Music, Memories, & Moods

Isn't music the most wonderful, interesting phenomena?  Every culture on earth has some version of it, and it plays an important part in most people's lives.

A magical collaboration of notes, melody, rhythm, and poetry, we have created millions of songs for ourselves out of just seven notes.

I can still remember my indoctrination to music growing up in our household. We had one of those immense consoles in the living room, which was more furniture than music maker.  It was nothing more than an over grown record storage cabinet with a turntable, accented in a lovely authentically recreated antiqued Spanish revival alder wood motif.  The only other access to music we had was my older sister's portable turntable in a case and the am radio in our car.

My parents had purchased all of the music we had, and they were mostly Christmas albums by Bing Crosby, Andy Williams, Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass, or a collection of soundtracks  like The Music Man, Marry Poppins, and My Fair Lady.  That's what I used to play when I came home from school, while my friends were raving about this new group called the Beatles.  Hind sight is so 20/20.  If my parents could have only read the cues.

I still remember when I was a young teenager, and my father, returning from a trip to New York, brought me my very own portable transistor radio.  At the time, that radio meant every thing to me.  No more than a cheap plastic throw away toy, I thought it was the most wonderful, thoughtful gift in the world.  I imagined him walking the streets of New York, going from shop to shop to find the perfect gift for me.  I never considered for a moment that he probably picked it up at an airport kiosk while he waited for his luggage. 

It didn't matter.  I loved that radio, and I loved my father for giving it to me.  I plugged the little single ear piece (it wasn't stereo) into my ear every night as I lay in my bed to the sweet sounds of the only station it picked up.  I can't remember the station, but I remember they played the song Hair from the Broadway musical every night around my bedtime.  The only other songs I can recall  are Maggie May from Rod Steward and Signs Signs from the Five Man Electrical Band.   I would turn that volume up as loud as it would go and rock out!  "Signs, signs, everywhere a sign, breaking up the scenery, losing my mind.  Do this, don't do that, can't you readddd the signnnnnn?"  Such a social commentary on how people are judged by their looks and wealth.

We have certainly come a long way from then and the world has made it far easier to purchase, organize, access, and play our favorite tunes whenever we want. Since my early teen years, I witnessed the progression from 45 singles to full blown LPs, 8 tracks, cassettes, am radio, stereo, digital mp3, CD, DVD, ipod, itunes, and now I play my favorites from my iphone.

I find it fascinating that music can either compliment or establish my mood.  Whether I am melancholy or in the mood to rock out, I can accentuate those feelings by accessing certain favorites that reflect those genres.  Or, better yet, I can create certain feelings that I want to experience by doing the same.  I can put myself in a "mellow" mood, by playing my mellow music.

Finally, I can bring back certain memories simply by playing key songs from my past.  I am not certain how these songs became so pivotal in my life, but by playing them now, I can actually dive back into specific times, places, events, thoughts, feelings,  and emotions that I had at critical points in my life.  That's what the song Signs Signs does for me for example.  As I listened to it again, a flood of teenage boy memories, both good and bad, rush back into my conscience.  

I have specific songs that can bring back memories of several specific periods in my teen years, college years, Baskin-Robbins work days, Church group days . . . well you get the point.  Every now and then, when I am feeling nostalgic, that is exactly what I'll do.   

In fact, all the music I have stored in itunes, my ipod and my iphone are organized by "mood setting" genres.  I can select Broadway show tunes if I want, for Sunday morning coffee.  I have divided my soundtrack scores into "regular" and "haunting".  I really love what I term  "haunting" music, like the soundtracks of Meet Joe Black by Thomas Newman or Edward Scissorhands by Danny Elfman.

Then there are the times, I just want to feel pumped up by the simple oldies tunes of the late 50s and early 60s or just rock out to the Eagles, Savage Garden, or Queen.  

I look forward to walking my dog every day.  She is in her own world, happily trotting and sniffing everything in sight, while I am in mine.  With my iphone in my pocket, ear plugs in place, and play button pushed, I am off in my own special world.  If you ever see me walking, you may be able to guess what genre I am listening too by just watching me walk.  I'll have to keep that in mind. 

Can I Be Perfectly Honest?

When are "white" lies, or for that matter, any lies acceptable?

I am positive that if we admitted it to ourselves, we would realize that we have all lied at one time or another, and will most likely do it again. Whether a "white" lie, an exaggeration, an omission, manipulation or a full out bold-faced lie, once you get started, its difficult to turn tale and walk away.  We all tell lies to get what we want, to get away with something, and even to make another person feel better.

Most lying is usually spontaneous and unconscious rather than  cynical and calculated. According to Robert Feldman, a psychologist at the University of Massachusetts, and author of  The Liar In Your Life: The Way to Truthful Relationships, the average person lies approximately 3 times in every 10 minutes of conversation.  However, his research measured only the frequency of narrow, explicit, verbal lying.

I have recently discussed this subject with several of my friends and each of them told me right off the bat, "I don't believe in lying.  I don't like liars, and I never lie."  I was intrigued.  I referred to Mr. Feldman's research and responded, "Really? Never?"  Somebody has to be lying if we average 3 lies per 10 minutes.  Perhaps the politicians are carrying the brunt of it. After all, "How can you tell when a politician is lying?"  Answer: "When his lips move."  Upon further reflection, "Oh," they clarify, "Well I certainly will lie in order to spare a person's feelings, that is, unless they absolutely want me to tell the truth."  There we go!  Its been 3 minutes and we have lie #1.  Its a slippery slope.
    

I can't even begin to count the number of times friends and associates have started a conversation with "Truth be told", "Honestly, or "Can I be honest for a minute?"  You get the point.  What???!!  If you have to ask my permission to be honest at this special moment, what have you been the rest of the time????

Listen.  I'm no saint.  I utter those same phrases, from time to time, no matter how much they make me cringe.  But do we really need to utter a disclaimer to notify a person that we are not lying at the moment?  Do we really lie that often?

One of my favorite skits is from a character called "Penelope" on Saturday Night Live.  The character, created and portrayed by Kristen Wiig, is an out of control habitual liar.

