Stan Rants

A FaceBook Conversation With My Brother

2012-03-10T23:35:00.012-05:00

Robert Jones Hey, watch the beverage, man!

Stan Jones I did drop it when the camera flashed. SCARED ME!

Stan Jones I just noticed...looks like I have gills on either side of my mouth. What the...

Robert Jones That's your super power! You're Aquaman.

Robert Jones Too bad the Earth isn't 3/4 covered in pilsner. But, you go with what you got. My daughter has a friend who's superpower is an abnormally oily thumbnail that doesn't absorb polish.

Stan Jones Man, that would suck. What dude could live without his thumbnail absorbing polish? I feel sorry for the guy.

Stan Jones I'm going to go paint both my thumbs right now in solidarity with my bro who has oily thumbs

Stan Jones By the way, have you been to any bars lately? I think the earth IS covered at least 3/4 in pilsner!

Stan Jones I know that the guy in the pic was covered in 3/4 pint of pilsner after the camera flashed. Where are his gills?

Robert Jones LOL. Well, it happens to be a girl and she's not sure how to use her superpower. I suggested a non-stick thumbnail could fling a booger at supersonic velocity thereby taking out a villain.

Robert Jones My daughter was hugely embarrassed by Dad. heh heh heh.

Stan Jones bcuz dad divulged her super hero, booger flicking, friend. She told you that in confidence, and dad broadcast it all over FaceBook.

Robert Jones I'm a marked man. Fortunately I have an oily T-zone with which to defend myself. And experience.

Stan Jones If I were you, I would be Googling for booger deflectors. Maybe Craig's list or amazon.

Robert Jones Yes, they would LOVE for me to Google booger deflectors. And then use my credit card to buy it and give them my address to send it to. Next thing you know it's all Men In Black at my door then "Splat--and that's that." I haven't survived this long without learning a thing or two.

Stan Jones Well, since you won't be around much longer due to death by boogers, I'm going to cut and paste this conversation to my blog. I have Norton Protect, so the Men In Black will never find me.

Robert Jones Stay strong Pilsnerman.

Stan Jones I will bring a box of Kleenex to your grave every year brother.

Robert Jones And if you should find an oily forehead print on your car window someday, you'll know: I'm out there somewhere. but keep leaving the Kleenex. And a pilsner.

A Visit To The Dentist

2012-03-04T21:29:00.000-05:00

I have a dentist appointment tomorrow. My teeth seem to be falling apart at an advancingly rapid pace as I get older. I'm going in for more repair work. In and of itself, not a major issue, but it started a cascade of ponderance on getting older. A downward spiral of contemplation on aging.

For some reason, my teeth seem to be getting more brittle recently. I've never had perfect teeth. The usual cavities as a kid. I grew up with this big gap between my front teeth, like David Letterman, or that football player, I can't remember his name. But I could go years without seeing the dentist, and have no problems. Now, all of sudden, my teeth seem to be disintegrating daily. I know... gross, right? That's what I thought too. As I was discussing this with my parents tonight (who I don't call nearly as often as I should), all these other aging dots started connecting themselves.

For instance:

At one point, the conversation turned to losing hair. As I opinned about how thin I was getting on top these days, the subject of toupes' or shaving your head came up. My mother started telling me about some Chi 44 ionic super-duper shampoo stuff that would make your hair thicker and even start new growth. While I verbally took the self-effacing, high road stance that I would never be so vain as to wear a toupe' or get a transplant, I was furiously scribbling notes on this Chi 44 nuclear hair growth product. I'm thinking to myself, first my teeth, now my hair. Am I getting old?

At that point, I remember an incident from a couple of weeks ago. It started with a conversation with a freind. I don't remember how the conversation got there, but she made the comment that she thought I was about 5' 7" in height. What? Are you kidding me? You think I'm that short? I've been 5'10" since high school. (OK, 5' 9 & 3/4", but I always stretched the extra 1/4") Then I remembered my last girlfriend making the same estimate at 5' 7", and I wondered what the hell is going on? I hadn't measured myself in years, so I decided to prove them both wrong. I measured. 5' 8 & 7/8's. What the hell? Now I'm shrinking too? First my teeth, then my hair, now I have osteoperosis. This isn't supposed to start happening until I'm like 80 years old or something, right?

The snowball kept rolling downhill. I thought about my weight fluctuations the past couple of years, the fact that I like a nap in the afternoons, that I now watch the history channel more than American Idol... Yikes!...I'm getting old!!! When did this happen?

Well, anyway. I will get my teeth fixed tomorrow. I will NOT be getting a toupe'. I will start doing yoga to stretch my bones. I will make sure to record American Idol. And as soon as I get this posted, I will be Googling Chi 44 super-duper, anti-aging shampoo.

It sucks to realize you are not 25 anymore.

Wish Me Luck

2012-02-17T15:33:00.000-05:00

Last November, I entered a short story writing contest for Writer's Digest. A first for me. The story I chose was a fiction piece that I have reworked several times called "Time Travel". They will announce the top ten entries at the end of this month. I'm not holding my breath or anything, but I think I made a fair attempt for my first time.

Here is my entry. Hope you enjoy, and wish me luck.

Time Travel

Charlie looked at his wristwatch for about the hundredth time.

“Do you think the flight will leave on time, Mom? What do I do if they lose my suitcase? I know that happens sometimes. Is it OK if I have a Coke on the flight if I only drink one?”

“Yes Charlie, you can have a Coke. Don’t worry about your suitcase, you are on a direct flight, so I don’t think it will get lost. If you have any problems, the airline escort will help you. I’m so proud of you for flying on your own, you will do fine.”

“Now boarding flight 562 to Boston.” The gate attendant announced, “We will board those needing assistance, and children flying alone, first. Please have your boarding pass out and line up at the gate.”

He looked at his watch, then at his mom.

“Right on time!”

Charlie jumped up and headed to the gate. When it was his turn, Charlie’s mom handed the paperwork to the attendant, then kissed his forehead and said, “Have a good flight Charlie, I will miss you while you’re gone.”

"I will miss you too. I’ll call you when I get to Grandma’s house.”

As Charlie walked down the corridor, he could barely contain his excitement. When he stepped onto the plane, Charlie felt like he was entering another world. Looking down the aisle, at the rows and rows of empty seats, gave Charlie goose bumps. The escort took him to row 10, seat F, the window seat.

“Would you like your carry-on in the overhead, or under your seat?”

“Over-head please.”

Charlie knew that he wouldn’t be reading any of the books his mom had packed for him. He wanted to look out the window for the entire flight and soak in the experience of finally getting to fly.

The other passengers started coming on to the plane, and as they filed past, an older man stopped at Charlie’s row. He looked older than Charlie’s dad, but not as old as Charlie’s grandpa. The man looked up, then at Charlie, and said;

“Row 10 seat D, this must be me. Do you mind if I sit next to you?”

“No, of course not, it’s your seat.”

The man put his small bag and jacket in the overhead compartment, and as he sat down, he reached out his hand.

“Hi, I’m George.”

“Hi, I’m Charlie, and this is my first time to fly.”

George sat down and buckled his seat belt.

“First time to fly huh? Are you nervous, or excited, Charlie?”

“I’m excited! Well… maybe a little nervous, but mostly excited. You must have flown a lot of times, huh George?’

“Are you saying that you think I’m old, Charlie? How do you know this is not my first time to fly, too?”

“Oh no, I didn’t mean that, I just meant...”

“I’m just kidding you, Charlie. Yes, I have flown many times, and I still get excited about it. I love to fly. It never gets old for me. Do you know why it never gets old, Charlie?”

“Because it’s so fun?”

“Well, it’s always fun. But that’s not why it never gets old for me. It never gets old, because it’s always something new.”

Charlie had a puzzled look on his face, so George continued.

“Every time I get on a plane, Charlie, I am headed for a new experience. Somewhere new, that I’ve never been before. I like the flying part, it is fun to fly, but I like the arriving part even better. As old as I look to you, Charlie, I never get tired of traveling. New places and new people to experience. That is why I still get excited to fly. It always takes me to new places and new friends, like you, Charlie. If I hadn’t gotten on this plane, I would never have met you.”

“Well, I’m just going to see my Grandma and Grandpa, so I’m not going to meet any new people. I’m just excited about the flying part since this is my first time”

“Well, you just met me. Aren’t I new people?”

“Yeah, I guess you are.”

“Well, there you go then. See, flying gives you both. The fun and the new.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right!”

“I think this is going to be a great first flight for you, Charlie.”

“Me too.”

Charlie turned his head back towards the window, and then looked at his watch.

“Do you think we will take off on time?”

“I think so, I haven’t heard about any delays.”

Charlie heard the engines start to rev and his heart raced with them. Soon the plane began to move, and Charlie could barely contain himself. “This is so cool,” thought Charlie.

Once in the air, Charlie didn’t stop looking out the window.

“Hey George, look at those clouds down there! I never thought about seeing the top of a cloud before. The ground looks like one of my Grandma’s quilts and those streams look like blood veins.”

Charlie only looked away from the window every so often to look at his wristwatch.

George sat reading a magazine, but he couldn’t help notice that Charlie kept looking at his watch.

“So how is your first flight going, Charlie? Are you in a hurry to see your grandparents?”

“Oh, no, this is awesome! I’m in no hurry for it to be over.”

“Well, I couldn’t help noticing that you keep looking at your watch. I thought maybe you were anxious to land.”

Charlie looked down at his wrist. He paused for a moment then looked at George.

“No, that’s not it. See, my dad gave me this watch when he went to work in Afghanistan. My dad is in the army. He said that every time I looked to see what time it was, that I would think about him and remember how much he was missing me. So now I keep thinking about him flying on this plane, and my watch makes me feel like he is here flying with me. That’s all, I’m not in any hurry for this to end.”

As Charlie turned back to the window, George felt a lump in his throat and an ache in his chest. George tried to compose himself, but the wave of emotion overwhelmed him

“I’ll be right back, Charlie. I need to use the restroom.”

“OK George.”

George went to the restroom and doused his face with water. He broke down for a minute, then took several deep breaths to composed himself. He walked back to his seat and waited a minute.

“Hey, you wanna see something, Charlie?”

“Sure, what is it?”

George reached into his pocket and pulled out a shiny disk with a chain attached. He showed it to Charlie and asked, “Do you know what this is?"

“A watch?”

“That’s right. It’s called a pocket watch.”

“Where’d ya' get it?”.

“Well, I got it from my dad, just like you did your watch. See, my dad was a soldier too. Just like yours. Only he served in World War II, which was a long time ago. He held on to this watch the whole time he was away from me in the war. Then when the war was over, he got to come home, and the first thing he did was give me this watch. He said that when he got lonely and missed me, that he would look at this watch and think of me and look forward to seeing me again. My dad is gone now, he passed away five years ago. But I still carry this watch, and every time I look at it, I know that I will see him again.

So, Charlie, you hang on to that watch your dad gave you. As long as you have it, he will always be with you. Even when he has to go away for a time. And you know what?”

“What, George?”

“Out of all the planes I’ve ever flown on in my life, and I’ve flown a lot, this is the best one of them all. You know why, Charlie?”

“No, why?”

“Because I got to meet you. See, even when you get to be as old as me, there is always someone new to meet and somewhere new to go. Don’t you forget that Charlie.”

“I won’t, George.”

Charlie looked at his wristwatch and thought for a minute, then turned back to George.

“George, what time do you think we will land?”

Stones

2012-01-18T18:56:00.000-05:00

I predict, that President Obama's denial of the Keystone pipline project today, will be the gravestone of his re-election, and the cornerstone issue in the general election.

Those of you who are stoned right now... nevermind. It will only confuse you.

Resolve: 2012

2011-12-27T23:56:00.000-05:00

re·solve/riˈzälv/
v. Settle or find a solution to (a problem, dispute, or contentious matter).
n. Firm determination to do something.

Another New Year, time for resoultion. Resolve.

The dictionary definition doesn't seem to quite fit this year some how. I am thinking of another definition. A more commercial rendering of the word: "Resolve... the carpet cleaning solution."

"Carpet stains? Get them out with Resolve. The stain removal solution."

Every definition connotes the past. To settle or find solution; to determine to do something; to remove a stain, all imply change. What to change is the question each year, isn't it?

What stains need removing? Where do I aim the little spray bottle?

I could always work harder. I could be nicer to people (Sorry for being such an ass to you in March, Judy.) I should get back to working out again, stop smoking, spend less money, meditate more often. These don't feel like carpet cleaning though. These feel like the same old, same old. Not that I shouldn't strive for them, but haven't I resolved them past years? Apparently not, or I wouldn't be contemplating them again this year. Where to aim the spray bottle this year?

I'm not sure yet. This year feels different somehow. I don't want to join all the other resolutes at the local gym for two weeks this year. I want a "down to the pad" carpet cleaning this year. I just haven't been able to put my finger on where that lies in me yet.

Maybe that should be my resolve this year. To discover where that "down to the pad" stain lies in me, that I need to aim the spray bottle at.

Well... Anyway
Happy New Year!

Merry Christmas

2011-12-19T23:50:00.003-05:00

Here's wishing both of the followers of StanRants, a very Merry Christmas!

And a Happy New Year

Come Together...Right Now

2011-11-27T21:17:00.000-05:00

How many times in your life have you asked the question "Why me?"

Had setbacks? Divorce? Lost a job or a business? Are you unemployeed now? Living off dwindling savings?

