Struggling with Comfort

Goodbye and Hello

2010-01-24T08:04:00.002-05:00

Almost five years ago, I started this blog. I had heard about blogging and wanted to give it a try. At the time, my life was pretty easy. I was working for a large and profitable automotive company. My mother and father were living nearby and in reasonably good health. My financial situation allowed one or two nice vacations a year and discretionary purchases without worry. I had lots of free time. Since I both enjoyed and reviled in this good life, I chose the name Comfort Addict.

Fast forward to now. The auto company forced me into an early retirement resulting in unemployment from which it took more than seven months to emerge. My mother is dead and my father is bed-ridden and beset by one illness after another. My finances are tight due to expenses like my unsold old house. My free time is practically non-existent. I'm fat and often unhappy. In short, life is anything but comfortable.

Considering my current circumstances, I cannot go on being Comfort Addict. This will be my final post on this blog. I want to thank all of you who have read and commented upon my posts.

However, I will continue blogging. Like Chad Ochocinco, I am reborn under another name - Chef Bill. My new blog, Bill of Fare, will have a somewhat different style and emphasis than this one. The posts will be more topical and probably shorter. In addition, the blog will be on Wordpress instead of Blogger.

I hope that you'll follow me to Bill of Fare to see what's cooking. Take care.

Damn Tigers

2009-12-08T22:17:00.002-05:00

I have been a Detroit Tigers baseball fan since I was five years old. My father used to take me and my brother to a couple of games a year. The rest of the season, I'd follow the team through the media, especially the radio (announced by that elegant gentleman, Ernie Harwell). Al Kaline, the Hall of Fame right fielder, was my boyhood sports hero and I thrilled to his leading the team to a 1968 World Series victory. As a teenager in 1984, I got a similar charge with another Tiger team, led to the championship by Alan Trammell.

Trammell and Kaline were players and people of a kind. They were good, consistent, soft spoken, hard working, straight arrow athletes who led by example. They both played for Detroit their entire careers. Their combination of skill, character and longevity endeared them to many of us around here.

After Trammell retired in 1996, the Tigers slowly went downhill. Their nadir was in 2003, when they finished the season with an ignominious 43 - 119. I seldom went to games. Then, on a whim, I decided to see the team late in the 2005 season. They had just brought up a young center fielder from the Toledo Mud Hens AAA team named Curtis Granderson. "Who the heck is Curtis Granderson?" I asked someone, wondering when Detroit would get some real players. As if he heard me, he hit a home run and made a couple of fine plays in the field. "Hmm," I thought and made a mental note about him.

The next year, Granderson was our starting center fielder. He was fast, great in the field and sprayed hits at the plate. Along with a sprinkling of young players and veterans, he did the improbable and made it to the World Series.

In the next couple of years, Granderson continued to perform on the field. He also impressed off the diamond, traveling the world as an ambassador for Major League Baseball. He became known for his community work, for which he earned an award from his peers this year. Unlike many major league ball players, he not only finished college but excelled academically, earning two degrees. I began to feel as though Kaline and Trammell finally had a successor.

Then, today, I learned that the Tigers had traded Granderson to the New York Yankees. The team was trying to lessen its payroll and Granderson was one of the few Tiger players any team was interested in.

While I understand that baseball is a business, I am saddened by this trade. In a world of change, constancy is welcome. I was looking forward to seeing Curtis through the ups and downs of his career, handling adversity with his usual determination. To me, he was the symbol of not only what a Tiger should be but what an athlete should be.

So, congratulations, New York. You got a wonderful player and man (think Derek Jeter or Bernie Williams). He'll make you proud always. Treat him well.

Thank you, Curtis, for all you've done for your team and this town. May your career and life be long and fruitful. I will continue to follow you and wish you all the best.

As for you, Tigers, you have upset me and many other fans. You signed a bunch of expensive free agents and had to let the face of our franchise go to balance your accounts. Don't let that happen again. Remember that we don't just root for the uniforms but the people inside them.

Singing Out of Toon

2009-11-22T12:02:00.000-05:00

I haven’t cruised the Internet much in the 5 months since my last post. Recently, though, a confluence of energy and desire brought me back on line. I’m sure that a lot changed in the time I was away but one thing sticks out. Cartooning yourself has become a big thing.

While this seemed a case of life imitating art (those silly commercials from the investment firm whose name fails me), it took me only a few thoughts to realize that it could as easily be the reverse. In particular, our political life has become cartoonish.

I first noticed this in the media. Fox News and MSNBC play competing games of blame and distortion. Lately, however, many of our leaders have resorted to a cynical politics of caricature to gain and hold power. This makes the process of policymaking and legislation, difficult in the best of times, almost impossible and enshrines the status quo.

This is readily apparent in the debate of current health care bills in Congress. Republicans cast them as a “downright evil” “government takeover” with “death panels,” benefits for illegal aliens and an increase in abortion. Democrats characterize their opposition as a monolith of cold, unfeeling people whose health care plan is to either not get sick or die quickly if you do.

Politicians have always misrepresented and exaggerated their opponents’ positions. Today, however, the practice has scaled up by a factor of many. Each major party has created constituencies of prejudices, overstating differences of opinion as perilous threats.
They wouldn’t do it, though, if it didn’t work. We, the people, fuel this strategy and, in that, we get the politics we deserve.

I’m not asking anyone to abandon principles or ignore untruths. However, we do need to have arguments of policy honestly. That means listening to the other party and avoiding rhetorical fallacies and demagoguery. It also means calling out those who simplistically play to our biases and rewarding those who are sincere.

I am under no illusions that this will be easy. Progress will be a slow ripple in the pond. We will not agree on much at first. Incremental changes will be fragile. Yet, it is not only worth doing but something we must do for ourselves and our children. This was the promise of President Obama’s election. We can have leaders who achieve this vision but only if we have their backs.

Miracle

2009-06-18T11:34:00.003-04:00

As the posts below indicate, I have been unemployed. Since last December, I have written and rewritten my resume; called recruiters; visited on-line job boards and networked. I have been frustrated, angry, sad and sometimes depressed.

Recently, I accepted that I would have to move to another state to get a job. I was a prime candidate for positions in Rochester, New York; Jacksonville, Florida; Madison, Wisconsin and Nashville, Tennessee. In fact, I was supposed to fly to Nashville for an interview today.

Then, Tuesday, something happened. At 10:00 a.m., I got a call from a recruiter from the Detroit branch of the company working with me on the Rochester job. She needed to fill a local position quickly. I arrived at her office at noon and interviewed with three people from the team I would be working with. At 2:30 p.m., she called me and offered me the job. I accepted. I start next Monday. It is a close commute, pays well and uses great technology.

I felt thrilled, giddy and strange for the whole day. I called many people. They were as shocked as I was at the amazing speed with which I learned of and obtained this job. My wife was overjoyed. I would be working again; we would not have a commuter marriage or have to sell the house and she would not lose her job, friends and family. The whole thing is still a little unbelievable.

Throughout my unemployment, I've gotten great support from family and friends. Many people have prayed for me. I am not religious (agnostic, not atheist). My recent experience, though, has made me question that stance. I have felt taken care of during the last several months. My sudden employment feels like a miracle. It makes me want to explore prayer and faith and focus less on living the good life and more on being good in life.

I plan to write more posts about my unemployment experience. For now, though, I'm just happy and ready to join the working world again.

Coming to a Town Near You

2009-05-30T16:05:00.001-04:00

Last night, I played in the pit orchestra for some very good show choirs from a local high school. It was their final concert of the school year and the last concert for their seniors. There was a mixture of smiles and tears as each senior said a few words. Then, over the strains of “"Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye," the choir choreographer announced where each senior planned to go to college.

I, too, will soon make a transition. I have decided to leave Michigan to find work. I have applied to several companies out of state over the past few weeks. Now, a few of them (in New York, Ohio, Wisconsin and Florida) are considering hiring me. I hope to start working for one of them in the next month.

This was not an easy choice. Aside from occasional weekends, I will be away from my wife, father and friends (Mrs. CA could join me in a year or so). However, my wife and I agree that it’s necessary. There are no jobs for me here. Each passing month that I don’t work makes my experience less relevant to employers. I will not lose my best opportunity to earn a good living waiting for a state economic comeback that may be years ahead.