Our sweet, innocent children certainly start out in life telling the truth.  In fact, they can be a little too honest, until we teach them otherwise.  They are not afraid to to boldly, and sometimes very loudly, announce in public "that man has bad breath" or "why does that woman have whiskers on her chin?"  Out of the mouth of babes, right?  So we train them in social etiquette.

Children have enough difficulty distinguishing between truth and fantasy, without  us complicating matters even more.  We continue the legacy of Santa Clause, the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny, because its fun, sweet and tender.  Then, somewhere along the way, they learn about the Boogey Man, and fear monsters under the bed.

I remember being told as a child that little boys who lied would end up in hell.  I was scared straight (sorta).   But I was also told that an apple tree would grow in my stomach from swallowing the entire apple I just ate, seeds and all.  So how are we supposed to, as children, distinguish from fairy tales, harmless kidding and fibs, to bold face lies?  No wonder we are confused.  No wonder we lie.

How different would the world be if we were regularly called on our lies as adults like we were as children? Who among us hasn't, at least once in their life, "hacked and coughed" into the telephone, and put forth an academy award winning performance to call in sick at work when they really weren't?  Wouldn't it be a shock if the response on the other end of the line was "Liar ...Liar...pants on fire...sitting on a telephone wire!"

Now, I am a big supporter of "white lies" when it spares a person's feelings.   Especially if the consequences are immaterial and more of a self esteem issue.  Basically, I don't think most people really want to know the truth on self assessment issues, in spite of their passionate pleas and demands. 

Years ago, I developed my own catch phrase as a way of circumventing some of these difficult conversations, and ultimately it became a routine expression.  I would use it to answer anyone seeking my opinion on a matter.  Since I felt my opinion didn't really matter anyway, I would express myself with a "You must be so proud."   I would say that if I really liked their painting, film, hair cut, or whatever, and I would say if it wasn't my cup of tea as well.  The point is, it didn't matter what I thought.  They were only fishing for a little support and ultimately, could interpret my comment anyway they saw fit.

Yes, the truth is, most of us just can't handle the truth, so why put each other through that.

Who can forget one of the most memorable, and oft quoted, scenes in cinematic history as Jack Nicholson barks out to Tom Cruise in the courtroom drama of the 1992 Hollywood blockbuster A Few Good Men, "You Can't Handle the Truth"?

So whether we admit it or not, we lie to ourselves and we lie to others.  Whatever methods we choose, we lie to protect ourselves and our interests and we lie to protect others.  We posture, bluff, and fabricate.  We omit, embellish, and remain silent. We overt our eyes and turn our heads away. We falsely smile in support and sometimes we just plain deceive.  We lie because no one calls us on it.  I rest my case.  This is the truth.  Can you handle it?

Objects In The Mirror May Be Larger Than They Appear

Objects In The Mirror May Be Larger Than They Appear

Is it possible that I am not as attractive, in shape, or as young looking as I think I am?  On second thought, don't answer that!

On a recent shopping trip for new shirts, I came face to face with a reality that I would prefer to ignore.

As my shirts and pants have gotten snugger over the past several years, I have had a tendency to blame the high cotton fiber count in my clothing, along with my washer and dryer, for shrinking the material beyond use.  I suppose that deep in my subconscious, I know that extra helping of buttered potatoes was partially to blame, but that was only a fleeting thought.

No, on careful review, the problem was definitely a conspiracy perpetrated by  clothing manufacturers and retailers alike.  The problem with men's clothing, sold in the USA, is that the manufacturers have been lying to us for years, and we were grateful!  They  made our shirts and pants roomier and roomier, while keeping the same "size" labels, so that we can pretend we haven't gained a pound since high school. 

I found a few shirts I liked, and ducked into a dressing room to model them in front of the mirror.  After getting over the painful realization that the "L" size was now a little too tight fitting,  I was even more traumatized to acknowledge that the "XL" label was really an "XXL" size shirt.  This ingenious marketing madness had been feeding my delusions for years, and in my view, was just as responsible for my increasing girth as that extra piece of pie was.

I wondered to myself, "Who else has been lying to me"?

Label aside, I couldn't help but notice how sleek and trim I still looked in my new shirts.  I thought to myself, "Wow!  This really isn't too bad". These shirts appeared to slim me down.  I looked pretty damn fine.

O.K. - O.K.  That illusion was short lived.  My mirrors back home were not as generous to me.  I looked like a tube of Pillsbury Poppin' Fresh pastry.  If someone had slapped me against the edge of a counter, I could not be responsible for what might pop out!

How could I gain so much weight during the drive home?  Its those frickin' dressing room mirrors!  Damn their trickery!  I always forget that clothing merchants use those convex mirrors that make you look thinner than you are.  I really should get those installed at home.  Would do wonders for my self esteem.  In fact why not make them mandatory everywhere!

As brutal as my home mirror images were, they were mild in comparison to the full blown snapshot assault of recent photographs.  I just can't look, in real life, as big as I do in photos . . . can I?  The problem must be implicit within the camera.  Its certainly easier to blame the digital camera maker, as I have with clothing manufacturers and convex mirrors.  Anything is better than taking responsibility myself.  Yes, that's it!  My camera is a Japanese brand, and is somehow exaggerating and distorting my images.  O.K., so maybe that is just one more fantasy. But remember, before you challenge this, it was the Japanese that made us children believe that an ordinary  size, fake looking, puppet moth was actually the giant monster, Mothra, terrorizing Japan through camera craftiness.

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Truth be told, I have pretty good self esteem and healthy dose of self respect, but I  must say that I look like the "before" picture of almost any diet program or reconstructive surgery ad.   I can certainly shrug off the natural effects of aging.  I am comfortable with my age, and there isn't much one can do about the effects of age anyway, save a good plastic surgeon.   But couple that with the  extra poundage, and, I just think photos depict me differently than the way I think I actually look.

Believe it or not, when I look at myself, I still see a teenager.  Quite frankly, that's what I see when I look at any of my family or long-time friends as well.  I only see their "inner self".  I don't see  age or weight.  I don't see the dark circles under my eyes , the loose skin or receding hair line.  I still see and feel like a seventeen year old youth. 

