14 Years Ago This Month

Today's agenda is packed; important meeting, three days worth of paperwork to complete, a half dozen phone calls that have to be made, and a plethora of other various and sundry items to check off my list. But, it's the best kind of "packed" since the purpose of all the activity is to accommodate a five day, four night escape to the beach!

"Hold on a second," you might be thinking. "Didn't you just get back from a four night getaway to Florida?"

Well, yes. Yes I did. Let me explain how life works.

The first five years that I spent in this business were a brutal gauntlet of ten hour days filled with rejection, failure and virtually no money. That was precipitated by the fact that A. My chosen field of endeavor was insanely difficult to break into and B. Our decision for Pam to be a stay at home Mom. The following five years were only marginally better. Money began to be made, but the hours remained brutal. Many days I would look at my paycheck...yes, back then we actually got paper checks...and wonder why the heck I had chosen a career where there was no guarantee of anything. Why had I insisted on being my own boss? Didn't I realize what a cantankerous boss I would be? The next five years started to get better. The money was better and the hours got more normal. Then, out of nowhere I found myself laying on a cold table listening to myself counting backwards from 10. Open heart surgery is like a telegram from God reminding you that he will not, in fact, be mocked. From that moment on, my life goals changed. No longer did I care about how much money I made. Well, I cared, just nowhere near as much. Instead, I laid out fresh new goals. Goal number one was to take off more days this year than I did last year. With very few exceptions, I have accomplished my goals. There's nothing quite so motivating to your plans for self improvement like the possibility of sudden death.

It's been 14 years ago this month since I obtained the eight inch scar in the middle of my chest. Back then it looked like a swollen zipper and I was horrified at the sight of it. Today, it's hardly noticeable. But, looking back, it might just have been the best thing that ever happened to me.

So, yeah...I take a lot of time off. In a couple of weeks we will head down to see my daughter for several days, two weeks after that it will be Nashville for some time with my son. July will bring yet another week at the beach with the Dunnevant clan, and for three weeks in September, a lake house in Maine will be our home. Since I don't have an employer , I don't have paid vacations. So, my income will take a hit. A very  small price to pay.

The Truths of Easter

About a year ago I wrote this about Easter:

"Easter is what I cling to nowadays. At a time when church has lost its urgency for me, and at a time when I spend most of my time there feeling embarrassed, the resurrection still moves me. It remains the essential doctrine that for me validates my faith. I have studied the story a thousand times, a thousand times I have tried and failed to fashion an explanation for it that doesn't include the physical resurrection of Jesus. Still, nothing explains the impact wrought on civilization by Christianity, other than that band of poor, itinerant fishermen seeing and touching the risen Christ. Nothing. Because he rose from the grave, he must have been the Son of God. For me, it all boils down to that central fact of history. Everything else is fluff."

The only thing that has changed is that I have rediscovered the urgency of the assembly and being there no longer embarrasses. For this I am thankful and I suppose I have Hope Church to thank. Every Sunday I go there expecting to be challenged, expecting to hear something foundational yet intelligent. It is a bittersweet experience most Sundays since along with that intelligence comes conviction, with its stubborn insistence upon the fact that I am a sinner in need of a savior. Yes, I am loved by God, but he also expects something from me. He calls me to be the best version of myself, to be better than I want to be sometimes. So, I come...to be reminded. And I leave thinking about what I just heard. For a moment at least, I am outside of myself and focused on the transcendent, and on this Palm Sunday, nothing is more transcendent than the truths of Easter.

Airstrikes in Syria

I'm a nobody blogger. Nobody has asked my opinion on last night's missile strikes in Syria. I have no training or experience in matters of geopolitics. But, I am a pissed off citizen with an opinion, and this is America, so here goes.

I have read a stack of analysis of this thing over the past three hours( yes...three hours) and the only positive that can be said of this strike was that we did preserve the element of surprise...nobody over there expected a decision on a strike to be made and executed this swiftly. But, having said that...I fail to see the "vital National security interest" imperiled by the killing of Syrian babies by a dictator...just as I failed to see it when Clinton/Obama claimed the same justification for attacking Libya. As far as Iraq was concerned, I..along with most everyone in Congress,  believed Colin Powell's WMD speech at the UN and supported the action, and I was wrong to do so. When that intelligence was proven worthless, I was for a complete withdrawal. No matter who occupies the White House, the siren call of intervening in the Middle East seems too powerful to resist. It is infuriating.

