I've spent the weekend chewing on last week's big story. No, not Miley closing her Twitter account (but damn, girl, how am I going to know when you buy new shoes and where?). No, no. I'm talking, of course, about the heybuhwha?!? out of Stockholm at the end of the week when they awarded Obama the Nobel Peace Prize.

I must admit to having been taken aback by the announcement. I mean, the guy's been in office for less than a year, most of which (quite possibly all of which) has been spent trying to put out the fires started by the Cheney administration (yeah, that's right, I went there). Now, I must admit to being in support of Obama. I even voted for the man, which was sort of huge for me. Taking great pride in the fierce independence of my political views, I haven't shown support for a candidate from either of the two brand name parties in my entire adult life. It was just that we had reached a point here in America in 2008 where I felt we needed intelligence, heart and (most of all) forward-thinking hope more than anything else if we were going to move forward as a nation. I flirted with throwing my support to Ron Paul, but I eventually fell in behind the Obama wagon. I knew his first couple of years were going to be rough.

When I was in college, I moved into a big rented house with a few of my friends. We arrived that first day to move in to find that the previous tenants had thrown a big party just before they moved out. The floors were trashed, there was garbage in the corners of nearly every room, one of the toilets was clogged with used condoms, I could go on but no one wants to hear the truly nasty stuff. I sort of imagine Obama's first few days in the White House felt very much like that first day in that house. The assholes who were there before had left an unholy mess, and now it's his job to clean things after them.

I honestly believe him to be committed to bringing about a better world for me and my children, but he certainly hasn't been able to accomplish enough to warrant the Nobel Peace Prize. Right? But the more I thought about it, the more I warmed to the idea. See, if we truly want peace; if we want to change this world we live in and show some sign of real evolution as a society, we all need to do everything we can to take an active stance. It's just not enough anymore to stand back and applaud the people who are working to fix things. We need to all get in and get to work if it's ever going to happen. Nor can we tolerate the dickheads who stand back and take potshots at those of us who are trying to do something good and right for a change (I'm looking at you, Entire Staff of Fox "News"). Certain elements of our media are pushing this nation to the brink of something not entirely unlike a civil war, and it's time to push back. But I digress. That's a topic for another time, methinks.

I think it's a brilliant move on the part of the gang in Stockholm to swoop in and present the Nobel Peace Prize to the one person on the planet in a position to truly make change, and who is potentially on the cusp of doing so. Let's not forget that the simple fact of his being elected President of the United States created a change in the paradigm. I am still unsure about the Nobel committee's timing. I mean, I think I would have waited to see how things play out in Afghanistan before passing out cigars. Maybe bestow this on him next year, you know? But then, that could just be me being cautious, and caution and fear has been driving our society's decision-making for far too long. No, this was a good call. I can't say if it's the best call or even a right call, but it is a good call. I would stand back and applaud the prize committee for their efforts, but I'm too busy trying to contribute something.

Yeah, well. That didn't really work out. See, I have this problem as a writer. I set out to do simple things. I really do. I don't set unreasonable expectations for myself. I decided last week (as evidenced by last week's blog entry) that I was going to write a short story. Seems simple enough, right? I had the idea, the theme was set, the plot was (mostly) worked out. At least enough to get started. I didn't have a definitive ending yet, but sometimes these things find their own voices and lead me through them on their own. So, I got to work and I worked and struggled and wrestled with it and tried to pummel this damn story into submission. As of the past couple of days, I have actually nearly convinced myself that I should just throw in the towel and resign myself to a life of non-publication. This thing just isn't working.