Do something. Help others. There are those who have fallen further and they need a hand. If you can help financially, do it. If you can't, give your time. If you can do both, do it.

If you need a hand, contact me.

Stan@StanJones.biz

Phoenix Rising

2011-11-16T22:24:00.003-05:00

I was very much looking forward to getting out of town. A pre-planned business trip to Phoenix was just what the doctor ordered to get me out of my funk. Little did I realize, a visit to my local real doctor, might have been more beneficial.

With itinerary in hand, I drove to the Tampa airport. Long term parking, boarding pass, luggage checked, I headed to the gate. Security at the Tampa airport is probably one of the best that TSA can muster. All you have to do is strip half naked. Take off your belt, shoes, empty your pockets, laptop in a separate bin, then hold your pants up with one hand and your boarding pass and drivers license in the other. Walk through the metal detector, then pull up your pants and you're done, right? Wrong. This time I ended up in the line where half naked wasn't enough for the TSA. They wanted an x-ray picture of my body completely naked this time.

"Please stand with one foot in each circle, raise both your hands, and don't move."

How am I supposed to keep my pants up? My belt is inside that x-ray box over there.

TSA gets a photo of me naked, everyone else gets a live shot of me in my bikini underwear, as my pants fall down around my ankles. Did I mention that I've lost weight recently and all my clothes are too big? I head for the conveyor belt to get dressed as quickly as possible, and just as my carry-on is coming out of the x-ray box, I hear the TSA employee say;

"Putting the red bag back through for a second scan!"

The red bag is mine. So much for a quick escape. With my pants pulled up and belt back on and cinched tight, I wait for my bag to come back through, wondering if my face is the same color as the bag.

Boarding the plane goes quickly, and I pick a seat next to the window, ready to get the hell out of Dodge. As the plane fills up, a man takes the center seat next to me and has to pull the seat belt all the way out to get it to buckle. The passenger on the aisle seat says, "they have extensions if you ask for them." Apparently, none needed. Within five minutes of becoming airborne, the man in the center seat was asleep. I mean deeply asleep. His head tilted so far my direction, that I thought he was going to be resting on my shoulder soon. He was a heavy breather. I could see the hairs on my arm swaying back and forth with his every breath. And I could smell it too. Yuck!

He's just getting a quick nap, I thought to myself. I can deal with it for a little while.

Two hours into our four and one half hour flight, he was still sleeping and breathing all over me. I took every opportunity to wake him up, thinking he wouldn't go back to sleep.

"Excuse me sir, the flight attendant would like to know if you would like anything to drink."

"Excuse me sir, I hate to disturb you, but I need to go to the restroom."

As soon as I sat back down, he was asleep again and I was trapped in the window seat. His head, and breath, always turned my direction. About fifteen minutes before we landed, I remembered the little air vent above me. I reached up and twisted it counterclockwise to full blast and aimed it at his face. Without opening an eye, his head turned the other direction to breathe on the other fellow.

Why didn't I think of this four hours ago?

The Crown Plaza Hotel in Phoenix is located in the middle of the industrial section of town that looks like it has been hit hard by the recession. It was a scene right out of Atlas Shrugged, complete with a shiny, modern, bullet type mass transit train that ran along tracks in front of the hotel. Other than the train, the scene was gray, dirty, and deserted. I walked up to the registration desk, giving my name for the reservation. Once I was found in the computer, the cheery desk clerk asks me for a credit card in order to check in. I tell her that this is supposed to be paid for by the company that I work for, as this is a business trip. She informs me that she doesn't have that info in the computer. I look at my watch. Five minutes after five o'clock back in Florida. Five minutes past quitting time. Probably ten minutes past mass exodus back at the office on a Friday afternoon. I call the office anyway and am relieved to hear Charlie answer the phone. She is the one who handles these logistics. I explain the situation to her, and she gets on the phone with my chipper desk clerk and straightens things out.

I head up to my room, relieved to finally be out of town, to wash my face and brush my teeth three times to try to get rid of any germs I may have contracted from my heavy breathing flight companion. My room is at the very end of the hallway. I think to myself;

Why do I always get the room furthest from the elevator and the airport gate furthest down the concourse?

After cleaning up a bit, I head down to the lobby to check out the potential night life. Nothing. There is an empty restaurant because it doesn't open until six o'clock and a small bar in the corner with about three people in it, all of them dressed completely in black. Nascar is in town.
I belly up to the bar, order a beer, and ask for a menu. The best thing on the menu looks like a hamburger. I order mine with cheese and bacon. So much for one of those wild business trip nights, I finish my burger, order a beer to go, and head back to my room.

The television gets about five channels, so I spend the next thirty minutes figuring out how to get my Kindle to access the hotel's wireless network so I can buy a novel to read. I have to get up early to go set up our booth for the trade show, so around midnight I call down for a five o'clock wake up and turn in for the night. At three in the morning I wake up, and again at three thirty, and again at four. I just go ahead and get up.

The first thing I do is turn on the shower, knowing that in these hotels, it takes awhile for the hot water to get up to whatever floor you are on. As the shower runs on full hot, I start my one cup of complementary coffee in the bathroom. (Why do they put the coffee maker in the bathroom? I know there is no kitchen, but why the bathroom?) I brush my teeth, then walk over and start my computer to check emails before I leave. The shower has been running for about ten minutes when I finally step in. The full on hot water is luke warm at best. No problem, I can handle a cold shower. I was a Boy Scout after all. I have had many baths in freezing cold streams on campouts. After I unwrap the little hotel soap and wash my body, I pour about half the little hotel shampoo bottle on my head and begin to wash my hair. Just as the shampoo oozes down into my eyes, the water gets scalding hot immediately. No warning. I can't open my eyes, so I start feeling around for the faucet. By the time I find it, I feel my skin starting to blister. I turn it all the way cold, but no change. HOT! I quickly rinse my hair and jump out of the shower.

I get dressed and go down to meet my boss for breakfast. We get a taxi to take us to the convention center for the trade show. It's a twenty minute ride and we never get out of the recession ridden, industrial part of Phoenix.

Does the whole town look like this? I think to myself.

Not only the town, the whole day is overcast and gray. The crowds are small at the show. The day drags on. My return flight leaves at four, so I figure I need to leave the show around two. At around one o'clock, I realize that I don't have any idea how I'm supposed to get to the airport from the convention center. (Are you getting the impression that this was not a well planned trip?) It wasn't. I start to go into a mild panic that I might miss my flight and be stuck in this Ayn Rand nightmare. As I pack up my computer, I tell my boss that it's time for me to leave. Someone tells me that somewhere in this four square block convention complex, there is a courtesy phone to call a taxi. How long will it take me to even find the phone?

As I rush out the door, one of our clients, whom I had spent a lot of time with today, stops me and offers to give me a ride to the airport. Rick is an opthomologist in the Phoenix area, and one of the nicest people I've met. I immediately and gratefully accept his offer. We have a very pleasant ride and conversation to the airport. What a bright spot in a dreary weekend.

Rick drops me off at the departures area. I can't express my gratitude enough and we promise to keep in touch. As I lug my bags into the terminal, I pull out my itinerary and see that I am booked on Southwest Airlines. After I find the Southwest ticketing, I walk up to one of the computer screens to get my boarding pass. I punch in my confirmation number and scan my credit card for identification. The computer tells me that it needs more info, what is my zip? I punch it in, but the computer says it can't find my reservation. I ask an attendant for help, she looks in her computer but can't find me.

This thought starts screaming in my head; Who is John Galt? Who is John Galt?

I take a very deep breath, and remember something Linda said at the office the day before I left.

"Southwest lets you check two bags free, but U.S Air will charge you for all checked bags."

The itinerary has a typo? I head over to the U.S. Air ticketing, punch in my confirmation number, "click, click, click"... boarding pass! I see that I still have an hour before boarding, thanks to Rick giving me a ride, so I head to the bar for a beer. I need it at this point. I head to the security gate with forty minutes to spare. The line is like two miles long. Remember how I said security in Tampa is probably the best TSA can muster? Well, Phoenix is not their shining star. Thirty minutes just to get to the point of choosing the next available scanner. I just get to my gate as boarding is finishing.

As I sat on the plane going home, I ruminated on the weekend, and realized there was an important lesson here. An epiphany of sorts.

It's not the circumstances that matter in life, but the people we meet. After time has dulled the memories of the frustrating events of this gray weekend, there will remain a bright ray of sunshine. The kindness of a stranger and the simple act of a ride to the airport.

Getting Serious

2011-10-16T02:00:00.005-04:00

I have started a new writing class. I think it's time to learn how to do this right. Our first week, we learned how to write a lead and how to develop our characters. The lead is supposed to hook the reader to want to read on. Here is my first attempt. I would like to get some feedback if you don't mind. Feel free to critique it, as I want to improve where I need to. Thanks, in advance, for your comments.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The alarm clock sounded for the second time as Adam reached over to hit the snooze button again. Instead, he pushed the off button and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Pictures of the dream still echoed in his awakening consciousness. As sleep receded, and reality awakened, the pictures persisted. Adam lay still for several minutes contemplating the vision. No emotion, no surprise, only a dull acceptance. He rolled onto his side, reached over to the nightstand, and opened the drawer. As he took the pistol out of the drawer, it seemed to feel heavier than it should for such a small weapon. He held the gun in front of him and just stared at it without a thought. After several minutes, he put it back in the drawer, threw off the covers, and headed to the kitchen. Bread in the toaster, coffee brewing, Adam went for a shower to wash the last vestige of the dream from his mind. This day would be different, even though it had started just like all the rest. This day would change his life forever.

Today's Best Quote

2011-10-10T20:12:00.000-04:00

“Opposites attract. If two people are exactly alike, one of you is unnecessary.”
― Larry Burkett

September In July

2011-10-01T01:09:00.007-04:00

I needed to go to the post office last week to buy a roll of stamps. Well, that's not exactly true. I didn't need a roll of stamps, but since I work from home, it was an excuse to get out of the house. As I was walking out the door, the phone rang. I turned around and picked it up.

"Hello, this is Stan."

"Hello, may I please speak to Marshiqua?"

"There is no one here by that name."

"I'm sorry sir, do you know how I can contact Marshiqua?"

"I don't know anyone with that name."

"I understand sir. Do you have a forwarding address for Marshiqua?"

"I told you, I don't know who you are talking about."

"I'm sorry for bothering you sir, but do you know when is the best time to reach Marshiqua?"

"Does this Marshika person owe you money or something?"

"I'm sorry sir, I can only discuss that with Marshiqua. If you will put her on the phone, I will discuss it with her."

"I told you, Marskika does not live here."

"I understand sir, can you tell me when she will be home?"

"HOW THE HELL CAN I TELL YOU WHEN SHE WILL BE HOME IF I DON'T KNOW WHERE SHE LIVES?"

"No need to raise your voice sir. So you don't have a forwarding address. Would you be so kind as to give me her new phone number?"

"I don't know her new phone number."

"So you do know Marshiqua. May I ask you to give her my number to call me back?"

"I TOLD YOU, THERE IS NO MUSHIKA HERE!!"

"I know she is not there sir, please stop raising your voice. If you could just give her a message for me."

Ugggggg!!!!

"Sir, would you please have her contact me?"

(15 seconds of silence)

"What number should I give her?"

Some days, it's better to just walk out the door.
(Nothing to do with September In July, I just thought that was a cool title.)

Behind Every Cloud

2011-09-03T19:35:00.001-04:00

A Life Without Left Turns

2011-08-30T15:51:00.012-04:00

I received an email from a workmate today with a lovely story attributed to some famous prize winning journalist that I'd never heard of. Always dubious of these emails that claim to be quoted from this or that famous person, I did a quick Google search. Sure enough, this was published in USA Today in 2006, word for word.

Since I have recently been struggling with what to blog about, that wasn't too personal, I decided to post this as a guest blog. This is copied directly from the USA Today posting (hope I don't get sued,) and I am including the one liners that someone else tacked on to the end of the email.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

A Life Without Left Turns

By Michael Gartner

My father never drove a car.

Well, that's not quite right.

I should say I never saw him drive a car. He quit driving in 1927, when he was 25 years old, and the last car he drove was a 1926 Whippet.

"In those days," he told me when he was in his 90s, "to drive a car you had to do things with your hands, and do things with your feet, and look every which way, and I decided you could walk through life and enjoy it or drive through life and miss it."

At which point my mother, a sometimes salty Irishwoman, chimed in:

"Oh, bull——!" she said. "He hit a horse."

"Well," my father said, "there was that, too."

So my brother and I grew up in a household without a car. The neighbors all had cars — the Kollingses next door had a green 1941 Dodge, the VanLaninghams across the street a gray 1936 Plymouth, the Hopsons two doors down a black 1941 Ford — but we had none. My father, a newspaperman in Des Moines, would take the streetcar to work and, often as not, walk the 3 miles home. If he took the streetcar home, my mother and brother and I would walk the three blocks to the streetcar stop, meet him and walk home together.

Our 1950 Chevy

My brother, David, was born in 1935, and I was born in 1938, and sometimes, at dinner, we'd ask how come all the neighbors had cars but we had none. "No one in the family drives," my mother would explain, and that was that. But, sometimes, my father would say, "But as soon as one of you boys turns 16, we'll get one."

It was as if he wasn't sure which one of us would turn 16 first.

