Good fences, bad intentions

I'm going to apologize in advance. I don't normally post something without heavily editing it, but I wanted to get this out ASAP. I listened to "This American Life" this week and encourage you to do the same. This show sometimes depressed me, sometimes amuses me and always moves me. This week, it got me pissed. Please, if you don't read my little poorly thrown together parable, listen to "Reap what you sow"

A man moved into a new house late September. As a welcoming gift, his neighbor brought his a tray of glorious vegetable from his garden. The man was so impressed with the beautiful tomatoes and peppers, the firm leafy salad greens and hearty carrot that he asked to see the man’s garden. Strolling into his neighbors yard he saw rows and rows of vegetables dripping off of their plants waiting to be harvested.

“This is beautiful!” He told his new neighbor!
“Nothing compared to what was in your yard when the last owner was there. You have a prime piece of land for a vegetable garden. Lots of sun, good drainage. His garden was always better than mine.” It was then the man decided, in the spring he would plant a garden of his own.

He enjoyed tilling his garden in the early spring sunshine and after a long weekend he had his beds laid out and seedlings awaiting in neat little rows. Every night he would set the sprinkler for an hour and every morning he would look for any stray weeds before heading off to work. One morning however he noticed that a few of his seedlings had been chewed on and a few plants were gone altogether! That evening he asked his neighbor for advice.

“Oh, that’s probably just a few rabbits.” he answered casually. “They may nab a few from time to time, but there aren’t a whole lot of them.” Put up a small fence, that’ll keep most of them out. So he put up a little fence around the outskirts of his garden that weekend and the nibbling stopped for about two weeks.

But again, one morning while walking up and down the rows of flowering tomatoes and eager corn shoots he saw a few nibbled leaves. When he asked his neighbor he chuckled and said, “I was never able to get rid of them all. I just let them have a few plants and be done with it. There is plenty to share.” The man however, was not going to allow his beautiful garden to be ruined by a few rabbits. He replaced the little fence with a taller one and made sure that the links were too small for a rabbit to squeeze through. Once again the rabbits were deterred for a week or two but eventually found their way into his garden, nibbling at his sunflowers.

Enraged he installed an electric fence around his property. He sprayed his crops with re-hydrated dried blood and laid mothballs around the perimeter to keep them away. One night, while setting the sprinkler out he heard a strange noise near his fence. He quickly turned off the power to the fence and ran over to where the noise was. He saw the bodies of three dead rabbits on the outside of his fence. He had won! The electric fence did the trick! He let out a little laugh but quickly stopped when he heard another strange noise, a low steady growl. He looked up and saw a flash of yellow eyes. A wolf from the nearby forest had been hunting the rabbits when they ran into the fence. In a flash of teeth, the wolf leaped over the fence and attacked the man.

Two days and a few stitches later, the man was back home. His arm in a sling and half of his face bandaged. There would be a few scars, but he would live. The painkillers kept him in bed most of the time and his garden started to go to seed. In early September was was able to harvest a few stray tomatoes, but they were bitter from the dried blood and tasted faintly of mothballs. His neighbor came over one day to check on his and brought with him a paper grocery bag filled with eggplants, tomatoes, bell peppers and cucumbers.

The man was shocked! “How did you grow all this? Didn’t the rabbits get into your garden?”

“Of course they did! Every year a few rabbits find their way into may garden and get a few plants, but it doesn’t take the wolves long to figure out where they go for food. I only lose a few plants and i have plenty. The rabbits aren’t a problem.”

In the process of making life difficult for the rabbits, the man inadvertently made life much more difficult for himself. Sometimes the problems we perceive aren’t the real problem and the solutions to those imaginary issues can lead to dire consequences.

Alabama has instituted immigration laws that are supposed to encourage immigrants to “self-deport”. It does this by making every single government worker an impromptu immigration officer, requesting to see a persons papers. It also makes it illegal to assist an illegal immigrant, putting charities such as soup kitchens at risk for just serving someone a meal. Citizen are encouraged to report suspected illegals to the laws causing an “us vs. them” mentality between those with white skin and those with less than white skin. Alabama is quietly legislating racism.

Are the rabbits the real problem? Are they taking that much from the garden or only a few of the plants on the parameter? Is it worth sacrificing why you planted the garden in the first place?

