Thinking Out Loud

I have not written in awhile...Many reasons, but in reality it all comes down to time. So much of my time is spent pursuing the "American dream," otherwise known as sitting in a Corporate Cubicle for 10 hours a day. I have had a number of blog-worthy thoughts and ideas in the last few weeks.

First, I was sitting in my Cubicle looking out on 2nd and University downtown recently. I happened to catch the Student March For Peace (or something like that). It was standard fare...Young anti-establishment people carrying signs, and chanting. It struck me as I watched it that America is one of the few countries where *every* protest is against our own country. In the Middle East, Europe, Asia, South America, and Africa, they protest against America. Here, it does not matter what is going on elsewhere in the world...The only thing worth protesting is our own fairly elected government. I am all for open demonstrations, and the like. I just thought it was telling of the self-centered ego of America. The only thing worthy of protesting is what we perceive as our own problems. It is like America has mirrors everywhere instead of windows...It makes it really easy to notice our own flaws, but exceedingly difficult to see what is going on outside. Why not protest against genocide in Africa? Why not burn the Iranian flag in the street? Why not march on the Syrian embassy to demand justice for the assassination of the Lebanese Head of State? I think it is easier to look in the mirror and see the zits, rather than look out the window and see the tumors.

Second, I recently was struck by a memory of my sister. My sister passed away after battling MS and a prescription drug dependence 2 1/2 years ago. She died young, being only 38. She died old, having already left her best years behind her. She was a sad, unfulfilled person. I thought of her while driving on Blakely Rd. I always have dual images in my head when I think of my sister. I remember her from when she was a teenager, and I was her annoying adolescent little brother. She used to laugh a lot, and had a goofy sense of humor. She was, tiny, almost pixie like...5 foot nothing, with blond hair and green eyes, and not cracking triple digits on the scale. She was my conspirator...calling in to school sick for me, sneaking me food when I had been sent to bed without dinner. And I was her biggest supporter...sticking up for her against my big brothers, and my dad when they picked on her. The second image is of her laying in intensive care, on life support, swollen from the fluids they were pumping into her body. I wanted to believe it was still her, but I was still afraid to touch her because it all looked so...foreign, macabre. I remember standing outside her room, when they turned off the life support, listening to the monitoring devices as they changed tone, not being able to look, not being able to see with clouded eyes, as the machine-granted life finally left her. I had to hold my mother afterward, as she was broken. She has really never been the same since. I had to hold my niece, my sisters daughter, who at the age of 15 was not nearly strong enough to handle this. And I had to be held, by my wife, as for the first time, I dealt with one of the sureties of life...the death of loved ones. So every time I think of Jodi, I wear a little smile, as I remember the 16 year old who was my big sister, while at the same time tears well up inside me as I remember seeing the empty husk that was only sustained by machines.

That is enough for today. I will write again soon.

The Dark of The Island

Deep gray night
Clouds pushing low
Ambient illumination of an obscured moon
Trees looming near
Footfalls echoing in the closeness
Tangy salt in the air
In the distance, sea lions bark
A dog barks back
And then, silence...
All alone
In a cocoon
Enveloped
Sheltered
In the dark of the island

Common Courtesy

You know, I am feeling a little on the cranky side today. Maybe my Circadian Rhythm is at it's ebb, or maybe I am starting to feel the effects of the shorter days...up before light, and home after light. Regardless of the cause, I thought I would utilize "blog catharsis" as a means to relieve my grumpiness.

Now, I thought about ranting about political and social topics, but quickly reconsidered. Who wants to expound on issues like the failures of American government, or the chaos present in many places in this world. Those are BIG issues for which I certainly have an opinion, but that are highly complex, and difficult to pin down to simple concepts like right and wrong. Rather, I have decided to discuss issues which I believe are very easy to break down to right and wrong, black and white. The little opportunities each of us have each day to demonstrate simple, common courtesy.