If "vital national security interest" is now defined to include..."whenever horrible video emerges showing innocent people being treated horribly" then we better get used to a future of unending interventions. My son rightly asks, Will we now begin accepting refuges from a country we are officially bombing? All actions produce a reaction, and in the arena of military action, that reaction is more often than not unpredictable.

The only aspect of Trump's campaign that garnered any support from yours truly was his rather emphatic non-interventionist rhetoric. I could literally post a dozen or more tweets where he outlined his view that it was time for America to stop meddling in the Middle East, time for us to be willing to intervene more in Chicago's south side than some hell-hole in the desert. It was the only thing that encouraged me about the man...maybe this guy might be an idiot, but at least he won't be a globalist idiot. So much for that theory.

Let there be no confusion. My views on this subject have nothing to do with the military. Those guys follow orders and execute whatever assignment they are given with amazing efficiency. And, my views should not be construed as insensitivity to man's inhumanity to man. Do I care about the fact that babies in a hospital were targeted in a chemical weapons attack? Of course I do. It's horrifying and infuriating that this sort of thing happens in the world. But, how do these 60 Tomahawk missiles change anything on the ground. We destroyed one air base from which Assad could launch attacks on his own people. He has five more perfectly in tact. Furthermore, the other five most likely are crawling with Russian and Iranian equipment and personnel. To all of you cheering Trumpian "decisiveness"...you guys onboard for going after the other five, risking an all out war with a legitimate military superpower? All to protect Syrian civilians? Seriously? Is this what you were hoping for when you elected Donald Trump....more Middle East adventurism?

I've Had Enough of This!

In the past couple of days, I have regrettably been introduced to another internet provocateur. A friend of mine, Sam Issacs, posted something on Facebook, then the next day I read a profile written about him on National Review by Ian Tuttle. It was horrifying. I hesitated writing this for fear of giving him, even in this small space, what people like him crave...attention. So, as a compromise, I will not mention his name.

To save me the trouble of having to summarize his toxic ideas, below are two paragraphs from the Tuttle piece which will give you a flavor of what this man is about:

"Bigger is better for xxxxxxxxxx. “Size is status.” He ridicules the “weak” and “weak-minded,” who indulge guilt and shame, or what he calls “slave emotions.” He wants men to be “dominant,” which requires careful attention to juicing recipes, muscular density, and “testosterone biofeedback.” xxxxxxxxxx is very concerned about testosterone. “Check your testosterone levels,” he advises. “Every study on evolutionary psychology has correlated testosterone levels with dominance.” If you’re devoted to a “scientific” approach to masculinity, as xxxxxxxxxx is, you can acquire “super serum” — xxxxxxxxxx's name for semen to which women become “addicted.”

"Xxxxxxxxxx initially was not much interested in politics, except where it involved feminism (Danger & Play: “The two pillars of feminism are narcissism and entitlement”). He generally occupied his time writing blog posts such as “Misogyny Gets You Laid,” “When Should You Compliment a Woman?” [A: “During or after sex”], and “How to Cheat on Your Girlfriend.” But in Donald Trump, xxxxxxxxxx found a man he takes to be a kindred spirit — or, at the very least, an opportunity. He has become a social-media warrior for Trump, unabashedly embracing the label “alt-right” and using his Twitter profile to disseminate fabricated stories. Currently, he has 241,000 Twitter followers. He even scraped another book out of it: MAGA Mindset: Making YOU and America Great Again."

Where to begin? First, I should declare that I have many problems with feminism. But, because I'm a man, there's no point going into detail about those problems since I would be accused of mansplaining. But, if anyone on this planet could make a feminist out of me it would be this idiot. And yet, this man has nearly a quarter million Twitter followers. 

So, it's weak to feel guilty for being a jerk? A sense of shame for boorish behavior equals "slave emotion?" Funny, in the bad old days, this used to be referred to as...having manners or being a gentleman. Now, to this man, and men like him, masculinity is about size and dominance. Where does this view lead? Let Mr. Xxxxxxxxxx tell you:

"To him, being “dominant” justifies declaring that “date rape does not exist,” that “women want to be tamed,” and that one of the key signs of a real man is “aggression,” sexual and otherwise. Lie if you like, cheat if you can; what matters is being the “alpha male.” What is the truly “masculine” man’s maxim? “We are done when I say we are done.”

Suffice it to say, if my mother ever heard anything approaching this coming out of my mouth, she would have worn me out. Further, whatever whipping she would have given me would have paled in comparison to what my father's reaction would have been! The mere idea that the role of men in the world is to dominate women sexually is a the vile philosophy of a childish and ultimately weak man. 

