Incivility

There isn't anyone who hasn't been angry with someone else at one time or another. Anger is fine, but the response to that anger is the real test. And from my experience, most people fail that test. Miserably.

I know that I have disappointed and angered people in my life, much more often than I would like. But has anyone ever responded to their anger with me in a positive way? Not that I can remember - at least not very often.

When people get angry, they generally resort to these basic responses:

• Sullen and Uncommunicative: When I'm the subject of this response, I have no idea what caused it, and start racking my brain for what I might have done to offend. When I do wheedle an answer to "what's wrong?", it usually is "If you don't know, then we have an even bigger problem". Great, what did I do now? But if this approach is used too many times, I will just ignore the silent treatment because I don't have the energy to play the game anymore.
• Attack: A verbal barrage laying out every one of my faults and past sins, real or imagined, designed to batter me into complete and total submission. I end up feeling completely worthless, and don't even remember the original transgression. Besides, I've just been told I'm the scum of the earth, so there's not much point in trying to do better.
  
• Sarcasm: A chilly attitude with plenty of little barbs and digs designed to inflict pain. This is similar to the sullen and uncommunicative in that I still have no clue about my offense. But the sarcastic treatment is more likely to cause me to avoid contact, just like you might avoid the neighborhood bully when walking home from school.
• Whispering Campaign: A particularly nasty approach to dealing with a pique is to avoid the subject completely in my presence, but proceed to tell everyone else in the country about my horrible offense. The offended has given no indication of anything wrong at all in person, and I'm going about my business as usual until suddenly I hear from a completely unexpected third party about what a terrible thing I did. Huh?

Why do people use such destructive methods to manipulate and humiliate those who have upset them? Why can't we just approach the subject openly and honestly with the other person without subjecting him or her to a torturous ordeal?

How about responding in a way that doesn't punish the other, but actually might succeed in getting a change in behavior? Let's use a scenario that comes partly from my own experiences way back when:

A couple has just returned from a party. During the car ride home, the woman is clearly icy with the man for reasons he can't begin to fathom. He thinks the party was pretty good, they got to catch up with lots of old friends, and can't figure out why she's suddenly angry.

She saw him talking and laughing with an attractive female at the party who she believes may have been a former girlfriend, and is fuming about his gall in flirting with her at the party.

So rather than going through a combination of the four destructive responses listed above, what if she did the following:

1. Open up to the man by telling him about what she saw him doing at the party and how it made her feel.
2. Suggest a specific and realistic solution to the problem, such as introducing her to his old friends and including her in party conversations.
3. Allow open discussion and listen carefully to what he has to say, and give him positive feedback for suggesting his own ideas for solving the problem, listening to her, and caring about her feelings.

Of course, if the man show himself to be a jerk, dismissive of her feelings, or his behavior at the party went beyond just friendly conversation, all she needs is to inform him why she's ending the relationship. But if he's worth it, she can try the positive approach or test for how many times he'll put up with the four destructive reactions.

It's just tiring.

Welcoming Work

It was sort of nice to get back into the office today, knowing I have a solid pile of work ahead of me. Too bad it doesn't all pay - in fact, some of it specifically costs me money. Anybody want to join me in a tax revolt?

Anyway, despite the beautiful weather, it was not a pleasant weekend. It's not possible to get into the reasons, but it left me fighting to avoid a deep and lasting funk. I think I succeeded to a degree - I got up and came into the office this morning, where I'm moving ahead slowly but surely on the pile.

There was a good sign this morning in an actual phone call from the software company that owes me a pile of money and seems incapable of just processing the invoices. There is an actual person assigned who actually talked to me over the phone and actually gave me a fax number for sending all of my open items. That's only about the third time I've re-sent the same stuff, which they seem to have lost each time. Dare I hope after all this time that something might actually get done there and I might see a check before Christmas? We shall see.

Chris and I went to see Wallace & Gromit. There were some funny moments, and I was surprised at the multiple levels of humor woven into the story. It was sort of fun to notice the little kids laughing at the slapstick, then the adults taking their turn laughing at the more subtle adult-oriented lines.

Gotta get back to work.

Sharing a Major Pet Peeve

A major irritant for me may not be shared by a lot of other people. Then again, maybe it is, and I just don't hear it much from others. It's women doing bathroom stuff in public (no, not the waste function).

Some already know of my sensitivity to strong odors. Perfumes, hand cremes, hairspray, cologne, and other similar stinky stuff make me physically ill. The worst recent experience was on a flight; I was sitting in first class as the plane descended to land at the Indy airport, when the woman next to me pulled out her perfume bottle and proceeded to douse herself liberally. A few seconds later, I emptied the contents of my stomach into the airsick bag. It wasn't until I walked outside and gulped greedily at the fresh air that the nausea began to dissipate.

What's so difficult for women to understand - some of us don't appreciate their favorite scents. Especially when they bathe in them. Have they been dousing so much of the stuff on themselves that it completely burned out their olfactories? The same women probably don't appreciate cigarette smoke being blown in their faces, so why wouldn't they understand that applying strong and offensive odors to their own bodies can be just as objectionable to someone sitting near them?

During my last project, there were two women who made things difficult. One I had to work with fairly closely, and it was made very difficult by the hand creme she slathered on several times each day. The routine went something like this: We'd be working on something, and she'd pull out the bottle of creme and dump a big gob on her palm. Then I'd excuse myself, get up and leave the area, spend about 10-15 minutes out in the unpolluted air, then return, hoping the worst of the odor had dissipated. Once I wasn't quick enough or didn't notice what she was doing, and began dry-heaving as I quickly turned my back and headed for the restroom. She either never caught on to my subtle hints or didn't care to catch on.

There was another woman who worked in an adjoining cubicle to the one I was assigned for awhile. She had some sort of fruity body spray product that she would apply at random times throughout the day. The odor conjured up the purple cloud I used to remember from cartoons, which as soon as it comes in contact renders the victim unconscious. Well, for me not unconscious but very nauseous. So, once again, I would get up and leave as soon as the malodorous toxic cloud reached my nostrils, returning after I figured enough time had passed for it to dissipate.

On my trip home this weekend, fortunately this didn't happen close enough to me to cause any ill effects, but it did irritate me. A woman was sitting in the gate area awaiting boarding for the Indy flight. She got out her bag, and right there in front of all the other waiting passengers, proceeded to paint her face. She applied all sorts of products, none of which I really care to understand well enough to describe, apparently in an attempt to transform her face into whatever illusion she desired.

So maybe it's some sort of social requirement for women to wear lots of makeup. But my general philosophy is that pretty women don't need it, and ugly women can't get much help anyway. But even if I grudgingly agree that women feel social pressure to plaster stuff on their faces, shouldn't they do it in private? Why couldn't this woman get up and walk the 50 feet to the nearest ladies room to trowel on all that stuff, rather than subject everyone in the area to her attempt at facial artistry?

After all, if women and their makeup are all about illusion, shouldn't the secrets of that illusion be kept private?

I feel better now with my rant over. I'm also breathing deeply to appreciate the complete lack of obnoxious odors in my private refuge of the office. (Let me check - no, even my armpits are fairly odor-free. I won't take off my shoes, though.) Ahh.

Object Lessons

If anyone needs a first-hand example of why socialism doesn't work, just spend some time with an Indian tribe. The irony isn't lost on me that Americans feel guilty about what our forefathers purportedly did to the natives 150 years ago; you know, stealing their land, killing them off with desease and rifles, sending them to desolate reservations, etc. So what did we do? We let them open casinos.

Another thing we did was give the tribal governments relative autonomy. They get tax breaks and are exempted from many federal and state regulations. For example, you can buy gas on this particular reservation for about 30 cents less than anywhere else.

But in working for a few of these Indian casinos over the years, I've observed a microcosm of what socialism is really like. The tribal members are virtually guaranteed a job, either at the casino or at one of the other business enterprises operated by the tribe. Tribal members are also given special consideration over non-native counterparts when it comes to promotions and job perks. Even if they have no qualifications whatsoever for the job.

The results of these kinds of policies are predictable, and mirror what I observed during my visit to the Soviet Union back in the 70's. Alcoholism and drug abuse are rampant. People who are guaranteed a job generally don't worry too much about showing up for work on time, when they show up at all. Tribal members demand and often receive promotions to management positions for which they have no qualifications. Many of the tribal members end up in a continuous cycle of being hired, going on a drunk and failing to show up for work, getting fired, going to their uncle or father-in-law on the tribal council asking for reinstatement, being reinstated usually to a job in a different department, then repeating the cycle. Until they've been fired by every business and department in the tribal world, when the least powerful department manager will be saddled with a second round and forced to find a non-essential position for the person.

For example, there's a tribal member who has very strong family connections to influential tribal council members. She started work in an entry-level job, and was rapidly promoted all the way to a top managerial position. Once she got there, she went on a drinking binge and was nowhere to be found, missing some very important events for which she had primary responsibility. Once they finally found her, she was fired. About a month later, she was reinstated under instruction from the tribal council, although to a lower-level position in another department. But the manager, at significant risk to his own job, insisted that she would not be reinstated at her previous manager-level salary, but at the prevailing rate for the new position.

There's a popular description of how tribal casinos operate, which is on "Indian time". Projects move at their pace, which means the project I've been working on has been postponed. Postponed not for any reason other than the Indian managers involved became uncomfortable that things were moving too fast. There's no way any project will be allowed to cause anyone to put in extra hours, which includes Friday afternoons, when generally the place is empty - especially on payday. Then there's deer season coming up, Thanksgiving and Christmas, and of course the conclusion is that it's impossible to make staff members work on a project this time of year.