Then a couple of days ago, it occurred to me what the problem was. The story was straining in the constrictions I was trying to shoehorn it into. Like an NFL player in a PeeWee league uniform, this story wants to sprawl out and fill much more space than a short story format would allow. Something like six books' worth of space, if my calculations are correct. Now, this is what sucks. I am currently working on two long(ish)-term projects and was looking for a palate cleanser to get me on the rails and moving again after the mayhem of last summer and my descent into slothfulness that has occurred over the past few months. I needed the ego boost of a completed project. And now, I just have another thing to shove onto the already-crowded back burner. Don't get me wrong here, I'm not complaining about having ideas. I would never be so ungrateful as to go there. Ideas are all I have. It's the discipline required for the execution of these ideas which I lack. And, frankly, that's the thing that is keeping me on the bench. Sorry to bring you down, my dear readers. I'm just sort of frustrated at the moment and having a hard time scrabbling my way up out of this slump I've fallen into. Maybe I should try a little beat poetry to get my quill in the well again. I don't know.

Stay tuned...

I didn't want to leave anyone hanging, so I'm just posting a quick word this week that I won't be adding to the blog this week. I'm working on a couple of projects and don't want to interrupt my groove. One of those projects is a short story that I plan to post here once complete. Or maybe I'll serialize it over a few weeks. We'll have to see how the story's structure plays out and where I am on it by this time next week. It's a sci-fi story of sorts in the tradition of early Kurt Vonnegut and/or Ted Sturgeon. The inspiration for it came from a Sturgeon story called "The Ultimate Egoist". So, if you're looking for something to read in place of my musings, you could definitely do worse.

Blogger's Clearinghouse

May 6? The sixth of freakin' May? That was the last time I posted anything here? Hey, what can I say, the summer was busy. There was a little traveling, a little work around the house, and a whole lot of nights spent trying to convince an infant that it was not, in point of fact, proper for an infant to be awake between the hours of midnight and three AM (which, coincidentally, is usually the only time of day I find to contribute to this thing). I offer my humblest apologies and can only hope to regain the hard-won trust of my faithful few.

There were a few topics which sprang to the forefront of the zeitgiest this summer I would have liked to have spent some time chewing on, were I not such a slacker. Humor me, if you will. I'd like to touch on a few things here with the intent of revisiting them with more depth (and clarity, no doubt) at a later time. After so much time away, I feel the need to reseason my pan a little before I start cooking again.

So, what happened this summer? Let's see.

My oldest child turned eight back in May. It's amazing how quick that happened. I remember growing up and hearing grown-ups talking about how quick time passes, but here I was sitting listening to the grown-ups talking about boring things like how fast time flies and couldn't imagine time moving any slower than at that moment. As I get older, I am now discovering just how fast time is slipping past. I think that as you get older (if you're doing it right), you accumulate more and more things that make life worthwhile. Those moments you spend with the people and things you love and treasure are to be celebrated, and the passing of every minute is to be mourned. Scarcity makes something precious.

Michael Jackson! Wow, that was sort of unexpected, right? I mean, I don't know that anyone who's seen him in the past decade can convince me that they were surprised, but it still was sort of a shock. It reminded me of when Princess Diana died. It was a Saturday night, and I had just come home from the late shift at the bookstore where I worked at the time. I made myself a snack and turned on the TV, expecting to watch the last half of Saturday Night Live. It was only after several minutes of waiting for the punchline for what I thought was an extremely distasteful sketch that I realized the same coverage was happening on every channel. When I saw the news about Michael Jackson, I was in the middle of a week in Florida with my family and had turned on the TV to catch up on the news for the week. It flashed across in the crawl before anyone said anything about it on the news. I apparently had turned it on just as the initial reports were coming in. There was quite a lot of celebrity death this summer, wasn't there? I've been hearing others comment on it, so I don't think I'm the only one to notice. I think we're going to continue to see this happen. Think about it: the pop culture explosion happened just about forty years ago in the mid- to late-Sixties. With it, many more avenues to fame opened up here in America and abroad. All those twenty and thirty-somethings of the sixties are now in their sixties and seventies. More celebrities = more celebrity deaths. I'm sure my grandchildren will wake up one day to find the headline "Nation Mourns As The Guy From YouTube Video 'Guy Gets His Scrotum Caught In His Dog's Collar' Succumbs To Testicular Cancer". I only hope I can be there to comfort them in their time of loss.