But, sure enough, my brother turned 16 before I did, so in 1951 my parents bought a used 1950 Chevrolet from a friend who ran the parts department at a Chevy dealership downtown. It was a four-door, white model, stick shift, fender skirts, loaded with everything, and, since my parents didn't drive, it more or less became my brother's car.

Having a car but not being able to drive didn't bother my father, but it didn't make sense to my mother. So in 1952, when she was 43 years old, she asked a friend to teach her to drive. She learned in a nearby cemetery, the place where I learned to drive the following year and where, a generation later, I took my two sons to practice driving. The cemetery probably was my father's idea. "Who can your mother hurt in the cemetery?" I remember him saying once.

For the next 45 years or so, until she was 90, my mother was the driver in the family. Neither she nor my father had any sense of direction, but he loaded up on maps — though they seldom left the city limits — and appointed himself navigator. It seemed to work.

The ritual walk to church

Still, they both continued to walk a lot. My mother was a devout Catholic, and my father an equally devout agnostic, an arrangement that didn't seem to bother either of them through their 75 years of marriage. (Yes, 75 years, and they were deeply in love the entire time.) He retired when he was 70, and nearly every morning for the next 20 years or so, he would walk with her the mile to St. Augustin's Church. She would walk down and sit in the front pew, and he would wait in the back until he saw which of the parish's two priests was on duty that morning. If it was the pastor, my father then would go out and take a 2-mile walk, meeting my mother at the end of the service and walking her home. If it was the assistant pastor, he'd take just a 1-mile walk and then head back to the church.

He called the priests "Father Fast" and "Father Slow."

After he retired, my father almost always accompanied my mother whenever she drove anywhere, even if he had no reason to go along. If she were going to the beauty parlor, he'd sit in the car and read, or go take a stroll or, if it was summer, have her keep the engine running so he could listen to the Cubs game on the radio. (In the evening, then, when I'd stop by, he'd explain: "The Cubs lost again. The millionaire on second base made a bad throw to the millionaire on first base, so the multimillionaire on third base scored.") If she were going to the grocery store, he would go along to carry the bags out — and to make sure she loaded up on ice cream.

As I said, he was always the navigator, and once, when he was 95 and she was 88 and still driving, he said to me, "Do you want to know the secret of a long life?" "I guess so," I said, knowing it probably would be something bizarre.

"What?" I asked.

"No left turns," he repeated. "Several years ago, your mother and I read an article that said most accidents that old people are in happen when they turn left in front of oncoming traffic. As you get older, your eyesight worsens, and you can lose your depth perception, it said. So your mother and I decided never again to make a left turn."

"What?" I said again. "No left turns," he said. "Think about it. Three rights are the same as a left, and that's a lot safer. So we always make three rights."

"You're kidding!" I said, and I turned to my mother for support. "No," she said, "your father is right. We make three rights. It works."

But then she added: "Except when your father loses count."

I was driving at the time, and I almost drove off the road as I started laughing. "Loses count?" I asked. "Yes," my father admitted, "that sometimes happens. But it's not a problem. You just make seven rights, and you're okay again."

I couldn't resist. "Do you ever go for 11?" I asked.

"No," he said. "If we miss it at seven, we just come home and call it a bad day. Besides, nothing in life is so important it can't be put off another day or another week."

My mother was never in an accident, but one evening she handed me her car keys and said she had decided to quit driving. That was in 1999, when she was 90. She lived four more years, until 2003. My father died the next year, at 102. They both died in the bungalow they had moved into in 1937 and bought a few years later for $3,000. (Sixty years later, my brother and I paid $8,000 to have a shower put in the tiny bathroom — the house had never had one. My father would have died then and there if he knew the shower cost nearly three times what he paid for the house.) He continued to walk daily — he had me get him a treadmill when he was 101 because he was afraid he'd fall on the icy sidewalks but wanted to keep exercising — and he was of sound mind and sound body until the moment he died.

A happy life

One September afternoon in 2004, he and my son went with me when I had to give a talk in a neighboring town, and it was clear to all three of us that he was wearing out, though we had the usual wide-ranging conversation about politics and newspapers and things in the news. A few weeks earlier, he had told my son, "You know, Mike, the first hundred years are a lot easier than the second hundred." At one point in our drive that Saturday, he said, "You know, I'm probably not going to live much longer." "You're probably right," I said. "Why would you say that?" he countered, somewhat irritated. "Because you're 102 years old," I said. "Yes," he said, "you're right." He stayed in bed all the next day. That night, I suggested to my son and daughter that we sit up with him through the night. He appreciated it, he said, though at one point, apparently seeing us look gloomy, he said: "I would like to make an announcement. No one in this room is dead yet." An hour or so later, he spoke his last words:

"I want you to know," he said, clearly and lucidly, "that I am in no pain. I am very comfortable. And I have had as happy a life as anyone on this earth could ever have."

A short time later, he died.

I miss him a lot, and I think about him a lot. I've wondered now and then how it was that my family and I were so lucky that he lived so long.

I can't figure out if it was because he walked through life.

Or because he quit taking left turns.

Michael Gartner has been editor of newspapers large and small and president of NBC News. In 1997, he won the Pulitzer Prize for editorial writing.

-------------------------------------------

Added to the end of the email:

Life is too short to wake up with regrets.
So love the people who treat you right.
Forget about the ones who don't.
Believe everything happens for a reason.
If you get a chance, take it & if it changes your life, let it.
Nobody said life would be easy, they just promised it would most likely be worth it."

ENJOY LIFE NOW - IT HAS AN EXPIRATION DATE!

From The Mouths Of Babes

2011-08-22T20:42:00.000-04:00

"I am the author of my own life. Unfortunately, I am writing in pen, and can not erase my mistakes."

-Repeated by Sasha Rose Humesky, 12 years old, to her father.

The Next Third

2011-08-17T02:15:00.003-04:00

"Anything is possible, the rest is probable."

Next month, I will turn 53. It's a time of self-reflection. How did I get here? What have I learned? Where do I go next? Questions I should have asked myself twenty years ago. But I was too busy to even think back then. A family to support, bills to pay, keeping up with the Joneses. (Believe me, even when you are a Jones, you are driven to keep up with the rest of them.) But back then, I didn't stop to ask these soul-searching questions. So here I am now, twenty years later... pondering.

"How did I get here?" seems irrelevant at this point. I can look back and see how I got here. There's nothing I can do to change that path now.

"Where do I go from here?" is a more interesting question. Yet, looking back over the path that got me here, I see there were many twists and turns in my life that I never anticipated. So I can't anticipate what may lie ahead.

That brings me to "What have I learned?" This question is eternally ponderable. What have I learned? Well...a lot. I've learned lots of common things, such as:

Value a good friend
Be a good friend
Love your children
Tell the truth, always
There's always more to learn
Pay your bills on time
Change your oil every 3,000 miles

These aren't the answers I'm searching for, as I approach my 53rd birthday. I know these answers. They are ingrained at this point in my life. I am looking for a more elusive answer to "what have I learned?" An answer that I may not have recognized yet, that will guide me into the next third of my life. I need an answer that will steer my direction forward, learned from my past. Not a specific answer, more like a rule. A rule to guide me forward.

Here is the answer I found:

"Anything is possible, the rest is probable."

This is not a revelation, a new rule for life. You have heard it stated in many different ways. "Expect the best, and prepare for the worst." I heard this rule as a Boy Scout. The first line of the Boy Scout oath is, "I will do my best." The Boy Scout motto is, "Be prepared." I memorized these words forty years ago, and it has taken me forty years to learn what they mean. Both of these examples have become cliche' however. Just as I memorized the lines from my Boy Scout handbook without really understanding their meaning, people repeat "hope for the best..." without understanding.

So my answer is:

"Anything is possible, the rest is probable."

Notice that it is not "everything is possible." Everything is not possible. For instance, I could not be an Olympic runner at age 52. Maybe there is some freak of nature my age who could be, but not me. Anything is possible has a different meaning. Looking back on the path that got me here, I see times that opportunities appeared out of nowhere. Opportunities that seemed implausible at the time. Some people call this serendipity. Those who think they have all control over their lives write it off as coincidence. But there have been times in my life when I have grabbed this brass ring of fate. No assurance, no reason, no plan. It just appeared and I went with it. And every time that I did, no matter how impossible it seemed at the time, it turned out to be the right path. Other times, I talked myself into the implausibility, and regretted it.

So my rule going forward is, don't ignore the serendipities. No matter how implausible they seem. Go for it!

The second half of my rule is "the rest is probable." This is simply Murphy's Law. "What can happen, will happen." The way to handle this is...don't sweat the small stuff, or, "be prepared."

This is the world according to Stan, as he prepares to enter the next third of life. Maybe you can relate. If not, if you haven't a clue what I'm talking about, then just consider this rant a shameless reminder that I have a birthday coming up.

Nothing more than a coincidence.

Just Another Day In Paradise

2011-08-04T19:32:00.002-04:00

If a picture is worth a thousand words...this saves me a lot of writing.

You're Joking...Right?

2011-07-20T00:04:00.001-04:00

I heard the funniest joke this week. I won't tell it here, not appropriate. But it got me to thinking about humor. Why does humor make us feel so good? I mean, you can be losing your job, your car, your house...even your dog (sounds like a country song, doesn't it?), and go to a comedy club for an hour, and all is well with the world.

There are studies that show that laughter releases hormones into the brain that make us feel good. But come on! Is it really a matter of simple biology? If that were the case, some pharma company would have synthesized the hormone by now, and it would be out-selling Prozac. There has to be some other component as to why humor touches us so profoundly. Is it a social thing? A spiritual? Is it in proportion to the amount of the cover charge at the door? I mean, there has to be something more to it than a few chemicals in the brain, right?

As I was contemplating this serious philosophical question, an even bigger question sprang to mind. What motivates the people who have humor? I mean the people that make the rest of us laugh, so the hormones can be released to make us forget that when we leave the comedy club, we have no way home because our truck has been repossessed. What biological explanation is there for the joke tellers?

The funniest person I know is my brother, Robert. He has had the sharpest sense of humor since he was born...literally. When he was just a baby, he used to call me Tymump. How he got Tymump out of Stanley has never been deduced, but it cracked up my parents, and he still keeps us all in stitches.

"Brevity is the soul of wit" -Oscar Wilde
"Laughter is the best medicine" -Reader's Digest

Find something to laugh about today. It will make you feel better, even if you don't know why.

Did you hear the one about the penguin who's car broke down...?

The Clan Of Bud

2011-07-06T15:42:00.004-04:00

The day after my post about Bud, (I've been informed by several that he is not a frog, but a toad), he left. I saw him one other time just outside my backdoor during a rainstorm, just sitting there soaking in the wetness.

I have, however, had visits from his family members.

First, there was Buddy, Bud's adolescent son. Buddy showed up one morning on my porch, full of energy. I couldn't figure out how he got in to my screened porch since the door was closed all night, but there he was, just hopping all over the place. I went over to say good morning and off he went. Hop, hop, hop. "Not very social" I thought to myself. But then I remembered that he was a teen, so I cut him some slack. I wondered if his dad had forced him come pay me a visit, or if he was just 'cruisin' the neighborhood. Since he didn't seem to be in the mood to socialize, I propped the door open so he could easily leave, and I went back into the house.

A few days later, I went outside during one of those nightly thunderstorms we get in Florida this time of year. I was startled by a very large 'toad' sitting on my chair and not moving a twitch. I walked over to him, and he didn't even seem to notice me. "He looks toasted," I thought. "One too many flies with the boys at the pond," I assumed. It was Bud's philandering uncle. I think he was lost on his way home and just stopped in here to sleep it off. I left the door open for him too. He was gone the next morning, probably catching hell from Mrs. Uncle Toad.

"Where were you all night? Don't give me that crap about Stan's house! You were out with that cute little bullfrog again, weren't you?"

I can't wait to meet Mrs. Bud.

Jaded Life

2011-06-24T00:41:00.002-04:00

Well, finally, I turned over the keys to my house for the bank to take possession. After nearly two and a half years of trying to get out from under the albatross that I created during my divorce, I think I am nearing the end of the last of the worst chapter of my life.

I met the inspector for the final inspection to make sure I left the house 'broom clean' for the bank...whatever that means. As I walked around with him, I was concerned about leaving a few things in the house that I could not sell in my final garage sale, and did not have a truck to haul off to Goddwill. I was afraid he would tell me that I would have to get rid of these larger items myself before he would give his approval to the bank. As I pointed out these items to him, he said "Don't worry about them. I usually call the Red Cross to pick them up. They use furniture and such for flood victims." I was relieved, ready to get this ordeal over with.

As we walked around the outside of the house, discussing the age of the roof and air conditioning equipment, I noticed a plant I had left behind because it was too large to fit in my car to move. It is a huge Jade plant in a very large pot. My thoughts immediately went back to the origins of that plant and the beginnings of my now failed marriage.

We had just moved to Decatur Alabama, with our one year old son, to start a new job. A few weeks after we had moved into our rental house, we had a visit from the Welcome Wagon lady. If you are too young to know what Welcome Wagon is, it used to be a volunteer group who would stop by whenever someone new moved to town, to welcome them, and help them acclimate to their new home. They would bring welcoming gifts, and directories of local businesses and churches, in order to make you feel at home in your new community.