All of this explains why the non-Indians here tell me that this casino is generally known as a last resort for anyone who needs a job. Between the institutionalized discrimination on promotions and wages, tolerance for poor performance by tribal members, and general lack of urgency or motivation, anyone with pride or ambition would find it a torturous place to work.

Don't misunderstand, I have no issues with the tribal people. I find them friendly and pleasant, and am somewhat fascinated with their focus on their heritage and traditions. They had a drum ceremony while I was trying to meet with them for our initial planning meeting, which even though it was disruptive and cost valuable information-gathering time, I kind of enjoyed experiencing.

I don't know when the project will be finished, but most definitely not on the originally planned timeline. It may take a year and cost 2 or 3 times what it should, but I suppose that's the only way to get things done in any socialist society. Of course, I've seen very similar issues in projects for governmental organizations in general, so it's not just the tribes. You should see what it's like to work with a city government; it's different in many ways, but very similar in terms of the unnecessary extra time and cost due to the political structure.

My theory is that socialist-minded people are generally those with very little ambition and a desire for the best lifestyle they can achieve without effort or accountability. Are you attracted by the idea of a job for life, where you only have to show up 30-35 hours per week, can take a day off whenever you feel like it without consequence, and can't be fired no matter what your behavior?

If so, I'm guessing you're a socialist and vote Democrat.

So You Think Travel is Cool

The trip began yesterday morning. I got up at 5:30 and was on the road to the Indy airport by 6. It was a foggy morning, and visibility was a little dicey until the sun came up, but otherwise I had a pretty normal drive to the airport.

I arrived, parked in the Tiger lot, and jaywalked across the road to the terminal because I don't like riding the bus. The check-in went smoothly, where I handed over my bag oblivious to what was in store. Then I got through security without being strip-searched, and settled in with a good book until we boarded the flight to Minneapolis.

Even on boarding there was no hint of the problems to come. I received my upgrade and enjoyed a cold orange juice while the rest of the passengers came on board. We pushed away from the gate, but shortly afterward found ourselves parked on the tarmac.

The message from the pilot boiled down to this: Minneapolis was getting stormy weather, and was slowing down incoming traffic for safety reasons. We would have to wait on the ground in Indy until we got cleared to take off for MSP. That's not a terribly unusual event, and I was unconcerned, so I put the book down and began to nap.

Eventually we took off for MSP, but I really didn't know how long we had waited, because I'd been sleeping. I continued to doze through the flight, waking up when we were about 20 minutes away. I re-immersed myself in the book (which was one of the best I've read in some time, by the way - if you have a chance to read "The Rule of Four", do so!) and didn't check my watch until we landed and began the taxi to the gate.

Oh-oh. We were pulling into the gate at 11:00, and my flight to Hancock was scheduled to depart at 11:10. Knowing that the trek from concourse G to A was about as far a walk as you can possibly do at Minneapolis, I thought there was no way I would make that flight.

Nothing to do but try, though, so I took off at a speed walk (fast for me, anyway), and actually walked up to my gate at A3 by about 11:15. The flight was gone. The gate agent told me I could either wait about 10-15 minutes to get assistance from her when she finished closing out the flight (yes, the one I was supposed to be on), or I could call the 800 number to rebook.

So I tried Northwest's 800 number, figuring with my elite status they would take good care of me. But it wasn't very reassuring when the guy on the phone came back from researching my options to say, in what I interpreted as a rather embarrassed tone, that I would be better off to see an agent there at the counter.

So of course, I go back to my (un)friendly gate agent, now one of about a half-dozen people who missed the same flight. Given that the plane only holds about 20 people, I immediately began to wonder out loud why they couldn't hold it 20 minutes to get the rest of us on who came in on delayed flights. Not a good way to make friends with an already sullen gate agent.

Anyway, we all get the following news from our sullen and increasingly hostile and unfriendly gate agent: There are no seats on any flight to Hancock (MI) before Friday night. I thought I detected a note of triumph in her voice when she made that statement. "Take that, you idiot passengers!"

So I asked, as nicely as I could and trying to disguise the smoke that was most certainly pouring out of my ears, whether there was a flight available that could get us to Marquette (because I already knew that was the nearest airport other than Hancock to where I was going). And thanking God for small favors, a second gate agent appears to help the first, who is much more pleasant and actually smiles at me when she says "Let me check on that!"

So my new best friend is able to quickly find me a seat on the flight to Marquette. She also entered data into her computer about re-routing my luggage. All I needed to do was call Avis to switch my car rental reservation, then see if I could get the return flight changed to Marquette as well to avoid a drop charge on the car. True to form, the other agent heard me ask to change the return flight, and responded "you will have to do that online or through the 800 number. And they will charge you a $100 change fee".

I couldn't help myself: "You mean I'll get charged a change fee for a change that wasn't my fault?". She snorted, "It wasn't our fault either; complain to God."

Unbelievable.

Anyway, I had about 5 hours to kill in the MSP airport before the Marquette flight. It only took one of those hours to finish off the book (let me know if you want to borrow it!), so I took a walk to find a bookstore to buy another. Without reading materials, 5 hours stuck in an airport could be torturous.

The flight to Marquette loaded up after they asked for 3 volunteers to give up their seats. Fortunately, 3 giggling college girls immediately took the airline up on the deal.

As we taxied toward the runway, the pilot came on the air to announce that the weather in the area was pretty rough, and there was a chance we would not be able to land in Marquette. Our alternative airport was Stevens Point, Wisconsin. Oh great, I thought, getting stranded in Wisconsin is worse than being stranded in Minneapolis.

Fortunately, we made it to Marquette. It was after a roundabout flight that took almost twice as long as scheduled, as the pilot flew around the storms. Even so, it was a pretty bumpy ride.

We got to Marquette, and I checked in at Avis to get my rental car keys. A Hyundai Santa Fe. Oh well, it's transportation. Then I waited for the bags. And waited. And waited. Strange how tiny airports are sometimes the slowest to unload luggage.

Once the carousel stopped moving, I headed over to the Northwest ticket counter to report my lost luggage. How did I know that my friend at the gate in MSP wasn't going to be successful at re-routing my bag just by entering it in the computer? Does it maybe have something to do with the fact that the gorillas who handle baggage couldn't use a computer if their life depended on it? Or that entering baggage information on the computer system is only for show, to mislead customers into thinking there actually is some sort of system for tracking luggage? I knew better, but what can you do?

So even though I was tired from an extremely long and frustrating day of absolutely no productivity, I stopped at Wal-Mart in Marquette to buy some essentials. Bathroom stuff, socks, underwear, a pair of slacks and a shirt. I figured the jeans and ratty golf shirt wouldn't go over too well at the client the next morning. At least I got checked into the hotel before midnight. I believe I got in around 9:30. How's that for a trip - 15 and a half hours to travel to an adjoining state!

I just got off the phone with the agent at the Hancock airport. She confirmed for me that my bag had indeed shown up there today, on the first flight from MSP. She is calling a taxi to bring it to me at my hotel. Let's hope it shows up tonight - I'd rather not have to wear the same outfit to work tomorrow.

So, after this long story, would anybody like to sign up for job that requires extensive travel? Anybody?

Thought so.

Is Empathy a Strength or Weakness?

Empathetic could be near the top of the list of words that describe me. In my relations with other people, I nearly always find myself working hard to understand their point of view or the basis for their opinions and actions. It's part of understanding the person, sort of like an associated strongly-held belief I have that no problem can be solved without first understanding it fully.

What I wonder, especially in business, is whether my empathy is a strength or weakness of character. There certainly seem to be plenty of very successful people who seem to have very little empathy for others.

I've had some opportunities recently in encounters with other people to exercise my empathy by asking open-ended questions of people who express opinions and beliefs at odds with my own. In most cases, I am able to partially understand their viewpoint but am left wanting to dig deeper. It's not possible in the context of a casual conversation to prompt someone to reveal to me their deepest and possibly most secret painful experiences, which I theorize must be the root of their dark attitudes.

Mostly I seem to find people who view the world 180 degrees from my own perspective have a terrible bitterness as an undercurrent. That's what makes me want to explore in more depth. For example, an atheist will inevitably express a profound hatred for people with an evangelical, or "born-again" Christianity worn proudly on their sleeve. The hatred seems illogical, so I want to ask what terrible evil deed was perpetrated to make this individual so disillusioned with all Christians, just because one or two have had the gall to proselytize?

To the degree we are all formed by our life experiences, I can't help but wonder if the bitterest and angriest people were formed by some awful event or series of events in their young lives that they were never able to move beyond. I'm not angry or hateful toward atheists in general, but instead find myself mourning for them in a sense. Because something very foul must have happened in their lives to give them such a terrible lifelong simmering anger toward people of faith, and whatever it was is denying them the peace and comfort that can be found in a simple and trusting faith.

Too many people are living self-destructive lives, and I've met too many of them. It amazes me how often individuals I know behave in ways that they think are rebelling or getting even with people that have hurt them somehow, yet ultimately they are only harming themselves with those behaviors. Unfortunately, I don't have any magical answers I can give to such embittered people that can help them climb out of the deep, dark hole they have dug for themselves. But I hope that someday maybe I can at least help show someone the path out of that hole.

Maybe that's all God really wants from any of us.

Hoping for a Hoax

I really hope this is a hoax. If not, how much evil is too much?

I've been working more and more with websites, and it's sort of fun. Too bad it doesn't pay as well as regular software consulting. Then again, maybe if I establish a reputation ... who knows?

Anybody seen "Proof"? Is it any good? Is it even released yet? Thinking about checking it out.

