Three Expressions I Despise

I love language, especially the written word. To read a Shakesperian sonnet or a paragraph of Pat Conroy prose is to be transported to a different place. It takes only a handful of pages of a Deen Koontz novel to be sucked in to the bizarre world of his imaginations. Of course, all of language isn't so lofty or poetic. Common discourse is anything but romantic. We take verbal shortcuts when ordering pizza that we wouldn't take delivering an eulogy. Over time, colloquialisms creep in to our everyday communication. They are not all bad, but there are a few of them that I have grown to despise over the years. For example:

1. Hang in there. 

This woeful phrase has been around for most of my life and I have always hated it. How many times have you seen that stupid picture of the kitten hanging onto a tree branch with a wild expression with hang in there at the bottom of the picture? What does it actually mean, this hang in there business? Essentially, it is a totally passive phrase that has no meaning. Hang in there is what you tell someone who has cancer, or is going through a miserable divorce, or is being audited by the IRS. It's what you tell someone to do when there's absolutely nothing to be done. As such, it is defeatist. A better way of saying hang in there would be to say, "Yeah, do nothing and hope things get better." One does not simply hang in there in life. You either do things that improve your lot or you do things that worsen your lot. Hanging in there is for people who have resigned themselves to the whims of fate. No thanks!

2. That's easier said than done.

Well...of course! Everything is easier said than done, literally everything. It's easier to talk about practically anything than it is to do most things. I can talk about hitting a 95 mph fastball for hours on end, but to pick up a bat and stand in the box against Randy Johnson is another matter altogether. There is nothing profound about stating the obvious. Yes, it is much easier to talk about balancing the budget than it is to balance the thing, wildly easier to talk about world peace than to achieve it, and amazingly easier to talk about losing those last ten pounds than to actually lose them.

3. At the end of the day.

This one kills me. It is usually employed in much the same way as someone might say, "when all is said and done," a much more artful expression. People who are fond of using this phrase do so in an attempt to escape having to articulate a more persuasive argument. When a difficult and complicated topic is being hashed out...like maybe global warming...and someone brings up the current 16 year cooling trend, the global warming enthusiast might say in a huff, "Well, at the end of the day, we will all be dead in 25 years if we don't do something about this NOW!!!" At the end of the day most often is used by someone who wants to end a discussion, not start one. It's a quick, pithy way to escape the tall grass of detail by falling back on false simplicity. Politicians love to use at the end of the day to segue away from a discussion about the massive unfounded liabilities of Social Security and Medicaid and on to more comfortable topics..."Sure, we have some financial challenges, but we're gonna figure this out because at the end of the day, we're Americans!!"

As much as these three expressions irritate me, they aren't going away anytime soon. I can try to shame you guys into not using them...but at the end of the day, that's easier said than done so I'll just hang in there!

There's Something About Carly

    " I did not run for office and win so I could manage the decline of a great nation."

                                                                                                 Margaret Thatcher

    " Every one of our problems has a solution. Every one of our wounds are self-inflicted."

                                                                                                 Carly Fiorina

There are plenty of things about Carly Fiorina that I'm uncomfortable with; her muscular view of American power being one of them, her devotion to John McCain being another. But, increasingly, I find myself drawn to her. Listening to her speak on the stump as well as in television interviews, I hear a confident, composed, highly literate woman who never seems to be caught off guard or rattled, even by the most ridiculous questions, like this one from someone at a town hall in New Hampshire:

" Do you think that a woman's hormones could prevent you, or any woman from serving as president, from acting rationally?"

Carly: Ladies, here's a test. Can any of you think of a time when a man's judgement was clouded by hormones...including in the Oval Office?

Her view of tax policy( my personal litmus test for any candidate ), is summarized in a short but powerful statement..." Lower every rate, close every loophole "

Obviously, there's much more to the job of being president than tax policy. But the more I hear of her, the more I like. If our next President must be a woman, I'd take Fiorina over Clinton every day of the week and twice on Sunday. 