The bottom line is...I'm just tired of reading crap like this. I'm tired of this type of man, this brand of boorishness being celebrated and rewarded by the internet and popular culture. Heck, I'm even tired of reading these sort of words(what used to be called "gutter language") in newspapers as prestigious as the Washington Post. It's time for us all to turn on these people, good and hard, turn against them with every weapon we possess. And we can start by speaking out against it. So I am here to say that this is not what being a man is, it's not even close. 

A Theory

It's been five months since the election, eleven weeks since the Inauguration, and it seems that social media has finally stepped back from the edge. It used to be that every morning, my Facebook wall was plastered with Trump memes, and long angry threads featuring wild accusations of treasonous skullduggery in and around the White House. Suddenly, 90% of that is gone. It's been the same here at The Tempest. I haven't written a Trump-themed blog in quite a while. But not just Trump, I have written much less about political themes than I used to. Why?

Well, it's certainly not because Trump has stopped doing stupid things, and it's certainly not because the democrats have suddenly stopped being hysterical hypocrites. There's something else going on. I have a budding new theory and like all theories, it's incomplete and requires more research and testing...but that's not going to stop me from going off half cocked and writing about it anyway. Here goes.

The election of 2016 was like none other in my lifetime. There has always been bitterness and acrimony associated with presidential politics, but this seemed different, unprecedented. Most of this was due to the fact there hadn't been a candidate like Trump since maybe Andrew Jackson, but that was like 180 years ago and all current politicians,  except Nancy Pelosi weren't  around back then, so most people don't remember Andrew Jackson. Trump was the kind of candidate who provokes insanity both in his followers and his enemies. To his supporters, he can do no wrong. No matter what insane, unhinged thing comes out of his mouth, the diehards are there to provide context, to explain that what sure sounded like a bald face lie to the rest of us was actually a metaphor, or a shrewd tactic designed to achieve some objective invisible to all of us who can't keep up with his four  dimensional chess. Meanwhile, his enemies constantly imbued him with mystical powers of evil, actually believing that when it comes to destroying the country he really is playing four dimensional chess, that he really is capable of shrewd tactics. Every single unhappy thing that happens in the world is due to some nefarious Trumpian machination.

It never seems to occur to the Trump supporter that maybe his nascent administration has been one uninterrupted mistake after another because he's an amateur who doesn't have a clue what the hell he's doing. It also never seems to occur to his enemies that no, he isn't Sauron, and no, he possesses no dictatorial powers and can't, in fact, cast all gay people into a fiery furnace.

So, after a few months pass and Trump is shown to have feet of clay and begins to make a hash of things, his most ardent pre-election, pre-Inauguration fans start to maintain a kind of radio silence, slinking slowly away from the social media square hoping the rest of us won't notice. Meanwhile, those who had been the loudest in their warnings of the horrors that would befall immigrants/homosexuals/women/old people/dogs, can't help but notice that there are still immigrants here, still plenty of loud, rich and happy homosexuals, a host of prosperous and powerful women, loads of old people who haven't yet been thrown into the streets...and cute pictures of dogs are as prominent on Facebook as ever. In other words...life has a knack for going on.

The insanity of political rhetoric runs in direct relationship to the calendar. The closer you get to a major election, the dumber it gets, the more unreliable it gets, the more stark and partisan it gets. Therefore, the closer you get to an election, the less you should pay attention to political rhetoric. But the opposite is true. Most of us can't even be bothered with politics until an election comes along. The rest of the time we would rather argue about sports or play video games. After an election, most of us go back to living our lives, back to the Redskins' incompetent front office and the Legend of Zelda.

So, that's my theory. Things are never quite as horrible as the doomsayers predict, and when events start proving it, the loudest, angriest voices start taking time off for bad behavior. And we all are better for it. At least until the midterms.....sigh.

Birthday Success

Here's how my birthday went down.

1. Pam made me a batch of molasses crinkles, my favorite cookies, which are a cross between a ginger snap and a sugar cookie. She placed them in a big Tupperware container for me to take to work to share with everyone. Of course, Pam was bitterly disappointed in how they turned out..."worst batch I've ever made!!" Fortunately, the Philistines I work with have the most unsophisticated palettes in all of Christendom so they didn't notice. Their response was summed up nicely by our designated eater, Allison, who was heard remarking with her mouth full, "Free cookies good!"