On the subject of Michaels, what about Vick signing with the Eagles? This sleazebag gets his old job back? I sort of thought he had a promising career as a hot dog vendor at a stadium somewhere. "He's done his time! He's paid his debt!" the people yell at me. Bullshit. I want weekly footage of him hosing out the kennels of local dog shelters and actually doing something to rectify the enormous fuck-up that is his life. And no fair throwing money at the ASPCA or whatever. I want to see penance, you disgusting piece of dogshit. You are in a public forum. You have the potential to be a role model for my children. You are expected to perform among the world's elite sportsmen, a paragon of fair play. And you choose to run an underground dog-fighting ring like some sleazebag gangbanger? What the hell were you thinking? Were things really that boring in Atlanta? I firmly believe everyone (and I mean EVERYONE) deserves a second chance when they screw up, but I'm just not convinced that someone convicted of such a crime should be allowed back into any sports franchise. Isn't it true that if a truck driver kills someone while driving drunk, he doesn't get to get back behind the wheel EVER? How is this different? Vick showed, in the most inhumane way possible, I might add, that he has no idea what sportsmanship is. He gets to just go back to work now? Sure, I'll still root for the Eagles this year (gotta support the home team, as long as they aren't playing the Steelers). I'll cheer when Desean Jackson runs back a kickoff for an eighty-five yard touchdown (was that great or what?). I'll groan and wonder why the hell they don't just put Kalb out there when it's clear McNabb is wearing out his wittle muscles in the second quarter. And I'm going to be scouring the local news for some sign of true contrition from our resident monster.

All right. I have more on my mind, but I have to be up with the kids in a few hours, so it'll have to wait until next time. And I'll try my best not to let "next time" be four months from now. Cheers, all.

High Fidelity

Fidelity is really damn hard. It might be impossible, if one is to be completely honest.

Now, don't jump to conclusions here. This isn't a confession. Since puberty, I have existed as a sort of serial monogamist, jumping from one exclusive relationship to the next until finally striking the perfect chord almost a decade ago. In all those relationships, I never cheated. There were a couple of regrettable instances in which I was the other guy (knowingly, both times, I'm ashamed to admit), but I have never cheated on anyone. And while it's true I am a faithful sort of guy, I'm also pretty lazy. Illicit relationships seem like so much work. There's cover stories and sneaking around and finding ways to hide the expense of hotel rooms and dry cleaning (how else do you get lipstick stains and foreign perfume out of a shirt?).

Of course, I've never really been tested. Sure, I'd like to be able to say without pause that I would never be that guy. I'd love to be able to take the moral high ground and look down into the valley of amorality and sneer. I truly do believe that I am the guy who would smile kindly and gracefully brush off a proposition, all the while sparing the feelings of the one doing the propositioning, thereby making her go off into the night shaking her head in wonder at the fact that there really are good guys out there and maybe, just maybe she can meet a guy just like me one of these days. But the truth is, I've never been in the position to find out what would happen if a strange blonde slipped her room key into my pocket in a hotel bar while on a business trip. All I can say is that I adore (almost to the point of worship) my wife. I don't keep secrets from her and (as far as I know) she doesn't keep secrets from me. I just can't see risking something as right and perfect as what we share for a momentary taste of some strange, you know?

"But wait just one minute," you ask yourself. "He's making it sound so easy. I thought he said infidelity was nearly impossible back before this thing degenerated into a sappy love letter to his wife."

It's true. I don't think it's possible to make it through a lifetime alongside someone and expect them to stay true in heart, body, and mind 100% of the time, forever and ever, amen. When infidelity is in the heart, the relationship is done. Game over. Time to call the lawyer and dust off the prenup. When the act of infidelity is of the body, it could go 50/50. I've known couples who have been able to work through the fallout of one or the other gettin' down wit' OPP (know what I mean?). Just about as many crumble and fall apart after such an indiscretion.

