We Owe You One

Hey, St. Joe,

This might be a little premature, but...

Thanks.

I Am So Conflicted

At night, when all the world's asleep,
The questions run so deep
For such a simple man.
Won't you please, please tell me what we've learned
I know it sounds absurd,
But please tell me who I am...
- Supertramp


So.

To all intents and purposes, it looks like Barack O'Bama has secured the Democratic nomination.
This is good. This is what I've wanted.

Sorta.

See, here's the problem I've been running into lately. I want to be a liberal. I've always thought of myself in those terms after high school, and my motto has always been 'When in doubt, always lean to the side that is most dolphin-friendly'. But lately it seems that there has been darker, shadowy, conservative side to me that seems to whisper deep within my psyche: 'Screw the spotted wood owl, but not the rich white oil executive'. And it is then that I want to crawl into my clothes hamper and weep.

I guess the biggest conflict of all is that I want to be a liberal, but without having to buy into everything a liberal believes. I guess liberals have been pushed into so many corners that the only thing they can do is become even more zealously devoted to their cause than they ever were before. In many ways, it's much like the church in China in the 80's and 90's: the repeated persecution only galvanized the faith of the Christians, rather than eliminating it. But they weren't as obnoxious, self-righteous and all-knowing like many liberals tend to be.

So, I am terribly, terribly sorry. But like the song lyric above, I simply don't know who I am. A conservative in a hemp t-shirt? A liberal in suit and tie? Here. Just observe my inner conflicts:

1. I DON'T believe in global warming (There... see that? I just lost Al Gore) as an immediate threat. Is it not happening? Sure it is. Did we cause it? Um... ice cores, ancient weather patterns, the waxing and waning of glaciers throughout history make a pretty strong argument that my Ford Escort is not causing the ice caps to melt.

2. I believe in the near-immediate withdrawal of our troops in Iraq, because we were led into that quagmire by a stuttering imbecile and apart from deposing a dictator that we were shaking hands with in the 80's, have accomplished nothing more than fucking up the lives of good Iraqi people (Al Gore just moved a little closer).

3. I believe we either have the most inept, incompetent, technologically retarded military if we can manage to find microchipped lost pets, but cannot find a middle-aged Saudi who has not changed his appearance once since 9/11 and is walking around with an oxygen tank, for Pete's sake. And for the record, I don't think that way about our military at all. Quite the contrary- our people in uniform never fail to inspire me. However, I think our esteemed president-elect, George W. Bush, took our eyes off the ball and waved the red cape of Iraq like a toreador so that he wouldn't actually have to eliminate or prosecute a member of the royal Saudi family (Al Gore now wants to cuddle).

4. I think increasing taxes, particularly at this time, is NOT a good idea.

5. I believe that national healthcare is not only achievable (if we learn from other countries' mistakes), but required for a country with our (previous) largesse. To not have the least of basic healthcare for our citizens is appalling. To have our healthcare costs be double the cost of other wealthy nations is equally appalling.

6. I believe we're already paying for national healthcare already, at least for those who aren't citizens.

7. I believe that the 'No Child Left Behind' initiative actually meant 'we'll dumb down the education of every other kid so the dumbest kid in the class can do the same work at the same level that the smartest kid does'. I also believe George W. Bush WAS that dumb kid back in school, and this initiative was based on his own personal experience. Therefore, under the morass that that initiative propogated, I think we shouldn't have thrown that money at education.

8. I desperately believe that if there is a smart way to use the funds, TONS of money should be thrown at education. And teachers. And re-working curriculum so it actually teaches something.

9. I truly believe we need to lessen and eventually eradicate our dependence upon oil. ALL oil: not just foreign. We're not so dumb, folks, that we can't come up with better a means of powering up our homes and vehicles.

10. I don't believe we should eradicate our need for oil in order to 'clean up our air' (LA notwishtanding, because let's face it: liberal or conservative, that place sucks).

11. I believe our economy is in trouble, and that good people need help.

12. I do NOT believe we are in a recession, based on the conventional definition of 'recession'. Now, while Bush may sound like an idiot when he tells us not to worry, the fact that unemployment has gone down, the market has fluctuated wildly but has always remained at a mean of 12,500, and that we have NOT had two successive quarters of negative GNP growth, means that for the moment he is right. Oh, and in regards to the above good people who need help? I firmly believe that. It's the dumb ones who need to get their whuppin' (what the hell were you thinking, buying into a sub-prime mortgage which, even then, equalled your total monthly take home pay??? Did you think the mathematics of this would work? Clearly, you are a 'child that was left behind'. Why the hell should the government- meaning us and our tax dollars- bail you out?)