My first example is perhaps my biggest pet peeve. Shopping carts. The incredible laziness of our society, and the stupendous lack of shared responsibility by many members of society is evidenced when individuals cannot even perform the simple act of putting a shopping cart away in an appropriately designated area. There really can be no reason for not putting it away. It was being pushed around in the store, so it can't be physical. Weather....PUH-Leez...walking to the car in the rain was bearable, but the extra 15 seconds to put the cart away is such an inconvenience that one would rather just leave it and hope that it does not scratch or dent someone else's vehicle. No, the two real culprits behind Shopping Cart Abandonment are laziness and a lack of social conscience. Let's explore laziness first. Long day at work, then a stop at the grocery store, out to the parking lot...it is relatively empty...no one will be impacted if I just leave it here. LAZY. It will take 15 seconds. And it will provide a lot of satisfaction that one is capable of conforming to societal norms, and following the unspoken rules. Laziness is curable...it is simply a decision in one's mind to not be lazy regarding certain tasks. Let's move on the second, and more insidious reason for not putting the Shopping Cart in the appropriately designated location...a lack of social conscience. This can be summed up by a great quote from Dr. Suess' There's a Wocket in My Pocket: "But the Bofa on the Sofa acts as if he doesn't care." We have a society full of Bofa's. They don't put back the Shopping Cart simply because they do not care..."Not my problem, what do I care if it hits someone else's car?" "If you want to put it away, put it away yourself." These Bofa's may be incurable, because they do not care to be cured; they do not care about anything other than their own selfish interests, and are not concerned when those interests interfere with someone else's wants or needs.

Now my second example...the Express Lane at the grocery store. Again, only two possible explanations for going through this line with more than the allotted number of products: 1) Ignorance - annoying, but everybody has the occasional brain fart; 2) Bofa-ism - They just don't care...they know the store is unlikely to confront them, as they are a "valued customer." The store counts on the fact that the majority of us are not Bofas. I have confronted a Bofa before in this situation, and found that most Bofas are not afraid of confrontation...in fact they relish it. They revel in their selfish little world, and enjoy not conforming to societal norms. And when confronted, they will react out of proportion to the situation...like, "Look, I'm in a hurry, so why don't you just can it and wait your turn." As if no one else in the world has places to be.

I see Bofas everyday...the people on the elevator who hastily hit the CLOSE button, not caring that someone is standing right outside the door trying to get on. The guy on the freeway who, even though he is fully aware that the lane is ending and merging with another lane, continues as fast as he can so as to pass as many cars as possible. The old lady at the airport who uses Southwest special needs boarding policy as an excuse to get on the plane before everyone else. The girl at the bar who uses her looks to get served quicker than everyone else rather than waiting her turn. The blue blood on the ferry who intentionally places stuff on the seat or seats next to them, so that they don't have to get too close to the rabble peasantry on the ferry. Bofas Bofas everywhere. It is a plague on our society. I think the most disconcerting thing about Bofa-ism is that it seems to be growing. People have been so disabused by Bofas that they are adopting an, "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em" mentality.

So what do the rest of us do? The rank and file who do not wish to become Bofas in order to successfully adapt to modern society? Who do not wish to tolerate Bofa behavior any more? I say the answer is simple, and similar to the way one would discipline a child - be direct, be honest, be consistent, and set a good example. If you see a Bofa leave a shopping cart in the parking lot, don't get angry, simply walk over, inform the person where the Appropriately Designated Location is, and then put the shopping cart away. Shame will force many Bofas to put their own shopping cart away next time. In the express lane, encourage the store to direct people to the appropriate line, and don't shop there any more if they refuse. On the ferry, if someone has stuff stacked in a seat you would like to use, ask them to move it, politely. Never get angry, always be reasonable, but do not let the users, abusers, and selfish thugs of society bully you.

Stand Up To The Bofas!

A Short Discourse On Fatherhood

One of my keenest observations on being a father is the number of times one finds oneself saying things that, under any other circumstances, would just be downright bizarre. My daughter will turn two this December. During the last year, since she became mobile, the words coming out of my mouth would have been the highest of high comedy, if not for the fact that I really meant them when I said them. Here is a sampling of words directed at my daughter in the past year. I want to document these, and share them with her when she gets older, to remind her of the responsibility of being a parent, and potentially embarass in front of prospective boyfriends :):

"Shelby, don't stick your finger in the cat's butt!"

"Shelby, don't eat dirt!"

"Shelby, why are mommy's underwear on your head?"

"Shelby, don't play in your poo!"

"Shelby, don't eat the book!"