Her biggest problem seems to be that she hasn't raised very much money. Although, if she manages to be included in the debates, that could change. Of the declared candidates so far, there aren't many who will do better in a debate than her, which will supercharge her fundraising. Still, she's a long shot. In addition to her lack of money, there's the problem of the party she's associated with. In all of my adult life, I have never witnessed a political party with a leadership as out of touch with the American people as today's Republicans. From Mitch McConnell to the tan-in-a-can Speaker of the House, Republican leaders seem openly hostile to issues that are very important to the members of it's party. I just can't figure it out. It baffles me. To quote that sage old political philosopher, Bugs Bunny, "What a bunch of maroons!"

Back Home

Well, my vacation is over, so that can only mean one thing...time to schedule an MRI.

Yes, the neck has spoken and declared the era of pharmaceutical remedies over. Next step is an MRI followed by cortisone shots. If that doesn't work, maybe ginseng oil and leeches.

I've never seen a dog happier to be back home than Lucy. She was practically leaping for joy. It reminded me of how Snoopy used to dance in those Peanuts specials on TV. She was thrilled at being reunited with her nice, safe house. Her appetite immediately returned, and she actually fell asleep in Pam's lap after dinner, something she never did before. For Miss Lucy, there's no place like home.

So, besides scheduling my MRI, a formidable to-do list awaits me this morning:

1. Book a cabin for our fall trip to The Smokey Mountains

2. Reconstruct my bank accounts after the carnage of last week, pick up spreadsheet of bank charges for delivery to company from the northeast responsible for carnage, demanding reimbursement.

3. Return phone calls from vacation week.

4. Plow through stack of mail on my desk.

5. Prepare for two client presentations this week.

One last thing about my week in Hatteras. I was there for seven days and never once turned on a television. I did use my cell phone, more than I should have but not nearly as much as I do when I'm home. I brought my office laptop with me, but never opened it either. I am a better person because of it. At least, I feel like a better person. I didn't talk as much as I usually do. Part of that was a result of being in pain for much of the time, but my mental metabolism slows down at the beach for some reason. I listen more carefully. The same thing happens when I go to Maine. Everything slows down. Maybe it's because unhooking from the relentless machine that is the world of business, allows the mind to rest. The first thing I did at 5:45 this morning was check the overnight markets. For seven days and nights, I never once looked at the markets! It changes a person. In my case, it slows me down. It's a good thing, a healthy thing to slow down, to disengage from the struggle, if just for a
week.

But, now the struggle is back. By the end of this day, I'll be fully up to speed on the latest happenings in the world of money. Vacations end abruptly. There's no other way to end them. So, they must be scheduled more frequently. Next up? A quick trip to Maine the first week of September.

One More Day.

The hard part about vacation is standing in the driveway at 6:00am watching the back of your son's car disappear down the street. This time, there's someone with him, which makes it easier, not quite as lonely a visual as in past years. She makes him happy. After watching them together for five days, that much is clear. They both have responsibilities on Sunday, so they had to leave a day early. Pam cried. She always does. I didn't, because I never do. But that doesn't mean it isn't difficult. It is...after 26 years, it still is.

Looks like our last day here will be the best as far as weather goes. It's glorious outside, clear and crisp, without the heavy blanket of humidity...God's judgement on the South. We will wrench every minute out of this day on the beach, around the pool and around the table. Tonight is the only night we order take-out. It will be pizza, I think. We've got to spend what's left of the yard sale proceeds on something, it might as well be pizza. We could go out for dinner somewhere, but parties of 16 are problematic at the smallish restaurants on Hatteras Island.

It's been a very relaxing week, except for last night when my wife beat me by one shot at Putt Putt. She can be a cold blooded killer when she wants to be! Last night was also a milestone of sorts for the 13th Dunnevant Beach Week Vacation. It marked the first time that my two kids were responsible for making dinner. Watching Kaitlin, Jon, Patrick and Sarah putzing around in the kitchen making, baklava, chicken cheese enchiladas, Spanish rice and tomatoe salad was something to see. It seems like only yesterday that my kids were running around on the beach at sunset with oversized t-shirts on, their little brown arms glistening in the dying light. Now they huddle together in the kitchen preparing a meal for 18, calm and confident. Amazing.