I believe that the government that governs least, governs best. I also believe in walking softly and carrying a big stick. I think Jimmy Carter is one of America's greatest heroes, and (present administration excepted) one of the worst presidents we've ever had.

I think it's time for the Bush/Clinton dynasty to move on, the stale air to be fanned away, and new ideas and definitive changes need to be piped through the dusty air ducts of Washington.

But I'm not sure how. I can't buy into any one candidate or party's platform. I can't be liberal because I support the building of new refineries, but I also can't be conservative because... well, hell, the very nature of the word means 'stubbornly resistant to any change whatsoever', and change is so desperately needed.

Someone. Please. Tell me who I am.

Virtual Relationships

It's so easy to hide nowadays.

And do it in plain sight.

Yesterday Salome and I were on our way to a barbecue yesterday and- as per our usual custom- we were running late (sidebar- I say 'we were running late' much in the same way one uses 'the royal we'. In other words, I'm late by proxy and not by actual negligence). At about 3:15, my wife receieves an email on her Blackberry: a quick sentence from her friend who is throwing the barbecue, asking where we were.

Now, as Salome was driving (we've discussed this state of affairs in recent blogs), she handed me the Blackberry and asked me to reply to the email. And so, as I sat there trying to type a coherent message on a bumpy freeway with a 'qwerty' keyboard that had keys roughly the size of a head of a pin, I realized what a collossal waste of time the whole affair was.

Granted, this epiphany was fueled by the fact that I was seriously annoyed at having to try and type on a sophisticated cell phone, for God's sake, but it was also dawning on me to what lengths we will go to in order to avaoid actual contact with a human being.

With text-messages, emails, voice mails, answering machines, Skype and ICQ, not to mention Slingboxes and Bluetooth, we can have a relationship with virtually anyone, without ever having to soil ourselves by actually talking to them.

Consider the script and the likely time requirement:

- Salome's friend dials her Blackberry: 10 seconds. Or 5, if she's in the 'contact' list
- The Blackberry rings twice before Salome picks up: 5 seconds
- Salome's friend inquires as to our whereabouts ('Hey, where are you guys?'): 5 seconds
- Salome replies 'We're running late, but will be there in 15 minutes': 5 seconds
- The friend replies 'Ok, we'll see you then.': 3 seconds.
- Each person then hangs up the phone: 2 seconds
Total time: 30 seconds

But no. Said friend must email this query, which requires typing on a keyboard designed for small rodents. The recipient must then receive the inquiry, and type a reply (in my case, as I hate the damned things and text as seldom as possible) that takes 3 minutes to send back the following:

'WeER runningh late (Big bump in road, and can't find the punctuation button) Bbe ther in 15.'

Now, granted, we were on our way to spend actual time with them: face-to-face discussions, laughter, and the enjoyment of food.

But somehow we've come to the point in our high-tech world that the actual talking to someone without seeing them face to face is a terrible breach of decorum, much like flatulating in mixed company.

Put another way, there are now so many ways to get a hold of me, that why should you even bother getting a hold of me? Leave a voice mail. Text me. Email me. Let's set a date to IM each other online. Ok! Cya then! TTYL...

And after all the texting and emailing is over and done with, why is it that we still feel dreadfully, awfully alone?

Buy, D--n You! BUY!!!!!

To all the people who have looked at our house, liked it, and then went on to buy nothing at all:


Look, I want you to know: I get it. I know exactly what you're doing, and I don't blame you because I would be doing the exact same thing if I were in your position. Moreover, if one of you ever gets the gumption to actually make an offer, I WILL be in your position in 30-60 days.

You're looking for the best house with a price that has plummeted the most so that you can get the absolute best deal. I'm with ya on that. And you probably have seen us lower the price on our house on occasion. But this is what you must know:

1. We did not get a sub-prime loan
2. We are not unemployed and struggling to make payments
3. We will NOT be selling this house for a loss
4. We are open to any offer that possesses a semblance of reality

So if you're looking for that SEO, that short sale, that foreclosure, I know of a couple of heaps about 4 or 5 miles away.