Anyway, one of her welcoming gifts was a very small Jade plant in a pot about the size of a coffee cup. There was a card stuck in the dirt of the plant that said something like "As this plant grows, we hope you will grow in our town." The plant had only three or four leaves on it. We thanked her for the visit and set the small Jade plant in our kitchen window. The plant eventually started really taking off and had to be re-potted into a bigger pot. Over the next several years, as our family grew, and we moved from one house to another, that Jade plant always went with us.

The Jade got so big that we had to divide it into two pots, then into several smaller pots. We started giving out small potted Jade plants to friends and family as it proliferated. We gave one to our friends, Mike and Susan, when we moved to Florida. We gave a large one to my In-laws which they planted in their yard and eventually grew into almost tree size. It seemed the more we gave away, the faster ours multiplied. We never forgot the words on that card that the Welcome Wagon lady left that day. "As this plant grows, we hope you will grow."

So as I walked around the ruins of the house that represented the culmination, and fall, of 20 years of my life, talking to the inspector about life expectancy of roof shingles and A/C systems, I saw this Jade plant that had been left behind. It hadn't been watered in weeks, sitting in the hot sun. Most of the leaves had fallen off, new ones struggling to sprout, as if in a last ditch effort to survive. I had one last twinge of regret and sadness for the loss, both for me and the Jade.

Then I thought back on all the people in my life that had been given a part of that Jade, and how it, and we, had passed ourselves on to others. And I realized that although this chapter may have come to an end, the story, and the Jade, continues on with all those people who received a part of it, and us.

All I could think to say to that plant was "Thank You", and "Farewell". Not good-bye, because even though we both felt worn out and withered, we had both planted for ourselves a new beginning in the many friends we had made along the way.

My New Bud...Bud

2011-06-16T21:49:00.012-04:00

I have a new friend. His name is Bud. Bud showed up at my door a couple of weeks ago and hasn't left yet. Not that I mind if he stays. He's really not intrusive. He pretty much keeps to himself. I just can't figure out why he keeps hanging around.

Bud sits with me every morning as we both watch the sun come up. We both are quiet as we watch each new day dawn, Bud never interrupts the moment. I respect him for that. He sits perfectly still as I make my feeble attempts at meditation, never once does he make fun of me. When I am done, he just looks at me and blinks, as if he approves. I get the feeling that Bud has wisdom.

My Friend Bud

Those Kodak Moments

2011-06-04T17:57:00.002-04:00

Carpe Diem? Why just seize the day? I have recently been trying to Carpe Momentus...Momentos...Momentum...Momentorium... Well, what ever the Latin, I'm talking about seize the moment, not just the day.

A few months ago, I decided that I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. I was awakened to the realization of what a rut my life was in, how blaze' my existence had become. I had plenty of excuses for how I got there, and I had spent the past few years offering up those excuses to anyone who dared point a finger at my life, even though most were trying to help me, I took their comments as accusations and condemnations that I needed to defend against, rather than the help they were trying to offer.

Well...anyway, I finally woke up and decided it was time to go on a quest. I haven't been on a real quest since I was probably in my 20's. I'm talking a real soul-searching quest. The kind where you open yourself up, take a hard look, and begin to explore life. The kind of quest where you put aside all your pre-conceived, built up, crusted ideas, and really explore. Square one, back to the basics, challenge everything. As part of this quest, I began reading voraciously. Any thing from health and fitness books to diverse spiritual readings. Like I said, back to square one.

One thing I've noticed that is a common thread in everything I've read, is the admonition to live in the moment. We can't change the past, and we have no control over the future. So when we dwell on regrets, or worry, we are wasting the only time we have any control over. The now. So I have been practicing focusing on the moments in life and I thought I would share a few of the more memorable ones.

First, a humorous moment to lighten the serious tone. The day I finally went to writing class, a moment that still makes me laugh out loud when I remember it. We were in the middle of someone's reading their piece. There was another student in class, I'll call him Jack. Jack is blind, in a wheelchair and hard of hearing. He had a hard time hearing everything that was being read, and obviously being blind, couldn't read along. Another student, I'll call her Betty, was sitting adjacent to Jack at the corner of the table. Jack had missed a whole passage of what was being read, so Betty offered to read it to him again. As Betty started reading, I looked over at them and nearly burst out laughing. Betty was reading in a raised voice so Jack could hear her, but she was holding the page between them as if Jack were reading along with her! If I had been sitting there thinking about some chore I needed to do later, or what I forgot to do that morning, I would have missed the moment.

One more light moment. I have just moved in to a complex of townhouses. Seems all my neighbors have dogs. We all have a screened back porch that looks out over a pond. I have gotten into the habit of getting up early every morning to sit on my porch and watch the dawning of each new day. It's a great way to start the day. Anyway, some of my neighbors put their dog on a long leash in the morning and tie the leash to the screen door to let the dog do his business without them having to get out and walk him. One morning last week, I saw a neighbors' dog walking towards the pond until he had the leash stretched tight running down his chest, down his belly, between his legs to exit at his tail. Just as the leash could stretch no more, the dog squatted for his morning constitutional. I stood there with baited breath to see if he would miss the leash, and wondered if the owners would grab the leash before they noticed if he didn't miss. I was relieved, that he was relieved, without soiling the leash.

A touching moment. There was an older married couple on my recent Kayak trip. They had their own Kayaks, while most of us had rented ours. For the first hour or so, I was focused on the lessons we were being taught. Trying to paddle just right, not tip over, not ram anyone else with my Kayak. After the lessons, we set off for the beach to watch the sunset and practice what we had just learned. Once we got to the beach, we all got out to. As we pulled our boats up on the sand so they wouldn't float away with the tide, I noticed this couple for the first time without being distracted. In the moment. Suddenly I saw that they were both dressed alike. Same hats, same shorts, same shirts. The only difference between their Kayaks were the colors. I started listening to their conversation with the instructor. They were telling him about how they had just taken up Kayaking, how they try different things all the time together and whatever things they both like, they pursue together. If one of them is not interested in something new that they try, they don't continue it, even if the other liked it. They only do things that they both like and can do together. I thought to myself "what a wonderful love". Everyone else was getting out their cameras for the sunset, or finding their water bottles, or just not paying attention for whatever reason. I'm glad I didn' t miss that moment.

Finally, the moment that taught me that it takes lots of practice to learn to live in the moment. Yesterday, I had the pleasure of taking a sunset dinner cruise. The evening was beautiful, and with big billowy clouds in the sky, I knew it would be a great sunset. I started complaining to my date that I wished I had brought my camera. After dinner, we went up to the aft deck on the second level of the yacht to watch the sunset. I kept saying how this scene and that would make a great picture if I'd only brought my camera. Finally, my date turned to me and said "Why don't you just enjoy the moment instead of regretting not having your camera?" Smart lady.

Funny how life works sometimes.

While You're Down There

2011-05-26T23:06:00.003-04:00

So you're down in the hole again huh, boy?
Well, no surprise.
You been there before,
And this prob'ly ain't the last time.

Hey, boy!
How long ya planin' to stay down there this time?
That's a pretty deep hole ya got there.
You sure ya wanna do this again?

I don't understand ya boy.
You keep falling in this same old hole.
What's that ya say, boy?
You were chasing a butterfly?

Chasin' them damn butterflies again!
I swear boy, you don't ever learn.
I told ya before.
Chasin butterflies only lands ya in this same ol' hole, every time.

Why don't ya listen to me, boy?
Butterflies ain't worth it.
Ya catch 'em for a little while.
But then ya fall in this dang hole.

This one looks deep, boy.
Ya sure you're gonna get outta there?
Ya better start climbin'.
Before ya run outta steam.

Hey, boy!
What happened to the butterfly?
What was that?
Ya say it flew away?

They always do, boy
They always do.
When ya gonna stop chasin' butterflies, boy?
What? Never?

I don't get you, boy.
Butterflies ain't that special.
Who, me?
Have I ever held a butterfly?

No I ain't
And I don't plan to.
Not if it means
Goin' down in that hole.

Speak up, boy.
I can't hear you.
Ya say it's worth it?
Just to hold one for a while?

It's a damn butterfly, boy!
And that's a deep hole.
How can a damn butterfly be worth bein' in that hole?
You're right about that, boy, I never will understand.

Well, boy, I'll wait for ya up here.
While you're down there
Why don't ya grab that bag of determination.
I think you're gonna need it to get outta that hole.

My Second Writing Assignment

2011-05-12T15:06:00.000-04:00

My last post concerned my first writing class. At the end of each class, everyone is given a suggested topic (called a prompt) to write about for the next class. You can choose to use the prompt or write about anything else you like. Since I am trying to learn to apply what little writing skills I have to any topic, not just what I feel like writing, I took the challenge.

This week's prompt was 'personal effects'. "Create two or three characters and make annotated lists of their personal effects...then write a story with these characters using as many of the items as possible." Since I don't consider myself much of a fiction writer, I decided to give it a try. Here is my effort, I hope you enjoy it:

Time Travel

Charlie was excited. He had been to the airport before, but always to send someone off. This was the first time he was the one flying. Since he was only 11, he still needed an escort, but he still felt like he was doing it on his own. As he sat with his mom, waiting for the boarding call, he could hardly contain his excitement to finally walk through that door and onto the plane. He’d always watched others do it and wondered what it felt like.

He looked at his wrist watch, fifteen more minutes if everything was on schedule. He knew from other times here, that sometimes flights got delayed. He was hoping that this was not one of those times. “Do you think the flight will leave on time Mom? What if they lose my suitcase? I know that happens sometimes.” Charlie knew he was driving his mom nuts with all the questions, but he couldn’t help himself. He was just so excited. His mother didn’t show any frustration though; she just kept answering his questions and telling him that everything would go fine.

The gate attendant picked up the microphone, and over the loud speaker Charlie heard “Now boarding flight 562 to Boston. We will board those needing assistance, and children flying alone, first. Please have your boarding pass out and line up behind me at the gate.” Charlie looked at his watch, then at his mom and said “right on time!” His mom walked him to the gate, handed the paperwork to the attendant, then kissed Charlie on the forehead and said “have a good flight; I will miss you while you’re gone.” Oh, I will! I will miss you too. I’ll call you when I get to grandma’s house.”

As the attendant walked Charlie down the corridor, he could barely contain his excitement. As he stepped onto the plane, he felt like he was entering another world. The escort took him to row 10, seat F, the window seat. He sat down quickly and buckled his seat belt. The escort asked if he would like to have his carry-on under the seat or in the overhead compartment. Charlie said the overhead; he knew he wouldn’t be reading any of the books his mom packed for him. He wanted to look out the window for the entire flight and soak in the experience of finally flying.

Others started coming on to the plane, and as they filed past, an older man stopped at Charlie’s row, he looked up, then at Charlie, and said; “Row 10 seat D, this must be me. Do you mind if I sit next to you?”

“No, of course not, it’s your seat.”

The man put his small bag and jacket in the over-head compartment, and as he sat down, he reached out his hand and said “Hi, I’m George.” Charlie shook his hand and said “Hi, I’m Charlie, and this is my first time to fly.”

As George buckled his seat belt, he said, “First time to fly huh? Are you nervous or excited?”

“Excited. Well, maybe a little nervous, but mostly excited.” Charlie said. “You must have flown a lot of times, Huh?’ he said to George.

“Are you saying I’m old Charlie? How do you know this is not my first time too?”

“Oh no, I didn’t mean that, I just meant…”

“I’m kidding you Charlie. Yes, I’ve flown a lot of times and I still get excited about it. I love to fly. It never gets old for me. Do you know why it never gets old Charlie?”

“Because it’s fun?”

“Yes, it’s always fun, but that’s not why it never gets old. It never gets old because it’s always something new.” Charlie looked puzzled. George said, “Every time I get on a plane, I am headed for a new experience, someplace different that I’ve never been before. I like the flying part, but I like the arriving part even more. As old as I look to you, I never run out of new things, new places and people to experience. That is why I still get excited to fly. Because it always takes me to new places and new friends, like you Charlie. If I hadn’t gotten on this plane, I would never have met you.”

“Well, I’m going to see my grandma and grandpa, so I’m not going to meet any new people. So I am just excited about the flying part since this is my first time”

“Well, you just met me. Aren’t I new people?”

“Yeah, I guess you are.”

“Well, there you go then. See, flying gives you both. The fun and the new.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right!”

“I think this is going to be a great first flight for you Charlie.”

“Me too.”

Charlie turned his head back towards the window, and then looked at his watch. “Do you think we will take off on time?”

“I think so, I haven’t heard about any delays.” George said.

As the last of the passengers took their seats, the flight attendant came on the loud speaker and began his announcements. Charlie heard the engines start to rev and his heart raced with them. Soon the plane began to move, and Charlie could barely contain himself. “This is so cool.” thought Charlie.

As the plane lifted off the ground, Charlie couldn’t even think anymore. He could only feel. He was totally absorbed in the moment. His head was swimming and he had a thousand butterflies in his stomach.

Once in the air, Charlie didn’t stop looking out the window. He marveled at the clouds below, he’d never thought about looking at the tops of clouds. He was enthralled at how the farmland below looked like one of his Grandma’s quilts. He saw rivers and streams that looked like blood vessels from so far up. He only looked away from the window to look at his wrist watch every so often.

George sat reading a magazine, but he couldn’t help notice that Charlie kept looking at his watch. Finally George asked, “So how is your first flight Charlie? Are you anxious to get where you are going?”

“Oh, no, this is awesome!”