"Shelby, don't stick your finger in the light socket!"

"Shelby, don't stick grape stems up your nose!"

"Shelby, don't put potato in your ear!"

"Shelby, don't let the dog drink out of your sippy cup!"

"Shelby, don't eat leaves!"

"Shelby, don't poo in the bath tub!"

"Shelby, please don't lick the floor!"

"Shelby, it is not very ladylike to fart like that!"

If you don't have kids yet, you are probably thinking I am a bad parent, for letting my daughter get into so many troubling situations. If you do have kids, you are probably mentally adding some of your own words to my list. Sometimes all you can do is step back and laugh at yourself and the situation. And document it, so as to embarass my little princess later in life!

Feel free to add comments on the ridiculous one liners you have found yourself saying to your own children. I would love to laugh at your situation, without the pain of actually having to remove my daughter's finger from the cat's butt.

Random Observations

Hopefully this is not a symptom of schizophrenia, but I constantly have an internal dialogue going. Maybe I just need more social contact. Anyway, here is my attempt to catalogue the random thoughts from one day.

I understand rustic, laid back Island life style, but I think if you are going to have roads, maintain them. The Island has an inordinate amount of poor roads.

Huh, that dead possum has been there since last Friday.

I often wake up with a song in my head, and have no idea why it is there. I don't recall hearing it, let alone deliberately listening to it, but there it is. This morning it was Raspberry Beret by Prince. Really strange.

I think the Puget Sound area produces more variations of Grey than I could ever believe existed. Today is an Impending Grey, it still has the memory of light and Blue in it, but also carries the hard jagged edge of a Desolate Grey.

I think marketers, like myself, have something to learn from the strategies various homeless persons utilize to collect donations. Some work...playing a flute, or some other nonsense, some just have a sign, some harass, some try to be funny. Some lie, some tell the truth, some look pathetic, others try to look clean and decent. It is interesting. 100 different approaches, all with the same goal - score that quarter.

What is more precious, the memory or the experience? Tough question. I could argue for either. On one hand, all we are is a collection of individual moments. We are nothing more than we are at this moment. Thus we should treasure every moment, every experience, ecause it is the sum of our existence. However, memory provides us the means to examine, and re-enjoy past experiences. Memory becomes "who we are." We are known by the experiences we have already had, not by Now, and not by Future, but by Then. The right answer is probably some wishy-washy answer of Both, memory and experience. But if pressed, and able to choose only one, I choose Experience. There are lots of great memories, but memories in no way assure future happiness...only what I do Right Now can accomplish that.

Our society wrongly equates intelligence with accumulated knowledge. Accumulated knowledge just demonstrates that one had the desire and the means to gather knowledge. It speaks not at all to ability to learn, or ability to assimilate knowledge. That in my opinion is true intelligence.

I will go from the deep topic of intelligence to the shallow topic of workplace restrooms. Ours stinks. I think a pipe must have burst in the wall, and liquid waste accumulated and caused mold growth. It is bad. I think everyone just tries to ignore it, not knowing who to report it to, or what good it would do. But WHEW. I have started taking the elevator to another floor if I am going to have an *extended* trip to the facilities. And thank God for the handicapped stalls, who wants to feel claustrophobic during such an intimate, private moment.

Gummy bears are, without a doubt, the best non-chocolate candy in existence. When I was in high school, I used to take a package and separate it into piles based on color, and then group the colors onto two roughly equal teams (if they were not equal I would eat one). I would then line the two teams up into offensive and defensive football alignments, and play a fictional game. Injured "players" andthe losing team got ate first. It is amzing I graudated high school.

Speaking of high school, were those the worst 4 years of anyone else's life? The innocence of childhood was MUCH better, and the freedom of college was MUCH MUCH better. High school was/is a collection of hormonally imbalanced, insensitive, class-conscious, immature hooligans. And while I was not a "nerd" by the strict definition, I did have some nerd tendencies. I still do.

I love foggy days on the sound. The hum of the ferry seems somehow muted byu the thick air floating near the surface of the deep gray water. Seagulls seem to appear as if by magic, and then swoop out of sight again just as quickly. Even conversation seems somehow muted, as if the individuals somehow realize they are in a smaller room, and thus must lower their voices so as to not be heard by all. The fog lays thickest over the Island, and seems to protect it from the outside world. The fog is a blanket over the community of Bainbridge.