As I watched the seniors look forward with enthusiasm, I looked forward full of questions. Will being a split family work? Will my wife and I be happy in the new place? Will she be able to find a job? What about my musical career? These questions cause me some apprehension but not enough to keep me from finding the answers.

Whether it’s work, school or a relationship, I have always had a hard time leaving. I feel more secure in the familiar and comfortable. It is difficult to leave the only place I’ve ever called home. Nevertheless, it feels like the right thing to do.

So, I may be coming to a town near you. I’ll keep you posted as details develop.

Losing It

2009-04-12T18:46:00.002-04:00

When I was 38 years old, I belonged to a large Unitarian church on the west side of town. One of the parishioners, an older woman acquaintance, was a palm reader. She offered to read my palm quickly and I agreed. “You will soon meet a woman who will change your life, a ‘bolt of lightning,’” she said. “In your late forties, you will begin a very difficult time. Many things will go badly. Eventually, though, you’ll get through them.”

These may sound like easy predictions to you but they were uncannily accurate. A month later, I met Mrs. CA, indeed a bolt of lightning, whom I married shortly thereafter. When I was 48, the bad stuff started to happen. I joined a very stressful, undermanned project that drove me crazy for most of the next three years. My mother died. My father went blind, came to live with us and suffered prostate and skin cancer. Finally, late last year, I had to accept a “special early retirement” (the “get out or else” plan) from my job because of the bad economy.

The hits have kept on coming. Our tax bill ended up higher than expected because I lost my job (it’s complicated). I haven’t found a new job after over four months of looking. I have worried about paying the bills. I have often felt useless.

Some people whom I tell about my unemployment act as if I have a disease. This offended me at first but makes sense the more I think about it. Unemployment and the setbacks that preceded it are all losses. This explains why I am going through the five stages of grief from the Elisabeth Kubler-Ross book, On Death and Dying.

It started with Denial. I was sure that I’d get a job within a month or two. After all, I had good technical skills and years of experience. Then, I felt Anger. I couldn’t understand why employers wouldn’t even interview me for positions I was four times qualified for. After a while, I was Bargaining. I’d take any IT position, even if it didn’t help my career and didn’t pay enough. Finally, Depression set in. I became convinced that I’d never get a job that would pay even half of what I made before or let me use my intelligence and training. Here I’d come, Wal-Mart and McDonald’s – with all the other white-collar workers – if you’d take me.

That’s where I’ve been until today, when Acceptance arrived. Today, for the first time in a while, I see my situation clearly. It is what it is. I have no control over the economy, my lack of mobility or employers’ willingness to pick my resume from the pile of 200. I can’t know if and when my situation will get better. However, I can control my reactions. I can feel the pain without letting it disable me. I can be resolute without forgetting to have fun. My future may not be the one I always imagined for myself but that doesn’t mean that I have no future.

For the first time in a couple of months, I feel some peace and satisfaction. The irony is that I coped with my losses by losing some more: the idea that I’m responsible for and in control of my status; unreasonable pessimism or optimism; a sense of entitlement; and a feeling that I’m nobody if I don’t have a well-paying, intellectually-challenging job. I’m sure that it will be difficult to maintain this posture but I’m going to try because I feel reborn. Or, given the day, should I say resurrected?

Hitting the Concrete, Invisible

2009-02-19T16:50:00.000-05:00

I have been a software developer for over 22 years. If I’ve learned anything in that time, it helps to be comfortable with abstraction. Abstraction is the expression of an idea a level or more removed from a concrete implementation. Much of software development consists of understanding abstract ideas and making them real.

Unemployment used to be an abstract idea to me. I heard the stories of layoffs and people losing their homes on the news. I felt sympathy. However, I never knew the real feelings and experience of someone out of a job.

Now that I have been out of work for almost three months, unemployment is concrete. It feels like crap. I sometimes feel as though I am not pulling my weight, a drag on society. I worry a lot. I don’t sleep well. I watch every dollar. When I hear people coolly giving advice to the unemployed (go back to school, move to another state, etc.), I think, “Wait until it happens to you.”

In addition to being jobless, I am also invisible. I accepted a “special early retirement” package (i.e. take this or we’ll lay you off). It amounts to very little, what I would get on unemployment. As a condition of the package, though, I cannot file for unemployment benefits. Since I don’t file, the government doesn’t count me in the unemployment percentage rate that you hear in the media.

I’m a lot luckier than many. My wife works (bless you, dear). So far, we are making it, albeit by dipping into emergency savings. However, hitting the concrete, invisible not only hurts but gives me a voice that no one can hear.

Welcome to the Hood, Carrie

2009-02-15T14:38:00.002-05:00

Careful readers of the blog (both of you) will notice a slight layout change. The sidebar of favorite blogs ("Good Stuff") is now a Blogger list. I have also added a new site to the list: Carrie Fisher.

Carrie started her blog last month. As most of you know, she is an actor, a writer and the daughter of Debbie Reynolds and Eddie Fisher. She has lived through drug addiction and bipolar disorder. She has also had to deal with growing up in the nexus of entertainment and sudden fame.

Carrie's blog posts tell stories of her family, her friends and herself in crackling prose. She gives those of us on the outside a view into a seemingly familiar but foreign world. Her writing is honest, straightforward and personal, well suited to the blog format. I urge you to check her out.

A Breath of Spring

2009-02-11T11:08:00.000-05:00

Here in Michigan, we have been in a deep freeze for a long time. We have had a one-state recession since 2001. Recently, our 8-year-old slump welcomed a baby brother, a global economic infant terrible. This has led to an unemployment rate over 10%, the specter of auto company failure, record foreclosures and many people moving away. Finally, this winter has been one of the coldest and snowiest on record.

This beat down has left those of us who can’t leave depressed and fearful. We think that the financial glory days are gone, never to return. We know that the half-life of a regional economic implosion would be too long for us. We have resigned ourselves to a life of fewer good things. Even so, we wonder whether we have set our diminished expectations too high.

In this context, yesterday was a wonderful surprise. The temperature reached 60 degrees, nothing to write home about in California but sensational here in February. People wore lighter jackets or none at all. Mrs. CA and I walked the dogs without slogging through snow or tripping on ice. Green grass began to appear. Cars and kids splashed through the puddles.

In my job search, too, I got good news. One of my contracting companies called about an opening at a non-automotive company. Not only am I well qualified for it but also the hiring manager is someone I worked with at my previous job.

I don’t pretend that this signals a turning point. The literal and metaphorical cold will return for a while. In its midst, however, an occasional breath of spring may remind us that the hope for better days is not in vain.

Question Time

2009-02-09T23:38:00.001-05:00

Last weekend, I went to my internet Scrabble site to play some games after a hard snow shoveling session outside. I usually do pretty well at Scrabble. This day, however, I lost game after game. As I watched my rating plummet, I posed a question to one of the site moderators. “Where is the bottom?”

This and other questions have been on my mind lately. I have been unemployed for almost two and a half months now. Every week, I search the internet job sites; apply for any jobs that look promising; read technical books; practice my software skills; and check in with the contracting companies looking for positions for me. This has yielded two interviews (one good, another with an absolute jerk) and a couple of follow-up inquiries. However, it has not given me confidence that I will have a job anytime soon.

Why? Jobs are scarcer in Michigan than other parts of the country. The contracting company reps tell me that they’ve never seen a time like this. Clients are so afraid of the potential domino effect of one or more auto company collapses that they’re freezing all but essential hiring.

Because jobs are scarce, employers can be very picky. I’ve seen jobs advertised with requirements so specific that they never could have yielded an adequate pool of respondents in the past. Now, though, the company will probably find 10 people who fit the bill precisely.

That leaves me in a strange place. I have experience with a variety of different technologies and roles (developer, analyst, leader, manager). I have done them all well (often simultaneously). I used to consider this an asset. However, it scares away companies who want specialists. Companies who want managers think that I’m too technical. Those who want technicians think that I’ll be happy only as a manager. Some people even tell me that that my 22 years of experience in some technologies puts me at a disadvantage for positions requiring only 5 years experience. As George Fields (Sydney Pollack), the agent, told Michael Dorsey (Dustin Hoffman), his actor client, in the movie Tootsie, “no one will hire you.”