Sound Bytes

Your typical evening newscast these days:

"This is the CBS Evening News with Bob Scheifer. Our lead story today, a chicken was struck and killed on a county road near President Bush's Crawford, Texas ranch. For more on the story, we go to our reporters on the site in Crawford."

Reporter: "Thanks Bob. We have interviewed several leading citizens about this terrible incident, and here's what they had to say."

Robert F. Kennedy, Jr.
"The evidence is clear that the chicken crossed the road seeking relief from the hot sun, further proof that we continue to lose our planet to the ravages of global warming while our president and his administration stand idly by and refuse to implement the Kyoto Protocol."

Al Sharpton
This incident is an insult to the poor and oppressed black people, who represent a significant percentage of chicken farmers in the US. This president does not care about black people or chickens!

Al Gore
As you know, the chicken was brutally killed in a hit-and-run incident by an SUV. Huge, unsafe, polluting vehicles such as these are doing irreparable harm to endangered chickens everywhere. True to form, the Bush administration continues to ignore the great harm to society being perpetrated every day by these massive, gas-guzzling, chicken-flattening monstrosities.

Howard Dean
This just illustrates further the fact that the president could care less about the little guy, or Chicken Little. Our country needs to rise up and be heard to stop the tyranny of this out-of-control president.

Jesse Jackson
This terrible incident could have been avoided had there been more programs available to help the poor black farmer who owned this chicken. President Bush's tax cuts for the rich eliminated federal assistance could have allowed him the funds necessary to build a decent chicken coop in which the unfortunate chicken would have been happy to stay, rather than seeking a better life across the road.

John Kerry
What an appalling lack of leadership shown by this president in not proactively resolving the problems that led to this tragic chicken death. If I were president, I would proclaim a Chicken's Bill of Rights immediately to allocate 100 billion dollars to insure that all chickens will always have the right to health and safety everywhere in our great country.

Hillary Clinton
The arrogance and incompetence of this administration is once again illustrated for all to see in this tragic killing of an innocent chicken, only miles from the president's own Texas ranch. I will call on the Senate to immediately enact legislation to create a Department of Chicken Security, which will be responsible for oversight relating to all chicken affairs, in order to make this country once again safe for chickens.

Bill Clinton
Well, you know, nothing like this ever happened on my watch. When I was president, we took very seriously the rights and safety of our country's chickens. It is disappointing to see that this administration is so distracted with other matters that they cannot focus on the country's basic domestic chicken needs.

Patricia Ireland
This chicken was an abused and exploited egg layer, destined for a life of misery under the patriarchal white male dominated system under which women are demeaned and abused every day. This poor chicken was merely trying to stretch her wings and escape to a better life, before being flattened on the road by a MAN driving an SUV!

Cindy Sheehan
President Bush, when will the killing stop? How many more innocent lives will you snuff out before you wake up and stop these evil and illegal policies? People of America, wake up! We need to take our country back from the criminal Bush immediately for all of our sons and daughters and chickens!

President Bush
My heart goes out to the family and friends of this chicken, which was so tragically killed down the road from here. I have ordered an immediate investigation into the cause of this tragic accident, and assure all Americans that we will act on the results of this investigation to make sure chickens are safe and secure in our great country.

Reporter: "Back to you, Bob"

Bob (not realizing he was on the air yet, reacting to Bush's comments.) "He's so full of sh.... - Oh, welcome back. Tune in later this evening for 60 Minutes II, where Dan Rather investigates: "Is Bush really an in-bred redneck, or is he merely a product of an abusive childhood?"

"Bob Schiefer, CBS News, good evening."

Later that evening, near Crawford Texas, a lone reporter (not from a major network) approaches the chicken farmer who is scooping up his dead chicken from the road and into a trash bag.

"Sir, what is your take on the events of today?"

The farmer: "S@#$ happens."

Motivation

It seems my biggest challenge for this week is self-motivation. I have work to do, but no hard deadlines in which to complete everything. That's difficult for me, because I can sometimes be a bit of a procrastinator. So this week I need to apply regular swift kicks to the posterior region to move things along. Maybe I can reward myself with a little golf once I've finished my work.

Got back to singing with SN last night. Even though I missed the first two rehearsals of the season, I was able to catch up pretty quickly, as usual. Thanks to the gift I've always seemed to have to sight-read new music pretty well. There's a kind of jazzy piece we started working on that's a bit of a departure from the group's normal fare, and I like that.

Lately I've found myself going through some long avoided soul-searching. Where it is leading I can't predict, but often wish there was someone I could trust to listen and comment on my progress.

Missing Post

Well, my last post was pretty clever, at least I thought so. Unfortunately, just as I finished it and clicked "publish", it disappeared into Blogger's cyber black hole. That was frustrating, and I don't have the time or inclination to repeat it, at least for now.

One of the things I saw at my recent visit to the NCAA really threw me for a loop. There was a blurb about establishing the national championship in football. In NCAA division 2 and 3 there is a playoff system that crowns the true national champion every year. But for some reason I fail to grasp, even the NCAA admits they have no control over the division 1 football championship, which is determined by a separate entity called the BCS.

Needless to say, I am not a fan of the BCS, and am disgusted that in many years the actual national championship can be disputed by 2 or sometimes 3 undefeated division 1 football teams. Polls decide the actual champion instead of games. Am I crazy, or doesn't anybody else think this system is absolutely asinine and inexcusable?

It seems to me that all those bowl traditions can continue just fine with a new playoff system. Let the minor bowls start around Thanksgiving, matching up the top teams from each major conference and the big independents for the right to advance to the next level.

Then the mid-level bowls host round two, three, and even four through December, until the final two emerge for a New Year's day national championship. I don't care which major bowl hosts it, maybe they could trade off. But there is no reason, other than the money and power being thrown around to keep the BCS in power, that a playoff system could not be a hugely successful way of determining the national champion in NCAA division 1 football.

My vision is that a playoff would bring more revenue to the bowls and member schools, because everyone playing in the minor and mid-level bowls would suddenly be playing for more than just pride and bragging rights. They would be playing for their own shot at a national title.

Imagine that a team like Notre Dame or Michigan or Ohio State has completed their season with one single loss. Today their dreams of a national championship are already smashed because of that one loss. At the end of the season, even if they are playing better than any other team in the NCAA, there is no hope for them because of that early-season loss.

With a playoff system such as the one I envision, they have another shot at that national title. Game 1 is around Thanksgiving against another school from another conference with a good season record. If they win, they progress to the next playoff game in a mid-level bowl against the winner of another first round game. And so on, until they meet a team like an undefeated USC in the final, say, Rose Bowl game on January 1st.

When will somebody start to pay attention and have the courage to buck the BCS powers to institute a new, fair, and exciting playoff format for finding the real national champion? Instead the NCAA focuses on stupid stuff like banning team mascots with Indian-based themes.

How about a campaign to fire Myles Brand and get a real effective leader into the NCAA president's role.

Entitlement

During the training I did this week with a Human Resources department, there were some discussions about their biggest challenge these days. They turn out to be just finding reasonably reliable employees who will show up on time and do a reasonably good job.

Turnover is a major issue with these folks, but I know it can vary based on the specific type of business. Fundamentally, the higher-paying and hardest-to-get jobs almost never turn over, because those who are lucky enough to land them hang on for dear life. But most companies don't offer those types of jobs.

There's a strong feeling of entitlement among American workers in general these days. HR people I work with tell me that, especially people of color, expect to be given preference for the best openings regardless of their qualifications. They are often hostile to supervisors who ask them for a little more effort or to perform a task they don't like. They feel entitled to take a day off whenever they like, without consequence even if they fail to call.

There are plenty of applicants who ask for higher-paying supervisory, managerial, or professional positions they have absolutely no qualifications to perform. Somehow these people get the idea that they are owed these positions, maybe because of perceived past discrimination or maybe because there has been such a recent trend of giving preferences to employee classes. They reason that, even though they have no knowledge or experience in that management position, they can simply have their departmental employees teach them about the job. What a strange idea.

Don't assume that employers are without blame in these situations. They like to play games to keep their payrolls low, from hiring illegals; to classifying employees as part-time to avoid providing benefits but then scheduling them for 40 hours every week; to paying the lowest possible hourly wage; to cheating employees of work breaks and overtime; to many other little tricks that constantly seek a few more dollars on the corporate bottom line (and the manager's bonus) on the backs of the front line employees. And HR department people deplore and fight against these practices, albeit unsuccessfully.

The basic trends today are that corporate managers consider their front-line employees to be commodities, and don't view them as assets to leverage for their company's success. Front-line employees in turn pick up quickly on this attitude and develop their own version of the attitude of getting over on management by receiving the highest possible compensation for the least possible effort.

I've recently begun to wonder whether there are any great companies left out there. Companies who recognize the value of motivated and dedicated employees, and the high cost of turnover. Companies who take care of employees' needs by paying good salaries, providing quality benefits, and sharing profits to foster a culture of teamwork and loyalty. Companies who focus on efficiencies and productivity rather than constantly scheming to squeeze more dollars from their workers.

If by some miracle my tiny little company were to grow into a decent-sized operation, what I can guarantee is that I will never forget these lessons: Treat every employee as an individual asset, encourage and reward hard work and productivity, and insist on a culture fostering loyalty and teamwork.

Excellence

My flight arrived in Indy a couple of hours before Tim was ready to be picked up (he decided to come home for the weekend). So I had time to kill, and decided to check out the NCAA Hall of Champions.

The place isn't really all that exciting. Two floors of mostly static exhibits, with about three different video presentations and a couple of basic interactive things. Plus a recreation of an old-time Indiana basketball (half) court where you can shoot some hoops.