I modeled briefly when I was in my twenties.  I remember all the tricks they used, to make us look better than we did in real life.  In addition to carefully crafted lighting, and makeup, they pinned and taped our shirts behind us so that the material was taught against our bodies.  No chance for a "puffed out" look caused by air or extra material.  We learned how to draw energy to our faces, puff our chests out, and twist our trunks - shoulders back, head straight.

These pictures are proof that cameras used to work correctly.  How self indulgent is that? (Left) is when I was 27, during my brief modeling days.  I certainly didn't have abs like  Taylor Lautner, but was in pretty good shape. (Below Left) is from when I was 44 and still in pretty decent shape,.  It was hard work to stay fit, but I was focused and had the time. (Below Right) is from when I was 51 (in late 2008).  It is actually one of the better pictures of me.   II know it's just a head shot, compared to the other two, but the entire body didn't fit in the space allowed. I need to get back on that treadmill and eat right!

                           
So I am older and more "filled out" now.  I am really O.K. with  that, but occasionally its fun to look back and remember.  I am no longer a teen, or even a young man, and no amount of camera trickery or body twisting can help, short of a good photo shop effort.  But as much as I love my life, and my 50's, I still have a bit of an ego, and I know that I can, and should do something about my weight.

But in the meantime, since cameras can't capture a person's spirit, and only document our "shells", I prefer not to be needlessly photographed until I take off some of my weight.   I am just not photogenic right now.  Maybe its unrealistic and vain, but I know I am not the only one who feels this way.   Are you with me fellow chunkies?

There was this great creepy film starring Robin Williams called One Hour Photo.  In one of his narratives, he discusses how photo albums don't tell the entire story of a person's life.  We leave things out.  His character, Seymour Parrish, observes that we only snap photos of the good times, our best moments.  Birthday parties, weddings, vacations.  Nobody uses a camera to document a fight with a loved one.

So, since cameras can't portray the way I feel inside, lets pass on the photos for now.  So wrong!  I know.  I should get over it.  It is a part of me, but if I have to have a photo taken, I would prefer to at least make an effort to improve the conditions.  Lighting, angle, etc.  And, regarding the weight issue, in my defense, the rule of thumb is that the camera does add ten pounds.  This is one of the reasons models and actors always look so small and malnourished when you see them in real life.

One of my favorite references to this, is an old episode of the NBC comedy, Friends, called "The Prom Video".  The group of friends are watching Monica's old prom video.  When Monica first appears in the video, we see the younger, quite heavier, version of her.  In response to Joey's horror, at seeing such a fat Monica, she responds with "Shut up! The camera adds 10 pounds.  Chandler, who can't help himself, jumps in with, "Ah, so how many cameras are actually on you"?

My other favorite "weighty" video is the MadTV "Oprah - Fat Camera" skit.  It revolves around the Fat/Skinny Oprah and her request to use her special "thinning camera".  Is she . . . or isn't she?

Well, its obvious that January's coconut cupcake diet hasn't helped me much, and I don't own a "thinning camera".  I suppose if I spent as much time exercising as I do developing my posts,  I would be able to throw away my rose-colored glasses.  I wonder how many calories a person actually burns typing and staring at a monitor.

Why are Politics and Religion Conversation Killers?

I have always been curious about the old adage about not discussing politics, religion, or money in polite conversation.  The question of the day is . . . if you can't discuss these issues with family, friends, or acquaintances, where and when is this discussion appropriate?

Truth be told, I can enjoy a little gossip, just like anyone else, especially if its not hurtful, but I am far more interested in people's ideas, opinions, and feelings on issues.

Whenever I meet someone new at a social gathering, the conversation usually gravitates to what people do for a living.  I suppose that is the easiest and most comfortable form of conversation.  Since most of us spend at least 40 hours a week working, we begin to believe that our work is actually who we are.  But our careers are just another channel to express ourselves.  Its our beliefs, and more importantly, our actions that truly define us.

Not that there is anything wrong with discussing a person's career, but don't be surprised if I start to glaze over.  Its the same way my casual friends feel when I get on my soap box to discuss  metaphysics.

While I have so many friends in the film industry, or whom are lawyers, insurance brokers, real estate agents, etc., I have never had the good fortune to meet a self disclosed international spy, ninja, or someone who has walked on the moon.  They might have some interesting and fun party stories!

So aside from meeting those with truly interesting careers, I am much more interested in a person's thoughts about what is happening in the world around us.  When I meet a new person, instead of asking, "What do you do for a living?", I'd rather ask "So what do you think the meaning of life is?".  Kind of bold.  I did that once when I was meeting with a young sales person who worked for me.  Scared the crap out of him.  It took him so off guard, he needed a few minutes to collect his thoughts, but we had a great conversation after that.

I want to know if people I meet are living out their dreams.  If they could do it all over, what would they change?  If money, education, timing, etc were not issues, what would they really like to be doing for a living? 

So what are our reservations about sharing our deepest personal ambitions and dreams with one another?  Are we simply afraid to share and be vulnerable?

Politics and religion are massive forces, collectively shaping and driving the world we live in.  They seek to influence our behavior on all fronts.  You can't turn on the TV or pick up a newspaper without reading a political or religious referenced story.  But they are no more than a collective of people with similar ideas, and traction to take action and implement them.

So why in the world  are we afraid to discuss our political and religious views with one another?  Are we so certain our beliefs are right, that we are afraid to see an issue from a different perspective?  Really?  Even if that person is some we really respect an like, or dare I say, love?

There are too many horror stories about family gatherings that end up as World War III once too much liquor has been served up along side these topics.  What is really sad is that if we can't share our thoughts, ideas and perceptions in a group we are close with, what does that really say about our relationships?

Why do we always have to be right?  We may not always agree, but that doesn't make an opposing view wrong.

We can't discover the the things we have in common if we are afraid to peaceably share and discuss the issues that are the most significant influences in our lives. The sooner we all realize that we are connected and cannot be unconnected, the sooner we can discover and celebrate all that we have in common.  Humanity can evolve.

What Was Your Name Again?