So, I wonder where the bottom is and other things. How long will it take to get a job? If I do get a job, will it be doing something likely to keep me employed or make me an easy target for the next layoff? What’s the least amount of money I can afford to take?
If I don’t get a job, how long can we make it? How long do I wait before I retrain for something completely different? Will we ultimately have to file for bankruptcy, walk away from home and family and go somewhere else?

The worry associated with these questions is probably responsible for my increase in vivid, scary dreams. I hope to have the answers soon. Unlike Michael Dorsey, though, I think that dressing as a woman is out – for now.

Why Grocery Stores Are Dangerous Places

2008-12-17T13:20:00.000-05:00

The other day, I went to a nearby grocery store to get some food and sundries. I’ve been going to this store ever since we moved here a couple of years ago. Because it’s large, I suspect that it draws many people from the area. Nevertheless, I hadn’t run into anyone I knew there – until about a month ago.

That’s when I started seeing coworkers from the auto company I just left. A technical manager who had quit months before I left - his new employer had just laid him off; a couple of analysts from a nearby department; and, on this trip, a peer on my last project.

“How’s retirement?” the woman asked me, smiling.

“What retirement?” I replied. “I’m looking for a job.”

She smiled uncomfortably. I left the company with a “special early retirement” package. I’m sure that most people thought I would just relax and enjoy it. They didn’t know that the package left me very little money (not a living amount). I used to blurt this out unthinkingly before I mastered a more acceptable standard response.

My peer told me that everyone at work was doing two or three jobs. People were scared that the bridge loan from Washington would not come through. Even if it did, they were afraid that their salaries would decrease or their jobs would disappear on the altar of “competitive restructuring.”

As we said goodbye, I felt ashamed and embarrassed. I was unemployed. Yes, I knew that I applied for jobs every day; called the contracting firms I was working with; read my technical books; and practiced my skills on some open-source software I had downloaded. Nevertheless, I wasn’t working. I was not doing what I was supposed to be doing at my age.

“If it doesn’t happen to you, it doesn’t happen,” a good friend of mine is fond of saying. I had known cognitively that Americans derived a lot of their identity from their jobs. Now, I know it viscerally. I’m sure that I’ll learn to think of my unemployment in a healthier way and, eventually, get a job. Until then, I’ll be on the alert in the produce section.

One Step Closer to Dead

2008-12-04T22:36:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I had a phone interview for a job. The interview went so well that the interviewer decided to bring me in for a face-to-face meeting next week. Assuming that he likes me then, he plans to introduce me to his client and the job would be mine. There’s only one problem: the client is one of the Detroit Three.

The Detroit Three (GM, Ford and Chrysler) are in trouble. Yet, as I watched today’s auto industry congressional hearings, it appeared that the senators did not get it. When Moody’s chief economist Mark Zandi told them that the cost of a Detroit Three failure would be far, far more than the loans sought, many senators seemed unmoved. They were incredulous when witnesses said bankruptcy wouldn’t work because buying a car and buying an airline ticket are transactions of entirely different orders of magnitude.

I understand why this is a wet dream for Republicans. Southern senators like Richard Shelby of Alabama can eliminate the competition for “their” automakers such as Mercedes, Honda and Hyundai while appearing fiscally responsible. A Detroit Three failure would cripple and perhaps kill the United Auto Workers, hurting organized labor and thus improving Republican election chances. A broken economy further damaged by auto company liquidation might stay broken through 2010, allowing the Republicans to blame President Obama and the Democrats and pick up seats in the congressional elections.

What I don’t understand are the Democrats. Their half-hearted, effete support during this time is an insult to the working people who put them there. When election time comes, those people will not forget. In a delicious irony, such Democrats may find themselves the last casualty of their own failure to act.

I’m not saying that the Detroit Three haven’t made mistakes. I could spend a whole post listing failures in judgment from killing the electric car to fighting fuel economy and emission standards to lapses in quality in the 70’s and 80’s. Their biggest mistakes, though, were being old enough to have huge legacy and medical costs that their competition did not have. The companies and their workers have taken painful steps to shed costs (take it from someone on the receiving end). They have also gotten religion on the need to build high quality, fuel efficient, alternatively propelled vehicles.

The Detroit Three deserve scrutiny (you know, the kind Citibank didn’t get) but they also deserve help. This is not just for my or Michigan’s sake but for yours, too. Then again, you may disagree. That is your right. Just don’t blame me when the dominoes come your way.

Out of Work

2008-12-01T10:19:00.001-05:00

Today, after over 18 years at one company, I am officially out of a job.

For those of you who don’t know, I was an employee of one of the “Detroit Three” automakers. I started there in August 1990 as a contractor. In March 1999, the company finally hired me.

I survived several rounds of downsizing. Last month, however, the company offered a mixture of “separation incentives” to everyone. The alternative? Involuntary layoffs of up to 25% of the work force. I sensed that my luck was running out so I decided to accept a “special early retirement” package.

So, technically, I am retired. I say “technically” because my pension almost exactly equals what I would receive on unemployment. I can’t live on it. Therefore, I am experiencing the nightmare I once had in my early 30’s: looking for a job in my 50’s in the middle of a recession.

I’m a bit scared. In a normal job market, I’d have confidence that I could find something because of my skills. This is not a normal job market. The Michigan unemployment rate is 9.3%. If one or all of the Detroit Three go out of business, that rate could go to 15% or more because of the disproportionate concentration of tiers of automotive suppliers and businesses that service them here. There will be a huge supply of available labor and low demand for it. Wages will drop, people who can move will do so, the tax base will shrink, services will diminish and Michigan will become an economic Chernobyl.

Alternatively, Congress could decide to extend a loan with conditions to one or all of the Detroit Three. The astonishing number of people who won’t even consider a Detroit Three car because of mistakes of the past could notice the huge quality and safety gains of the last 10 years and change their minds. Michigan’s economy could accelerate its diversification so that an automaker implosion wouldn’t deal such a critical blow.

Will it be the worst case, best case or some in-between scenario? If I had to guess, I’d bet that Ford prospers, GM survives in a very different form and Chrysler’s more valuable assets (minivans, Jeep) are pieced out to the highest bidder.

What does this mean for me? I still think that my skills will get me a job, albeit at a far lower wage, which is fine. Only time will tell, though, whether or not my optimism is misplaced.

Not a Father's Day

2008-06-15T15:02:00.001-04:00

Yesterday was my Dad’s ninety-second birthday. Dad has had a rough time over the past year. He lost his sight suddenly about a year ago. Then, he was diagnosed with prostate cancer. Then, during his initial round of radiation treatments, doctors discovered that he had Kaposi’s Sarcoma, a form of skin cancer. Recently, he had to have more radiation treatments for a squamous cell skin cancer.

My Dad has borne all of these challenges, along with their concomitant indignities, well. He is happy to still be here and we are happy to have him. Yesterday, my brother and his girlfriend and my sister and brother-in-law came over to visit Dad, my wife and me. We had a nice dinner, sweet and tasty desserts and lots of good conversation. Through the laughter and good food, I’m sure that Dad was grateful not only to be alive but also to have his family around him.

Unfortunately, I will probably never know exactly what Dad must felt yesterday. You see, I am not a father (not to my knowledge, at least). It is likely I never will be. This is partially because of fate and partially because of choices I made early in life. I take responsibility for the choices and accept what fate has dealt. Nevertheless, I can say without reservation that not having been a father will be the thing I regret most when I die.

Thus, Father’s Day has been a double-edged holiday these past 20 years. I love having my Dad around, telling him how I feel about him. Yet, I feel emptiness when I realize that I will never have children. I’ll won’t be changing diapers; reading stories; giving advice; lending car keys; attending graduations; walking down the aisle; watching my children have children. This particularly pains me because I love children (and not just the tiny cute ones either). My wife always tells people that the surest way to make me smile is to bring a child or a pet.

Yes, I know that I can be involved with young people in other ways. I can be a Big Brother (or probably Big Uncle at this point); take on music students (I have one know); tutor; mentor; volunteer. I do intend to do these things. I don’t diminish their importance and the satisfaction they bring. However, I do mourn the loss of family that I will never have.

So, all you fathers, give your children a hug and a kiss from me. Never stop doing your very best for them. Never forget how lucky you are. I know that some times (terrible twos, teenage years and more) may be hard, full of tension and worry. There are no guarantees of a happy ending. If you give it your all, though, you’ll feel a fulfillment that many others never will. You’ll feel that you’ve accomplished something fundamental in this world and there’s a good chance your children will, too.