2. Then I went about my normal duties at work with little fanfare. There was no pile of presents as one might expect from my colleagues, not even any cards. This is how we roll. The only accommodation made for anyone who has a birthday at my office is that the birthday boy or girl gets to be the target of all of the day's normal wisecracks, putdowns and insults, instead of having them administered evenly which is normally the case. Seeing as how I am the primary putdown artist, wisenheimer, and insulter-in-chief, my birthday brings down an especially vociferous rain of smack talk, since from whom much is endured, much is returned.

3. Around 3:30 I made my normal Monday trip to American Family Fitness, that monument to the fruitless fight. Since I knew I would be eating a large and calorie rich dinner, I went at it extra hard. The elliptical, the stationary bike and the treadmill were fully engaged, then a fifteen minute visit to the steam room. The entire workout took an hour and fifteen minutes and I had sweated off the two pounds I needed to lose in order to gain back three and a half pounds during dinner. Mission accomplished.

4. Pam had asked me what I wanted for my birthday dinner. I had answered...New York Strip steaks, green beans, grilled potatoes and homemade warm banana pudding for dessert. It looked like this...

5. During the day, Patrick and Sarah had sent me a video greeting wishing me happy birthday, while Kaitlin and Jon Facetimed me after dinner.(Advantage Kaitlin) Then it was time to open my presents. As usual, my wife went overboard. I am now stylishly dressed in spring/summer finery, along with some awesome summer pajamas. Not only that, but she had grown weary of seeing me wear the cheap giveaway sunglasses I had picked up from a vendor booth in Chicago, (I had lost my Ray- Bans).So she bought me brand new black Ray-Bans!

So, there you have it. Birthday was a success. 59 feels alright.

59

59 is a meaningless number, signifying nothing. Other numbers have history, a certain cache. 59 needs context to rise up to the merely ordinary. 0 defines itself, its nothing. 1 is alone. 2 is a couple, 3's a crowd.  7 is lucky. Nobody wants to be behind the 8-ball. 12 is a dozen, 13 unlucky. 16 is sweet, 18 brings the age of majority and the Selective Service, 21 ushers in the full weight and statue of law. 39 is when the lying begins. 55 is the speed limit. But, 59 is null and void, empty of all meaning...right up to the very second when it means everything.

Tomorrow, I turn 59. I have 365 days left in which I can honestly describe myself as being "in my fifties." 59 is the age where everyone who learns how old you are says, "Well, at least you're not 60," small comfort indeed. I'm about to finish out my fifth decade. I've been drawing breath as a free man for 708 months, 1416 fortnights, 21535 days give or take a leap year or two. 59 winters and summers  have passed since my mother gave birth to her last child. Many of her friends had been upset with her when she announced that she was pregnant with me. Back then, my mom was a new Christian and had gathered around herself a church family. In those days we were struggling financially, which is a formulation used by mostly white people who don't want to use the word, poor. The fine ladies up at church had wondered, some aloud, what my parents could possibly have been thinking, bringing a fourth child into a house that was struggling to provide for the three they already had. Although Mom loved them dearly and valued their council, even back then, my mother didn't take crap off of anyone.  She let them know in no uncertain terms what they could do with their opinions.

Mom told me this story a few years before she died and I remember thinking how glad I was that she hadn't told it to me when I was a kid. I probably would have ended up in therapy, the psychotic people-pleaser trying desperately to prove the church ladies wrong! But, nobody who has known me more than five minutes would confuse me with a people-pleaser. That ship has sailed!

On the bright side, I feel good, my mental acuity is acute enough for government work, and I still have my hair. So, I'm ok with 59.

The funny thing is, even though they're dead and gone, at age 59 I'm still trying to make my parents proud of me. In many ways, when it comes to them, I still feel like I did when I was a little boy, knowing instinctively that I was difficult, trying not to be too loud, trying to sit still more and not worry them so. By the time I was 25 and on my own, I knew in my heart that I had caused them more grief than my other three siblings combined. But, by that time, there was nothing I could do about it except try to make them proud as an adult. I mostly did this by staying out of jail. They were probably so exhausted after the first 20 years of my life, the bar had been set pretty low. But, when I married Pam and then presented them with Kaitlin and Patrick, it felt like redemption to me.

So, tomorrow, I will wake up to my first day as a 59 year old. As a bonus, tomorrow is the beginning of the baseball season. I'm at peace with one of those things, and ecstatic about the other!

Play Ball!