“Well, I couldn’t help noticing that you keep looking at your watch. I thought maybe you were ready to see your grandparents.”

Charlie turned and looked down at his wrist. He paused for a moment then looked at George. “No, that’s not it. See, every time I’ve been to an airport, except this time, it’s been to put my dad on a plane. I’ve always wondered what he felt like getting on that plane. See, my dad is in the army. He is a captain. And he works in Afghanistan. He has been working over there for two years. He gets to come home every six months, but then he goes back to work. My dad gave me this watch the first time he had to leave. He told me that it was so every time I looked to see what time it was, that I would think about him and how he was missing me. So now I keep thinking about him flying on this plane, and my watch makes me feel like he is here flying with me. That’s all, I’m not in any hurry for this to end.”

As Charlie turned back to the window, George felt a lump in his throat and an ache in his chest. They both remained silent for several minutes. George tried to compose himself, but the wave of emotion overwhelmed him. He said to Charlie, “I’ll be right back, I need to use the restroom.” Charlie said “OK”

George went to the restroom and doused his face with water. He broke down for a minute, then took several deep breaths and composed himself. He walked back to his seat and waited a minute, then said to Charlie; “Hey, you wanna see something?” Charlie said, “sure, what?” George reached down in to his bag and pulled out something shiny with a chain attached. George showed it to Charlie and asked; “do you know what this is?’ Charlie said “a watch”. George said “that’s right; it’s called a pocket watch.”

“Where’d you get it?” Charlie asked.

“Well, I got it from my dad too, just like you did your watch. See, my dad was a soldier too. Just like yours. Only he served in World War II which was a long time ago. This watch was given to my dad by a German guard. See, my dad got captured and was a prisoner of war. Do you know what that is Charlie? A prisoner of war?”

“I think so; it’s like when the enemy catches you and holds you in a jail till the war is over, right?”

“Yes, that’s right. And it used to be part of our dad’s job that it could happen. But I don’t think it happens much anymore, so I don’t think it will happen to your dad. But it did to mine. And while he was a prisoner of the enemy, he made friends with one of the soldiers who guarded the prisoners. And that friendly guard gave my dad this watch.”

“You mean even though they were enemies, they were friends?”

“That’s right Charlie. You see, our dads don’t fight the enemy because they don’t like the people. It’s our governments that don’t get along and our dads are just doing their jobs because they each believe in their governments. But people are just people, we aren’t all that different. So my dad became friends with one of the people that the government told him to fight. And that man gave my dad this watch as a symbol of their friendship. And that friendship, and this watch, helped my dad keep having faith while he was a prisoner.”

“Then when the war was over, he got to come home, and the first thing he did was give me this watch. He told me that the whole time he was a prisoner that he would look at this watch and think of me and look forward to seeing me again. My dad is gone now, he died five years ago. But I still carry this watch, and every time I look at it, I know that I will see him again.”

“So Charlie, you hang on to that watch your dad gave you. As long as you have it, he will always be with you. Even when he has to go away for a time. And you know what?”

“What George?”

“Out of all the planes I’ve ever flown on in my life, and I’ve flown a lot, this is the best one of them all. You know why Charlie?”

“No, why?”

“Because I got to meet you. See, even when you get to be as old as me, there is always someone new to meet and somewhere new to go. Don’t forget that Charlie.”

“I won’t George. What time do you think we will land?”

My First Writing Class

2011-05-09T23:47:00.003-04:00

I attended my first writing class today. It is taught by a dear friend who volunteers at the senior center once a week, and always makes time in her schedule to prepare and be there. I have been promising to go for almost a year now, and am sorry I waited this long. It was a rewarding experience.

The class is conducted, by everyone bringing something they wrote, reading it to the class, then getting constructive feedback from everyone on style, composition, storyline, etc. They were gracious to ask if I had brought anything to share. I had a copy of "Here's Your Sign" taken from this blog. So I passed out copies to everyone and began to read.

This particular post that I wrote was very emotional when I wrote it some six months ago. But time has passed, so I thought I could read it out loud without difficulty now. I only made it to the first line of the third paragraph before I had to stop. My good friend, the consummate teacher and reliable friend that she is, asked me if I would like her to finish reading for me.

Everyone gave me very good opinions and critiques for improving the writing, and all were very gracious in their compliments. So I have taken some of their suggestions and made some adjustments based on their feedback. The changes are subtle, but I think make the story stronger.

What I took away from the class, however, was not sharpening my writing skills. But a feeling of caring more for others. Although discussions were raucous at times and critiques occasionally sharp, there was always an atmosphere in the room that everyone were close friends, if only in that room once a week.

So here is the re-write of "Here's Your Sign" using the feed back from that charming, diverse group of people I met today.

Here's Your Sign

I finally put my house on the market this week. After a year and a half of battling with the bank over what to do, we at last agreed on a short sale. As I sat looking out the window of my office watching the guy put up the 'For Sale' sign, I had mixed emotions. I could feel the vibrations as he pounded the post hole digger into the ground. I could also feel the emotions of the house with each thrust. I swear, I felt that the house was going through the same roller coaster that I was.

I am glad to be closing this last vestige of the tumult of the past few years, but I couldn't help but think about all the good times in this house, as the hole got deeper and deeper. As I sat and watched the violation of my once beautiful yard, I remembered the excitement of first moving in. Finally, our youngest son would have his own bedroom. The plans to put in a pool, build a deck, brick the driveway. The memories came flooding in. The strange thing is, I felt as if the memories were emanating from the house itself.

I remembered the hours and days installing ceiling fans, a new front door, painting every room (some three times because the color was not exactly right), shopping for blinds and drapes. I remembered a house full of kids, the laughter and noise. Graduation and birthday parties. All those memories, now as faded as those freshly painted walls. I could almost feel the house weeping for the loss.

As the sign guy kept pounding away, he stopped suddenly. He bent over and looked into the hole. He seemed to have hit something solid. My first thought was "Oh no, don't tell me you hit my sprinkler line!". He pounded a couple more times then stopped to look again. It occurred to me that maybe it was the house that stopped him. "Not just yet" I felt the house saying.

Then the memories of the most recent years flooded in. The pain of divorce, the loss of my business, children growing up and moving on. I thought about the months of worry when I couldn't get a job. The worry about my kids, would they be scarred by divorce. The lonely days and nights spent in this house.

I looked outside, the sign guy was digging again, the hole progressing now. I felt the house telling me, it's OK. Time to move on. We both sighed in resignation. As the sign was finally put into the ground and adjusted, I felt relieved and sad at the same time. So did the house. Time for this house to have a new family, new dreams, new memories.

The past week has been a short parade of Realtors and prospects traipsing through bedrooms and kitchen. As they imagine new paint and a pool, who gets which bedroom, drapes and carpet, they have no idea what life has been lived here over the past eight years. That is a memory only held between me and the house.

Ode To Friend #2

2011-04-27T00:04:00.001-04:00

"I have learned that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours."
-Henry David Thoreau

The dream is marked
Vision firmly set
I set off on my race

To reach the dream
Without a price
Would hollow victory be

Though current rage
And obstacles abound
I will swim on undaunted

With every stroke
And every breath
The dream grows only stronger

For if it were not difficult
Or came about with ease
The dream would lose the luster, that it holds for me

My confidence is sure
And as my endurance grows
The dream grows more in focus

And as it does
Faith joins me
To steel me my resolve

For at the end
Should I win or lose
I will take pride in the quest

And know that I
Have done my best
To win my greatest dream

Life Is Like A Box Of...Rocks

2011-04-12T00:33:00.003-04:00

OK, not really. I just thought the Forest Gump reference made a better title. Life is not like a box of rocks, it's like a plate of rocks. Let me explain.

I have this plate full of rocks on my breakfast table. I know, I know, who the hell has a plate of rocks on their breakfast table? I'm getting to that. Anyway, I probably pass this plate full of rocks more than a dozen times a day without ever noticing they are there. I know what you're thinking, "If there were a plate full of rocks on my breakfast table, I'd damn sure notice it." I told you, I'm getting to that, let me continue.

This morning, as I passed that plate of rocks for the fourth time, getting my fourth cup of coffee, I not only noticed it out of the corner of my eye, but I stopped two steps past and turned around to look at it. This thought just popped into my head out of nowhere: "that plate of rocks is kind of like life".

Let me start from the beginning. One day, several months ago, I was doing some spring cleaning. You know, those drawers and closets that get so cluttered, you don't even open them anymore because it reminds you what a procrastinator you are. Those. One of the things I found in the bottom of one closet was a container full of river rocks that my son had used in an indoor waterfall that he had dug out of some dumpster somewhere. The waterfall had long since been discarded, but the rocks remained. They looked kind of cool, all round and smooth in varying shades of grey, so I set them on my dinning table. A few weeks later, I was clearing the table (can't rush these cleaning jobs you know), and the rocks were there right next to a decorative plate that I had also taken out of the closet. Not wanting to clutter my newly cleaned closet, I dumped the rocks onto the plate and set it in the middle of the table. After breifly patting myself on the back for thinking I could be the male Martha Stewart, I walked away and forgot about it. I know, I know... you're saying "They're just rocks in a plate!" Cut me some slack, I'm a bachelor who used to decorate my college apartment with bookshelves made out of cinder blocks and boards. Come on, you know that was cool back then.

(Fast forward six months.) I recently had to move to a new place so I was cleaning out every procrastinated closet and drawer in the house. As I did, I kept finding all these polished rocks hidden in drawers. They weren't river rocks, but bright rocks. Torquoise, coral, alabaster, and they were shiny. I wondered where they came from, but having two boys with pockets growing up, I didn't think about it too long. Still having visions of being 'Martin Stewart', I tossed them in the plate with the river rocks. Everything got moved to the new place and that plate of rocks ended up on my breakfast table. Now aren't you sorry you gave me flack and made me tell the back story?

Back to this morning. As I passed that plate of rocks this morning, that thought struck me. How this plate of rocks is like life. I sat down with my coffee and stared at the plate of rocks. The first thing I thought was how the river rocks kind of represent all the crap we've endured in life. All the trials and tribulations. They are all dark and differing shades of grey. The bright rocks are like all the great things we've experienced. All shiny and colorful and bright. Then I noticed also, that the river rocks were much bigger than the colorful rocks. Hmmm. Maybe because I have focused more on the crap in life than the good things? Then I noticed that all the rocks, river and bright, were all very smooth. This, I thought, is becase time smooths all our experiences. What were once sharp, jagged edges, are worn down in our memories until they become faded and smooth.

Then this realization hit me: without the river rocks, the bright rocks wouldn't look so bright. All the brightness would be lost in other brightness. It takes the grey river rocks to show how much the bright rocks really do shine.

After sitting there for at least fifteen minutes, I thought to myself "I need bigger bright rocks and more of them."

Friends

2011-04-08T21:10:00.000-04:00

I have a friend who is going through a very difficult time right now. A very difficult time. In fact, they have been going through it for a very long time. So long, that I have all but given up on thinking that I can get them back. They are lost and I no longer know how to bring them back. I miss my friend deeply.

I have tried everything I know, for this whole time; to continue to be their friend, to be there for them, to not give up on them. But they only seem to get more lost. They continue to drift away from me. I am out of bullets and quite frankly, getting tired of trying. That admission shames me to say, but I am trying to be honest with myself. They have leaned on me for so long and I have always tried to help and comfort, as any good friend should. But it doesn't seem to do any good. Nothing changes, they just keep drifting further away. I miss my friend desperately.

I have another friend whom I lean on. I have for a long time. They have stood by me and tried to help when I feel lost. I keep leaning on them over and over, but I feel them starting to get tired of my leaning. Like they are out of bullets for me and getting tired of trying. I feel lost. I am missing my friend deeply.

You see, I keep going to this friend with the same problem, and it never gets better. I never get better. They've tried everything they know, for this whole time; to continue to be my friend, to be there for me, not to give up on me. But I only seem more lost to them. Nothing changes, and we keep drifting further away. I miss my friend desperately.

Friendship seems to work on two levels:
Between friends, it seems to go in one direction. One friend needs, the other supplies. Friends will alternate helping each other, but most of the time it is only flowing in one direction at a time. This is the first level. The other level is us. We have some friends we are helping, and some friends who are helping us, at the same time. It flows in both directions from us.

My point in all of this is; it seems as my energy wanes to help my first friend, so the energy wanes in the friend who helps me. I'm wondering if I were to recharge my energy to help my first friend, if that energy would be returned back to me from the second friend?

I do know this:
I miss them both right now.

Brother, Can You Spare Some Change?

2011-03-22T23:33:00.003-04:00

What walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon, and three legs in the evening?

Put another way, what can change, and yet remain the same?

The static dynamic of change. You know the riddle... what is the only constant in life?

Change.

I seem to be in some sort of time warp at the ripe young age of 52. Sitting here contemplating the concept of change as if I were 18 again, reading Emerson or Thoreau. Life seems to close down and open up at the oddest moments. A few thoughts on change:

Change has always been a driving force in my life. When I was younger, I pushed for it, tried to force it. I lived for change. I drove headlong into change. The freedom of my first car, moving away from home, first apartment, first real job, I pushed for it all. I craved change.

Then, once in motion, change began to push me. It grew a life of it's own. Change came from left field, not expected. A child, a wife, responsibilities that I didn't plan. I adjusted, but didn't feel the cocky control of change that I had when I was younger.