One of the unfortunate side effects of growing older is partial memory loss. I have forgotten where my car keys are, what I ate for dinner yesterday, and even my train of thought occasionally. But the most annoying form of memory loss for me, is when I can't recall a person's name in public.

I'd like to think the reason is that my brain is so full of revolutionary, world changing ideas, that there is insufficient memory capacity for incidental recollections like Latin plant names or the periodic table of elements. Don't the names of occasional friends and acquaintances fall into that category as well? I mean, just like knowing the capital of each state and its chief export, how often does one need immediate access to this information?

However, I suppose it could be equally argued, that in spite of my large head, I just have a thick skull, and a small brain as well. This has been suggested to me quite often in the heat of battle. But I forget who suggested it, because thankfully, there is no room at the Inn for those types of memories either.

To look at it another way, my memory access is like the way I manage my "computer screen desktop". I keep all my current file icons, the files I am regularly working on, on the screen so I can access them easily. They are organized in an orderly system, and I know where everything is. These are the files I need to access frequently. Everything else gets filed in folders and sub folders in my "Documents" file on my hard drive.

When it comes to greeting people, feelings get involved, and while some may forgive a temporary lapse of recollection, others will be hurt. Its just plain difficult to forget the super charismatic, those that are important to us, or people we have regular contact with. So, while I can recall that the atomic symbol for Gold is AU or Silver is AG, I clearly love gold and silver,  and can remember those from 7th grade science. However, if I ever run into Ruthenium or Bohrium on the street, I am in trouble.

On too many occasions lately, I have run into people that I know very well, but fumble as I search for their name when greeting them. I can instantly become the most astute listener as I hang on to their every word for some glimpse of recognition.

I ran into a few old friends recently and felt some embarrassing discomfort when I came up short with their names.  While they both greeted me with a smile and "Hi Randy", I was horror struck as I extended my hand to shake theirs.  I even think I smelled a faint burning smell as my brain was speeding through the possible list of names in my head. I virtually had only seconds as I reached out in slow motion and started very slowly to say, "Hey. Its good to see you . . . (nope nothing was coming to mind and I needed to complete the greeting) . . . guys.  Damn! My brain failed me again. What am I supposed to do now? Are they suspicious? Do they know?

So, paralyzed with fear, I begin to over compensate. Because even though I can't remember their names, I remember them, and just about every time we have ever been together, so why, why, why has my memory betrayed me?

I begin to introduce meaningless trivia into our discussion that points to the fact that we are close friends. Reminiscing about past encounters, and mutual friends. I think its working. They are smiling and laughing.

But just when I think all has gone well, it suddenly gets awkward again. I forgot that I am not alone. Its clear we are starting to exceed to 2-3 minute allowable greeting period, and social custom dictates that I introduce my companion to them. Oh God!  I am having a meltdown. Why didn't I just say hello and walk away.  I am back in the danger zone and there is no escaping it now.

For a brief second, I can sense their discomfort, and I wished that they would just introduce themselves, or that my companion would step up and do so. That would make it easier for everyone.

Well, I needed to do something, so I did the best I could and acted a little ditzy. "Oh by the way, I am not sure if you guys have met".  Before I could get much deeper into it, and stumble into anymore awkwardness, they introduced themselves to each other. Bingo! It all came rushing back to me in torrents.

It was time to bring this encounter to a successful close.  So, with all the necessary information in hand, I did what any self respecting faker would do. I began to over compensate. Oh yes!  I threw in their names, as often as I could, right up until the end of the conversation. If it wasn't clear in the beginning, it was clear in the end - that I knew them well!

Epilogue

What is so surprising to me now, is even though I can recall the entire conversation with this couple, I still can't recall their names.  Oh well.

Just A Cup of Joe, Black Please.

I was at Peets Coffee & Tea yesterday morning, waiting to have coffee with my younger brother.  As I stood in line, behind a bunch of sleepy-eyed coffee junkies, painfully listening to their orders, I wondered, "Am I am the last person on earth who still appreciates a plain mug of black coffee"?

There I was, yet again, stuck in a line behind a bunch of complicated coffee requests. We had all arrived about the same time, but the other patrons inched through the front door seconds ahead of me.  I  could just tell that the "soccer mom" was going to order more than one drink, and it wouldn't be pretty!  I thought briefly about making a run for it, to squeeze in ahead of her, but I was already outflanked by the others anyway, so why not just relax for a change.  Too bad there isn't a "Black Coffee Only" express line.  But I have issues with express lines as well! 

As I get closer to the register, I listen to the barista  shouting out the finished orders as he places them on the counter.

"Medium, Nonfat, Half-Caf, Low Foam, Cinnamon Spice Mocha"

"Large, Double Shot Vanilla, Decaf, Caramel Macchiato, Light drizzle"

"Small, Dark Chocolate Caramel Mocha Freddo"

Where's the frickin' coffee? These weren't cups of coffee.  They were liquid candy bars.  These places aren't called Starbucks Liquid Candy Store or Peets Emulsified Desserts.  No!  They are coffee houses, and I thought the point was to infuse some caffeine into our bloodstreams. The people picking up their drinks certainly looked like they could use a pick-me up.  Dazed and zombie-like, they looked like they couldn't remember their names let alone a nineteen syllable coffee drink.

When it was finally my turn, my order seemed a little underwhelming.  "Large Coffee, black please, no room for cream".  The clerk looked at me quizzically, as if to say "really . . . you stood in that long line for this"?

My order was efficient and fast. I wondered if there is some college course that offers the ins and outs of proper drink ordering.  Lets see, what do you need to remember?  Drink size, full fat, low fat, or non fat milk, lots of foam or light foam, syrup flavor, number of pumps, caffeine or decaf, whip or no whip.  I am already dizzy. The options seem endless.  And don't get me started about Starbucks.  You need a special manual just to navigate through their sizing selections.

I remember having my first cup of coffee in 1971, when I was around 14 years old.  We often visited my grandmother during the summer and when all the relatives gathered, they always seemed to be holding a cup.