I did it all. I watched all the videos, read all the exhibits, tried out the interactive stuff, and shot a few baskets. There was a local elementary school class finishing up a tour when I got there, but they were gone within a few minutes and I had the entire place to myself.

Although the museum itself was generally forgettable, reading and watching everything about college athletes did get me thinking. The idea of excellence, that if you are talented enough, smart enough, and work hard enough, you just might be able to become a champion in your sport and in your life.

There was a passing reference in the exhibits to the sort of sacrifice collegiate athletes make to be able to perform at a high level and still do well in their coursework. It's too bad about the fact that too many of the marquee athletes aren't really students at all, but just underpaid PR for the University giving them a free ride at the school but meaningless classes to keep them eligible.

Excellence isn't defined by the world-class basketball player who goes pro after 2 years in a college, where he still never learned to read or multiply two single-digit numbers. Instead, excellence is defined by the athlete in any sport who did all he or she could to help their team earn a national championship while pulling down good grades in a challenging academic program.

For myself, it is not without a little regret that I look back over a life that did not include much that could be called excellence. In high school, rather than making sure I got plenty of off-season workouts to gain strength and speed and endurance to make me a better football and basketball player, I would come home at the end of long summer days working for my Dad in construction and collapse. Or I would go out with friends looking for fun. When I should have been going to the summer conditioning program at the school, or down to the park to join the pick-up basketball games with the other members of the team.

When preseason two-a-days for football came around, I made sure I was around the middle of the pack in the constant 40-yard sprints. I cheated on the conditioning drills, resting when the coach wasn't watching, or lifting a lower weight to make things easier on myself. The attitude I held was that I needed to "pace myself" for a long conditioning session, so I still had something left in the tank by the end. I never took to heart the importance of conditioning, and in hindsight that's why I didn't achieve the success I wanted. The knee injuries that hampered my high school football career and ended my basketball career may have been prevented had I taken my conditioning more seriously.

There were the hours upon hours year-round that I spent on indoor and outdoor basketball courts trying to perfect my shooting touch. But even those hours were spent haphazardly, just shooting for enjoyment without a structured regimen that would really hone the ball-handling, agility, and footwork skills that the game requires.

The wisdom of age brings those regrets, not because I think I could have been some sort of superstar player; but because I cheated myself of what could be memories of a much more productive and satisfying experience. Plus, I have no doubt today that, had I been more focused back then, my class full of very talented basketball players could have gone much further in the state tournament my senior year. As it turned out, a tired group of my senior classmates lost in the sectional final to a less talented team after a huge but exhausting win over the third-ranked state power in the semifinal. I wasn't even on the team anymore, partly because of my knee injury, but mostly because I walked off the team out of frustration and dislike of the coach.

On to today, how can I apply what my aging wisdom and perspective has given me? I think at this point, I need to strive for excellence in everything I do. Being in business for myself, that approach may not bring immediate results, but should over time directly lead to greater success.

Who knows, maybe I can get back into decent enough shape to return to the game I love in a senior league. A good goal, I think, might be to actually join an old man's basketball team by next winter. As I consider the possibility, I almost get excited.

One day at a time. Lord willing, I may find excellence someday after all.

I've Been Everywhere, Man

There's that commercial that's been playing recently with Johnny Cash singing "I've been everywhere", and Chris likes to say, "That's you, Dad".

It's true, all those places Johnny Cash rattles off in the song are places I've been too. I've been in every major city in the US, most of the lower Canadian provinces, and of course the odd other country. I've visited every US state except Alaska, Idaho, and Vermont. Sometimes people ask me what it's like to travel so much.

What I like about all the traveling I've done:

• Meeting new people
• Learning to place people by their "accent"
  
• First Class
• Good books that make long plane rides shorter
• Getting upgraded to Premium Class rental cars
• Beaches
• Moutains
• Going to rodeos, baseball, football, or basketball games in whatever city I'm in
• The occasional dinner in a place like Ruth's Chris or Morton's or other highbrow steak houses
• Wandering around the Vegas Strip
• Nice hotel rooms, especially suites
• Good days at work
• Trying local cuisine
• Visiting local museums, parks, malls, attractions, etc.
  

What I don't like about all that traveling:

• Getting travel-worn, jet-lagged
• Flight delays and cancellations
• 3 hours of sleep before the big morning meeting
• Fleabag hotels
• Loneliness
• Missing kids' events
• Spending very little time with my family
  
• Inability to create or sustain close friendships
• Cramped seats in coach and on puddle-jumpers
• Having my knees bruised when the passenger in front of me reclines hard into them
• Sullen, uncaring airline employees
  
• Dinner alone in a restaurant
• Getting sick away from home
• No irons in the hotel for my rumpled clothes
  
• Missed flights, missed connections
• Rental cars breaking down
• Botched airline, hotel, and rental car reservations

What strikes me about my experiences over these many years on the road are some basic facts.

First, people everywhere are, at their core, pretty much the same. No matter where I go, I find mostly nice, mostly friendly folks who aren't really all that different from everybody else. Sure, New Yorkers are the rudest, Southern Californians and San Franciscans the strangest, Midwesterners the most taciturn, Texans the friendliest, Southeasterners the most laid back and easygoing, Indians the most family and heritage-oriented (but not very motivated), and Canadians the most, hmm, hockey-obsessed? But everyone is the same in their desire to make the best lives they can for themselves and their families.

Second, of all the places I've visited, my home is still where I consider one of the best places anywhere to live and raise kids. I find that the really attractive places, where the weather is great and there's plenty to see and do, have been overwhelmed by so many people who choose to live there that they're too crowded for me to be comfortable. But the most rural areas tend to be so poor that they have very little to offer in family life and education for the children. So I'm convinced that you can't do much better, in terms of a place that's affordable, relatively safe, with OK schools, but with plenty to do (at least in Indy), than right where I live in Indiana. Or my hometown in another part of Indiana.

Well, gotta go. At least tonight I have some people to meet for dinner, so I don't have to hang out alone in my hotel working and watching television.

The UP

So I'm working in that part of Michigan known as the "UP", or Upper Peninsula, in case you didn't already know. It's a very rural place and seems generally poor and depressed. It looks like copper mining used to be their main industry, but those are pretty much gone. I understand there are still some iron mines around, though.

I think the people I work with are semi-serious when they tell me just about everybody who lives in this area has worked for the casino at one time or another. Interesting thing about Indian casinos that are actually run by the tribe - they have their own pace. Very slow. That's OK, I don't mind. Slow isn't bad now and then.

My hotel is right on Keweenaw Bay, part of Lake Superior. That's not a bad view. I hear you can see the Aurora Borealis here at night; I'll have to make a point to go outside if it clears up this week to check that out. And there's a little ski resort and college (Michigan Tech) about 30 miles away. Somebody mentioned taking me snowmobiling this winter, which might be fun.

Try this link. Some pictures from the family gathering Labor Day weekend. They don't all seem to be on the CD, which I've got to check on when I get home.

Good Bye, Little Buddy

Say Hi to the Skipper. And the Howell's.

Hunkered Down

The peak of allergy season has arrived, and seems as tough as ever. Just going outside for a few minutes gets me started, so I'm avoiding the outdoors. Too bad, because it's a beautiful weekend. I just came into the office for a couple of hours, mainly to get email and check out some Katrina relief sites.

Had a nice visit in Goshen, a rare event where almost everybody showed up. It was cool to see the cousins together for the weekend, and brought back memories of when they were smaller and we all gathered more often.

We're offering to bring home a displaced family from the Katrina area. I'm not sure how that will go, but we do have the space. We'll see.

There could be plenty more to write about, but none of it fit for consumption by anybody close.

Funny Quote

Saw this quote and thought it was hilarious.



"Saturday will not play Friday", Colts Head Coach Tony Dungy said.

Difficult Decisions

Every now and then something comes along that is tempting.

There are many times when I think it would be very nice to just leave the business and take one of those tempting opportunities, thinking about all the positives: Actual benefits, nice salary, great fit with my skills and experience, stability and predictability, working in the office with people every day, and a place I could probably stay until I'm ready to retire.

But the downsides give me pause as well. The business isn't doing all that badly, and even though I'm not making what I will by taking a job, it's going up fairly steadily. I like Columbus, but admit that I don't like the house and can't afford the remodeling to make it acceptable right now. Plus we've been here 11, going on 12 years, and the roots have gone pretty deep, at least for Claudia.

On the other hand, I've never really found true friends here, at least that fit my definition of friends. The nature of my work and business, living on a farm out nowhere, concentrating more on the kids and their activities, and not really feeling connected with Claudia's homeschool network are all reasons. Plus that it's probably my own fault for not really putting much effort into developing friendships; besides being naturally reserved, I'm also wary and slow to trust others, cynically believing everyone has ulterior motives.

Maybe it wasn't a good idea, but I gave my OK for an interview today. Even though I know Claudia's not going to like the idea of moving. Even though I'm not sure I like the idea either. But this one's pretty attractive, and I might be kicking myself later if I don't at least check it out a little.

Then again, it may go nowhere and I'm overthinking it anyway. We'll see.

Lake New Orleans

What an overwhelming disaster brought by Katrina. I can't imagine how New Orleans will ever get drained, dried out, and rebuilt. It seems like it will take years. It must be very difficult for all of those families who have lost their homes, and I wonder what percentage of them had insurance that will actually cover their losses and temporary housing. Most people can't buy flood insurance, so unless people in Louisiana and Mississippi are exceptions, I'm guessing a huge number will be without their homes and jobs and possibly ruined by Katrina.