Go Out There and Win One For Yourself

I’m a  Steelers fan. So watching the AFC play-off game last weekend was really, really weird. It was a competition of whom do I hate less.

The New England Patriots defeated the Steelers at home in AFC Championship game in 2001 & 2004. Both times the Pats went on to win the Superbowl. In my mind those should have been the Steeler’s Lombardi Trophies. My hatred for Tom Brady and teammates was compounded exponentially by an obnoxious Pats fan at work, who gleefully rubbed my nose in the Steeler’s losses at every opportunity. Due to this wonderful Pats fan, the mild dislike I had for the Patriots in 2001, blossomed into full blown loathing by 2004.

The only team I hate more than the Patriots is the Ravens. The Ravens are to the Steelers what Magneto is to Professor X, they are two sides of the same coin, the ying and the yang, the good twin and the evil twin. Both are known for strong defences and a conservative ground game. Both play competitive, smashmouth, old school football. Since they are in the same division they meet twice a year and ever since the NFL redrew the divisions in 2002 either the Ravens or Steelers have won it, with only two exceptions (Go Bengals in 2005 and 2009!).

The biggest difference between the two teams is “class”. The Rooney family loves Pittsburgh and would never dream of leaving. Art Model pulled the beloved Browns out of Cleveland and took them to Baltimore. The city of Cleveland was so upset, they demanded the team name and records stay with the city, making the Ravens an “expansion team” with the Browns old roster. The Steelers will cut players who demand too much money or have consistent legal issues (i.e. Kendrell Bell, Santonio Holmes, Plaxico Burress.) where the Ravens occasionally pick up overpaid big names that are a year away from retirement (Shannon Sharpe, Dion Sanders). Baltimore has always been “dirty” in my eyes. From Modell’s actions in 1995 to suspect playing style of Ray Lewis and Tony Siragusa. They were even accused of stealing the shield logo they originally used in their first few years as the Ravens.The epitome of underhanded Raven behavior being Lewis’ murder indictment in 2000.* I hate the Ravens with a passion that I can feel physically. It’s not pretty.

So now I have to watch this Championship game between two teams that I can’t stand, who do I root for? A friend of mine told me that he doesn’t vote for a candidate, but against the lesser of two evils. Guess that settles it, go Patriots!

The NFC Championship game was different, 49ers all the way. They went from 6-10 to 13-3 and the #2 playoff seed and were the feel good, comeback story of the year! After years of finishing below .500, the 49ers were back to their former glory! The phoenix from the flames! The comeback kid! Proof that hard work and pluck can triumph! Cue the theme from Rocky and let’s kick some ass!!!

A lot of people don’t understand the allure of football. It’s the simple fact that on “any given Sunday” anyone can win, even the Cleveland Browns. The little guy has a chance! We all love to see the underdog triumph in the face of overwhelming odds and no one is more aware of this than the NFL’s marketing strategists. Think of some of the story lines touted over the past few years: The grocery bagger and Arena League Football player who went on to win the Super Bowl (Kurt Warner). The fourth round draft pick who stepped in for the injured veteran and takes his team to the Big Game (Tom Brady). The boy who followed in his fathers footsteps as an NFL quarterback and after years of falling short, finally gets a Super Bowl ring (Peyton Manning). The lovable bear of a running back near retirement, finally wins the Super Bowl (hosted in his home town of all places!) The cameras swirling around him, the music swelling as he tearfully announces his retirement, cradling the glistening Lombardi in his shaky hands (Jerome Bettis). We love to see the underdog prevail (even though these guys are some of the most highly paid professionals in the nation) We identify with their struggle to win in the face of overwhelming odds, reminding us of our own daily trials. If they can win against the odds, so can we!

And it’s real! That’s the best (and worst) part! David sometimes gets crushed by Goliath! We watch our team face the giant and rub our lucky jersey in prayer, hoping that this time that little pebble finds the behemoths temple and slays the giant. If David is crushed, he returns battered and bruised for another shot. His tenacity is our fuel and we cheer louder than ever “DAY-vid! DAY-vid! DAY-vid!”

80% of the time, people pick the underdog if they have no other association with the two competitors. It’s human nature to want the little guy to win. If they can succeed in the face of overwhelming odds, so can we. Our belief in them is hope for ourselves. If the Cleveland Browns can sweep the Baltimore Ravens (2007), then you can get that raise from your boss. Miracles CAN happen!