It seemed like such an "adult" thing to do.  Drink Coffee.  I so badly wanted to be an adult.  So I had my first cup of coffee that summer.  It wasn't very good.  But it was interesting and it was hot, and I even liked the way it warmed my hands when I cupped the mug.  In those days, everybody drank Folgers and Hills Brothers at home.  Coffee on the go was purchased at places like 7-11 or McDonalds, and served in flimsy styrofoam cups with non-fitting, plastic lids with those little fold-back  pieces of plastic that covered the drink opening.  Decaf was otherwise known as Sanka.  We have come a long way! 

My grandmother was semi-amused and offered to doctor my cup up with lots of sugar and cream to make it taste better.  Granted, this is the woman who used to give us kids melted butter for our sore throats.  Mmmm - butter!  But I was no kid.  I was en route to my manhood and wanted to follow the ritual correctly.  If the adults were drinking coffee black, so was I.

Kids drinking sugar and fat infused coffee is probably how this whole fancy coffee drink movement got started in the first place.  

My first cup was black and I still drink it that way today. No over priced, high calorie count, yuppified coffee drink for me.  I love it black.  I love it hot.  And most importantly, I love it strong!

For me, a great day starts with an early morning, with the sun coming up, and a hot cup of French-press, French roast coffee!  Today's version of a plain cup of Joe.

What I Learned From My Dog

My dog, Shannon, is a very big part of my life, but she is more than just a companion. She has taught me many important things about life. Sweet, funny, loyal, smart, opinionated, assertive, playful and strong are just a few of the adjectives that describe her.

Like most dogs, she has certainly been instrumental in reminding me about the value of unconditional love, loyalty, curiosity, self confidence, focus, and the importance of play. However, what impresses me most is what I have learned about selling from her.

Shannon truly lives a grand life, a dog's life. She gets two square meals a day, overstuffed beds - for sleeping in every room of the house, an hour of exercise a day, way too many treats, peanut butter filled bones for her teeth, regular grooming visits to the local doggie spa, and lots and lots of play time.

One of the reasons she gets better than the average, high quality play time, is that she is a master sales person or is that sales dog?

At last count, I know she had a vocabulary that recognized at least 35 words.  However, what is so amusing to me is not what words she can recognize, but rather how much she can communicate her thoughts and wishes, nonverbally, with her face and actions.

Shannon is at best, very communicative about who she loves and who she loves to be with ! When friends visit, she is the first to greet them at the door, jumping up and down, squirming, wriggling her tail, and jumping up to smack a big kiss, with a big wet tongue, right on your face. I don't remember the last time any person acted in this manner when I showed up at their house. And God forbid, I certainly don't recall anyone piddling on the floor with excitement to see me. If you think you might have, perhaps that is best kept a secret.

She is also great at letting me know when she needs to relieve herself. No barking or jumping up and down. She just quietly walks to the door and stares at me, I dare say with a bit of contempt in her face, as if to say "Hey, can you see me standing here patiently by the door? Get off your butt and let me out." I swear I can see her eyes roll.

If I am nowhere near the door when she needs to go outside, she has a way of running up to me, wherever I am, and engaging me in a way that I just know what she needs. Its reminiscent of the old Lassie episodes I watched growing up. You know, the ones where Lassie would come running up to the farm house door, barking at Timmie and his mother, June Lockhart. "What is it Lassie?", she would ask. Timmie would look at Lassie straight in the eye, and say, " I think Lassie is trying to say that grandpa has fallen off the tractor in the apple orchard and can't get up. She wants us to follower her." Yeah, something like that. :)

With a twitch of her eyebrows, gulp, smack of her tongue, or a simple glance, who can't tell from this video, that she wants the Lorna Doones on the plate?

Shannon has a simple procedure for letting me know she is ready to eat.  She runs to her bowl and just stares at it.  If I don't immediately respond, she interprets my lack of action as confusion.  She then nudges the dog food canister to indicate that I should put some of this into her bowl and then back off.

She loves to swim, run, take walks and chase after balls, after all, she is a lab. When it comes to anything remotely resembling exercise or play, this is where her mastery of the traditional 7 Steps of Selling comes in handy.

How To Get Me to Throw Her Ball . . .

Step 1 - Prospecting

When it comes to finding a prospect, she only has two choices in our household.  We are both repeat buyers, so she has already pre-qualified us.

Step 2 - Preapproach

She begins by looking for her ball. Once found, and firmly in mouth, she instinctively sizes both of us up to see who might be more receptive at the moment.

Step 3 - Approach

In one situation, I am already in the pool swimming and she wants to both swim and have someone throw her ball. I am the obvious choice. She advances into position.

Step 4 - Presentation

She stands by the side of the pool with her orange ball firmly in her mouth and stares at me. Based on my previous buying behavior, I should understand the pitch. She crunches the ball in her mouth. I have seen it before. However, she is patient with me and figures that a demonstration may be in order. She drops the ball and nudges it to roll in my direction. It plops into the pool and begins to float.

Step 5 - Overcoming Objections

I pick up the ball and place it back on the edge of the pool. I am not buying at the moment. I am relaxing. She is persistent. She nudges the ball again into the pool. She is oblivious to my objection and knows that a good salesperson must be able to take a "no" as many times as it takes until every objection has been overcome. No doesn't really mean no. It just means no until you change my mind. She continues to push the ball in my direction and I continue to just hand it back to her. She knows the first one to speak loses. She can do this all day. But I cannot.

Step 6 - Close

Always Be Closing! She finally wears me down and I throw the ball for her. I resisted as long as I could but she is relentless. I knew that she would not be satisfied with one throw, and that I would have to throw it continually until my arm falls out of its socket. But she wins. Again!

Step 7 - Follow-up

After a good hour of playing in the pool, Shannon later cozies up at my feet with a big sigh to let me know that she had a real good time and is a happy dog. How could I resist her charm?

Are Supermarket Express Checkouts Really Faster?

I had another harrowing experience at the supermarket and felt compelled to take a deep breath and blog about it.  Trust me, its better than kicking the dog!  Only kidding Shannon (my dog).

I suppose it all started in the parking lot. Its difficult enough to get around my town, let alone find a parking space at the grocery store.  The lack of available spaces are directly proportionate to one's lack of time.  Essentially, the less time you have, the fewer spaces there are.