The political stuff is so disappointing. RFK Jr. apparently blamed Bush for Katrina. He certainly has shamed his father, let alone the rest of the nation in playing politics with such a tragic disaster. Let's hope there aren't more stupid leftist Bush-haters that start in on him, but instead everybody needs to pull together regardless of political stripe to help the people recover and rebuild.

An interesting observation is the lack of response from our so-called "friends" around the world. Over the years, whether it's earthquakes or tsunamis or famine or disease, who's there first with food, medicine, and money? We are. But I recall after the Tsunami, where both the American people and their government were overwhelmingly generous to help in the recovery, there seemed to be more criticism than thanks from the world. So I sort of wonder, now that we've had our own major disaster, where is everybody?

Maybe I'm premature, and we'll see an outpouring of assistance and support from Europe, Russia, and our #1 trading partner, China. But somehow I don't think it will happen, because aside from Great Britain, I'm beginning to believe that most of the rest of the world are not friends of the US. They want our trade, they want our protection, they want our money and medicines, but they really resent our superpower status and enjoy seeing us suffer.

I hope I'm wrong.

Gotta Love Gershwin

Well, in case you wondered, the show at Beef & Boards was Gershwin's Crazy for You. A show I've always enjoyed, especially for the great music. Some of the best timeless classics are right there in the show. I've seen the Broadway version that was recorded for PBS, and of course the High School version (that Nick skipped because he didn't want to do all that dancing).

If I were playing critic, I would rate the performance at Beef & Boards about 3 stars. The cast were all good singers and actors, but I felt it could have been much better.

Among the leads, I thought the redhead playing Polly gave a strong performance overall. She had a strong voice and lots of attitude as the part requires. But I noticed a number of timing slips, not on song entrances and the like but with the acting. It seemed at times that her facial expressions and body language weren't quite right for what was going on, that somehow she was a little late on things. For example, when she transitioned from anger to amour with "Bobby", instead of a gradual thing it was more like turning a switch. That was almost confusing. That, and many lines that scream for a pregnant pause she delivered much too quickly, missing some chances for comedic impact.

Then again, that impression might be partly the fact that I never believed she (or about any woman, for that matter) would ever fall for a twinkle-toes like the Bobby character. OK, I know the character is supposed to be some sort of Broadway wannabe who loves to dance, and how many straight men realistically fit that mold? But seriously, can't the guy at least do a better job pretending to be hetero?

The Bobby character just didn't impress me, despite the fact he obviously had the part down cold. The classic drunk scene with Bobby and Zangler is hilarious no matter who's playing the roles, and I did enjoy that in this show. But I never believed in any sort of chemistry between Bobby and Polly.

But the rest of the cast were energetic and athletic, and overall the performance was enjoyable. We talked about getting a bigger gang to go to Grease, the next show coming up there. (Nick and Tim, start thinking about it now, and whether you want to bring a date.)

Anyway, back to work.

Saturdays are Good

This one is pretty good, anyway. I made a nice sale today and am getting treated to a show at Beef & Boards in Indy tonight. Although I'm not exactly sure what the show is, and have never been to Beef & Boards before. But it was started by the brother of a guy I knew in University Singers back at Ball State, and I've heard it's pretty good.

Too bad North lost to East last night, but it was an exciting game. Last play of the game, 4th and 17, clock ticking down under 10 seconds, 1st down on the 2 yard line but needing a touchdown for the win. Pass caught and the receiver fights with all he has to try to reach the first down, or better yet the endzone, but is tackled 1 yard short. Game over. East wins 28-24. Stevie Brown is amazing.

Getting "tagged" by Nick I assume must mean I have to post my version of 10 things that make me happy. There are lots more than 10, but I'll try to make it a "top 10". O yeah, and I won't bother to tag anybody else (unless somebody wants me to)

1. Listening to a thunderstorm lashing the roof and windows while I drift off to sleep under the blankets.
2. Driving through the mountains on a clear day with my favorite tunes on the radio and my favorite female companion under my arm.
3. Watching one of my kids play (insert name of sport here) from a comfortable canvas chair on the sidelines.
4. Going to a football game with one to three of my boys. Colts, college game, High School game - any will work.
5. Shooting hoops in a nice gym.
6. Singing in front of a large audience and being able to see that I am reaching them emotionally with my song.
7. Ice cream. Especially "home-made".
8. Hugs.
9. Road trips - anywhere, as long as the weather's nice and the scenery's decent.
10. A great book.

The Difference between Men and Women

Here is a list of observable differences between men and women. Some of the following is borrowed, some is my own:

RELATIONSHIPS:
When a relationship ends, a woman will cry and pour her heart out to her girlfriends, she will either gain or lose 30 pounds, then she will find a new guy and get on with her life.

A man seems to get over it very quickly and say nothing to his friends, except six months after the breakup, in a drunken haze at 3AM on a Saturday night, he will call and say, 'I just called to let you know you ruined my life, and I'll never forgive you, I hate you, you're a whore. I still believe there's a chance for us, just give me another chance.' By Sunday afternoon he's forgotten all about it, and besides, would not admit it ever happened in front of his friends.

MATURITY:
Women mature much faster than men. Most 17-year old females can function as adults. Most 17-year old males are focused on playing video games and giving each other wedgies after gym class. This is why high school romances rarely work out.

MAGAZINES:
Men's magazines often feature pictures of naked women. Women's magazines also feature pictures of naked women. This is because the female body is a beautiful work of art, while the male body is lumpy and hairy and shouldn't be seen by the light of day. Men are turned on at the sight of a naked woman's body. Most naked men elicit laughter from women.

BATHROOMS:
A man has five items in his bathroom - a toothbrush, shaving cream, razor, a bar of soap, and a towel from the Holiday Inn. The average number of items in the typical woman's bathroom is 437. No man would be able to identify more than 20 of those items.

SHOPPING:
A woman goes to the mall for the day to wander through all of the stores and look at or try on every item before finally settling on the things she wants to purchase. A man discovers he needs a new pair of jeans, drives to the nearest store that sells jeans and buys the first pair of the appropriate size off the rack, then goes home.

GROCERIES:
A woman makes a list of things she needs and then goes out to the grocery store and buys these things. A man waits till the only items left in his fridge are half a lime and a beer. Then he goes grocery shopping. He buys everything that looks good. By the time a man reaches the checkout counter, his cart is packed tighter than the Clampett's car on Beverly Hillbillies.

CATS:
Women love cats. Men pretend they love cats, but when women aren't looking, men kick cats.

OFFSPRING:
A woman knows all about her children. She knows about dentist appointments and soccer games and best friends and favorite foods and secret fears and dreams. A man is vaguely aware of some short people living in the house.

DRESSING UP:
A woman will dress up to: go shopping, water the plants, empty the garbage, read a book, talk on the phone, get the mail. A man will dress up for weddings and funerals.

LAUNDRY:
Women do laundry every couple of days. A man will wear every article of clothing he owns, at least twice or until it stinks, before he will do his laundry. When he is finally out of clothes, he will take his mountain of clothes to the Laundromat. Men always expect to meet beautiful women at the Laundromat. Most men don't understand why that only works on TV.

MIRRORS:
Men are vain; they will check themselves out in a mirror once a day. Women are ridiculous; they will check out their reflections constantly in any shiny surface: mirrors, spoons, store windows, some man's bald head.

MENOPAUSE:
When a woman reaches menopause, she goes through a variety of complicated emotional, psychological, and biological changes. The nature and degree of these changes varies with the individual. The male equivalent of Menopause provokes a uniform reaction...he buys aviator glasses, a snazzy French cap and leather driving gloves, flirts obnoxiously with 20-something women, and goes shopping for a Porsche.

TOYS:
Little girls love to play with toys. Then when they reach the age of 11 or 12, they lose interest. Men never grow out of their obsession with toys. As they get older, their toys simply become more expensive and silly and impractical. Examples of men's toys: little miniature TV's. Complicated juicers and blenders. Graphic equalizers. Home Theatres with Surround Sound. Pool tables. Video game Systems. Anything that blinks, beeps, and requires at least six batteries to operate.

MOVIES:
Women want to see the proverbial "chick flick", which is usually a dramatic tear-jerker film about relationships. Men like action, adventure, and science fiction films. Each will accompany the other to their favorite movie genre only when there's an expected direct benefit to be received afterward.

JEWELRY:
Women look nice when they wear jewelry. A man can get away with wearing one ring and that's it. Any more than that and he will look like a lounge singer named Ramone.

TIME:
When a woman says she'll be ready to go out in five more minutes, she's using the same definition of time as when a man says the football game just has five minutes left. Neither of them is counting time outs, commercials, or replays.

FRIENDS:
Women on a girl's night out talk the whole time. Men on a boy's night out say about twenty words all night, most of which are 'Pass the Doritos' or Got anymore beer?'

RESTROOMS:
Men use restrooms for purely biological reasons. Women use restrooms as social lounges. Men in a restroom will never speak a word to each other. Women who've never met will leave a restroom giggling together like old friends. And never in the history of the world has a man excused himself from a restaurant table by saying, 'Hey, Tom, I was just about to take a leak. Do you want to join me?'

ATM's

I've decided to make this blog just my own thoughts and experiences, and switch the political ideas to another blog.

If you have any interest at all in political issues, or my perspective on them, feel free to visit my alternative blog:

dnsdailyjournal.blogspot.com


Ever wondered how men and women differ when using an ATM?