Happy Father’s Day.

Id-iot

2008-04-20T16:13:00.001-04:00

I’ve always been interested in psychology. I’m curious about how the mind works. Why do we think, decide and behave as we do? Can we change long-established patterns if they’re not good for us?

Recently, my psychological ideas have turned old school, to Sigmund Freud. Freud has fallen out of favor in many circles of the psychology community. He deserves attention, however, for at least one timeless idea: the id, super-ego and ego.

The id, super-ego and ego are a way of describing competing desires in our minds. The id seeks pleasure and the avoidance of pain. It (actually another word for id) wants these regardless of the consequences. If it feels good, do it. The super-ego is the parent inside that tells us what we should do. It’s moral. It doesn’t believe in situational ethics. The ego, finally, tries to balance the id’s and super-ego’s wants. It is rational and thoughtful.

I’ve been thinking of this because, lately, my id has been seriously trampling my super-ego. I’ve spent hours playing chess on line, eaten too much and done other things ultimately bad for me. I’m not the only id-iot. Eliot Spitzer resigned after the revelation of visits to a prostitute. Detroit mayor Kwame Kilpatrick has been charged with perjuring himself to hide an affair with his chief of staff. Legions of lesser-known addicts of all kinds struggle with their problems every day.

Are the triumphs of the id greater or just better known these days? I think that these problems have always happened. However, our modern world, with its enabling technology and weak societal controls, has definitely taken the lid off the id. It’s always been hungry but now it has a credit card.

My recent experiences have taught me that a runaway id is a bad thing. However, I have learned that a punishing, “no fun allowed” super-ego is wrong, too. Instead, I’m cultivating a healthy ego. I’m listening to my id's urges but also taking the counsel of the super-ego.

I’ve been doing this for a couple of weeks, now, and it seems to be working. I’m still having fun but it’s healthier and more balanced. It fits with my view of the world as a messy but workable place. Inside and outside, desires for pleasure, power, morality, virtue and practicality conflict. They all deserve their say. However, the result needn’t be chaos. Given patience, sympathy and thought, the disparate voices can be reconciled.

Audacity and Mendacity

2008-02-17T08:50:00.003-05:00

As have many in this political season, I have been captivated by Illinois Senator Barack Obama, a candidate for the Democratic Party nomination for President of the United States. Senator Obama seems the ideal politician. He has brains, savvy and charisma. In addition, he gives America its best chance to mend its fractured and fractious political discourse.

Senator Obama often speaks of hope, most notably in his bestselling book, The Audacity of Hope. His hope is not idle wishing. It is the spark that starts a fire of action on a cold night of the soul. It is the vision of a different reality, a vision most people would not dare have because they don’t believe that change is possible.

This has been misconstrued by Senator Obama’s political opponents. They paint hope as saying, “Gee, I wish someone would do something” or “I sure hope things get better.” Of course, it is not. Senator Obama quite clearly and correctly says that hope is not the only ingredient of change but an essential one. Without it, no action would come.

Misrepresenting an opponent’s views to prevail in argument is an old technique. It remains because it works. It works because it plays to an audience’s doubts, prejudices and worries. The audacity of hope gives way to the mendacity of fear. Any sophistry will do as long as it delivers victory.

This has never been truer than today. Politicians sculpt facts into practical museum pieces of speciousness. They characterize their opponents as demons. Argument is transformed from an honest attempt to decide the best course of action to a war. As Richard Nixon, an expert though now eclipsed practitioner of these tactics once said, “The important thing is to win.”

This is exactly why Senator Obama’s ideas of honest argument, listening, understanding each other and cooperative governing are so audacious. It isn’t that they haven’t been thought of before. It’s that no one has dared try them. Most of the current generation of politicians would regard them as unilateral disarmament. “They’ll shred you,” they warn. “They’ll bring you down. Years of experience have taught me that my tactics are the only ones that work.”

To that, Senator Obama says, thank you, no. He continues on his path despite the land mines in it. He has taken, and will continue to take, flak from cynics and those with too much stake in the current system but he will persevere. He is no shrinking violet. When times demand it, he will be strong. His strength, however, comes not from fear but from hope. Audacious? Sure. What we need now? I think so.

Time Peace

2008-01-19T14:33:00.000-05:00

20 years ago, I bought a book called Time Wars by Jeremy Rifkin. Rifkin asserted that there is a battle over the conception of time in today’s world. On one side are those whom I call time maximizers. They prize speed, efficiency, getting more and more accomplished. On the other side are the time naturalists. They want, in Rifkin’s words, “a more empathetic union with the rhythm of nature.”

I haven’t read the book for years but I’ve been thinking about it lately. The time maximizers have definitely been ascendant in the intervening years. Modern society celebrates speed in transactions of every type. People multitask to do more. They sleep less; communicate with text messages; and are often late.

I fell under their sway. I made schedules and lists; drove, walked and typed fast; spoke in short, clipped sentences; stayed up late and got up early. I got more done than I otherwise would have. However, I felt wired, tense and irritable. I never seemed to have enough time. “If I only had more time,” I thought, “everything would be all right.”

I now see that this is a fallacy. If I had more time, I’d cram it full of more stuff. I’d still be just as frazzled. Time maximization can be a kind of obsessive-compulsive disorder. One could get ever more efficient and never be happy. It also feeds the “you can have it all” attitude so integral to the modern American ethos that I despise.

As a result, I have begun to play around with time. Instead of doing more in less time, I’m doing the opposite. I deliberately type and walk slower at work. When I talk to someone on the phone, I focus all my attention on him or her instead of going through my email at the same time. I try to speak to people in person or on the phone rather than IM them.

This has done wonders for my mood. I feel more relaxed and more present than before. I’ve had to prioritize my activities and let certain unimportant ones go but I’m OK with that. I’ve reconciled myself with not doing things as fast at work. I’m more thoughtful. I feel natural.

Perhaps age has brought me back to Rifkin’s ideas. I was 30 when I first read his book. I was single and had no responsibilities to anyone but myself. Time seemed limitless. Doing more and more stuff was fun. Now, at 50, I have less time and more commitments. The “things I had to do” seemed to have a tyrannical hold on me. It seemed right to work, live and play faster under these circumstances. It was not, though, at least for me. Life is short but a good life consists of better, not more, things. I may re-read the book or may not. However, its message has reached me just in time.

One Man, No Vote

2008-01-13T15:15:00.000-05:00

Recently, I wrote a post objecting to the primacy of the Iowa and New Hampshire in the presidential primary and caucus process. This bugs me every year but it irks me even more today. You see, I don’t get to vote.

Why? I’m a Democrat and I live in Michigan. In the past, Michigan has held its presidential primary in February along with many other states on “Super Tuesday.” This year, it moved its primary to January 12 to give the state more relevance. This violated the rules of both parties prohibiting any state from moving its primary to occur before February 5. The Republican National Committee (RNC) penalized Michigan by deciding to seat only half of its delegates. The Democratic National Committee (DNC) voted to seat none of them. This caused several Democratic candidates to withdraw their names from the Michigan primary ballot.

My party has no winners in this fiasco, only losers. State Democratic chair Mark Brewer decided to play chicken with the DNC and lost. DNC chair Howard Dean caved in to the self-appointed, haughty king makers of Iowa and New Hampshire. Michigan Democrats must either cast a meaningless vote in their primary or vote in the Republican one to help defeat the candidate they consider most objectionable.

This is actually the second time I’ve been disenfranchised in my life. In 1980, I was turned away at the polls because the state canceled my registration in my old city of residence but did not activate my registration in the Detroit area. I still remember how angry I felt. Now, it has happened again and I feel almost as bad.

At this point, I don’t know what I’ll do. I could stay home in protest but that’s not me. I could vote in the Republican primary but that feels disingenuous. I will probably vote in the Democratic one then work with others to convince the DNC to moderate their previous decision (perhaps to match what the Republicans have done). It isn’t much but it’s all I have. The professional pols responsible for this screw-up may feel like revolutionaries but, to me, they’re merely revolting.

Celebrities are People, Too

2008-01-06T16:32:00.000-05:00

I’m going to say this as simply as I can. Lay off Britney Spears.