Then there's the mind. When it comes to infidelity of the mind, every couple writes their own rules. There are women who get bent if their man's eyes linger on the hottie in the low-cut dress passing them as they walk through the mall (and god help you, man, if you're with one of these chicks). There are women who draw the line just short of (or just past) nudie magazines. There are those who really don't care if you go get a lapdance at a club with the guys, just so long as you bring it on home at the end of the night and stay out of the champagne room. What I'm getting at here is that every man has the impulse to look at the girl in the mall or check out the girl on the cover of Cosmo while at the checkout or pick up a copy of Playboy or hit that porn site or go to the titty bar or etc. etc. Any of these can be a tiny infidelity of the mind. Face it, if you're mentally undressing Jessica Alba, you're head's not being 100% faithful to the lovely lady holding your hand in the theatre. Here's where the line gets drawn, though. Is it cheating?

I don't really think so. But then, that's me. I'm confident that my wife is well aware of just about all of the women I ogle, but she knows my heart never strays (and so far, neither has my body). I don't really try to be all that sly about it, either. She knows I'm going to curl up beside her every night. She should realize by now that whatever spell she wove over me nine and a half years ago is still binding. I'm sure she noticed the pool of sweat in my palm during that sex scene in Watchmen (and good lord, I feel sorry for every boyfriend Malin Akerman ever had after seeing that scene -- can you imagine the implications to your own ego when coming to the realization that your ex could fake an orgasm that convincingly?).

But I digress. The way I see it, the bottom line is that it can be qualified as cheating when you cover and obfuscate whatever weird shit you're up to, solely because you know it will hurt the person you're with if he or she were to find out. If you don't tell her you were checking out youtube videos of cows fucking because you're embarrassed that you were watching cows fuck, I don't think that's cheating. I think that's just good sense. She'd probably only come to be a little bit scared of you. Face it, you're a fucking weirdo. In fact, maybe someone should let her know what a sicko she's sharing a bed with. On the other hand, if you're deleting your cache file because you harbor a burning desire to be the bull, you might just be cheating.

You wanna know what it all boils down to? Communication. I know it's becoming something of a theme on this forum, but I think it's true. When a couple loses the lines of communication, things start to crumble. Talk. Ladies, let him know when something bothers you. Have the damn conversation. It doesn't have to be an intervention. Just mention over the dinner table that you noticed www.banginbessie.com in the history on the computer, and it bothers you that he's looking at it. Have a conversation. Speak up and talk about setting some boundaries. The two of you might discover some common salacious interests, which can always be fun. Guys? Check what's in your heart. That's where it really counts. And dude, seriously, try to keep it in your pants.

It's all politics

So, I'm all torqued up this week about the way Business runs business these days. Here's my story, stop me if you've heard one like this before. A position one step above mine opened several weeks ago within my company. I was (we'll say) "encouraged" by my boss' boss (through my boss) to apply for the position. I jumped through the necessary hoops (including applying for the job through my company's website as if I had never worked for the company). The boss of my boss was supposed to interview me, then someone from HR, then the VP overseeing my division would be the endgame of this merry chase. So, I waited. And waited. Three weeks later, I've heard absolutely fuck-all from anyone, and my boss' boss introduces the new person he's just hired for the position on a conference call.

Now, don't think this is completely devastating for me. I'm actually quite content doing what I do where I do it. This promotion really only represented more money and a change of scenery for me. What's more of a source of consternation for me is the fact that I've come face to face with the undeniable fact that the company I work for is just exactly like every other company out there. And every company out there is run just exactly like every other job I've grown to hate over the years.

Politics. Not the flag-waving, baby-kissing, hand-shaking, promises of a better future sort of politics. No, no. There's a kind of politics even more vile than that pit of vipers. It's the politics of the workplace. These are the politics of power, manipulation, and selfish ambition. It's Bonfire of the Vanities on a macro scale. It's the one thing from the eighties that should have died even faster than Boy George's fifteen minutes of superstardom.