Today is a soup and grilled cheese sandwich day if ever there was one. I like to use one piece of processed american cheese, with either pastrami or ham, and then one piece of pepper jack. It must be arranged Ham, Cheese, Cheese, Ham, with pepper on top.

I have informed those closest to me of situations under which I would like to be assisted to die. Terminal, painful illness; Loss of mental facility; I start wearing yellow sweat pants with black socks, sandals, and a white dress shirt. Seriously, does getting older mean you are no longer able to dress yourself? Is it like being 3 years old again, where someone has to pick out your clothes for you. I am no fashion maven, but I know if I ever start dressing like a clown, someone needs to do the merciful thing and end it all for me.

OK, a lady half way across the boat is saying HELLO loudly into her cell phone multiple times. Like if the connection is fading, saying HELLO louder will fix it. So much for the fog induced quiet.

I think I will buy The Fountainhead and begin reading it. Loved Atlas Shrugged and have read much on Ayn Rand's other works, but it is time to knock it out.

My list of most disgusting habits:
1) Smoking
1a) Chewing
2) Spitting - I think Singapore has it right...jail time!
3) Nose picking (in public)
4) Ear picking (anywhere)
5) Fingernail chewing
6) Oysters

Well tomorrow is Friday, and I intend on attending a Happy Hour of some sort or another, so the writing will either not occur or I will WUI.

Until we meet again, au revoir go-fair (name the movie, name the movie)

Day Two

So now that I have overcome my bloggers block, as described in my earlier post, I can move on to the potpourri of topics that are always floating around in my head, briefly illuminating, like fireflies, when triggered by some external event.

Hmmm...what is in my head today...How about a discourse on the eccentricities of the daily commute.

The commute begins with that first beep beep of the alarm clock. My dislike of morning must be genetic, some chromosomal deficiency inherited from my mother. How I function in a world that requires us to be up and productive before 11 am is beyond me. My mother had to pull me out of morning kindergarten, for god's sake, because I was too difficult to wake up in the morning. Beep, beep. There it is again. I could work from home today. I have VPN, and really, with the advanced communication technology at my disposal, what is the real benefit of going all the way in to the office? And besides...if I worked from home, I could sleep another couple of hours. But wait, I have that meeting with the VP today, at 9:30 am. Why do people schedule meetings before noon? OK, I'll get up...what time is it...6:32 am. I will get up in 8 minutes. Beep beep. It can't be 6:40 am already...5 more minutes. I need 5 more minutes. 6:45 am. sigh. One leg out. Cartman, the Cat, is now demanding to be petted. I can't turn down the poor animal, can I? As a pet owner, I am responsible for the mental well-being of my cat, and he needs love and attention. 6:48 am. OK, I really have to get up now. One foot, two feet, and I am off to the shower, with only one short, longing, glance back at my king bed, with it's luxurious sheets, and snuggly down comforter.

Ahhhhhh, hot shower that revives me. Gives me life, like a rain in the desert spawning an outbreak of flora. The shower floods my body with consciousness. I believe I could stand contented in my steamy paradise for days, weeks. Or at least until I looked like a Shar-pei. sigh. Out I step, dry-off, deodorant, hair, teeth, shave, in that order, without fail, done.

What to wear, what to wear. I think I would prefer corporate uniforms. Fewer decisions to make in the morning, one less thing to think about. It would also provide marketing and brand awareness for the company. I may have to expound upon this corporate uniform idea in a future blog. I am feeling generic today, so I'll go with the grey slacks and the blue button up shirt. Black shoes, black belt. Downstairs I go. 7:18. I need to leave by 7:23, if I am going to reach the Bethany Lutheran Park-n-Ride on time. Vitamin, wallet, keys, cell phone, backpack with laptop. Oh, I need breakfast...PowerBar and a Diet Coke, the breakfast of champions!