I never used to follow the ups and downs of celebrities. However, I’ve spent a lot of time with my Dad lately and he watches MSNBC all the time. Through them, I learned that Ms. Spears (a pop singer, for those of you who don’t know) is going through an emotional crisis. In December of 2006, she was divorced from her husband, Kevin Federline. In October of 2007, she lost primary custody of the sons she had from that marriage. Then, this past Thursday, she was hospitalized after a standoff where she refused to return her sons to Mr. Federline’s custody. She has now lost all visitation rights to her children.

This woman is obviously in trouble. She needs professional help. So, what does the press do? They call her a “pop tart” and other attempted clevernesses. “Journalists,” from well-coiffed and stylishly dressed mere newsreaders to the ostensibly respectable Keith Olbermann, gossip about her likes schoolgirls. The schadenfreude is running 24 / 7 and we, the viewing public, must be eating it up.

Why does Britney Spears deserve our sympathy or support? After all, she’s a celebrity, right? She sought the fame she has. She knew what she was getting into. She got adulation and privileges knowing that their price is self-restraint and vigilance. Isn’t she responsible for her actions?

It is true that Britney made her choices. However, we are culpable for perpetuating the media feeding frenzy. From O.J. Simpson to former child stars to Britney Spears, we are the ones who delight in watching them fall. The watching drives the ratings; the ratings drive the money; the money drives ever more catty chatter and paparazzi. We have made the thresher the apotheosis of news coverage and we have the power to take it down.

I will do my part. I will ask my Dad if I can turn the channel whenever such news comes on. I will write emails to reporters who rejoice in the misfortunes of the well known. I will offer support to those in trouble. I don’t pretend that my lone voice will be heard. However, I do hope that, by leaving the chorus of meanness and joining the one of kindness, I may bring some wounded, albeit different, members of our human family closer to the solace they deserve.

A New Kick

2008-01-03T22:58:00.000-05:00

I celebrated this past New Year’s Eve and Day, as I often do, by watching episodes of The Twilight Zone on The Sci-Fi Channel. Yes, I’ve seen many if not most of them. However, the human and intelligent stories crafted by the writers, directors and actors in this series always comfort me.

This year, “Kick the Can,” an episode I hadn’t seen before, particularly affected me. The following is a synopsis of the plot:

Charles Whitley, a retiree at the Sunnyvale Rest Home, thinks that he has discovered the secret of youth. He is convinced that if he acts young he will become young. His oldest and best friend, Ben Conroy, thinks he is going crazy. One night, Charles convinces a number of residents to play a game of kick-the-can with him. When he tries to talk to Ben, Ben tells Charles, "I AM old!" The game of kick the can transforms Whitley and his other friends back into children. Conroy and the home's superintendent, Mr. Cox, go out to the street where they find the group of children playing kick-the-can in the night. Mr. Cox chases them all off except for one, who stops to look at Conroy. Ben, now seeing the miracle, begs for a second chance to go with his friend. But it's too late, he is left behind.

"Kick the Can." Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia. 2 Jan 2008, 05:06 UTC. Wikimedia Foundation, Inc. 4 Jan 2008 <http://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Kick_the_Can&oldid=181529410>.

The lesson of this story is that thoughts and actions are powerful. This inspired me, not to transform myself into a child but to think and act for my benefit. I was almost done with a vacation that hadn’t been as restful as I had hoped. It would have been easy to get down and go back to work irritable. However, I decided not to impose negativity. Instead, I let each miniature disaster pitched to me pass without swinging and kept an optimistic outlook.

Yesterday, I returned to work refreshed. As I got out of my car, I reached into my back seat and suddenly realized that I had left my laptop at home. I would have to make a round trip to retrieve it. I would arrive late and have to stay late. Normally, this would have angered and worried me. This time, though, I kept my mind focused in the present and had no problems.

Perhaps happiness, like youth, is a thing of our own making. If that’s so, Rod Serling has given me a brand new tool for Christmas (and I didn’t get him anything).

The President of Iowa

2007-12-31T12:14:00.001-05:00

As most regular readers of my blog know, I’m from Michigan. You remember Michigan. We’re the home of major corporations, fine universities and a smart, diverse, hard-working population. Why, then, must we and most other states take a back seat when choosing a nominee for President?

Specifically, why do Iowa and New Hampshire get so much selection clout? Republican and Democratic presidential candidates have been spending lots of time and money there in advance of the Iowa Caucus on January 3 and the New Hampshire Primary on January 8. Many need to either win or finish well in one or both contests to continue their campaigns. Why do two states (both overwhelmingly white, one overwhelmingly small) get this power?

As in so many other endeavors, it’s all about the money. It takes money to run advertisements, move the candidate here and there, hire staff, etc. The longer a primary season goes, the more money it takes. The larger the state and its media markets, the less “retail politics” occurs and the more advertising is required. Thus, in a decision of practicality, the Republican and Democratic parties have conferred upon Iowa and New Hampshire responsibility for winnowing the field. Any state (such as mine) that dares buck the system risks losing their convention delegates (for shame, Howard Dean).

I never voted to cede my electoral franchise to the citizens of Iowa and New Hampshire. How many potentially superb presidents have we lost kowtowing to them? Why can’t the rest of us have an equal part picking someone to fill the most important job in this nation? This must change. The leadership of both parties, in the words of Nancy Reagan, must just say no to these cute, quadrennial tea parties and develop a primary election system that insures that all electors in the United States have the voice they deserve.

A Sad, Sad Day

2007-12-27T16:30:00.000-05:00

This morning, I heard the sad news of the assassination of Benazir Bhutto, former Prime Minister of Pakistan. Ms. Bhutto, who had returned to Pakistan to stand for parliamentary elections, had just finished speaking at a political rally when a gunman fired shots in her direction. She was rushed to a hospital and taken to emergency surgery but she died about an hour after the attack.

This is a tragedy on many levels. It is a personal tragedy for those who lost a wife, mother or friend. It is a political tragedy for those who hoped Ms. Bhutto would bring openness and better relations with India. It is a national tragedy for the people of Pakistan to have their nation shaken by such violence. Finally, it is a human tragedy because we have lost another of our family through force.

“Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankind,” said the poet John Donne. If this is so, murder is a double diminishing and assassination a triple one. Murder adds to death forceful, unnatural termination. Assassination grafts onto murder an attempt to kill a movement, party or people. It is a terrorist act of decapitation.

Benazir Bhutto was not a saint. There were substantial corruption charges against her and her husband. However, she was educated, charismatic and, above all, courageous. She returned to Pakistan at great personal risk. She probably knew that her life would end as it did today. Nevertheless, she campaigned and worked to move Pakistan toward democracy and social progress. On this sad, sad day, we can remember Benazir Bhutto’s courage and work harder to take courageous stands in our own lives and communities.

50 Lessons

2007-06-10T09:11:00.000-04:00

As I mentioned in my last post, I had a birthday not long ago. I turned 50 - the big one. In addition to normal rituals of celebration, gifts, black balloons and "old man" medical tests, I had planned to post about what I had learned in life. Circumstances (see here) intervened then but now I'm ready to share. Here are ten things that come to mind.

1. Focus on what's important. You can spend a lot of energy on stuff that doesn't really matter. Figure out what counts and don't care about the rest.

2. Do something you love. This doesn't have to be your job. Have hobbies and interests you really care about. They will transform you.

3. Be virtuous. Have values and stick to them. Be kind, helpful and caring. Listen to your conscience. Some things will just feel wrong. Trust that feeling.

4. Find the right partner. Beauty will draw you but it is often shallow and fleeting. Go for the smart, sweet ones.

5. Do the gig you have. Do what they pay you to do and do it well. Many wedding band saxophonists play every bebop lick they know to indicate their displeasure and hip-ness. Don't be them. Play what's right for the occasion.

6. Be there for others. Being self-centered is easier but nowhere near as satisfying in the end. Listen to what other people need and want. Help them get it.

7. Stay in shape. The Greeks were right about a sound mind and sound body. You'll feel and think better if you watch your weight and exercise physically and mentally.

8. Time is precious. The older you get, the more you'll realize it. Make your time count.

9. Keep in balance. All work and no play leads to heart attacks and ulcers. The opposite leads to ruin. Treat work, home, family and interests like plants that need enough but not too much watering. Of course, the water in this metaphor is time and energy.

10. Never stop learning. Opportunities to learn come every day everywhere. Seize them. You will grow and stay vital if you do.