But if you want this house- and there are those of who you DO want this house- stop being a vascillating weiner or greedy opportunist and buy. Otherwise we rent this house to one of the two major corporations that are less than 8 miles away, get their corporate housing money, and keep paying the mortgage on this place. Trust me: there's about a year of bad market times, and then things will bounce back. I know you're thinking 'Let's not buy until the price drops below 300k.' Let me assure you: IT WILL NOT.

And in a year, you could have had a house for the price we were reasonably asking in 2008, but a year from now when the market stops sliding, we'll be asking 60k more than we're currently asking. And we'll get it.

So grow a pair and throw in an offer. You've got maybe a month left. We don't want the hassle of dealing with renters, which is why we're selling it. But I assure you: if we have to, we will.

And Seattle: try something new. Show the sun once or twice. It's frickin' June, for Pete's sake, and today our barbecue had to be moved indoors because it was too cold. That's just dumb.

Those are my gripes for the week. Thank you for listening.

The Hump

If 'April is the cruelest month' (if you haven't guessed yet, TS Eliot is both my favorite and only poet I read), then May must be the longest.

It certainly has felt that way, having spent most of the last 3 weeks in either New Orleans or Denver, or on a plane going from one to the other. All business, very little pleasure (unless you count the guys on Bourbon Street who were lifting up their shirts to get beads from girls 'pleasure', which I most certainly do not), utter exhaustion and a suitcase full of stinky socks when I finally come home.

So I'm home now, and since I've returned, I've noticed this curious little phenomenon that really screws up my personal productivity. It's been there ever since I took started my 'day job', but lately I've really been noticing it.

You see, there is a little... hump... in my day, everyday, right around 4 or 5 pm. It's like this little speedbump in the middle of the afternoon, where I am finally free from the office and can come home. And then I get home, and find that the energy that sustained me throughout the workday is now utterly gone. Depleted. Sucked out of me like a leech.

I know there are a million things I either could be doing or SHOULD be doing: my lord, take one look at our garage and you'll see what I mean. But I just can't. I don't want to do anything. And if I must, then it has to be the least taxing thing in the world, like staring open-mouthed and drooling at a blank wall. (Note: my skills in this area have improved greatly over the last year)

Tragically, this is where the rest of the evening gets planned, right during this time of 'the hump'. What to do for dinner? Should I return those movies? And, oh, hey, how about that novel I've been writing for about 4 years now? Or maybe that gym membership that we keep paying for like homeowner dues? And, of course, the answer is always:

Flump... sigh... "I don't want to. I just want to... decompress. It's been a long day."

So I sit, fiddle, drool, while the hours pass.

And then, after 7 pm, my energy comes right back. But by then, it's all ruined. I didn't exercise, dinner was take-out, and now I'd rather read a book than write one. I've made it over 'the hump', but it's not like I'm in a good place, because it's too late to do the things I wanted to work on.

It's amazing how little sense of accomplishment you feel, when you've succeeded at accomplishing nothing at all.

A Phone Call from Mac

Not long ago, I received an email from a long time friend, mentor and all around Jedi knight. Mac, as he is now known, was once Chris MacDonald in a previous incarnation: whipping-boy for the Session and the Presbytery, which was part of his regular duties as college minister of this particular church. However, with the blessing and the curse of his brilliant (and I DO mean brilliant) mind, coupled with his devilish delight in irrevererence, I am not entirely convinced that he did not, on some occasions, deserve the private floggings of the committees mentioned above. I'm just saying.

This is some 14 years in the past now: Mac has moved beyond the creeping tendrils of ministry, and is probably embroiling himself in some other brilliant but self-destructive enterprise where he seems to have his downfall preplanned already. That's just Mac. And I don't believe he'd disagree. Rather, he'll pick himself up off the ground, dusting his pants and laughing, probably quoting some goofy line from 'Highlander'. If a weather vane is used to attract lightning, Mac is a pillar to attract shit, taking it all in stride and still believing in the grace of God.

There is much to be said about Mac, and no doubt future entries will contain references to his mis-adventures, but what this post is really about is a picture. The one above. He sent me this recently, during a time when life seemed to be reaching a point where I could not possibly voice a single complaint, yet I felt empty and bereft inside.

Then this came. This awful, ugly photo of an ungainly and awkward young man, struggling to make sense of the world after the loss of his brother and the onset of depression. I cringe whenever I look at it, but I have it saved, still, because behind the LensCrafter glasses and the awful mullet, there is this boy who is wistfully looking out at something vast, immeasurable, and beautiful. Yes, I look like a myopic pirate with a lip full of chewing tobacco, and if I dwell on this period of time too long, I feel what I felt then: adrift, sputtering, gasping, splashing and struggling.