Business is people. It's working with people, and if the people aren't there, well, what do you know? The business can't run. We need a quantum shift in the way people approach business. Instead of manipulating, try understanding and inspiring people. Those in power need to come to the understanding that those immediately under their oversight are who they need to answer to. Rather than a boss administering yearly reviews to his or her staff, how about if we invert the process? The members of the staff can write reviews for their boss. This can go all the way up the chain of command, without fear of recrimination. The VPs review the President, and the President writes reviews for the Board, etc, etc. Annual raises, bonuses, et al. would be based on these reviews. How quickly do you think the communication lines would open up between you and your boss in this system?

And that's really what this is all about. Much of business suffers from the breakdown of communication. The vast majority of communication taking place in the workplace today is either faulty or non-existent. Ill communication is more than a Beastie Boys album, it's a way of life for most corporate office employees who couldn't thread together a decent sentence in an email if their life depended on it. Phone and email ettiquette needs to be a required course at all corporate offices. Day-to-day interaction has been so poisoned by the politics of business that it's impossible to trust anyone to act with any sort of honor or simple human consideration.

The president of any company has the exact same responsibility as the guy cleaning toilets in the office. That responsibilty? Make sure the company continues to run smoothly. As long as things continue to run smoothly, the company will remain profitable. As long as the company remains profitable, he can continue to claim a paycheck. Backed-up, dirty toilets in a field office are bound to affect productivity somewhere along the line. And it's even worse if the person at the top is full of shit.

New glasses

I'm in a bit of a writer's slump (as evidenced by the skipped week on this page, for which I heartily apologize to my loyal few), which usually puts me on the road to maudlin, but I'm not really there yet. I'm working on stuff. I should be content with the content I'm producing, but I'm not. Actually, tonight is the first I've really felt sort of down in the dumps. I don't think it's about the writing, though (for once).

So, why the long face? I think this is all coming from the fact that I took my oldest to get glasses today. It's a minor case of near-sightedness, and he picked out the coolest horn-rimmed Clark Kent-looking glasses, and he's unbelievably cute in them. On the way home from picking them up, he kept checking himself out in the rearview mirror from the back seat. About halfway home, he mentioned that maybe his estranged "girlfriend" would notice him again (the quotes are because he's in second grade and had declared her his girlfriend last year until she discovered that he still listened to the Wiggles and dumped him for his childish predilections, the bitch). He and I talked about how I had different girlfriends before I met his mom. We talked about how some of them hurt me and how I hurt some of them (more often the former, but that's another story). It dawned on me that my kid was getting older and wasn't just a kid anymore. He's beginning to experience what will become adult emotions. His eyes are opening to a world that's bigger than the one he's always lived in. As a parent, I know I'm supposed to be working toward the day when my children are independent entities, making use of all the wisdom I have imparted on them over their formative years to make true and wise decisions. It's supposed to be the whole reason for this endeavor, right? But I actually really enjoy them how they are right now. I love their dependence on me. I love their innocence and their unflinching, unswerving adoration for me and my wife. I love that they come running and leap into my arms when I walk through the door at the end of the day. I know it won't last forever, and I think that's what's got me in this funk tonight.

There are three ways to look at life. You can dwell on the past, basing all of your judgements on what has come before. You can live entirely for the future, which seems to be nothing but making plans all the time and never actually reaching a goal. Or you can focus on what's right in front of you here and now. Most people (myself included) phase in and out of these three states, but everyone is predisposed to default to one of the three for the majority of their time. I'm a present tense sort of guy. Sure, I'll make plans. I have dreams of where I'd like to be in five, ten, twenty years. And I get nostalgic, too. I see my childhood through a Norman Rockwellian soft focus filter. But when the reality of the past or the future confronts me, I get a little wigged out. I tailspin into downtown Downsville. It doesn't really last, though. I'll pull out of it and be back to form in a few days. For now, thanks for indulging my downward spiral. I'll try to keep this sort of navel-gazing to a minimum.