That's my world, to paraphrase the telephone commercial. I'm interested in yours, too. What have you learned in life?

A Later Dude

2007-06-05T21:34:00.000-04:00

I have a habit that you readers may not know about. I often receive or purchase something and don't use it for a long time. Six months elapsed before I opened my first PDA. I didn't play my synthesizer until two years after my wife gave it to me for Christmas.

The latest object of procrastinitis is my Zune. A Zune is an audio and video player from Microsoft. My wife gave it to me for my birthday a few months ago. She thought that I would enjoy downloading songs, movies and pictures to the device. I haven't yet. Mrs. CA had to force me to turn it on a couple of weeks ago.

I've tried to analyze why I delay in these situations. Sometimes, I have too much else going on. I also anticipate a hassle going through the start up procedures and learning curve of a new device. In addition, I tell myself that the new gadget is not that important.

This is not a serious problem but I am interested in your experiences with it (far cheaper than therapy). So let me know whether and why you do this -- unless you want to get back to me later.

My Old School

2007-06-03T11:50:00.000-04:00

Faithful readers of this blog will remember that I have a kind of a thing for my high school past (see here, here, here, here and here). It's a combination of sickness and self-discovery. I'm generally at peace with those times (I like myself now a lot more than I did then) but, occasionally, I obsessively think that unfinished business remains.

I mention this because, last night, I played a gig at my old school. I was part of a small pit band accompanying the choir from the high school across town. I hadn't been in the building for several years and hadn't been in the pit since I was a senior there.

Being there did bring back memories. Sitting in the old pit, I could close my eyes and remember Mr. J conducting "Brigadoon." Walking past the band room recalled the rehearsals where I grew as a musician and made friends. Looking around the auditorium reminded me of all of the concerts playing challenging music with others.

Still, it was quite clear that that was then and this is now. It was all too far away to touch, even if I wanted to, without a special suit. The people (teachers, students, parents) I knew were gone, changed, distant or dead. I couldn't communicate with them in the state that they were then. Even if I could, what would be the point of thrashing over what might have been?

In the end, I focused on the gig. I basked in energy and effort of the young people performing on the stage. I find it far more incredible now than I did then that young women and men can work so hard and be so good. A few will go on to musical careers; some will continue singing as a hobby or in church and others will just give it up. However, I hope that they all remember this night, smile and let go.

Partially Understood

2007-06-02T15:06:00.000-04:00

Occasionally, I read a book that I bought long ago and never read. This is not hard because an alarming number of books on my shelves fall into this category. Since I had been on a fiction kick, I was looking for a change up, some light but not brainless non-fiction that I could read in bed at night. I chose You Just Don't Understand: Women and Men in Conversation by linguist Deborah Tannen.

Tannen asserts that women and men have different communications styles that grow out of different goals. Men seek status and use what Tannen calls "report talk" to attain it. Women seek connections and use "rapport talk" to make and maintain them. Tannen says that misunderstandings and frustrations occur in conversations between the sexes because each sex does not grasp the other's goals and expectations.

There is truth in what Tannen says. Many people in each gender do use the modes of speaking she cites and communication would improve with mutual understanding. However, Tannen generalizes and stereotypes too much. Her characterization of men as hierarchical beings interested only in whether they are "one up" or "one down" is flatly insulting and untrue. Her claim that women are unconcerned with status would strike anyone who ever went to high school as laughable.

The biggest omission in the book, though, is how the each sex's behavior is influenced by the other and societal "norms." Men learn that they must be successful and strong to gain approval and a mate. Women, on the other hand, hear that they must be attractive and take care of a family to be desirable. These “standards” harm both sexes and hang over all communications between them.

In the end, Tannen introduces some thought provoking ideas that deserve further study and thought. They do give a starting point for improving communication. However, what she doesn't say, the root causes, are even more important.

At the Movies, May, 2007

2007-05-30T21:59:00.000-04:00

Speaking of movies, Mrs. CA and I went out to see one recently. We both enjoy films but we hardly ever go. I don't like most mainstream fare. Even when an interesting picture does come, we either are on different schedules or too tired. So, when the moment arrives (as the commercial goes), we are ready.

The movie we saw was Away from Her. Set in Ontario, it is the story of Fiona (Julie Christie), a woman facing the onset of Alzheimer's disease, and Grant (Gordon Pinsent), her husband. Grant initially downplays the seriousness of his wife's condition. Eventually, though, he and Fiona agree that she should move to a nursing home. The facility requires that patients receive no visitors for the first 30 days of residency. When Grant returns to see her, he is alarmed to see that she not only doesn't remember him but also has fallen in love with another man.

This film honestly depicts the couple's complex relationship redolent with caring, anger, loss and hope. Julie Christie, still luminous in her sixties, plays Fiona with no false notes. Gordon Pinsent, the fine Canadian actor, is authentic as Grant. Amazingly, this serious and poignant movie was directed by Sarah Polley, a bright young Canadian actor not yet 30 whom Mrs. CA and I first saw four years ago at the Toronto International Film Festival. Polley deftly handles the screenplay, which she adapted from "The Bear Came Over the Mountain" by Alice Munro, without pathos.

If you are looking for an intelligent, moving film amidst the summer fluff, I highly recommend this one.

Movies and Reality

2007-05-28T08:07:00.000-04:00

I've had a cold this Memorial Day weekend. It's not a bad one but I do feel a bit washed out. As a result, I've been doing things around the house: helping Mrs. CA re-caulk the bathtub, de-cluttering my office, writing blog posts and watching movies. Some of the films were from the 40s and early 50s. The people seem far more mature in looks and demeanor than those in today's multiplex fare. "Why can't people today be like those in the old days?" I asked myself.

Of course, this is bogus. These aren't people. They're exaggerated portrayals of ideals. They reflect shared culture, experiences, hopes and fears. In addition, they leave a lot of people out. Those disadvantaged by race, ethnic background or a lack of money and opportunity (as exemplified in Ralph Ellison's wonderful book, Invisible Man) are unseen and need not apply.

Still, I do like those suave and classy characters of those old movies. This probably says more about me than it does society. There must be something in me that longs to say clever, pithy things and walk around in suits. Then again, I am writing this in my bathrobe.

My Not-So-Excellent Adventure

2007-05-26T08:30:00.000-04:00

It was an ordinary Monday, nearly two weeks ago. I was at work, sifting through a mountain of email. Suddenly, my left arm began to hurt. The pain was intense and it radiated down the full length of my arm. Then, it spread to my back and chest.

For some reason, I left my desk and walked outside. I called Mrs. CA. "I think that I'm having a heart attack," I said. She told me that walking outside was the very worst thing that I could do, that I needed to be around people. She said that I should go back inside immediately, find someone and ask him or her to call 911.

I walked hurriedly to my desk and told my cube mate what was happening. Soon, the corporate emergency apparatus was in motion. Security people arrived followed by paramedics. They asked me questions, hooked me to a portable machine for an EKG and other tests and put me on a saline drip. I heard the muffled voices of multiple conversations from cubes nearby. Soon, I was on a stretcher heading out the door. My boss gave me a pat on the arm as I went by.

They put me in an ambulance and rushed to a nearby hospital. Once there, they wheeled me directly into emergency. By this time, on a scale of 1 to 10, my arm pain had lessened from nine to two. More tests revealed that I was not in immediate danger. I was moved to a different area.

I began to feel a little silly and ashamed. I had had a history of panic attacks and anxiety. Wasn't that all this was? Shouldn't I have known (even though, in all my years of panic attacks, I had never had one that felt physically like this)? The doctors and nurses said no. The symptoms that I had described were too close to those of a heart attack to ignore. How would I have felt if I had done so and died?

I took more tests and met more people as the day went by: competent and caring doctors, nurses and techs; patients hopeful, scared, laughing or argumentative; family members strong and tearful. This fine hospital was a vital, human place.

In the end, it was a gas. All my cardiac tests came back negative. However, the doctor said, gastrointestinal pain can produce the symptoms I described. I had had problems with reflux in the past. It was only then that I remembered that I had eaten three fried onions the night before. The doctor gave me a prescription, told me to follow up with my primary care physician and sent me home.

The next day, I returned to work, a little sheepish. I explained the findings repeatedly to different audiences. Some told similar stories. Others just expressed their support and concern. After a few days, everything was pretty much normal.