Tomorrow we will crawl out of here and make the deflating journey back home, me with an ailing neck and Lucy with what might be an urinary tract infection. But that's tomorrow. Today I'm still at the beach and intend to make the most of the day. Patrick and Sarah will never be very far from my thoughts, because I won't be able to relax until they make it back to Nashville.

Great week.

Playing Through the Pain

My neck isn't enjoying my vacation. It has gotten progressively worse each day this week. I've been trying to figure out the reason for this particular flare up, since I have been under zero stress since I got here. At first I thought maybe the posture of my beach chair might have been the culprit, but last night was by far my worse night and because of yesterday's rain I spent very little time on the beach. So much for that theory. Perhaps my neck is allergic to vast quantities of calorie-packed food? Whatever the reason, a combination of high dose anti-inflammatories, muscle relaxers and pain killers isn't doing the job. Bummer. But, I'm on vacation, so I'll just have to play through the pain.

I'm staring to think that bringing Lucy to the beach was a mistake. Even though she has enjoyed being around so many people who love her and has thoroughly enjoyed running on the beach, this great big house has proven to be a house of horrors for such a skittish puppy! Everywhere she looks there are piles of scary bags and boxes. The streets here are lined with millions of black garbage cans. Every morning before sunrise a giant and very loud truck comes to pick them up and violently shake them free of their contents, all the while with a yellow flashing light twirling above sending spooky shadows dancing across the roof of our room. Last night's violent rainstorm and rolls of thunder had the poor girl shaking like a leaf, wedging herself under our pillows to escape. It's all been too much for her. She's eaten maybe two complete meals since Sunday.

Now, on to the good news. Wednesday night was our dine around night so Pam and I took our six out to Rusty's for dinner. Fantastic meal and wonderful conversation with Miss Sarah, who is having a great time here despite being introduced to so large and potentially intimidating a gathering of personalities which the Dunnevant family can sometimes be. Tonight she will be helping Patrick, Kaitlin and Jon fix dinner, the first time that this particular generation has ever been given the task. We are all nervously optimistic!

Despite last night's horrendous storm, at 7:45 on Thursday morning, the skies are clearing, specks of blue are fighting back against the gray. Looks like another wonderful day on the beach is in my future. 

You Asked For It!!

Many of you have sent me requests for more information concerning the fart machine I mentioned in my last blog. Actually just a handful of you have requested the information. Ok, ok...one of my middle school readers is all geeked up about the thing and wants more info, so here goes:

The Wind Breaker 2000 ( deluxe model 2 ) is made by the Crude Novelty Company at their manufacturing facility at 3308 Ol Factory Drive in Whokudtasheeze, Wisconsin. It features a remote control with not one, but TWO power settings, Oops and Wow! The device comes with a computer chip with 10 unique standard examples of flatulence. However, for a mere $9.99 each, you can buy two additional chips that feature more exotic flatulence from around the world. There's the sardines and broccoli on a twelve hour train ride chip, and my personal favorite, prison dysentery revenge.

Today was our first bad weather day, but it wasn't a complete wash out. The morning was sunny and not terribly hit, so several of us went into Buxton to climb the Hatteras lighthouse. Of course, the presence of Jon on the property had our party treated like rock stars, complete with free tickets. He made some impression during his three summers here apparently. After the lighthouse, we drove by the Orange Blossum bakery where we bought three bags of Apple Ugglies, the most intense combination of sugar, fruit, butter and flower known to exist in the free world. The line was out the door. I plan on having some for dessert tonight. Of course, they'll have to wait until I polish off Paula's hot peach cobbler first. 

A Day In The Life at the Beach

Whenever I tell people about the family beach vacation we take every two years, whereby 18 of my extended family rent an enormous house on the Outer Banks of North Carolina for a week, about 30% of them say something like, "Oh, that sounds wonderful!" Everyone else looks at me hesitantly, mouths agape, waiting for the punch line. "Wait...your whole family rent a house...together? For an entire week?"