And then I realize: that's what calls me to this picture, over and over again. It wasn't the feeling of being lost and useless, it was the struggle: that damn-ed struggle for meaning and position in a world that is never static, never allowing you to set your feet on solid ground BECAUSE THE WORLD ISN'T REALLY WHERE YOU WERE MEANT TO BE.

Yes, this picture is reference back to a time I would rather forget. But that would render the whole experience worthless- and if it were not there, I would not be here, at this moment, at this now, wanting that struggle again. I would not have my beautiful wife, my coming child, my past failures that ring now like handbells of grace.

I think Mac knew this when he sent it. He was there for me- a big, bloody, awful, wonderful, gifted mess- at the time when I needed someone most. Someone who would get down in the dirt and the grit and the grime of faith, and be satisfied with not coming up with answers... because answers soon become platitudes that we substitute for actual experience.

He understood then, just as he understands now, it's all about the struggle.

Wait without words, for you are not ready for words...
- TS Eliot

An Apology to Half of Seattle

The car I currently drive is an inherited one- inherited in the sense that when Salome and I married, she brought it into the nuptial relationship as a shared asset (see image of car here).

When the infamous snows of Seattle hit, we purchased a Honda CRV, and Salome's old car was designated as my main mode of transport. It was a wise move- and I'm by no means complaining- as my commute is significantly shorter than hers and I drive like an elegant figure skater when it comes to icy roads.

But still, it's an old Ford Escort, and it's not the most luxurious of drives.

The other day the battery light in the Escort went on. As the Escort has the following issues:

1) The brake light never goes off
2) The gear box is not lighted, so at night you have to guess what position 'reverse' is in: which has the potential for the creation of a great drinking game
3) The 'check oil' light is always on

I think I can be forgiven for thinking this new battery light was just another sign of the old girl showing her age. Who knew the car was actually trying to tell me something???

She made her final statement by dying at the intersection between a freeway off ramp and a major arterial street. On Friday afternoon, during the prime traffic hour.

And here's where the apology comes in. You see, for years I have taken a rather dim view of Seattle. I have hated its dim corridors that pass for 'streets', and the uppity denizens sipping coffee in Starbucks in front of their laptops. I have hated how one out of every 2 cars is an SUV, and how the small community churches have died off in favor the mega-churches. It has seemed that the only value Seattle had was 'big': whether it was a start-up company reaching up to become a giant (or big enough to capture Microsoft's attention and subsequently be bought out by them), or the egos of those who walk the city streets.

So, as I sat in my dead car, with the hazard lights blinking (nice: enough juice in the battery to let everyone know the car was dead, but not enough to get it started), it took less than 5 minutes of sitting before someone edged around my car and came to a stop. He offered assistance, tried to jump start it (no go), and then to help push it off to the side of the road (gear box was stuck in park, and wouldn't move into neutral). I thanked him, but there was nothing he could do.

I then called for a tow truck, which came interminably late, (just under an hour) but during that wait I had no less than 7 people stop and offer assistance. This, in a city that doesn't care- unless the yellow-spotted grout lizard is in danger of having to move 20 feet from its habitat because of some proposed road construction.

From the Hispanic man who pulled off to the side and offered a jump start and tinkered with the engine, to the Asian man who instructed me on what I'd need to do to get it running, to the delivery driver who, with a few of Hispanic co-workers, showed me how to get the car out of 'park', into 'neutral', and helped push me off the road, to the black man who pulled up behind me just to ask if I was alright. And I would be remiss if I didn't mention the 20-something Latinos in their souped car and thumping bass- and whom I would probably dismiss as 'gang-bangers' or
'thugs' under other circumstances- who also stopped and offered assistance.

In fact, with the exception of the first gentleman who tried to give me a jump start, I never received offers of assistance from anyone who was Caucasian, and drove a Mercedes or some other luxury car.

And yes, the paragraph above about why I dislike Seattle so much is not one I'm going to retract: I think my earlier criticism still holds true. But my error- and thus my apology- is that there are some genuinely good people out there who defy typology and stereotypes, and are willing to stop and help someone in need.

These are the people that are the glue that hold this city together, and though none of you will be likely to read this blog, I just want to say yet again:

Thank you.