To make matters worse, we have more than our fair share of senior and super senior citizens in our town.  Most of them drive slower than a ride-on lawn mower, but that is a different story!  If you have enough of them navigating the parking lot, slipping into a space yourself can be a  major accomplishment.  

Once inside the store, a quick surveillance reveals that there are no customers in line, and the check out clerks are dazed and staring into space.  Odd I thought, why was the parking lot so full if there are no customers?

I grab my basket and quickly bound down the isles to gather the few last minute things I need.  Racing around the store, I hardly pass any shoppers until I finish and am back at the front of the store.  Where did they all come from?  I am horrified. 

This is the moment every experienced shopper dreads.  Which line to choose?  Hmmm.  Like a military leader, ready for battle on the front line, I size up the enemy.  Carefully, I eye each line for movement.  Evaluating speed and cadence is just as strategic as the number of people in each line.

I narrow it down to a few lines.  One of them is the express checkout line.  Hmm. Two elderly people, a lanky teenager, and a housewife.  Are the senior citizens a couple?  No.  Looks like two separate transactions.  Sketchy.  That could be trouble, but the kid is just getting a pack of gum.  The housewife looks efficient and safe.

The next line over is a full service line and only has three people, but the they have a lot of groceries!  The first one seems like she is almost finished, but the large woman at the end of the line has such an over stuffed cart, I can't believe its not falling out.  I have to decide soon.  Masses of additional shoppers are approaching.

I make my choice.  The express line it is, and I step into place. The requirement is 15 items or less.  I have 16 items, but  2 of them are the same item.  What do I do?  I once heard a rumor that multiple items of the same type only count as one.  Can I be certain that the woman behind me has heard of this same rumor?  What should I do?  Do I lose an item?  Do I try to look distracted, stupid, or confused?  Do I apologize?

I take a closer look at her.  She looks tired and distracted.  She has two children with her acting up.  Perhaps they will break her first and she won't have the energy to challenge my item count.  If a fight breaks out, I am pretty sure I can take her.

I watch the other checkout lines as they seem to be moving at mach 1 speed, while I have fallen into a black hole where time is moving backwards.  How difficult can it be to get through an express lane?   I begin tapping my feet, rolling my eyes, and perfecting my cold stare. Completely useless actions, so I have no idea why I behave this way.

The elderly gentleman seems confused.  Is it possible that this is really the first time he has been in a modern grocery store?  He doesn't seem to know how to slide his credit card through the machine.  He has a hearing aid in his ear and can't hear the clerk's instructions.  Once he finally gets some traction with his card, he asks about discounts and the clerk reminds him he needs to tap in his phone number into the credit card machine to get the discount.  The man remains confused and the clerk handles it for him.  Finally! 

Ok.  Ok. Now I only have three people in front of me.  Shouldn't take much longer.  They are  much more respectful than me, and have far fewer than 15 items each, but I don't have time to review their items.  I am too busy watching the shoppers in the next line over speed through the checkout.  How did that line move so quickly?  The large woman with the over stuffed cart has already moved into position and is placing her items on the conveyor.  I would have been behind her, and I think I can still beat her.  The race is on!

My eyes glance back at the elderly woman in my line.  She is trying to pay for her items, but has opted to pay in cash.  Her nimble little fingers are shaking as she tries to get the exact change out of her tiny red rubber coin purse.  She must be in her 90s.  Funny, she didn't look that old from behind, when I first entered the line.  I twist my body in place and glance at my watch.

Oh well, she is almost done.  She is busy chit chatting with the clerk.  "Hurry Up!", I am thinking.  Don't they know I need to finish before the woman in other line?  Tick Tock. Seconds count! Of course I feel awful and look around sheepishly to make sure no one can hear my thoughts.  This is probably the highlight of her day, and I try to imagine my own mother or grandmother in this situation.  I relax a bit and smile.

Finally, she is on her way and the teenager buys his pack of gum.  Quick, smooth, fast.  He is out of the line in a flash and never looses a beat with his texting.

The checker starts scanning the items from the woman just ahead of me.  Zip, zip, zip.   I am extremely pleased now, as my line is finally moving.  But I am obsessed with the woman in the next line.  Looks like she is done and is swiping her card.  How did that checker get though all those items so quickly.  Who gets the credit?  Was she an overly organized shopper or was that a super checker?  I take a mental picture of the checker and lock it away.  Good to remember her for my next visit.  She's fast. 

My checker is done too.  It was almost a tie.  Then, as the housewife in front of me is swiping her credit card, she suddenly remembers her coupons.  What???!!  She asks the clerk if its too late to use, them.  I know what my answer is!  But the clerk doesn't seem to be able to read my mind, and agrees to accept them.  Damn!  Foiled again by the misleading looking housewife.  

Taking Time to Play

I was sitting in the park yesterday, since it was such a beautiful, warm day, and I enjoyed watching the local children playing.  As I sat on my park bench, with cup of coffee in hand, a stray yellow whiffle ball rolled up next to me.  Right behind it came a 4 year old boy, bouncing with delight, in an effort to retrieve it.  He smiled at me and exclaimed, "watch" as he picked up the ball and awkwardly flung it as far as he could, across the grassy field, in the opposite direction.  As he chased after it, he was all smiles and giggles.

I glanced out, and began to notice the other children and a few dogs playing.  They were playing in the sand, on swings, riding bikes, running, jumping, falling, laughing, squeaking, screaming, and above all, enjoying themselves.  Not a care in the world.  They were just playing!

I tried to remember the carefree days of my own youth. I can still remember backyard football games, neighborhood scrambles of "kick the can" on warm summer nights, or just plain goofing off with buddies.  I can still faintly remember the sound of the doorbell ringing and my mother answering the door to the sound of a friend asking, "Can Randy come out to play"? Ahhh, where along the way did we lose site of the value and freedom of play"?

Granted, I have friends who routinely go to the gym to keep in shape.  That is not play.   That's exercise.   Other friends shuttle their kids back and forth to athletic practice and sporting events, and even stay to watch occasionally.  That is not play.   They sound exhausted just telling me about it.

I also have friends who watch sports on TV and even participate in fantasy leagues.  That is also not the type of play I am referring to.