Being in close quarters with large numbers of relatives can be difficult.  Every family is some combination of the Walton's and the Manson's, I suppose. But somehow for us, it all works. This is the 13th such vacation, so we've been doing this since Patrick was a fussy three month old. That inaugural trip was in Sandbridge, in a house with a window air conditioner in two rooms of the entire house, artificial turf on the floor in the kitchen, and roaches the size of adult sandals. Despite such third world conditions, we all had a blast, and against all odds decided that it should become a new family tradition.

As the family grew, the houses would get bigger. As our financial prospects improved they would become more luxurious. Once mom and dad got too old to climb four flights of stairs all day for a week, we began to rent only houses with elevators. As a result, we narrowed the field to houses constructed relatively recently, elevators not being a common feature of houses built in the 1950's. As the rental cost began to escalate, somebody came up with the brilliant idea of having a family yard sale on trip years to finance the week's groceries. At that point, the week took on a life of its own, permanently gaining a beachhead in family lore.

Beach week has also served as a testing ground for would-be suitors. My sister Paula introduced us all to her boyfriend Ron one year. Some of us were dubious, what with his problematic backstory which involved prison time. Ever sensitive to the feelings of others, we decorated the house for a surprise birthday celebration for him by decorating everything in a jail theme, complete with prison uniform stripes! A few years later Christina brought her boyfriend Paul along. He was nice enough, but guilty of false advertising, since for the week he had a head full of hair, but as soon as they tied the knot, he shaved it all off, and hasn't had hair since. Then, a few years ago, Kaitlin's boyfriend Jon, just happened to be a park ranger working at the Hatteras lighthouse, and so just casually popped in for a visit every stinking night, where he was a blatant suck-up the entire week, ingratiating himself to the entire family...except me. This year, Patrick has brought along his girlfriend Sarah. Due to her Greek heritage, we are forcing her to make baklava for 18 people. She's been here for over 48 hours and so far hasn't fled the scene in tears, so I'd say it's going pretty well.

"But, what do you do all week with all of your family?" When people ask this, what they are trying to say is, "Don't you get on each other's nerves??" The answer is...kinda. But that's what nerves are there for...to be gotten on. So, why not have your nerves gotten on by people you love? Essentially, most days go something like this:

5:30-8:30am. People wake up gradually and when they do, breakfast is an on your own affair. Usually a group of ten or so wind up at the table together eating everything from cereal to pound cake slathered in strawberries. At the beach, meal boundaries vanish. If you decide that breakfast should consist of left over lasagna, then bless your heart.

10:30am. The beach calls. We go down and stake our claim with umbrellas and beach chairs. It is quite a sizable enclave, and I'm sure other smaller, less loud families resent us. Yesterday's session featured a fake snake placed close to the new girl...who barely flinched. She has promise!

1:00pm. We head back to the house for another a la carte lunch, after which everyone heads down to the pool for the afternoon. Everyone, that is, except the unfortunate slob who is responsible for the evening's dinner. Yesterday, that was Pam, and by extension...me. Although the final product was a raging success, the process was stressful, featuring as it did a defective crock pot ordeal. But the pulled pork barbecue, apples and cranberry cold slaw, bacon topped baked beans, tomatoe pie and homemade ice cream cake was wildly praised by all. 

Sometimes after dinner, we all head to the beach for a walk as the sun sets. Then we all gather in the big family room to eat Uncle Bill's stove top pop corn and gossip about all the idiots back home. Sometimes games break out, other times it's just a million small conversations taking place all at once. One thing that never happens? The large flat screen television that hangs on the wall, large and foreboding...never gets turned on. It just hangs there, black and useless....sorta like Al Sharpton.

So far this year, besides the fake snake, there has been a fake dog poop sighting and a remote controlled  fart machine employed during dinner, with six year old Bennett at the controls. Just your basic, everyday Tomfoolery. 

I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.