And out the door I go. The drive is uneventful, other than a leisurely fellow Islander driving 5 mph below the speed limit. Now, I am all for the leisurely and laid back Island life style, but I have this Park-n-Ride thing finely timed. Any little upset will result in my missing the bus, and having to pay nine bucks for parking, an event that distresses my frugal side greatly. Try not to tail gate, try not to tail gate. Why won't they speed up, speed up dammit. I hope I make it. I am on Finch Road. Please be there, please still be there. Yes! Waiting for me. Park, hop out, dash, and into my seat.

I suppose I should take the 7:05 am ferry more often, but I just cannot make myself get out of bed that early without strong justification(i.e. meeting with someone who has a bigger corporate title). Therefore, I am on the 7:55 am ferry nearly every day. Of course before the ferry ride is the bus ride from Bethany Lutheran. I sit in the same seat every day. Front right corner. The funny thing is, most of the familiar faces sit in the same place every day, and the bus carries an uncomfortable air when someone upsets the Natural Order of Things. I wonder, did I upset the seating chart when I started riding the bus? Does anyone else think about this? I sure try not to give the "don't sit by me" vibe off, most blatantly shown when someone uses the adjacent seat as storage for their goods. Even so, it is a rare morning when someone sits by me, if only because there are plenty of seats on the bus, so it might come across as strange to sit by someone. That would be an interesting social experiment...have a bus with plenty of open seats and deliberately sit next to someone. Why is that socially unacceptable? Across from me on the bus sits the crop haired lady who reads and knits. Near her is the mother and her daughter...the daughter gets off at BHS. A little further back are the young married lady, and the old cell phone lady. Since I don't know their names, I just make up psuedo-descriptor names for them. Bump, bump, stop, stop, stop again, the multiple pa-phooosshhh-es of the air compression door, and we are at the ferry terminal.

I sit at the front right corner of the bus not because I am impatient to get off the bus first. Why would I be? So I can hurry up and wait on the ferry? No, it is because it is the best vantage point on the bus to observe everybody else. You see, one of my favorite hobbies is people watching. I never understood bird watching, even after trying it out, when people watching was so much more convenient and interesting. I'll make up little stories in my head about the people near me, based on the behavior they exhibit. Of course, my stories are always probably a little more fantastic than reality...that lady looks grumpy because her husband bought her a plastic surgery gift certificate for her birthday...sure she had been talking about it, but he should not buy that for her, because it makes her feel like he thinks she needs it, and he should love her just as she is, and she might just tell him to use his stupid gift certificate to get that spare tire around his waist removed.

So I wait, and let several others off before taking my turn. One step, two step, and off. Do I take the tunnel or the ramp? As a general rule, if the ferry is running late, I would rather wait on the ramp than in the tunnel. I spend all day inside, why not stand outside for a few minutes if possible? Today, the ferry was on time, so tunnel it is. How much do you suppose they pay those high school kids to hawk the free daily newspaper? The other morning, they were a little punchy and were singing "free daily" in a falsetto. I rarely take the free daily, as I am quite busy reading books on the ferry. Recently read The Tipping Point and am currently reading Johnathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. Not sure what to read next, but I am due for a Barnes and Noble trip...any suggestions? It is quite possible that I will have every poem in that hallway leading to the ferry memorized by the end of the year.

I make it on the ferry after inevitably being caught behind the slowest walker on the face of the Earth. But I strategically use the ferry stairwell hallway to dash past them. I always like to find a seat with a side table up near the front of the boat, by the newspaper machines. I do notice, just as on the bus, that people typically sit in nearly the same place every day. Interesting social phenomenon. I wonder if there is some difference in personality makeup between those who continually move seats, and those who continually try to find the same seat. So I find my seat, and it is time to read, eat breakfast, and imbibe some caffeine in the form of a Diet Coke.

The ferry ride lasts 5 minutes and 12 seconds, as usual. Or at least it seems that way. Again, I feel a deep remorse for my road rage and Metro bound colleagues. What are they thinking? Will my life expectancy be longer because I don't endure two 45 minute white knuckle highway trips every day? Of course, even though the ferry ride is just now ending, people have been lining up to get off for 25 minutes. Just think, by getting up 25 minutes before the ferry lands, the person in front will have a 2 minute haed start on me to reach their destination. Hmmm, wait that seems like an inefficient use of time. Ah well, to each their own. I bet the people who get up 25 minutes before the ferry arrives also like morning.