I am talking about total relaxation and enjoyment from an activity that lets you block out all thoughts of work, stress, obligations, etc.  Something that is so personally fulfilling, your endorphins kick in, and as you fully immerse yourself, you leave all of your cares behind.  

On close examination, the closest I get to "playing" is when I join my buddies for bowling or  a game of golf.  I know it seems a little dorky and perhaps a little "out of the 70s", but I really enjoy bowling.  It is a strange sport.  Where else are multi-colored clown shoes and tight fitting polyester shirts in vogue?

I also like to pull out the clubs and and get in a round of 18 holes.  I don't even need to have a great game to have a great time.  A couple of great shots, a few pars, warm sun, beautiful course, cold beer, and good conversation with my buddies, and that is all I need.

The point is to indulge your passion and put every thing else aside while you are engaged.  Let the playtime work its magic and heal you.

The more I thought about the importance of reintegrating playtime into my routine, the more I wondered about which of my friends have been successful at making playtime a part of their life.  A quick review revealed a clear standout.  Are there others out there???

I have a friend, Hollywood producer, Dana Brunetti, who really enjoys his cars, and he takes time to share his passion with the rest of us via his facebook account and twitter.  This is a guy who works in one of the most difficult, "mind f-ing" industries in the world.  The film industry is one of the few I have ever known where people are willing to work for free to "be noticed"or to be "creative", and it brings out all the crazies!

For Dana, I can only imagine how difficult his days are. In between a daily routine of multiple cups of Starbucks coffee, and googling himself (sorry Dana), he has to deal with  the endless troops of people who want his attention.  There are all the scripts, fans, agents, lawyers, studios, meetings, schedules, promotion, etc.  I would imagine he is exhausted by the end of the day.  The industry can easily chew up and spit out the most confident people, and yet Dana has emerged as a talented "Player".

Yet as grueling as his career most likely is, he has discovered a  sweet spot right in the center.  He always finds time to take his wheels out for a drive.  That is his "play".  He hits the road alone, and he travels in a pack with fellow enthusiasts.  One thing is clear.  He truly loves this and enjoys himself so much he shares it with the rest of us!

 Dana in his Ferrari 360 Spider

So this is a shout out to Dana. We can all probably learn a lesson from him about the balance between the pursuit of hard work and the satisfaction experienced from a suitable amount of unbridled leisure time.

So my hat is off to you!  Keep the photos and the trips well documented and posted, so that if we fail to find our own play time, we can at least enjoy yours.

Facebook Friending

I used to love Facebook, but lately it's been slowly "de-volving" and spiraling downwards into a useless bookmark on my browser's toolbar.  When I first signed up, it seemed like an interesting and significant platform to reconnect with lost and forgotten friends.  It also provided its subscribers an opportunity to post relevant information about themselves and keep pace with current friends and family.

So what happened?

In the never ending quest for "self improvement", Facebook has pursued the same strategy as its Internet predecessors and has cluttered up a perfectly wonderful site with so much unnecessary content.

While I used to be able to see how a friend was feeling or view posted photos of their latest vacation, now I have to scroll through countless declarations from FarmVille, in addition to polls about who is cute, funny, etc.  I don't want to come off as curmudgeonly, but really, I want to know relevant stuff about my friends, and I don't remember "friending" Farmville!

If I get bombarded with too many more announcements about fertilizing someone's crop, I am going to go in there and rip all their crops out by their roots!  (Sheepishly) Is there even a way to do that?

And while we are at it, what's up with friending people you don't know.  Oh sure, I get the occasional relative or acquaintance asking to connect, and that can be both fun and interesting.  But if a person has no other connection to you, isn't that a little like stalking?

Maybe I am old fashioned.  Or maybe I am just a little skeptical, but shouldn't we have a real relationship first?  There are so many other sites available for business connections, dating, etc.  I liked this site, because it really allowed me to keep in touch with personal friends, and  feel safe about the information I put on line.  Maybe Facebook should add an "acquaintance" tab.  Say that three times real fast.

I think that is why my celebrity friends have set up fan pages where they can let interested parties know their status without the fear of too much interpersonal discourse with strangers.  I guess a fan page would be similar to the type of people who do random blogging, and prattle on about trivial matters, with no idea if any strangers are even reading their entries.

Oops!

Well, I don't want to rant on about this too much. I have stuff to do.  I need to get on Facebook and post this latest blog entry so that I can do my part to bombard my friends with more dribble in between their FarmVille Bulletins.

Public Restroom Use

Disclaimer - This post is not for the queasy :)

I am pretty certain that we have all had to use a public restroom more than once in our lives.  For the most part, the majority of times I have needed to use such a facility, the experience has been relatively painless and un-notable.  HOWEVER, there have also been those few situations where I have been both uncomfortable and embarrassed.

Most recently, I was having coffee with a friend at a local coffee shop when I felt the sudden urge to use the washroom.  As I approached, I noticed a woman also approaching.  I knew that I would be quick and entered the bathroom just ahead of her.

Once I was inside and the door was safely latched, I surveyed the area and wondered what I had gotten myself into. While most of the room was relatively clean, my eyes were drawn to toilet.  There was no urinal to speak of, which is what I would have preferred.  There was only a white porcelain throne  which stood out like a sore thumb.  It was very filthy! 

There was fecal matter clinging to unflushed toilet paper, hanging out and draped around the bowl.  There were also remnants of fecal matter on the seat and rubbed up against the inside of bowl.  It was like a shit bomb had gone off!

Who does this to a restroom and even more curious, who leaves a restroom looking like this?

The interesting thing to note, is that this is a quality coffee shop in an upper end community,

Now, when one uses a public bathroom like this, there are enough issues to deal with, especially if they are shy and embarrass easily.  Knowing there is someone right outside the door, waiting to use the room right after you can be disconcerting.  After all, there could be unsavory sounds associated with the experience and lingering smells for the next patron to experience.  Although we all understand and experience this natural bodily function, most of us also feel it is a very private matter and are more comfortable when we are alone and no one is waiting to use the room right after us.