The whole experience was surreal. It almost seemed to be happening to someone else at the time. Though I initially felt embarrassed at the false alarm, I now realize that it is best not to take chances. I also discovered how much people (family, friends, colleagues and strangers) care.

Me Me Meme

2007-05-12T08:48:00.000-04:00

Landismom of Bumblebee Sweet Potato posted this meme from Camikaos of Mommified Me. I couldn't resist.

Questions and Answers

Can you cook? Yes, I cook well. However, I haven't done much lately (see previous post).

What was your dream growing up? I wanted to be either the right fielder for the Detroit Tigers, a successful writer or a pop star. None have happened so far.

What talent do you wish you had? I wish that I could swim.

Favorite place? Toronto, Ontario

Favorite vegetable? Asparagus

What was the last book you read? The Amateur Marriage by Anne Tyler (highly recommended!)

What zodiac sign are you? Pisces

Any Tattoos and/or Piercings? No

Worst Habit? Overeating (working on it)

If you saw me walking down the street would you offer me a ride? Yes (if you were seeking one)

What is your favorite sport? Baseball

Negative or Optimistic attitude? I'm generally optimistic (I can hear my wife laughing now)

What would you do if you were stuck in an elevator with me? I would make conversation. It would be polite at first but, if we were stuck long enough, it would probably get deeper.

Worst thing to ever happen to you? The onset of panic disorder at age 27 (I truly thought that I would die within months)

Tell me one weird fact about you: I was once a member of the Glenn Miller Orchestra (and no, I am not one of the original members).

Do you have any pets? I have three dogs (the soul of the house).

Do u know how to do the macarana? Not really (although, since I have played it in a lot of wedding bands, I could probably fake it).

What time is it where you are now? It's 8:25 a.m. and I'm at the desk in my office in my house in a suburb of Detroit, Michigan.

Do you think clowns are cute or scary? Scary

If you could change one thing about how you look, what would it be??? I'd be 4 to 5 inches taller (I'm only 5'7")

Would you be my crime partner or my conscience? Conscience

What color eyes do you have? Brown

Ever been arrested? No

Bottle or Draft? This is hard since I don't drink beer but I'll say bottle.

If you won $10,000 dollars today, what would you do with it? I'd reduce the price on the house we've been trying to sell for well over a year (sigh).

What kind of bubble gum do you prefer to chew? Big League Chew (following my Tigers)

What's your favorite bar to hang at? Baker's Keyboard Lounge (the bar looks like a piano keyboard and the music is great).

Do you believe in ghosts? No

Favorite thing to do in your spare time? Go to the movies (I can hear my wife laughing again)

Do you swear a lot? No

Biggest pet peeve? Local news people who have no concept of good reporting and every concept of perfect grooming

In one word, how would you describe yourself? Sweet

Workin' in a Code Mine

2007-05-06T11:45:00.000-04:00

Over the past few years, my company has sent me to project management classes to help me run projects more effectively. One of the first things I learned in these classes was "the triple constraint:" time, cost and scope. Any change in one affects the other two. With the proper skills and techniques, the books assert, you can manage time, cost and scope to make everyone happy.

Like much dogma, project management principles don't translate perfectly to the real world. Old-time project managers realize this when they wryly describe the triple constraint as, "fast, cheap, good - pick two." It's hard, if not impossible, to satisfy all requirements of a project on time and on budget in corporate America. Something, or things, must give.

In my last project, that thing was me. We had a hard deadline, fixed budget and ever-expanding scope. Project management experts would have consulted the project sponsors to agree to deadlines and cost reasonable for the new scope. However, they do their work on Fantasy Island, not my company. The message was clear: no more time, no more money and you'd better deliver on time. I had a choice: hurt my career or myself.

I chose to hurt myself. I worked significant overtime. I wore four hats (coder, technical lead / architect, principal support and project leader). I cut corners wherever I could. All the while, I got mean, depressed and tense. I overate, stopped workouts (who had time to work out or eat right?) and gained weight.

In the end, my choice worked - sort of. I delivered the project on time and on budget with the required features. However, some of the corners I cut hurt my reputation and caused rework. I was also a wreck.

As the project moves to its enhancement phase, I look back on my experience and understand the choice I made. I can't afford to lose my job; I've got two house payments. However, I also understand that I crossed some lines that should never be crossed. Sometimes, you have to say "this and no more," no matter the consequences. Maybe that's what the project management books were trying to say. They just never said how hard it would be.

Now, I'm recovering. I'm getting perspective again. I'm rebuilding the walls between the various parts of my life. Philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche famously said, "That which does not kill us makes us stronger." I don't know how strong I am but I do think that I am wiser - wise to the ways of my business and what I must do and not do to survive.

House of Cards

2007-04-29T09:04:00.000-04:00

As I mentioned in my last post, my old house is still for sale over a year after we put it on the market. I also said that our local economy is in very bad shape. These two facts are connected, of course. Here, that connection is supercharged by an overwhelming dependence upon one industry: automobiles.

Imagine this scenario. Take an economy disproportionately based on one industry. High-value companies (General Motors, Ford and the Chrysler group of DaimlerChrysler in this case) sit at the top of a hierarchy. Tiers of suppliers support them. For efficiency, these suppliers locate in the same geographic area as the top companies. This absorbs all of the local capital and talent to prevent significant diversification.

Now, the high-value companies falter. Profits decline then turn into losses. The big companies cut costs by laying off workers and decreasing purchases and prices for their suppliers. Each tier of suppliers does the same. This domino effect continues down to the service sector (restaurants, retail stores, etc.) to decrease sales and increase cost cutting throughout the area. Residents eventually decide that they must move and put their houses on the market. They don't sell, though, because too few dollars (homebuyers staying in the area) are chasing too many goods (houses for sale); this is the law of supply and demand.

Next, businesses leave. Workers lose their jobs. The tax base collapses at a time when social services are vital. People won't pay more taxes because they can't. Government cuts back, first on fat then on muscle like education, roads and support for the poor and unemployed. This makes the local economy even less attractive to prospective new businesses.

Wages drop. Unemployment increases. Eventually, new businesses may see a profit opportunity because of lower labor costs. If this happens often enough, the economy will rebuild itself and prosperity will increase. However, this takes time, pain and a certain amount of luck. The more inbred the economy, the more time it takes.

This is what has happened in Michigan. Poor management decisions, greed, globalization and currency manipulation caused it. It started many years ago with Flint, as you may have seen in Michael Moore's first film, Roger and Me. It spread the northern and central parts of the state soon thereafter. Now, it has hit southeast Michigan, the most populous area, centered in Detroit.

Of course, this has happened elsewhere. California experienced it with the downsizing of the defense industry. That state ultimately returned to good times. However, it did not have the overwhelming sector concentration of Michigan.

Those of us who love this state or couldn't move even if we wanted to ask ourselves whether our future is like Flint or California. Will we build a successful, modern, diversified industry structure or become an economic Chernobyl? Even if things get better, will it happen in our work lifetimes? Nobody knows.

For now, we continue as best we can. We watch as the Dow Jones Industrial Average rises to new heights. We smile ironically at national news reports of a robust economy. As most of the rest of the country sits dining in a nice restaurant, we press our faces to the window and wonder, "when will we be fed?" And we go on because what else is there to do?

Back from the Dead

2007-04-27T21:02:00.000-04:00

I'm back.

As those of you who had read this blog regularly know, I have been away. I didn't anticipate this when I posted last on January 6. In fact, I thought that I'd be writing more, not less, often this year. A lot has happened between then and now, though. I'll get into more detail about it in succeeding days but here are the headlines:

My two-year project at work finally launched but it was (and still is) very hard on me.
We still haven't sold the old house. It has been on the market well over a year.
My company and local economy are under siege.
I have had a troubling physical problem.

Amidst my stress and distress, I occasionally thought of posting. I couldn't do it. I had ideas but they were depressing even if true. Though writing had often helped me in tough times before, I felt that it would just make things worse. Besides, I had no time and I had a job to do.

Since then, I've learned that much of what I thought was wrong. I learned a lot about what is important and what is not. I learned that, no matter how bad things get, there is always hope, happiness and friends. I re-learned that one of the most important things in life is to keep growing and keep going even if you don't feel completely well.

