the rainbow connection,
The lovers, the dreamers, and me.

Laa, da daa dee da daa daa,
La laa la la laa dee daa doo…

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One of the most important imprints made on a malleable young me was by Pop, my maternal grandfather. He had been a farmer, blacksmith, carpenter, builder, real estate investor, grocer, landlord, husband, father, and grandfather. And somewhere in the midst of all that he found time to go fishing … frequently. Several weeks each summer I stayed with Pop and Grandma and loved every minute of it. Pop was a kind, gentle, and patient man, who taught me how to use and take care of shop tools and equipment. And he took me fishing … frequently.

Pop would hitch up the boat trailer behind his pickup truck, grab the bait buckets he had prepared the day before, stop by the grocery where we would pick up some baloney sandwiches, cheese and crackers, and ice cold Cokes — the big King Size Cokes in the 10 oz. glass bottles — and off to the lake or river we would go. Sitting in a boat with Pop all day, I learned a lot. I learned that I didn’t really like fishing, but I loved being with Pop. He taught me things. And I learned things. Fishing was a masquerade, an excuse, a vehicle. He talked and I listened … and learned.

Pop had many wise things to say, and some maybe not so wise. Some, like his extreme superstitions, were just plain silly. But who was I to tell him that. He always had a way of putting things in perspective. When my mother would worry, or I would fret about something, Pop would typically try to defuse it by rhetorically asking, What difference will it make in 100 years?

Between Pop’s practical approach and Daddy’s laissez faire attitude, I like to think I turned out to be about as self-sufficient, non-intrusive, and laid back as a person can be in these turbulent and trying times. They taught me how to step back and view myself and my role in the larger picture, and how to take life as it comes at me, one day at a time, making changes for the better where I can, but never losing a firm grip on what is real, what is important. They taught me to live life meaningfully, but never to take myself too seriously. Even now, many years later, I am still struggling to live up to their examples and their teachings. And Mom is still worrying.

One of the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown
is the belief that one’s work is terribly important. – Bertrand Russell

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Man’s capacity for justice makes democracy possible, but man’s inclination to injustice makes democracy necessary.

— Reinhold Hiebuhr (1892 — 1971) Theologian and Historian

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[Read this with your best Rod Serling Twilight Zone voice. If you're too young to remember Twilight Zone or know who Rod Serling is, then fake it by lowering your voice to sound like a broadcaster calling a golf tournament, then put a slight edge of urgency on it, and hope for the best...]

You find yourself swirling and tumbling through life, pulled this way and that, not knowing what lies around the next corner or when your number might be called. You meet an intriguing, wise old man who captures your attention. He offers a proposition and you are convinced that he has the powers to fulfill your wish. The choice is yours and yours alone, and you realize that your future, in fact your very existence, depends on the choice you must make. The intriguing, wise old man’s name is Orquq Blue-34 Jones, but he says you may just call him Blue. After exchanging pleasantries, Blue offers you the following options for spending eternity, starting immediately:

A. As an immortal physical being, immune to disease, aging, pain, and physical harm, capable of superhuman physical feats but unable to grow intellectually or emotionally from where you are now.

B. As pure intellect, not bounded by a physical body or constrained by the physical universe, but capable of knowing all and solving all problems and questions, and unable to feel or emote.

C. Live out your life as it is, to whatever end you are destined, enjoying and suffering through the human experience, then die and that’s the end. In other words, no existence beyond this one.

D. Same as C: except at death you move to a new realm, call it heaven or hell, that your present belief system embraces. You will not know in advance whether you qualify for heaven … or eternal hell.

Think about these choices very carefully. Take your time. Choose deliberately, and choose only one. Do not let your choice be governed by your religious views and your belief or non-belief in a life hereafter. Think and choose with your head, not your heart.

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