So here is my locker room speech: Go out there and get ‘em! You put on your lucky jersey once a week for your team, you deserve the same! Pick out a lucky scarf or tie for yourself! Hang a picture up of your greatest moment in the spot where you would normally hang a picture of your favorite football player (or next to him). Put some of that white hot energy into rooting for yourself. Deep down you know if wave your terrible towel hard enough, the Steelers will convert that 3rd and long. Positive thinking can work wonders through a television screen. What can it do when its directed at you?

*With Ben Roethlisberger’s two separate rape cases, the play style of James Harrison and to some extent Hines Ward, the Steelers are far from angelic. I do feel however that this behavior is discouraged by the front office in Pittsburgh more so than in Baltimore. I still wish they would either cut Roethlisberger or make him do some very visible community service. Personally, I think if he were to talk to college athletes about date rape and how THEY can prevent it, that would be a start.

They call me Bold, Venti Bold.

I love coffee, you need to know this about me.

I have a cup in the morning on the way to work, and by cup I mean a sturdy metal travel mug that hold 16 ounces that lasts the 40 minute commute to work. My employer stopped buying coffee for the employees to cut costs and there aren’t enough people who drink coffee for a “coffee club”. So in order for me to get my caffeine fix, I bought a French press to have a second cup at work, sometimes a third.

For Christmas, I received a few Starbucks gift cards. I downloaded the Starbucks app for my iPhone and put them on it, thinking I would quickly use them up on a few Venti Skinny Caramel Lattes. If you haven’t used the Starbucks app, it tracks your purchases which earn bonuses for something or other. Every purchase is a point, represented by stars. 5 for the first level and 30 for the last. It tweaks the part of my brain that makes we want to collect every single stupid coin in Mario Bros. So when the gift cards were used up, I reloaded it with another $10.00 just to earn a few more stars.

Then I thought to myself, “This is silly! I’m spending money that should be used for much more important things than froofy coffee. I’m 40 years old! I should be a little more fiscally responsible! After this $10.00 is spent, I’m done! I swear!”

And then it happened.

“Good Morning! Nice to see you again!” greets the barista. “I’m so sorry,what do you usually get? I forgot.”

She knew me. I was familiar. This is bad.

“Venti Bold” I reply. “You know, you get lots of people in here, I don’t expect you to remember every single one.” hoping to encourage her to forget me. I wanted to say, “Please, erase my face from your memory, I was never here!” and wave my hand like Obi-Wan Kenobi, but that would only cement me in her brain.

“I’m Tress.” She smiles a warm smile, waiting for a reply.
Ohno! She wants my name in return! Must... stall... her...
“Tess?”
“No, Tress. Like ‘Tress is a mess when she wears a dress’”
Shit. A Mnemonic. Now I’ll never forget it.
“What’s your name?” she asks.

Venti Bold. I am just venti bold. I don’t want you to know my name. If I tell you my name, I lose all my power. I am no longer just another consumer, I become a person. If I become a person to you, someone whose name you know, we have a bond. A bond that begs for some sort of maintenance. Maintenance in the form of coming in once or twice a week and spending money I don’t want to spend. So just call me Bold, Venti Bold.

“Walter. Like Walter will falter if he wears a halter”

Why on Earth did I say THAT!? There is no way she’ll ever forget me now after something as stupid as THAT! The image of a chubby bald guy with a beard in a halter top is just too powerful!

“Nice to meet you Walter.” and I got that smile. The one that is more than professional but less than flirtations. The friend smile.

Young Capulet wondered about the whole name thing. “What’s the big deal? It’s just a name.” Well Missy, I’ll tell you what the big deal is. Names hold power, big power. Once you have been given a name, you have a personality. Why do you think farmers refuse to name the pigs they slaughter. Why does your mother tell you not to name the stray cat that begs for food at the back door? Because once you name it, you have the capacity to love it. The smartest of charities figured this out long ago. instead of telling you about the village of starving children in Africa, they tell you about Angelina. Angelina the 8 year old girl whose mother died of AIDS two years ago. Angelina, who has taken to begging in the streets to feed herself and her 6 year old brother, Michael. Angelina, who can go to school and get a decent education and three square meals for just the price of a cup of coffee a day, a venti bold cup of coffee to be exact. The kids on Africa are sad, but Angelina? You know her, it’s personal.