OK, time for the last leg of my little journey into work...The Walk! I find a convenient place to stop in my book, gather the remains from my breakfast, slide the backpack on, and stand. Merge with the crowd, shuffle, shuffle, shuffle, elbow, shuffle. On the ramp. It now becomes like the close of a Tour de France stage. People jockeying for position, trying to find a way to pass slower competitors. I look for the outside lane, and am pass an elderly couple with locked elbows. I make a move to the right, but am stymied by a man on a cell phone, and the left is blocked by three ladies whose amicable chatting has slowed their walk to the pace of a funeral procession. One day, mankind will develop the technology to allow walking and talking to happen simultaneously, with no interruption to either. But that day is not today. OK, I am now in the Marion overpass tunnel. It stinks like urine, as usual. at least today it doesn't smell like fecal matter. Onward. Past the pan flute player, past the "Needy not Greedy" guy, past the lady hawking Real Change. To the light and the first decision: left or straight. It all depends on the lights, gotta keep moving. Today I time it well, cross 1st Ave., and immediately cross Marion, and go up the hill. I walk briskly, relishing the exercise that is awakening my body, and, along with the recently imbibed caffeine, awakening my mind. Up, left, cross Madison, cross Spring, cross 2nd Ave., past the guy hawking Real Change in front of the Starbucks next to Blue Water Taco Grill (mmm...tacos). Cross Seneca, and I am there. Up, the steps, to the elevator.

Oh, how I hate the elevator. Being on the 12th floor, when the elevator bank includes floors up to 14 is painful. at least 3 stops every time. Long waits for an elevator. Let's talk about elevator etiquette...elevator-quette for a moment. I think common courtesy dictates fourthings: 1) Don't aggressively use the close door button...other people have places to be also; 2) Don't be the the guy to overcrowd the elevator and make everyone else uncomfortable; 3) Don't continually delay the elevator by trying to hold it for people...there will be another one; 4) Don't pass gas on the elevator, or otherwise make it an unpleasant place to be.

Needless to say, nearly all of these rules are broken, today, and every day. Sigh. Well, here I am. The 12th floor. Through the secure access door, and to my cube. Let the day begin.

Is it 5:15 pm yet...I am ready for the commute home.

Where to start?

I continually find that the hardest part of any new venture is simply getting started. Just as the most difficult moment of my day is that first, cold step out of lazy, languid sleep and into the actively demanding world of consciousness, so it is with a new undertaking. I have always excused my dislike of getting out of bed in the morning as the result of a depressed reticular activating system...but the truth is, I have an unhealthy passion for pillow top mattresses with 750 thread count sheets and a nice, thick down comforter. Once awake, my slothful sin quickly dissipates, and I become that paragon of American virtue, the productive corporate employee. But I could never achieve my M-F paragon status without daily hot, steamy showers. However, the difficulty comes in trying to find the analagous hot, steamy shower when attempting to tackle the next new venture. As I started writing this post, my intent was to overcome the difficulty of beginning to blog, and thus take that first giant step out of bed and into the conscious world of writing. However, as I was considering the words to commit to cyber-paper, I realized that the "difficulty getting started" theme resonates deeper with me than just opening the door to online communication with whomever takes the time to read my little blog. Rather, I am hopeful that the small victory of beginning to blog will be the hot, steamy shower that wakes my senses. Not only will I begin to blog, but with my new found commitment and awareness, I will also launch myself at the list of "procrastinations" that I have carried for years. And I am not talking about cleaning the gutters, or getting the oil changed here...more like writing the book-painting the picture-hiking the trail type of self-fulfilling activities that get left behind in a daily-weekly-monthly-yearly routine.

Now the title of my blog is Bainbridge to Somewhere. Bainbridge to Nowhere seemed depressing, and called to mind the infamous Bridge to Nowhere to be built in Alaska, the poster child for Government Boondoggle. Bainbridge to Somewhere seemed decidedly more positive and descriptive, especially considering the circumstances that led to my move to Bainbridge. The decision was consummated in August, and although the physical relocation was done, the real journey had only just begun. I am hopeful that along the way I will grow as a person, develop new relationships, and deepen existing relationship. I look forward to sharing my experiences through this blog.

Thank you to anyone who has read this blog. I would love to hear your thoughts and comments.