As I summed up the situation, options began to run through my mind.  I could turn around and just leave.  I could exit and notify an employee to clean the place and then return.   As I weighed my options I suddenly became aware that too much time had passed and I now had another issue to deal with.

First, I needed to relieve myself, which I could comfortably do standing up.

Then, I panicked.  I realized that I needed to deal with the perception of the woman who would use the room after me. Why oh why, had I not turned and run when I had the opportunity.  Damn you Venti Coffee and your effect on me!

So I did the only reasonable thing any compulsive person would do.  I ran the faucet and cleaned everything up.  Wiped it all down.  Disgusting, especially since I didn't have any gloves, sponges, detergent, etc, but couldn't bare the thought of a woman I don't even know thinking I left that mess.  Thank god the establishment had the decency to have a dispenser of Purell.  Really, the only other choice I would have had was to quickly leave the coffee shop and never come back!  Much too complicated and I love my coffee way to much to go that route.

As I exited the restroom I wondered if the woman next in line would appreciate my  secret gesture and leave the room as clean as I did.  Hmmmm.

Another Day . . . Another Diet

So 2010 has begun and the extended holiday weekend is now over.  I am running out of excuses to further postpone my diet.  I realize that half the overweight people in the country begin their diets on January 1st (or there about).  Since Christmas Eve, I think I have started at least three diets.  The first began after breakfast on Christmas morning and ended before lunch. In fact, I have probably lost over 700 pounds over the past 25 years (if you count the same 7 pounds four times a year for 25 years).

I am all too familiar with Nutrisystem and Jenny Craig.  Both of those diet programs have helped me, more than once, get into decent shape.  Its not easy to forget though, or get excited about, the dehydrated and tomato sauced entrees from Nutrisystem or the meatless frozen concoctions offered by Ms Jenny.

However, as I got on line, and reviewed their menu items, yet again, I diverted my attention to my Facebook page and low and behold, there was an update from the local cupcake bakery, Republic of Cake.

I had been begging the proprietors in November and December to make coconut cupcakes, even though, without hesitation, I managed to devour every other variety they made.  Needless to say, they promised me a month filled with coconut cupcakes in January.  As I am checking out their new menu, in print, under the Filled/Seasonal offerings, it lists Coconut Coconut Cupcake - Coconut Cake with a Creamy Coconut Buttercream & sprinkled with Toasted Coconut - for Randy H.  Wait . . . that's me.  I am Randy H.  What is a fella supposed to do?  After all, my name is on the menu and they list coconut twice in the name.

I start fantasizing about how many I am going to eat when I get to the bakery.  But its New Years Day, and they are closed.

I am at home, comfortably watching the first season of True Blood (the hot HBO Vampire series), and as good as that show is, my mind keeps wandering to the thought of coconut cupcakes.  Can I wait until tomorrow or should I attempt to make my own?  I get the cold sweats.  I have one little devil sitting on my right shoulder whispering in my ear, "toasted coconut, farm fresh eggs, crockery butter . . ." when the angel sitting on my left shoulder pinches me, yelling " No! No! No!  Carrot sticks, celery, rice cakes . . "

My TV show distracts me and I forget about both the little devil and the little angel.  Thank god!  Poor Sookie (the main character) is covered in blood yet again.  She could use a warm bath and a coconut cupcake.  Better not take life for granted.  It's far too short.

Although I had to wait another day, I finally picked up and ate a few (ahem, ahem) of those tasty treats and can highly recommend them.  Guess the diet will have to wait a tad longer.

Self Disciplined Society

Do you ever wonder what our world would be like if we were comprised of a self disciplined society of highly evolved beings?  Imagine the possibilities.

If it was within each of us, whenever faced with a question or task, to answer the call with "What would Love do"?

The possibilities are endless.  The very thought of it could negate the need for government as we know it.   After all, why do we need govern ourselves collectively, when we can make fair and unifying choices individually. 

There would be no need to police ourselves, or defend ourselves, and no need to mete out justice.

For that matter, in a perfect world, we would have no need for our military, police forces, attorneys, judges, jails, and prisons.

What if all those resources could be deployed to enhance and better the lives of all humanity in other ways?

Timing Traffic Lights

I am not sure why I have such bad traffic light karma, but I have the worse timing in the world.

It seems that whenever I am in an absolute hurry, I hit all the red lights, and when I need a red light, I sail through from green to green.  What is that all about?

Its easy to understand why someone might be in a hurry.  We have all had work or appointment deadlines that we needed to meet.  There have been too many occasions where I just needed to get someplace with a restroom, and god forbid, if I am not home in time for one of my favorite shows (God bless my DVR).

But why would a person want a traffic light to turn red?  I have often just needed a minute or two to adjust my radio station, input new data on the GPS, or even dial a phone number or text a message. But when I really need that minute, can I catch a break?  No.  Green, Green, Green!  If I try to drive slowly so I can focus, I get irritated drivers behind me with the all too familiar blare of the horn.  So what is a person supposed to do?

I was wondering how those things work anyway.  Are they timed?  If so, who establishes the timing?  I never see any maintenance being performed. I believe the average traffic light costs around $40,000 installed, which seems like a lot for a yellow box with three light bulbs in it.  For that amount of money they probably intercept and decipher brain waves of the drivers, and then regulate the light based on the opposite of what drivers need, as a way to reduce traffic problems.

Hmmm.  Maybe I am on to something.  Think about it.  For example, if a driver is speeding, they are more likely to cause an accident.  Therefore, when a speeder is racing down the road, wishing and hoping the light stays green for them, that is when the light will change to red, giving the driver a break and helping them to refocus on safe driving.

It could work the same way in reverse for green.

If a driver is fiddling with their radio, GPS, or phone, they are obviously not paying attention to the road, and should really pull over until they are finished.  If the traffic light stays green, it forces drivers to pay attention to their driving.

O.K. - O.K.  So my argument might be a little weak.  I can tell you this.  I have started to "think the opposite" of what I need when I approach a traffic light and it has been working for me.  I might even throw in a little light physical manipulation like pretending to read a map or review an e-mail on my cell phone, if I need a green light, that is.

I know it is all perception, but I can tell you that it has been working and it makes me a happier driver.