As things went on, I learned to maneuver change. Wait for it...wait for it. React. I began to calculate what I thought I could change, and try to control the unexpected change. It became a battle between me and change. Not a duel to the death, mind you. More of a chess match between change and me. Bishop to rook 3, knight to pawn 4. In the end, change won the match. I forfeited my King.

For a long time after, I refused to play against change again. The defeat was too humiliating. I couldn't even bear to look at the board for awhile. But I missed the competition and after all, change had beat me fair and square with no malice. How could it have any malice? Change is impersonal. Kind of like a computer beating me. It didn't care whether I played again or not, it just sat there waiting for me to start the next round.

So finally, I dusted off the gameboard and set up the pieces. I was pretty rusty at first and change won the first several rounds. I remember one move in particular. I pushed change with a move I thought he wouldn't expect. I applied for a job as a greeter at Wal-Mart. In fact, I applied for it several times. Change captured every one of those pawns however. I never even got a form letter turn-down reply. Then I put him in check by landing a longshot job opportunity. After that, I sat up straighter in my chair, and started to push him around the board a little more.

Change and I have been playing regularly since then, and I have been able to put that humiliating loss from so long ago into perspective now. In fact change and I have become quite good buddies. I have learned to not react too quickly to his moves. I am learning that he has a weakness. Everytime he makes what looks like a killer move, he leaves an opening that can benefit me. I only need to take the time to look for the opening instead of react too quickly.

So at age 52, change and I are settling into a comfortable friendship.

Change is not a bad fellow.

He is competitive as hell though.

By the way...the answer to the riddle above is... a man. He crawls on all four as a baby, walks on two feet as an adult, and walks with a cane in old age.

The moral is- change is always with us. It is up to us whether we make friends with him and have some friendly competition, or whether we refuse to play. David Bowie said it nicely:
Changes

CAUTION: Reality Ahead!

2011-02-22T21:01:00.004-05:00

Does watching the evening news give you a headache? If your eyes tend to glaze over when someone starts talking about world events, then read no further. You will have a better time scanning YouTube for funny videos than what follows here.

I read some chatter on Facebook today about gas prices going up rapidly this week. Some seemed surprised, others offered predictions of $5.00 per gallon by summer. I am not surprised at the ones who were surprised, they are the ones who have gone over to YouTube at this point. For those of you who are still reading, read on.

Why do gas prices rise before oil prices do? If you are anti Big Oil, you believe that it is just oil companies trying to gouge us. If you are a free market capitalist, you say it is supply and demand. To both, I say yes...and no.

Let's get this argument out of the way first. Five to eight years ago, the free market guys used the argument that a significant portion of gas prices were taxes. That was true. But with the considerable increase in gas prices over the last 3 years, taxes have become a smaller percentage. Today, the average federal and state taxes on a gallon of gas are about 45 cents. For $3 gas, that's doesn't seem that bad anymore. (Just lost 3 more to YouTube)

OK, now for the anti Big Oil guys. "The oil companies are just trying to line thier pockets." I agree. (See, the YouTube people should have stuck around) Some of these big fluctuations are for profit. However, it is not a greed thing, it is a survival thing. Today, oil rallied to $95 per barrel. That is compared to the high in 2008 of $147 per barrel. What you never hear on the evening news is, in 1999, a barrel of oil sold for $10. How could Big Oil profit from that? They couldn't. They were losing money faster than people reading this are fleeing to YouTube. Oil hit 2 more lows since then. $17 in 2002 and $33 in 2009. So being a free market kind of guy, I understand trying to make up for those dismal years and keep your company afloat.

Let's put the political rhetoric aside and look at reality and the future. If I haven't driven you to YouTube by now, I am aksing you to go there anyway and watch this video. This is your last chance. This YouTube video, or funny YouTube. It's your choice. But I don't want to hear any whining when gas is at $10 per gallon, if you chose the funny videos. Because truth is...

REALITY BITES

Oasis of the Seas (edited)

2011-01-29T20:50:00.014-05:00

I just returned from my very first cruise. The company that I work for sponsored a training cruise on the largest cruise ship in the world, Oasis of the Seas. The journey took us to Labadee Haiti, Costa Maya and Cozumel Mexico. As one of only three trainers for the corporation, my presence was mandatory. My commitment to my job knows no bounds.

The ship was unbelievable, the epitome of luxury. The venues included a Broadway show, an ice skating show, a comedy club, a high diving/aqua show, various singing shows... and bingo.

Since I was aboard to work however, I could not attend many of the attractions the first few days. Our schedule gave me my first full day off, the day we docked in Cozumel. Wanting to take as much advantage as possible of the free trip, I decided to take a guided excursion to the Mayan ruins while in port. I chose the full day, eight hour tour (not remembering that Gilligan was only on a three hour tour, and look what happened to him).

Our only instructions were that we were to congregate in the ice skating theater at 7:30 a.m. where we were given stickers to put on our clothing identifying us as part of the tour. Once everyone was accounted for, we began our march to Bataan, uh, I mean Tulum. As we walked single file off the ship, onto the dock, I noticed what looked like a small but well worn yacht across the water near the shore. I made a lame joke to my companion...something about it being a Mexican yacht, since it looked pretty beat up. As we were led towards the shore, I started looking for the buses that would be taking us to our exciting historical tour.

(Side note) I have been fascinated with pyramids since I was 19. My family all moved to Egypt the week I graduated from high school while I remained in the USA to start college. I was fortunate to be able to visit on every Christmas vacation, where I not only saw the Great Pyramid of Giza, but back then, they would even let you climb it. Top on my bucket list is to tour the world to visit all the ancient pyramids around the globe.

Back to the story... As we were herded toward dry land, I noticed several people on my left, across the water, walking from shore to the Mexican yacht. I soon realized that this was the head of the line that I was in. The line was going on shore, circling a small building, and walking out to the yacht. I briefly looked down at the paper sticker on my shirt to make sure I was on the right tour. I looked up just as we came ashore, and there were people handing out paper fans with liquor advertising on them. The day was overcast and rather cool, so the fans didn't quite fit the scene. Oh well, I thought, this is Mexico.

I followed along until we were all led on to the boat. It was not a yacht, but a ferry boat with rows of seats about twice the width of a 747. After we all took our seats, they locked the doors and we were off. As we moved away from the dock, a video started playing on a flat screen at the front of the cabin. It was a music video in Spanish. The female singer was lying on a stainless steel table as the scene flashed to space ships and guitar players in silver suits. I commented to my seat mate that this must be the Mexican Lady Gaga.

As the boat got up to speed, it started rocking and pitching rather dramatically. That is when I noticed that a young Mexican girl was standing at the front of the room next to the door. As I watched her just standing there, she all of a sudden rushed towards one of the passengers and handed them something. Then she turned to another passenger and also handed them something. Within seconds she was frantically handing things out to several people. As she began to methodically work her way down the aisle, I saw that she was handing out little plastic bags. I turned to my companion and said "look, sea sick bags". I heard the reply "please get me one". Within minutes of our departure, the Mexican girl was furiously working her way down the adjacent aisle handing out bags left and right. I looked around the cabin and saw dozens of people doubled over raising their hands. The poor Mexican girl was only half way down the first of three aisles, and people were starting to groan all around me.

As the Mexican girl circled back to our row, I politely requested two bags for my companion, not knowing how bad this might get. After securing the bags, I looked around the cabin again. Every nationality was represented in the room. There were Italians, Germans, Japanese, Chinese, Portuguese, French. Americans. The rocking and pitching of the boat got worse and so did the groans of the passengers.

Within ten minutes of leaving the dock, everyone around me was throwing up. As I looked around, the thought that popped into my head was "It doesn't matter what language you speak, we all puke in the same language". I almost broke out into a chorus of "We are the world", but decided against it. I looked over at my companion and asked how they were doing. Not good. The woman behind me was so sick, she sounded like she was in childbirth. The whole boat seemed to be a crescendo of vomiting. My seat mate turned to me and said "This is like a Saturday Night Live skit. If I weren't about to spill my guts, I would be laughing."

I heard a passenger ask the Mexican girl how much longer the trip would be. She said five minutes. She lied. It was a 30 minute ride from the island to the mainland. All the while, the Mexican Lady Gaga video kept playing over and over on the flat screen at the front of the cabin. Surreal doesn't begin to describe the scene.

We finally got to shore. The whole tour was delayed as people crowded the onshore restrooms to pull themselves together. The tour of the Mayan ruins was awesome, albeit too short considering the torture endured to get there.

As we made our way back to the Mexican yacht, there was not much enthusiasm amongst the group for the return boat ride. The tour guide and boat crew were hurrying us along as they informed us that this was the only way back to our ship. As the calls to get aboard became more insistent, we were herded in a line towards the gangway, and I swear, I thought I saw a cattle prod behind the tour guide's back. This time, the mexican girl was handing out bags at the door as we boarded.

Reflections

2011-01-11T19:30:00.003-05:00

Feeling the urge to write, but not focused on any topic. I'm not presumptuous enough to call it writer's block. I don't consider myself a writer, just blogger at best.

However, with the New Year, I have been thinking about life in a general way. Regrets and blessings I'd say.

Looking back over the mistakes of the past and hopes for the future. On the one hand, it seems I have spent an inordinate amount of the past few years regretting my mistakes. Beating myself up so to speak. There are certain monks in the world who practice something called flagellation. They believe that if they punish themselves everyday, by whipping their own back with leather straps, that they somehow get closer to God. When I first heard of this practice, I thought "that's just crazy". But am I so different, to whip myself everyday with the sting of past mistakes? I think not.

Then there is the hope of the future. It seems to me that the seeds of the future are lying in a brown paper bag at my feet, scrawled with a handwritten label "open at your own risk", and only visible in the present. I have an idea what could grow from the seeds, but until I pick up the bag, open it, and plant the seeds, I am doomed to keep whipping myself on the back in self flaggelation.

These are my choices for the New Year. Leave the bag on the ground and hold on to the whip, or let go of the whip, open the bag, and start planting. It shouldn't be a hard choice. The whip has become heavy and blisters my hand. The paper bag is light and soft, and only need be touched once to produce it's result.

The difficulty, it seems, is in the transition. After all, I would need to bend over to pick up the bag. I would have to till the ground to plant the seeds. And what would I do without the comfortable grip of the whip?

I'm not sure who I need to quote, but I've never forgotten..."People don't change, until the pain of where they are, becomes greater than the pain that it takes to change."

This year, 2011, I'm picking up the brown paper bag.
Anyone with me?

My First Writing Assignment

2010-11-17T00:55:00.006-05:00

I have a writing teacher now. This is my first assignment:

Write a scene describing a person getting dressed. Do not TELL the reader the age of the person or anything specific about their personality or mood, but SHOW it through their mannerisms, the way they move in the process of getting dressed, and their selection of clothing.

I think I didn't conform to all of the assignment, but it's my first attempt:

The Big Day

Mike stood and stared at the three suits hanging in his closet. He knew which one he had to wear, even though he hadn’t worn a suit in years. He couldn’t wear the brown suit. Not for this event. He briefly considered the navy, but quickly ruled that one out too. No, for this, he had to wear the ultimate; black. This was major, and it called for the best he had.

He noticed that his hand shook as he reached for the hanger. “I’ve got to stay in control.” he thought to himself. “This is too important.” He had to maintain his composure. This was the most important day of his life.

He thought back over the last few years as he took the coat off the hanger. He remembered the divorce and the pain. He could still feel the emotions. Then came the demise of his business, the years of looking for a job. Then the bankruptcy. Through it all, his kids stuck with him. He was thankful for that. It gave him much comfort that they had encouraged him through the low points. At times, it seemed they had survived it all better than he had.

Now it was time for him to give some of that strength back to them. He had to make this work. As he took the pants off the hanger, he wondered if he had a shirt to go with the suit. “Which tie should I wear?” He felt the anxiety welling up inside again. “Get a grip!” he said out loud.

He slowly ironed the shirt, spraying starch every so often, as his mind raced through what he would say to these people today. As hard as it was going to be, he needed to keep it positive. He couldn’t allow these emotions from the past to ruin everything. Not today. He owed this to his children. They had been through enough, and everyone needed to move on. Everything rested on his shoulders today, and he was not going to blow it.

Mike started thinking about his life as he began to get dressed. After all those years of chasing after “success”; cars, houses, vacations, now he just wanted to get back to zero. “After hitting the worst, I appreciate the mundane” he thought to himself. Then he realized it wasn’t mundane. To have the relationships, especially with his children, was worth more than everything to him. “I have to make this work today.”

Mike looked at himself in the mirror as he tied his tie. His stomach began to churn and his eyes teared up. “I don’t know if I can pull this off” he thought to himself. His mind just went blank for a few seconds, then he shouted;

“It’s just not right! A father should not outlive his child.”

Here's A Thought

2010-11-09T22:49:00.000-05:00

What if you won the lottery tommorow, but you don't get your first payment for five years. Your first payment is $25,000 in the fifth year and it doubles each year after.

How would you spend the next 5-7 years? What would you do with your life?

Economics 201 - The FED

2010-11-05T00:47:00.002-04:00

Most people hear on the evening news, stories concerning the Federal Reserve (the FED for short) and just assume that Ben Bernanke and the board of governors are just another department or committee of our government. After all, you see Bernanke testifying to Congress all the time. Right? I was shocked when I first learned that the FED is not only not part of the government, but is a private consortium of big banks that do not answer to Washington, and yet, have the power to print all our money. A function that, in the Constitution, is given to Congress but was handed over to the private FED when the FED was created.