The opposite holds true as well. It’s so easy to hate “them”, the anonymous masses. You can name “them,” but it’s not the same. You can hate the “Tea Party” or “Raven’s Fans” but learn the name of a Tea Party supporter and its suddenly a little harder to hate them. They are no longer just a member of a group, they are unique. Now that you know their name, you can find a common ground. Maybe you both like True Blood. Maybe you both knit. Maybe you have kids in the same school. Maybe you are both concerned about how close the bus stop is to Main Street, and how fast the cars are going when the kids are dropped off. Maybe, but how would you know?

Next time you shake hands with someone new and introduce yourself, you are giving them an opportunity to see past all of their misconceptions and think of you as a person. Every time you learn someones name, you have an opportunity to strip away all the labels you initially gave them until you are left with just one. The one their parents gave them shortly after they took their first breath.

“Hi, my name’s Walter. What’s yours?”

On a scale from 1 to 10

I love the term “First World Problem.” For those of you who haven’t heard the term, it’s just what it sounds like; problems that citizens in rich countries have (or as I like to say, “White people problems.”) First world problems are usually trivial things like Skype dropping your connection or the line in Starbucks being too long. Things that make you want to punch someone in the mouth when you hear them, especially when you can’t make rent that week.

I don’t know if this is strictly an American phenomenon, but Americans love complaining. We complain about the line at Starbucks. We complain that data plans are expensive. We complain that Christmas is too commercial in the same breath that we complain the malls are too crowded. We even complain about the quality of our complaints!

“I really hate to complain about this, but I paid $4.95 for this soy Macchiato and there just isn’t enough sugar-free caramel syrup in it, can I get a little more?”

Do you know why you hear that prefix, “I hate to complain, but...”? Because people realize their complaint is trivial in the grand scheme of things. Missing an extra pump of syrup is silly compared to the European economic crisis or the working conditions in Shenzhen. So if people know it’s so trivial, why complain about it?

Because it’s all they know.

Let me come at this from the other side. While watching TV late at night and you see a commercial for starving children in some third world country. The camera slowly pans over dozens of skinny kids looking confused and scared. There is a shot of a sleeping child with flies near (or in) its mouth, a shot of some pre-teen girls moving baskets around on their heads and a shot of a few kids playing with a beaten up soccer ball. If you manage to watch the entire commercial, you might be motivated enough to think about writing down the phone number to possibly see about reading up on the organization at some point in time in the distant future. Maybe.

Ever stop and think about those kids though? The ones playing soccer? They’re playing. Really playing. Put them in jeans and t-shirts and they could be the kids from up the street. These poor starving brats are enjoying life!? How dare they! They’re supposed to be starving! They represent the worst station in life! Nothing is supposed to be worse than being a starving child in Africa! Don’t they know how bad they have it?

No, they don’t. It’s all they know.

They live it those conditions everyday. While it’s abhorrent to us, it’s just another day for them. Just like white mocha's are our lives, surviving on the bare minimum is theirs. Aren’t they entitled to a little happiness in the form of a soccer ball? Darn-tootin’! So why shouldn't we be entitled to a little misery in the form of a speeding ticket?

We need these moments of misery in our lives. I was pointed to a blog entry from Momastry by two separate people recently. The blog talks about empty nesters watching new moms with envy, reminding new moms to “love every minute of being a mom!” The author listens politely as she struggles to keep her kids from streaking in the grocery store aisles, not loving that very minute. Is she a horrible mom for not enjoying that moment? Did these empty-nesters never have bad moments? Of course they did, but in the big picture that isn’t what they remember. What they remember is the baseline.

If I assign some values to your life, rating moments on a scale of 1 to 10. The specific moments that are most memorable are the 8’s & 9’s (and a few of the 2’s & 3’s), but we spend most of our lives hanging out at 5-7. Everything averages out eventually. Life isn’t meant to be lived in the 7’s and 8’s, it’s meant to be lived within all the values. The trick is to recognize the value of the low points in your life and let them be what they are, part of the greater whole.

So the next time your favorite program is interrupted with a tornado warning 5 counties over, it’s okay to grouse a little bit, it just shows how much you like the program. Allow the bad moments to be bad, just don’t let them be the only moments worth caring about.