MAN:
1) Pull up to machine
2) Wind window down
3) Insert ATM card, enter PIN
4) Retrieve cash
5) Drive away

WOMAN:
1) Pull up to machine
2) Open door (too far away from machine)
3) Search through all of the 112 compartments in handbag for ATM card
4) Do make up, apply lipstick, fix hair
5) Insert Card
6) Remove card
7) Insert card the correct way up
8) Search for piece of paper with PIN on it
9) Enter PIN
10) Enter correct PIN
11) Retrieve cash, put in bag
12) Drive off
13) Reverse back to machine
14) Retrieve card
15) Drive three miles away
16) Release hand-brake

Allergy Season

Every year I can tell exactly what day it started. This year it was August 18th. I can tell simply by the start of some sneezing, eye irritation, and sinus drainage. To verify, the next day I went online to see what the pollen counts were for this area, but was surprised to see "Low" on the site. But then I was exonerated the next morning, when the local newspaper confirmed a high weed pollen count.

My severe fall allergy curse has been with me my entire life. I've had the allergies as long as I can remember, and my parents once told me they first realized the problem when I was a toddler and showed the symptoms after they had taken me somewhere in the country one day.

An annual event for me up until I had my tonsils removed at 23 was the daily sneezing, running eyes and nose, and wheezing that began in mid August and continued into mid or late September. Inevitably, sometime in October I would come down with a case of Tonsilitis. It turns out that I probably should have had the tonsils out when I was very young, but doctors failed to catch the pattern of my annual bouts with tonsilitis and kept to the popular medical wisdom of the time, which was to avoid removing tonsils as much as possible.

Football camp was always a special challenge for me, especially through Jr. High (it wasn't called Middle School back then) and High School. There I was, on the worst days of 2-a-days, eyes swollen and watering so badly I could barely see. Sneezing regularly and trying to figure out what to do with the constant flow from my nose. It usually just ended up on my practice jersey. I probably would have been a better football player if there had just been a way to control the allergies back then.

I remember many nights suffering with coughing and asthma, all though for several years I didn't know it was asthma. Nighttime for me was worse than the day, because many nights I slept very little or not at all as I mostly tried to find a comfortable position that would let me breathe freely.

The culprits for me are ragweed, several varieties of grasses used in most lawns in Indiana, and the red oak tree. My condition is known forever as "hay fever", and nothing short of a hard frost could alleve my suffering.

When I was in my early 20's back in Ft. Wayne, I tried desensitization treatments. Every week I went at lunchtime to the doctor's office, where I got a little shot of all the bad stuff that cause my allergies. It usually itched and raised a welt, but that was about all - until that day they switched to the next vial.

The next vial had a slightly higher concentration of those allergens. I got the shot and waited the proscribed 10 minutes, which at first seemed routine. But after leaving the office and driving back to work, I began to feel very strange. My face felt overheated and my entire body began to itch. I began to feel spacy, and everything around me began to seem unreal, as in a dream.

This couldn't be good, so I went home, which was closest to where I was in the car at that time. Claudia immediately saw I was in trouble even before I said anything, and immediately loaded me back into the car and drove me back to the doctor's office. I was covered in red all over, my bronchials were swelling shut, and I couldn't see very well. I was feeling faint along with the feeling of my body being on fire.

The doctor immediately injected adrenalin, and kept me in the office for observation for awhile. Now my feelings of burning skin, itching, trouble breathing, etc., were quickly replaced with a racing heart and mind and a generally strange, "wired" feeling that's difficult to describe.

Later I met a widower who had lost his wife because of a bad reaction in a very similar desensitization program. So I thought it might be best to abandon that course of treatment and just find a way to make peace with my personal curse.

Today I am more careful this time of year to try to keep the symptoms at a minimum. The allergy medications are much better than they were 20 and 30 years ago, but I still prefer to stay off the drugs as much as possible. So I keep outdoor time to a minimum, especially in the country (which is harder to do now that we live on the farm). Air conditioning helps, and some dietary adjustments seem to help a little for some reason that escapes me. Strangely, during allergy season I crave ice cream more than any other time of year, but that's exactly the food that seems to make my symptoms worse.

All I hope for this season is the same as every allergy season: That it is relatively short and mild. Based on today's sneezing fits, it's not looking too promising.

Two Down

The last weekend with Tim wasn't what I had hoped, and probably not quite what he had hoped either. It got off to a rocky start on Friday, which is still rather painful for me to recall.

We had planned to meet for dinner before going to the football game Friday night (North vs. Seymour). Tim told me he would call me when he was ready to meet for dinner, so I waited in the office for his call. When it was getting a little late to be able to fit a meal in before kickoff, I tried to call him a couple of times and left voicemails asking him to call me and let me know what was going on. Finally, it was late enough that I had to get going, and I grabbed a quick meal at McDonald's alone before going on to the game.

I called him and got through as I arrived for the game, and found out he had decided to eat with friends. He was at the game with the same friends. Now eating with his friends and going to the game with them didn't bother me at all; but the fact that he didn't have the courtesy to call and let me know did.

So I talked to him briefly when I arrived at the game, then headed for the stands. He and his gang appeared and sat (if you could call it that) several rows below me. They seemed to be having a good time, talking with others who came by and seemingly paying no attention at all to the game. They weren't there long, as sometime in the third quarter I noticed that they had left that area. By halftime I looked around and guessed that they had left the game altogether.

No, sitting at the game with friends and leaving early didn't bother me per se. But making no effort to at least come and talk with me in the stands, tell me they were leaving, or answering my call late in the game to try to find out what was going on did.

I arrived home about 10, and began to be concerned. Tim wasn't communicating with me at all, and I took that to mean he had plans he really didn't want to share with me. I tried calling him a couple of times, leaving a couple of messages in the process. His normal curfew passed with no contact and me still unable to reach him. I began to get concerned.

Another hour passed, with still no communication. Concern turned to anger. Anger that he was completely disrespecting me by refusing to take my calls or otherwise let me know he's OK. I assumed (correctly) that he was of a mindset to have one last blowout before he went to school, which by itself is understandable, but his failure to even discuss it with me was not.

So in the wee hours of the morning I finally get a call. By this time I'm so angry I'm about to burst a blood vessel or two. And unfortunately I gave him both barrels, ending with removing his rights to the Volvo and promising to withhold my payment to Butler if he didn't get home immediately.

So things improved somewhat Saturday, when Tim packed and we prepared a list of items he needed for school. We went to town for church, then went to find dinner. But the power was out in a huge chunk of Columbus, so we had to go all the way downtown to find a place to eat that had electricity. Then we visited grandma and headed to Target for the supplies.

The Target trip was expensive. Painful for me to recall in a different way. But by Saturday night, we had Jed well packed and ready to go.

Sunday morning we made the drive to Indy. What a contrast between the move-in day for Nick at Rose and the move-in at Butler. The information we had from Butler made it sound like the move-in process would be similar, but that turned out to be wrong. First we found Tim's RA, who was hanging out in his room playing a video game. He found Tim's key, pointed out the room (next door), and that was about it. No welcome, no offering of information or assistance, well, pretty much nothing beyond "here's your key, there's your room". What a slug.

So we went searching for a parking spot, and of course there were none. I parked on the street as close as I could get to the dorm, and we began to lug Tim's stuff into the room. There were no students around to help move things in, contrary to the Butler literature, and it took something between 8 and 10 trips for both Tim and I to get everything into the room.

Tim began working on setting up his computer, so I started unpacking and storing his clothes and other stuff. He's in a "triple", and we soon met the two roommates. They both had moved in on Saturday, and of course had taken the prime beds and desks. The room wasn't really designed as a triple, so it had 2 closets and only 2 actual desks. Tim was relegated to a small computer workstation that had no drawers or shelves. He needs to build some shelves, as there is absolutely nowhere in the room he can keep his books.

So he couldn't get the computer online to the campus network and it was lunchtime, so we went for lunch. The lunchroom was jammed with people, of course students with parents and often siblings. It took awhile to get through the lines, but I was able to grab a table and we had an acceptable lunch. We also stopped by the bookstore, where I purchased the MS Office suite for him. I was expecting a great low price, but apparently there is no such thing at Butler. There was another painful purchase.

Back at Tim's room, we found that he had to upgrade his XP operating system with SP2 and a bunch of other security patches before he would be allowed onto the network. But unfortunately, there was no way to install those upgrades since he didn't have a valid copy of XP. I figured, no big deal, we'll just see if we can get IT to let us online long enough to purchase and download it, and we'll be all set. We visited the IT workshop in the basement of the dorm, and initially they seemed to think that would work for us - we just had to bring down the computer.

So much for that strategy. After proving to the tech in the basement that we needed a valid XP license to access the network, he had no solution for us. He couldn't get us on to purchase and download it, because that was against policy. Nobody on campus sells XP, so we have to find somewhere to purchase it. However, there were people from CompUSA on campus, and maybe we could buy it from them.

By now it's time for the welcome ceremony. We walked over to Clowes, where Tim sat with the rest of the freshmen on the main floor and I climbed the stairs all the way to the top of the highest balcony. After the university president took the podium to deliver his speech, I must have lost consciousness, because the next thing I knew I was being startled awake by applause. At least the Butler chorus and string ensemble were pretty decent.

The photo of the freshman class had them on the lawn forming a giant "150" for Butler's 150th anniversary.

Then Tim and I went to find the CompUSA people. They didn't know that people would be wanting to buy XP, and had no copies with them. They would be happy to bring some with them the next day (Monday). For an outrageous price, of course.

So our last gasp was to try to go out and buy it from a store. But we don't know the area that well, and the nearest store I knew of was off the northern section of Indy's 465 loop. By the time we got into that area, we were already running late for Tim's opening orientation session back on campus. So we drove back to campus as quickly as we could, and good-bye was just a drop-off from Jed in front of the building.