I have a book written by G. Edward Griffin which is a 600 page history of the Federal Reserve. The title is "The Creature From Jekyll Island". Jekyll Island is a small resort island off the coast of Georgia where the first secret meeting took place of the powerful and wealthy bankers of 1910 to plan the Federal Reserve. I recently came across this announcement on the Atlanta Federal Reserve website:

A Return to Jekyll Island: The Origins, History, and Future of the Federal Reserve - November 5-6, 2010

Federal Reserve Bank of Atlanta and Rutgers University
November 5–6, 2010, Jekyll Island Club Hotel, Jekyll Island, Georgia

This special conference marks the centenary of the 1910 Jekyll Island meeting that resulted in draft legislation for the creation of a U.S. central bank. Parts of this draft (the Aldrich plan) were incorporated into the 1913 Federal Reserve Act. To commemorate the 100th anniversary of the drafting of the Aldrich plan, the conference will take place at the Jekyll Island Club Hotel on Jekyll Island, Georgia—the same building where the 1910 meeting occurred.

The conference's discussions focus on three themes: the origins of the Fed and lessons from the pre-1913 era, how closely the Fed's actual performance has adhered to the original vision expressed by the framers of the Aldrich plan, and what the Fed's almost 100-year track record teaches us about its role going forward.

Here is the link if you want to verify: http://www.frbatlanta.org/news/conferences/10jekyll_index.cfm

Bernanke announced yesterday that the FED was going to buy $600 Billion of our debt. In other words, they are going to loan the U.S. this money. Congress didn't ask for it and the FED didn't even need Congress's approval. Within one year, the Federal Reserve will own more of our debt than China, the current largest debt holder. The FED and China will own this country.

I have posted a video by Ed Griffin, the author of the above mentioned book, in 'My Videos' where he explains what the Federal Reserve is. Please, educate yourselves and your friends. Then get behind the push to get our representatives in Washington to get rid of the FED, or at least pass laws to be able to audit their books. Here is the video:
http://stanrants.blogspot.com/p/videos_20.html

Here's Your Sign

2010-11-03T16:50:00.001-04:00

I finally put my house on the market this week. After a year and a half of battling with the bank over what to do, we at last agreed on a short sale. As I sat looking out the window of my office watching the guy put up the 'For Sale' sign, I had mixed emotions. I could feel the vibrations as he pounded the post hole digger into the ground. I could also feel the emotions of the house with each thrust. I swear, I felt that the house was going through the same roller coaster that I was.

I am glad to be closing this last vestige of the tumult of the past few years, but I couldn't help but think about all the good times in this house also, as the hole got deeper and deeper. As I sat and watched the violation of my once beautiful yard, I remembered the excitement of first moving in. Finally, our youngest son would have his own bedroom. The plans to put in a pool, build a deck, brick the driveway. The memories came flooding in. The strange thing is, I felt as if they were emanating from the house itself.

I remembered the hours and days installing ceiling fans, a new front door, painting every room (some three times because the color was not exactly right), shopping for blinds and drapes. I remembered a house full of kids, the laughter and noise. Graduation and birthday parties. All those memories, now as faded as those freshly painted walls. I could almost feel the house weeping for the loss.

As the sign guy kept pounding away, he stopped suddenly. He bent over and looked into the hole. He seemed to have hit something solid. My first thought was "Oh no, don't tell me you hit my sprinkler line!". He pounded a couple more times then stopped to look again. It occurred to me that maybe it was the house that stopped him. "Just one last look back" I felt the house saying. Then he started digging agiain and the hole progressed.

I started thinking then, about the past few years. The pain of divorce, the loss of my business, children growing up and moving on. I thought about the months of worry when I couldn't get a job. The worry about my kids, would they be scarred by divorce. The lonley days and nights spent in this house. I looked outside, the hole was progressing now. I felt the house telling me, it's OK. Time to move on. I felt the house sigh in resignation.

As the sign was finally put in the ground and adjusted, I felt relieved and sad at the same time. So did the house. Time for a new family, new dreams, new memories.

The past week has been a short parade of realtors and prospects trapsing through bedrooms and kitchen. As they imagine new paint and a pool, they have no idea what life has been lived here over the last years. That is a secret best kept between me and the house.

Our Future

2010-11-03T00:04:00.000-04:00

Congratulations Marco. Our country needs more like you.

http://stanrants.blogspot.com/p/videos_20.html

Things That Drive Me Nuts

2010-10-23T01:23:00.000-04:00

People who don't know the difference between 'their' and 'there'.

Being two weeks overdue for a haircut.

Wanting a clean house, but not wanting to clean it.

Waiting behind someone at the ATM after they get money, but sit there and study their receipt for 5 minutes.

Telemarketer calls when my number is on the 'do not call' list.

Boiling noodles for macaroni & cheese only to discover that I'm out of milk and butter.

People who drive in the left lane at the same speed as the person next to them in the right lane, and they are both slow, and I am behind them.

Red lights.

Cat puke.

Hearing Obama speak.

The last two happen at about the same frequency...daily.

It's About Lifestyle

2010-10-22T03:18:00.010-04:00

I'm still trying to figure out this whole mid-life thing. At least I hope this is mid-life. I keep hearing that 50 is the new 40, but lately I feel like 50 is the old 50. Just hang in, it's got to get better. Anyway, it all started with this internet dating thing. I got motivated. I wanted to not embarrass myself at these 'meetings', so I decided that I needed to start exercising. That's when I started walking everyday and listening to motivational tapes. (see previous posts).

The walking worked, the positive thinking tapes did not. (see previous posts) I lost 10 pounds the first week that I started walking, but my house never got cleaned. So, I decided to move in the direction of results. Walking is great for losing weight, but I needed to get buff for my online meetings. After listening incessantly to a heretofore un-named friend, who has never been injured by being run over by a bus (see previous posts), talk constantly about working out at the gym, I decided to join one.

Around here, there is a franchise health club that is growing like wildfire. As soon as I noticed that a branch had just opened near me, I immediately dropped in to investigate. This is a great deal. For only $10 per month, you can use the facility as often as you like. For $20 per month, you can take a guest anytime. Thinking that my son could use some exercise too, I signed up for the $20 plan. I started to get suspicious when they gave me a 'free' t-shirt that said "YouFit" on the front. Now either that meant that they recognized that I was already fit, and didn't need to attend, or, it was more positive thinking, motivational BS which I had already discounted on my daily walks. (see previous posts) Even more suspicious was the fact that the shirt was grammatically incorrect. Shouldn't it say "You're Fit"? I never took an ebonics class, so I wasn't sure if "YouFit" was slang, or if these were really illiterate businessmen who didn't realize that you can't build a business on $10 per month dues.

Well...anyway, it's been a month now, and I haven't been in yet for my 'free' introductory tour. I want to be buff, don't get me wrong. But I am still confused about the shirt. Maybe I'm already buff and don't realize it (YouFit), or maybe they are just bad businessmen who can't spell. Or, just maybe, they are brilliant and the shirt is their plan. Keep you confused while they keep charging $20 to your card every month. Either way, I am determined to go in and run on the treadmill, wearing my shirt, so that everyone knows that I've been recognized by professionals.

Mid-life is more complicated than I thought it would be. I thought that by 50-something, I would have it all figured out. Sometimes I feel like I had more figured out at 25. Like the shirt. I keep thinking that they should give it out after you get buff so as not to confuse you.

But who's the patsy here? They have my permission to take $20 per month from my bank account while I sit around in mid-life crisis and ponder a stupid t-shirt.

Life & Poker

2010-10-16T09:31:00.000-04:00

Excerpts from "Poker, Sex & Dying: Inside The Mind of a Gambler"

"The most valuable lesson you can learn (it's not taught in physiology class), about the human anatomy is this: God, in His infinite wisdom, constructed us in such a way that we can kiss everyone's ass except our own. This lesson, in and of itself, should be cause enough for a man to be willing to engage in risk-taking, or at the very least, to take a moment and ponder the direction of his life.
The saddest epitaph you will ever read is this: 'Here lies a man who never took a chance...He died anyway.' Don't think it an unusual epitaph. It's chiseled in invisible stone on the tombs of millions of men; the final indignity imposed on men by the Grim Reaper. Come...let us gamble this very night; tomorrow we may die."

"It's from the lowly weed that life and success are best understood. The weed is ugly, despised, an object that the multitudes constantly try to eradicate. The fools covet grass, lusting after its lushness, its softness, its manicured perfection. Yet, character, will power, and the overwhelming desire to survive springs from the root of the weed and not from the blade of grass. In the desert wilderness, the grass withers under the scorching sun; it surrenders without a fight when the land becomes parched; it starves without constant attention and perfect conditions. In contrast, the weed flourishes and survives regardless of the conditions imposed upon it. Adversity is its fertilizer, struggle is its joy, its roots are embedded with the will to live, to fight, to survive. Likewise are the hearts of men. I shall hire my help, choose my friends and keep my company only with those men whose spirit resembles that of the weed. Life gives its reward in direct proportion to those who understand that life's first command is: "Fight for it."

Economics 101

2010-10-07T23:25:00.002-04:00

1991 - The year that I moved to Sarasota. I came with my family, a 4 year-old and a baby 11 months old. My baby daughter got so sick on the trip down, that the first thing we did was take her to a walk-in clinic, as we had no family doctor yet. This, just 2 months after she had contracted a blood infection so severe, that the the doctor in Alabama told us that if we had waited just a few more hours to bring her in, she probably wouldn't have lived.

I moved here to start my own business. A lifelong dream. With money borrowed from my parents and in-laws, I started a cleaning company. Doing all the work myself in the beginning, then working up to six full-time and 25 part-time employees, I built my first business.

1998 - One hundred thousand dollars in debt, I had an attorney tell me that my only choice was bankruptcy. So I filed. Embarrassed and feeling like a failure, I didn't know what to do next. I hadn't had to look for a job in almost 15 years. I didn't know where to start. I just did. Everyday, the newspaper job ads. I finally got a job selling stock market software over the phone. I had never been exposed to the market and had never sold anything over the phone. I had to learn both, quickly.

2001 - The tech bubble, market crash, ended the company I worked for. My brother-in-law was in the mortgage business. He wanted me to join him, said he would teach me everything. So I did.
I eventually split off from him and had my own company. A business owner again.

2008 - We all know what happened to the real estate market. I finally closed my second business after I landed my current job...selling stock market software. Life goes in circles sometimes.

The reason I divulge the most humiliating times in my life is to tell you that I have been intimately involved with finance, markets, and the economy, for a long time. I know something about it. It has been my living for most of the past decade.

So when I tell you that this video is dead on track what's happening right now, I base that opinion on years in the stock and mortgage industry.

As I told a friend recently who said this is all fear mongering... "I live in Florida, and when the news tells me there is a hurricane coming, I don't call it fear mongering, I call it getting prepared."

I am not a licensed financial advisor. But I do understand financial markets. Choose to listen to me or not, it's your choice. Here is what I am doing FYI. Get out of debt, pay cash for everything, start saving, and if you can (yes Judy) buy gold. The Federal Reserve is getting ready to accelerate monetizing our debt in order to drive up inflation. In other words, your dollar today will be worth 50 cents tomorrow, or 40 cents, or 20 cents. Gold is the only standard that will hold its value worldwide.

Watch or don't, it's your choice. This is as simple as I think it can be put:

My Generation

2010-10-04T21:10:00.002-04:00

Eighth grade. Coach Benson taught Civics. At the time, I didn't give it a second thought. Looking back now, I can't help but wonder what ever happened to him and have some bit of admiration that he actually taught me something. After all, football coaches teaching class has become somewhat of an oxymoron.

I experienced this again as a student teacher. I was assigned to assist a coach who taught a geography class at Cushing High School. Being a naive student teacher, I was more than disappointed my first two days, when all 'coach' did was tell the students each day to read chapter such and such as he propped his feet on the desk to read Sports Illustrated.

My children have never taken a Civics class. (My oldest is 24) I think I was the last generation to learn about the inner workings of our government. But in the last year and a half, I have started to wonder just how many of my contemporaries paid any attention to what Coach Benson tried to teach, and if they realize what they missed.

When President Obama was elected, even though I didn't agree with his liberal views and didn't vote for him, I had the attitude to give him a chance. Within one month of his taking office however, I was scared. His first action was another stimulus bill right after the Bush stimulus which I didn't agree with either. As I saw the federal government spending our money wildly, I began to get nervous and not just a little pissed off.

This is when I got involved with some small start up groups that spoke up against the direction Washington was heading. I was very adamant and vocal. (No surprise to those who know me.) I had no tolerance for anyone who couldn't see what was at the end of the road that Washington was on.

That was a year and a half ago. I am more frightened now than then. But what really frightens me now, is, how many of those of my generation, are so complacent in thier comfortable lives. Very few seem to want to even investigate what is happening to our country. I have no problem with diverse opinions. What is sad, is so many with no opinion.

Regardless of what you think, or what you've heard, about Glenn Beck, watch this video. Investigate. Think. Wake up. Don't ignore what is going on. Don't come home one day soon from your summer vacation, to find out that your life has been outlawed by politicians in Washington.

Glenn Beck - One Nation

Happy?

2010-09-30T06:39:00.003-04:00

I seem to be hearing the word 'happy' a lot these days. Hmmm Kinda like when you get a new car and start noticing that every other person on the road is driving the same car.