I was very worried that this was less than the positive experience I would have hoped for Tim. A long, tiring, and frustrating day to kick off his college experience didn't seem a good omen, and since then I've been worried about how he will do.

But I talked with him today, and he seems to be doing well, settling in, and enjoying himself. I ordered XP from NewEgg.com per Nick's recommendation, and have them shipping it to me to make sure he gets it as soon as possible. I'll run it up to Indy the day it comes in.

Now I can't quite figure out why I wrote this extremely large post. It might be of no interest to anyone but me, but what's done is done I suppose.

Only one left in the nest. I'm not sure how to adjust to that.

End of a Strange Week

There hasn't been much going on this week work-wise, but in other areas it has been a pretty strange and eventful week. Aside from some personal things I'll just leave personal, there's been all this other stuff, like:

1. Nick's car needing a major repair, costing about half of what the car itself cost when we bought it back in June. And the dealer isn't helping much, saying it's not their fault and they couldn't have foreseen this catastrophic failure even in what they represented to us as a thorough inspection. Ouch. I called to check on their progress this afternoon, and was told it won't be ready until Tuesday at the earliest, but more likely Wednesday. A week and a half in the shop just adds insult to injury.
   
2. A fairly big development in my CASA case, which of course I can't talk about.
3. Tim went to Nick's for part of the week and is heading to Butler this weekend.
4. I updated the Columbus North Football website for the new year. The first game of the season is tonight. I'll miss seeing Tim out there, but on the other hand can relax and just enjoy the game without trying to catch every move when he was playing.
   

It will be strange with Chris the lone child remaining at home. Oh well, at least we should start saving some money on groceries. Maybe not much, though, because Tim hasn't eaten at home pretty much all summer. But the grocery bills haven't seemed to go down much; wonder why?

There's more happening this coming week related to work. That's a very good thing, because I'm ready to actually do some work again. It definitely beats trying to find customers.

Another Story - Part 2

The story left off with a trip into the Appalachian mountains in our church bus to a youth camp, when the bus broke through the dirt road and turned over into the river below. The rest of the story follows below.

As the bus came to rest on it's roof at the bottom of the muddy-brown river, I suddenly realized that I was sitting upside-down in my seat. My hands had a vice-grip on the seat in front of me, somehow still seated in the inverted bus seat. I let go and fell down toward the roof of the bus, scraping my elbow in the process.

The pain of the scrape served to rouse me somewhat from the fog of disbelief at what was happening. But somehow it didn't shake much sense into me, as my first priority was to insure that my guitar hadn't been damaged. I found my sister and asked her to make sure the guitar was OK.

Then I saw Dad, making his way toward us to verify we were not seriously hurt. He told me to leave the bus and run down the road to find help. The camp we were on our way to visit should only be a mile or two ahead.

The bus had settled into the river on an angle, with the right side where I had been against the riverbank and the left side facing upward. I climbed to the nearest window and grabbed the latches to open it, but it wouldn't open until I realized I had to pull up instead of down; of course, the bus was upside-down, so the windows had to open in the opposite direction.

As I was preparing to exit the bus, I spotted Onnie and Shirley, two of the older adults who had come along on the trip. Onnie was holding his arm, and I immediately assumed it was broken. I asked if they needed help, and they told me to go ahead, but asked me to help their son, Tim, off the bus.

Tim was a younger, elementary-school-aged kid, who I could tell was shaken from the accident. So I grabbed him and helped him through the open bus window and followed him out. We climbed over the bottom of the bus and jumped onto the river bank, where we grabbed tree roots to climb through the muddy bank up to the road.

I left him on the road and immediately began running forward to find help. There was no way to know how far I would have to run, but I ran as fast as I could. As I ran ahead, my mind filled with fears and concerns. Did everyone survive? Even if I found help at the camp, how long would it take to get an ambulance all the way into this remote area? Should I have stayed behind and helped people who were hurt? What if I didn't get help in time, and people died? What if the bus moved farther into the river and people drowned?

All of these thoughts just pushed me to run a little faster, despite the fact that my chest was hurting from ragged breathing. I was going to run until I dropped if I had to.

Suddenly I rounded another curve around the mountainside and spotted a camp. There was a softball game in the field, and I saw adults behind home plate and the pitcher's mound. I picked the tall man behind the pitcher and sprinted to him, trying to get his attention by waving my arms and weakly calling out as I ran.

When he first spotted me, his expression was puzzled. He must have wondered where this kid came from, and why he was running and gesturing like that? When I arrived next to him in the softball field, I breathlessly tried to blurt out what had happened, but he didn't understand me. He grabbed my shoulders and told me to calm down and take a deep breath. When I caught my breath, I told him of the accident.

He and the other man, upon hearing my message, moved very quickly. After I confirmed that there were probably people injured and in need of medical care, the second man ran to the lodge to place an emergency call. The first went to his car, and the three of us were soon on our way to the scene of the accident.

We arrived at the scene quickly, and the men immediately began helping pull passengers from the bus. One of the older boys, a graduating high-school senior, was dispatched to run back to the camp for blankets. I asked some of the adults who were helping remove people from the bus if I could help, and they thanked me for getting help so quickly and told me to just stay on the road and get some rest.

I began looking around. A group of men and high school boys were continuing to pull people out of the bus. Some were helped up the bank to the road, and others carried. One of the older boys was working to help others, oblivious to a large laceration in his knee. I thought I saw a flash of bone through the blood on the knee, then someone told him to get out of the river and get help for his knee. He stopped and looked down at his injury for the first time, and immediately turned pale with the realization. He was helped up to the road, where another adult began to tend to his wound with a bandage from the first aid kit.

Wandering around on the road, I saw the gathering survivors milling around silently in groups of three or four. On a makeshift stretcher at the side of the road I saw one of the adult women, Bev, lying completely still and seemingly comatose. Although there were no outward signs of injury, she laid silently with her eyes open and unseeing. I asked a nearby adult what was wrong, and was told Bev was in shock, that she would come around soon.

Then I heard a shaking sob from one of the girls standing in the road. The single cry was like a trigger, setting off a wave of crying, sobbing, and wailing from all of the girls along the roadway. I separated myself from the crying mobs quickly, because no self-respecting boy should be seen crying with the girls.

In the end, there were a variety of minor scrapes, bruises, and scratches, but not many serious injuries. Onnie did suffer a broken arm, and there was the deep knee laceration, and a few other injuries that required brief hospital stays. And Bev did come out of her shock-induced coma, quite shaken but able to recover quickly.

We heard from the emergency services personnel that we were highly lucky or blessed. If we had slid off the road almost anywhere else, they said, the accident would have been much more serious. We somehow avoided trees that could have broken the bus apart. We went into a relatively calm and shallow part of the river, which otherwise might have flooded into the bus much higher with rapid-moving muddy water. As it was, they found it remarkable to find our injuries as few and minor as they were.

So we did a farewell performance of our program before going home in the cars of many friends and family members who drove to Kentucky to take us home. That performance, in the little Krypton church, was standing room only. The evening was electric, with all of us singing our hearts out and the locals in attendance finding themselves swept up in the emotional thanksgiving everyone in our group were feeling and expressing. A very large number of people walked to the front of the church for the altar call which customarily ended the service.

The newspaper did a big article on the accident, which listed the names of everyone involved; except for mine. The paper published a list of all who were "injured", which included Dad and my sister Julie, but skipped me. But I brushed it off, deciding that since I wasn't injured, there was no reason for me to be listed as such.

After arriving home, an encore of our program was presented at my home church, where the entire congregation came forward during the altar call to weep and hug each other. The experience seemed to bring everyone in the congregation closer together and led to a strong feeling of extended family among everyone in the church for many years to come.

There are several people who shared this experience who clearly saw the hand of God in protecting us from major injury or death, and using the incident to closely knit the members of the church together. Was divine providence at work, or was everything that happened easily predicted and explained?

The answer is a matter of faith.

Another Story

I find myself with 30 minutes free and nothing much to do, so here's another story for my valued readers, whoever you may be.

I think I had just finished the eighth grade, when a fairly ambitious trip was undertaken by the youth in my church. We gathered together the teens and pre-teens from our church and a couple of other area churches in our denomination and prepared for a trip to Kentucky. We met for a few rehearsals at the church to get our program ready, then were on our way to Kentucky in the bus.

The bus was a school bus just recently purchased used by the church, and was still painted that schoolbus yellow. Dad was the driver, and my sister and I were part of the group. The trip was lots of fun for most of us, with a chance to hang out with our freinds for that interminable ride in uncomfortable seats to Hazard County, Kentucky.

Our base was a little town called Krypton, where there was a small mission church supported by our denomination. I was very familiar with Krypton, having been there several times before with my parents, a bit of a tradition during the Fall Break from school every October. Most of the previous trips were with adult groups and involved repairs and painting and distributing used clothing and whatever else needed done at the little church in the hills or the parsonage next door.

We had been there a couple of days, working on various tasks during the day, like digging a new hole for the outhouse. Evenings were time for our little program, which was full of music and skits and some preaching and "personal testimonies". There was plenty of free time as well, and Euchre was the game of choice for most of us that trip. I found myself trying to avoid one female admirer while admiring another from afar. The pastor from my church surprised us with a hilarious wake-up call each morning, when he would play and sing a raucous version of "Pistol-Packin' Mama" on the old piano in the church. We laughed at our irreverant reverend and roused for breakfast.

That day we loaded up the bus for a trip back into the mountains to spend time at a church youth camp. It seemed to be a long drive, so after what seemed to me an endless journey into the Appalachian hills, I made myself as comfortable as possible and began to doze.