I like the word happy. I think everyone should use it more often. It sends out positive waves. We have a lot to do with creating our own surroundings Why not surround ourselves with happiness? I think we should start a 'happy' revolution.

I think I started this current happy tsunami my self a few weeks ago. I was trying to set up a first meeting with someone in my online dating thing.

Side note: I was told by my first online date, that the first rendezvous is a meeting, the second is a date. So I said "Let me get this straight. You can never have two meetings but you can have more than one date." She said yes. I said "So the first date is really a meeting and the second date is really the first date?" She said yes. "So you never refer to 'our first meeting' since there is only one meeting then the first date after that?" She said yes. "So if things progress, you would talk about a first date or second date, but the first get together would be forever known as 'The Meeting' since you can never have a second meeting?"
She said yes. You see, this online dating thing is more complex than you'd think.

Anyway, back to how I started this happy thing. I was attempting to set up a 'meeting', and I suggested either lunch or happy hour. I said that I preferred happy hour because it had the word 'happy' in it, and the only lunch I could think of was 'Happy Meal' and that was not a very impressive first meeting. Well, since then, it's been like the new car phenomenon (great movie by the way, Phenomenon with John Trivolta). I keep hearing and using the word 'happy' more and more. It has finally built to a crescendo the past 24 hours where everyone I hear seems to be using the word 'happy'.

So I think there should be a happy movement, a revoultion. Replace the word 'good' with 'happy'. Instead of saying Good Morning to someone, say Happy Morning. Instead of Good Night, Happy Night. Instead of Good Golly Miss Molly, Happy Golly Miss Molly. OK... maybe not that one. But you get the picture.

I'm telling you, I started this avalanche of happy, with that one comment. Today, I think everyone I've spoken to has used the word 'happy', just from the one meeting email I sent weeks ago. Hmmm... or maybe I'm hearing it all day because it's my birthday.

Thanks for all the wishes everyone!

( I like my first explaination better though )

Free Subscription!

2010-09-29T19:43:00.002-04:00

After numerous requests from readers to offer the ability to subscribe to Stan Rants via email, my crack staff has worked tirelessly to accommodate. OK... two requests, but that's more numerous than one. The page has been redesigned for easier navigation, and you can now see short blurbs from the last 5 posts right on the home page. No expense has been spared in this upgrade!

So to celebrate the new and improved Stan Rants, I am offering a free one year subscription to the first two people who sign up. But wait...there's more! In addition to having Stan Rants delivered directly to your email, you will also get free access to the new Video section. See all the latest videos, from around the world, that everyone is talking about. This is double the value!

So don't wait, this is a one time offer. Just click the link to the left to subscribe by email, and never miss another rant. Sign up today!

Both of you.

P.S. - You can now leave comments without having to sign in.

P.S. Positive Thinking

2010-09-23T19:34:00.002-04:00

P.S. Day 3:
I finally went in and cleaned the kitchen myself. Three days of chanting, and nothin'. I'm starting to think that this positive thinking stuff is crap.

Positive Thinking

2010-09-22T19:01:00.003-04:00

I found some old Tony Robbins tapes recently in a box so I took one out to listen to while on my morning walk. The first thing I thought to myself as I listened is, "No wonder this guy is successful, just the enthusiasm in his voice could make you excited to pay your taxes." Just listening to his tapes, you can see him jumping up and down on stage.

But then he started talking about something that hit home. Near and dear to my heart...Procrastination. YES! Something I am good at. As my ears perked up, so did the pace of my walk. This was something I could relate to.

He started talking about how we talk ourselves into procrastination. We say things to ourselves like "I know I should finish this task, but I just don't feel like it right now." Or, "That's going to take more time than I have at the moment." Things like that.

The solution he offered was to change how we talk to ourselves. Instead of saying to our self "I don't have time right now" we should say things like "I really want to do this or that" or "I really do like this task". Epiphany!

So I picked the most recent task I have been procrastinating...cleaning house. I didn't want to go overboard at first, knowing that if you set your goals too big, it can throw you back into procrastination, so I settled on just a clean kitchen as a small first step. So as I walked home, I kept repeating to myself things like "I want the kitchen clean" and "I love a clean kitchen".

When I got back home, I took my shower and settled in to my work day. All day long, I kept repeating my new affirmations. I started getting excited about a clean kitchen. I could envision a clean kitchen. I thought to myself "this might really work!".

I have been repeating this mantra for two days now and, the last time I checked, the kitchen is still not clean. Maybe I missed a step in the process, after all, I never finished that tape. I'll have to go back and listen to the end to see if there was something else I was supposed to do.

However, I am very excited about a clean kitchen now.

Things Are Looking Up

2010-09-15T21:30:00.003-04:00

The saga continues. This thing is getting more and more complicated as it goes on.

The other day, I called my friend who got me into all this, and asked if he had read my last post.

He said, "Yes, and why are you throwing me under the bus?"

I said, "What are you talking about?"

He said, "You keep telling everyone that I got you into this."

I said, "Gary! Nobody knows it's you!"

He said, "Well...I do!"

So I promised him I would stop throwing him under the bus.

Then, in a totally unrelated conversation with someone who shall remain nameless, I got some advice.

This totally nameless person, who happens to have lots of experience with online dating, informed me that winks mean nothing. They are a waste of time. This non-descript person said that I need to send emails if I want results.

So, trusting the advice of someone who shall remain nameless, I started sending emails.

I have to tell you, I am starting to get serious about his now. I have had some great, some nice, and some humorous chats. To be honest, this is a great way to meet people. I'm finding out that there are other real people out there searching for real people. None of us wants to be alone, we all want someone to share life with. If you have that person now, do whatever it takes to hang on to that. Because as fun as this is becoming, I wish I didn't have to do it.

Update From The Bottom

2010-09-11T15:33:00.007-04:00

(This is an update of the previous post)

I'm trying, I really am! Even though I got into this cyber-dating thing kicking and screaming, I am giving it a sincere effort. I know it's only been a week, but...

I don't feel that my expectations are too high at this point. I'm not looking to get married next week. I don't even expect a date this soon. But could someone please just acknowledge that I'm here?? If you haven't ever done this, let me explain the process.

There are hundreds of people in your area doing this and several ways to find them. You can do a general search, specifying what type of person you are searching for. This is the most time consuming and least productive activity. Then you can do a search for which people are looking for someone like you. Again, generating hundreds of profiles taking hours to browse. Then there are your "Daily 5". These are 5 people that are selected daily for you by the super computer that runs this whole thing. At least I hope it's a super computer, and not some kid in his mom's basement. Anyway, these picks are usually pretty accurate and can be perused quickly. This list is sent to you at the end of the day and I imagine, highly anticipated by all of us lonely, single people.

The next steps, once you see someone who looks interesting, is a hierarchy of contact methods. First there is 'the wink' which says "hey, you're kinda cute, what do you think about me?" Then there is "send an email", which says "you sound interesting, would you like to have a conversation?" The last step in the contact sequence is to request a phone call. This step should always be preceded by at least the email step. If the phone call is chosen as the first step, it says "I'm desperate".

My first week has been spent perfecting my wink technique. Out of 42 winks sent, I have had 3 returned. One of those didn't count because she is a friend of mine who is also on here. Of the other 2, one resulted in a nice email conversation. But, being in sales, if this were my closing ratio, I'd be broke.

I've winked so much, my eyelid hurts. I'm starting to wonder if my winker works.
I'll keep you updated.

I Think I've Hit Bottom

2010-09-09T00:04:00.004-04:00

OK, I admit it, I've succumbed. I've joined the nether world of online matchmaking. I've avoided this like the plague. After two years of watching my friend torture himself with online dating (and me giving up fighting the axiom that I'm not getting any younger), I broke down and joined.

I immediately regretted the decision, but had to stick it out because I pre-paid for 6 months. My first hurdle was filling out all the information forms. When I clicked the 'pay' button, I was not prepared to start immediately compiling my life history, personality, goals and desires, in 3,000 characters or less. But there it was, a blank page that I must complete before I could start browsing. So I began. After about 45 minutes, I had written the most comprehensive, eloquent description of myself that I could have ever concieved. But when I clicked the 'next' button, my browser had timed out, and the page was blank again. Starting to get a little frustrated for paying for something I really didn't feel like doing, and wasting most of the past hour, I quickly wrote three or four short paragraghs just to get to the next step.

As I moved on through the myriad of questions; do you like animals? what kind of animals? what color animals? do you have animals? do you want someone who has animals?... you get the picture. Anyway, as I answered all these questions that really had no relevence to me, I started to laugh. The thought suddenly struck me that this was pretty much like searching for a car online. Do you want hard top or convertable? Moon roof or sun roof? Leather or cloth? Automatic or manual? With my mood lightend, I just quickly ran through the questions so I could get to the end. I only hoped that I could return later to complete this final exam of my life with more consideration.

It's taken me four days to learn how to navigate, but I feel I'm learning fast. The first thing I've identified is that there are certain patterns of people to avoid. Here is my list so far:

The "I Can't Get Enough" Person
These are the people who are bound and determined to use every one of thier 3,000 character bio descriptions. No paragraghs, no puncuation, and some get about half way through and just start putting in random letters. I have learned that if I have to hit my scroll down button more than once to read their life history, it's time to move on.

The "Mystery Date"
No pictures. Many times accompanied by the phrase "everyone tells me I look younger than my age". Move on quickly.

The "World Traveler"
These ladies just LOVE to travel. Anywhere. Greece, Europe, Tennesse, it doesn't matter. They just want to spend the rest of their life on the road. My first question is 'who lives like that?'. My second question is, if I did travel constantly, don't you think I would meet enough women while traveling, that I wouldn't need to be on this site?

But the best bio I've read was from a girl who said something like:
OK, of course I'm going to say that I'm caring, loving, patient, and loyal. Let's face it. Who's going to get on here and say I'm moody, difficult, depressed, and a drama queen?

I'll let you know how it goes from here.

Labor Day

2010-09-06T13:36:00.003-04:00

I was curious how this holiday came about, so what else? I Googled it. Just as I thought, pushed by labor unions in the late 1800's. I'm glad it's just become a national day of cookouts, rather than another excuse for more politics. Quite frankly, I'm getting tired of all the politics, but "evil flourishes when good men do nothing". I guess one day of rest from it won't hurt.

As I thought about my own personal labor, however, a quote from Walden (Thoreau) kept coming to mind. "As if you could kill time without injuring eternity."

Due to the prodding of a close friend, I have recently become reflective on what I am really doing with my life. This has not been a verbal prodding by my friend, rather, witnessing how they are living their life to the fullest. Thank you friend.

I went back to find that quote from Thoreau and found several passages that really made me think. Here they are, edited for brevity. I'll put them in the category of 'things that make you go hmmm'.

"Most men, even in this comparatively free country, through mere ignorance and mistake, are so occupied with the factitious cares and superfluously coarse labors of life that its finer fruits cannot be plucked by them."

"I sometimes wonder how we can be so frivolous..."

"As if you could kill time without injuring eternity."

"The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation."

"Undoubtedly the very tedium and ennui which presume to have exhausted the variety and the joys of life are as old as Adam. But man's capacities have never been measured; nor are we to judge of what we can do by any precedents, so little has been tried. Whatever have been thy failures hitherto, "be not afflicted, my child, for who shall assign to thee what thou hast left undone?"

A Driving Lesson

2010-09-03T19:12:00.002-04:00

So my youngest child just got his driving permit. If your children are not old enough yet for you to have experienced this, let me explain what a driving permit is. It permits your child to ask, every time you get in the car, 'can I drive?' But by the third child, you will be prepared for this. Actually my third is not as insistent as my first was. This revelation lead me to a broader thought.

At first, I thought, "the last child really gets the short end of the stick." By the time they get to this point in life, dad has already done everything twice (assuming 3 kids). It's old hat at this point. In fact, the last child has grown up this way all his life. By the time they hit those milestones growing up, mom and dad are like "been there, done that".

I first thought about this a few years ago when I started a project to transfer old VHS home movies to DVD. I noticed that I had tons of video of the first child. Sometimes hours of him just sleeping in a crib. His first birthday, his first steps, his first pet, a complete chronology. But the third child? There were whole eons of his life missing on tape. I can almost reconstruct the scene of the first steps of the third child.

"Honey, honey, he took a step!! Where is the camera?"
"I think we sold it in the garage sale. I can see him walking. Now would you change his diaper? I think it's your turn."

Oh, the guilt years later, when you realize that you didn't record every minute of each child's life. But then I began to take stock. My youngest is more mature and responsible at this age than my oldest was. Maybe the fact that we didn't dote over every little thing in his life, actually gave him more self-confidence. He does in fact, have a great self image. He is optimistic, confident, mature for his age, and happy.

And one other thing I noticed this week. He doesn't ask to drive every time we get in the car.

Can't Stop Me Now

2010-09-03T18:05:00.001-04:00

OK, I'll give this a try.

I recently shut down the political website I've managed for the past 18 months. They wanted me to start paying for it, can you believe that? Damned capitalists! Anyway, that is where I got used to posting my thoughts, videos, links, pictures, blah blah. Since I got hooked on blogging on a site that nobody ever looked at (hence why I didn't want to pay for it), I thought this might be another way to feed my habit (for free) where nobody could still follow my rantings. And so the name... Stan Rants. So welcome to my new blog.