It had rained in the hills very recently, and the dirt roads were eroded and washed out in some places. Dad didn't see that this particular stretch of mountain road had been weakened from underneath by the erosion, and perhaps ran a bit to close to the edge preparing to round a curve.

I was startled from my doze by a sudden thump, as the right front wheel fell through the road surface. Before I could gather my wits to realize what was happening, I felt the rear wheels follow and the bus begin to list to the right. I turned to look out my window, next to my seat on the right side of the bus, and time seemed to slow as I watched the green foliage of the river bank rise up to meet the window.

In a sort of trancelike fascination, I watched as a single round hole radiated cracks through my window, as if someone was drawing them into the surface. Then, I felt a slide into the river, where the top of the bus rocked like a rowboat until the water displaced into the bus and it settled into the muck.

(to be continued ...)

Feels Like Limbo

I've had a couple of weeks where very little has happened. I've made some half-hearted efforts at filling the gap between projects with something that might make me some money, but nobody's really doing anything in the business world right now either. It seems that those last weeks of the summer before school starts are just time for everybody to sit back and get prepared for getting back into the Fall routine.

In the past I've started projects in June and July, but they all seemed to fizzle during the summer months. It seems like it just takes a lot longer to get things done in the summer, but once Labor Day comes around, everything gets going again.

You wouldn't think that summer should be that much different in the business world, since businesses don't go on vacation. True, businesses continue to operate in the summer, but except for seasonal businesses, the people who work for them take summer vacations and like to generally take it easy in the summer. So projects like those I get involved with tend to get pushed off to the fall.

Case in point, my new project that starts right after Labor Day. Originally it was scheduled to start this week. But key people were going on vacation, and other things came up they didn't share with me, and all got pushed back. Too bad, because I'm more than ready to get back to work.

Philosophical Formation

One fact of life is that young liberals often age into old conservatives. Although that has a kernel of truth in my case, I'd have to say my philosophies are simply a natural result of my life experience.

Growing up, I had a Democrat father and Republican mother. Dad was a teacher, which is probably all you need to know about his political choice. Despite their opposite political views, it was never a source of friction for anyone in the family. When the topic did come up, it was mostly worth a chuckle, hearing Dad spout his Democratic talking points and Mom just responding that she'll make sure to get to the polls to cancel out his vote.

Before I went to college, it all pretty much rolled off. I didn't know or care a thing about politics. Up until I took government class in high school, I would have told you I was a Democrat in deference to Dad, but would not have been able to tell you why.

That high school government class wasn't really a great eye-opening experience for me, but I did learn more about what sort of political process we had and the basic arguments between the two major parties. Mr. Harley impressed me the day he announced to the class that he was neither Republican nor Democrat, but an independent. He told us that he found himself agreeing and disagreeing with both parties to an extent that he couldn't choose one or the other. That seemed inspired to me at the time, so mostly through college, if you asked, I would tell you I was a political independent.

Of course, I couldn't avoid the whole story of the Nixon years. I heard a lot of grumbling about the wage and tax freeze he used to try to slow down inflation. Then Watergate was all over the news for what seemed an eternity, until finally that night at the football game the announcer told the crowd that Nixon had resigned and Gerald Ford would take over as President. I'd never heard of Gerald Ford before that day.

In college I didn't have much time or use for politics either. Going to the state university (Ball State), naturally most of the faculty were on the liberal side of the line. Jimmy Carter was elected my sophomore year, and most of the campus celebrated, and even my singing group, the University Singers, were invited to perform at one of his inaugural balls. I was disappointed that, as a first-year member, I wasn't eligible to make that trip. It sounded like a lot of fun.

Generally, not because of any knowledge of Jimmy Carter's politics but because of the glowing comments from professors and those students who cared, I was pleased that he won. But if you were to ask me any question about Jimmy's policies or political philosophy at that time, I couldn't have given any sort of intelligent answer.

There were attempts at left-wing indoctrination on campus. One of my honors classes was a popular elective on "Violence in America", or something like that. It was taught by a colorful, highly entertaining professor, who utilized multimedia and the talents of a variety of student artists and musicians to explore the "culture of violence" in society.

Even though the class was tremendously entertaining, I couldn't help but develop a sort of "give me a break!" attitude. From the Vietnam war to anti-gun to spanking children, the message was that it was all violence and if we were to be an enlightened society, we should stop it in all its forms. I instinctively understood that this was utopian silliness.

There was an active gay group on campus, which was quite an eye-opener for a naive boy from Amish country. I knew some guys who arrived on campus as just ordinary 18 year olds, no more "gay" than the meanest member of the Cardinal football team. But they were uncertain of themselves, maybe had a little trouble finding and keeping girlfriends, and going through that identity crisis I think we all experience at some point during our formative years.

Well, the group of gays on campus were on the prowl for just these people, who were ripe for their brand of indoctrination. They reminded me of a sort of strange religious cult, only their religion just happened to be centered around deviant sexuality. They attracted people with friendly acceptance and understanding, and closed the deal with the message of a persecuted, "us-against-the-world" mentality. These quite normal but malleable young guys I knew transformed in short order into skinny, vain, trite, effeminate caricatures. They had crossed over into the cult that now campaigns to force everyone via government fiat to bow down and pay deference to their religion.

A particularly egregious example on campus was my Sociology instructor. It was one of those core classes everybody was required to take, and freshmen were jammed into one of those giant lecture halls to listen to a daily diatribe from a professor who is quite possibly the most radical person I have ever encountered in person. She was an open lesbian who went against the normal dress code of professors, who at that time were still mostly wearing professional suits when in front of their classes. She instead wore jeans and usually some sort of long-sleeved t-shirt, braless of course. She was extremely angry and disaffected, and gave daily rants on the evils of the American European Christian-inquisition white-male-dominated minority-exploiting native american-killing capitalistic minority and women-enslaving society.

From my perspective, she was a sad joke. I came to feel sorry for her, because there had to have been some horrible experience in her past that led to her hostility toward all things American, and male.

One other example was when I attended a session about the Kennedy assassination. Presented by (I later discovered) a communist party activist, the presentation was mostly a replay, over and over and over, of the famous Zapruder film of the JFK assassination. And the message was that Lee Harvey Oswald was set up, the assassination was spearheaded by the CIA in support of the vast so-called capitalist military-industrial complex, that the Warren Commission was a fraud and a coverup, etc.

At first, that evening got me worried. But as I did some reading and studying on that topic later, I began to discover who the purveyors of that theory were and what their underlying motives might be. I suspect we'll never know exactly who might have been behind or involved with the JFK assassination, but I came to believe it most likely was not the CIA.

So then I graduated from college and learned about "real" life under Jimmy Carter and the Democrats. These were the post-RFK-JFK-VietNam-Watergate years when Democrats dominated the political landscape, and for the most part the public never heard conservative thought on key issues. We lost the VietNam war due to poor leadership and lack of commitment, but were told our military were just a bunch of evil dopers and baby killers. There was a gigantic recession, and jobs were hard to find. Taxes were extremely high, with the top marginal tax rate on income around 70%. But the word was that very few people paid the top rate, because there were plenty of "loopholes" they could exploit to shelter their income from such confiscatory taxes. High wage-earners simply deferred salaries or took compensation in forms of non-taxable "expense accounts" and company cars to avoid those huge tax bites, while those of us at the bottom of the scale paid all of our ten to fifteen percent.

I struggled personally in those first couple of years after college, leaving my high school teaching job to try to find something that actually paid a living wage. The news stayed bad through the Carter years, ending with the Iran hostage crisis, which made Carter look extremely weak and indecisive.

Then I voted for the first time, casting my vote for Ronald Reagan. And from where I was, life improved dramatically almost immediately. Tax rates went down for the lower and middle classes and the top marginal rate was slashed, while loopholes were closed, gas prices stabilized, I found my career in computer software, and life just got better and better.

These days, whenever an important issue comes to my attention, I try my best to understand the issue and listen to all sides before arriving at my own position. Now and then I will end up siding with a reasoned Democratic position, usually if it involves trade or economics. But most of the time, especially since the current president took office, I find myself siding with either the Republicans or neither side. I almost always side with Republicans on social issues. The last three or four years, I haven't really heard any reasoned Democratic arguments at all; the only message they have is to beat the drum over and over, "Bush sucks" (boom-boom), "Bush is a liar" (boom-boom), "Bush is a Nazi" (boom-boom), etc. Talk about your intelligent political discourse.

Right now I side with neither party on issues like illegal immigration, tax reform, government spending, the role of the federal government, and some parts of foreign policy. Those few I find agreement with on those issues tend to lean conservative, but don't represent the Republican party. I'm disgusted by the latest highway bill out of congress that is little more than a gigantic pork barrel, and does nothing to solve our real energy and transportation problems while wasting my tax dollars on politicians' pet projects and graft for big campaign donors.

Unfortunately for the Democrats, their historic populist message has been obscured by the radicals who have taken over the party. The party isn't run by pragmatic people who believe that government should care about all of the people and not just the fat cats. It's now a party of atheists, gays, racial minorities who want handouts and preferences, socialists, communists, radical environmentalists, abortionists, radical women's groups, labor unions, and globalists. To me, that is hardly a party that represents me, the ordinary little guy just trying to get by.

But as to my early idea of remaining an independent, I've decided that is just a synonym for irrelevant. These days, for good or bad, you've got to choose your party and stick with it, or the other party will take over and we'll return to the bad old days of Jimmy Carter. Despite their faults (which are defined very differently by me than the Democrats), at least there are grown-ups in the white house now, if you compare them to the arrested-development 60's-retro Clinton gang.