Now, I'm writing again. I plan to visit your fine sites, too, and see what I've missed in your lives during my absorption with mine. Though I haven't reached my destination yet, I have passed a sign. "You are now leaving Hell. Have a nice day."

World Too Loud

2007-01-04T21:23:00.000-05:00

Those of you who've read my blog for a while know that I'm a musician. I listen to and enjoy many different kinds of music. I also relish distinct voices, birds, wind, rain and other audible phenomena. Lately, however, I have experienced something new about sound - the desire to get completely away from it.

I first noticed wanting silence after gigs. This made sense to me after an evening of often-loud music at close range. Then, one day, I came home after working in a quiet office and told Mrs. CA, "I just don't want to hear noise right now - it's overwhelming." The other night, I was in the family room with her and my dad when the jangling from the TV sent me into another room.

I was certain that cultural senility, a long dreaded event, had finally happened. I was a fogey. I couldn't take a world of ubiquitous sound seemingly embraced by the young. I had to have my quiet, controlled space.

Fortunately, I later came to a more sensible conclusion. I have a right to my aural world. No one likes assault of any kind. As a musician, I would logically be affected by unwanted sound. Perhaps visual artists experience the same feelings with colors or chefs with smell.

I call what I've described unexpected sensory overload. Have you experienced it? When did it start? Has it caused problems for you? How do you feel about it?

Best Wishes for 2007

2007-01-01T08:49:00.000-05:00

Happy New Year! I hope that you are well, rested and ready for 2007. I look forward to it, the year I turn 50.

It's an annual (well, I did it last year) tradition at Struggling with Comfort to make and share New Year's resolutions. Sure, I may not keep them; I went one for seven in 2006. I still believe in them, though.

So, without further tap dancing, are my resolutions for 2007:

Align what I do with who I want to be.
Continue to cultivate and apply emotional intelligence.
Exercise at least three times per week.
Avoid overeating.
Cook more often.
Read more books.
Watch less television.
Seriously try to write fiction, poetry or plays again.

OK, it's time to share. What are your resolutions or goals for this year?

Change, Part 2

2006-12-30T09:32:00.000-05:00

Recently, I wrote a post about changes at Christmas time. I focused on the part of us, character, that remains intact. Now, I'm thinking about the other, dynamic, part that becomes something different.

Change comes in two flavors: planned and unexpected. Unexpected change happens to, not from, us. Our bodies break, someone dies or leaves, we lose a job. Since we didn't see it coming, we can only react when it happens. I described this is the sort of change in the post above.

With planned change, we feel in control. We fix short-term and long-term goals to make ourselves as we desire. Then, if we are serious, we determine and follow a series of steps to reach those goals. Whether we succeed or fail, we feel that we control this kind of change.

Whether change is deliberate or unforeseen, it is a vital part of living. It gives us confidence when we accomplish it. It makes life fresh. We grow as individuals and society grows as a result.

Friedrich Nietzsche, the tormented and greatly misunderstood philosopher, wrote of a concept called the thought of eternal recurrence. It posited you living, again and again, as you are with all of the joy and sorrow for eternity. Nietzsche argued that, if you really loved your life, you would not only tolerate but also embrace this chance.

Some people might think Nietzche's concept of eternal return applies only to unplanned change; we should accept what happens by surprise and make it a part of ourselves. As the excellent Professor Robert Solomon argues in his Teaching Company audio course on Existentialism, though, we can also use eternal return to test how satisfied we are with our lives and inspire us to change in a way that would make an infinitely repeated existence wonderful.

As Richard Nixon (yes, I know that quote him a lot for a liberal) said in his farewell remarks to his cabinet and staff after his resignation, "it's only a beginning -- always." Change tells us we are alive and we should be thankful for it.

Not a Lincoln but a Fine Man

2006-12-27T13:46:00.000-05:00

If you’ve listened to a news broadcast in the last 24 hours, you probably know that Gerald R. Ford, the 38th president of the United States, died yesterday at his home in Rancho Mirage, California at age 93. Ford famously assumed the vice-presidency from a disgraced Spiro Agnew in December 1973. He then became president in August 1974 when President Richard Nixon resigned. He ran for election in 1976 but lost to Jimmy Carter, who later became a close friend.

You could read the above in a wire story. However, my stories of Gerald Ford are more personal. I didn’t know him but I felt as though I did. Like me, he grew up in Michigan and received his undergraduate degree from the University of Michigan. He represented Grand Rapids, on the west side of the state, in Congress for 24 years. When I learned, on tour with a high-school band in Australia, that Nixon had resigned, my host family asked me about Gerald Ford. I told them that I was confident that the country would be safe.

Two years later, I would have some close encounters with President Ford. During his election campaign of 1976, he spoke to my political science class. I’ll never forget him telling us that he didn’t care what our political party was but that it was vital that we participate in the political process. I also attended a speech he made days later at the university basketball arena. I gasped when I heard what sounded like a gunshot, saw him duck down and the secret service fan out around him; he had already escaped two assassination attempts. Fortunately, it was a false alarm.

Being a Democrat, I disagreed with Republican President Ford on certain political issues. However, I couldn’t disagree with his integrity. He was modest, honest and always tried to do good. He believed in things like affirmative action, equal opportunity and aid to education without consulting focus groups or worrying about a conservative base. He was the kind of politician I yearn for today.

When Gerald Ford assumed the vice-presidency, he self-effacingly quipped, “I’m a Ford, not a Lincoln.” He may not have been Lincoln but he was a fine man. I hope that those of us who remain remember his quiet decency and bring it to our lives.

Christmas and Change

2006-12-26T09:40:00.000-05:00

On Christmas Eve, I went to a service with my wife and father at the Unitarian church I attended as a boy. This had been a family tradition when my mom was alive and now, the year after her death, my wife had revived it. We sang carols, listened and responded to seasonal readings. Then, the minister had several members of the congregation speak on this year’s theme: change at Christmas.

Rewind three hours. I was visiting a college friend at the hospital. He had been there more than a month. An infection had nearly killed him, cost him part of his leg and made him (a major Monty Python fan) give away tickets to Spamalot. It had also taken him away from his home and family on Christmas. I could hear how much this upset him the last time I visited him so I knew I wanted to see him near the holiday.

My friend tried to be cheerful. He was doing better than when I saw him last. I gave him a couple of CDs (including the original cast album of Spamalot) to play on a DVD player another friend had brought. We talked about our dogs, his kids, the old days in college, our other friends made then and kept since. Then, I looked at my watch and saw that I had to leave for church.

Now, the day after the annual Christmas of family, presents and feasting, I’m reflecting on change and constancy. In one sense, we’re always changing. People go from and come into our lives. We change shape, opinions, physical capabilities, interests, attitudes, jobs and financial status. On the other hand, we maintain a consistent identity over time. We keep traditions and friendships. We still feel as if we are the same people we were years ago in many ways. How is this so?

It’s character. We have a core collection of values, personality and habits that describe us then and now. No matter how much is new, this core usually remains intact. It grounds us through shifting places, people and circumstances. It comforts us when life is difficult.

Christmas is a good time to reflect on character. Whether you believe that Jesus Christ is an everlasting savior or just a man who lived long ago, his character serves as a shining example to emulate. He was virtuous and true to himself even when events tested him.

If you’re going through tough times this holiday season, remember who you are or want to be after all. Use that to anchor yourself in the storm. I know that it doesn’t seem so now but you, the you you’ve always been, will prevail.

Ode to Tara

2006-12-21T11:33:00.000-05:00

Recently, entertainment news has been full of the perils of Tara Conner. Ms. Conner, the reigning Miss USA, got herself into trouble for doing the things many people might do when they're young and thrown into a world quite different than they've even known. Rather than use this misfortune as a springboard for an essay on fame (which was my wont), I've written a poem I call "Ode to Tara."

You bought the house upon the hill,
The privileged one of which you dreamed.
The only thing you didn’t know:
The home association’s rules.

One day, when you and raucous pals
Were playing ball in your front room,
A hard one got away and smashed
Your big bay picture window.

The shattered pane attracts a crowd of
Ne’er do wells in spiteful thrall.
It lets in too much light and wind
And no repairman can be found.

Soon, the room becomes unkempt.
The furnishings are torn and scattered.
The neighbors gather on the lawn,
Chastise you and un-gently smile.

As the sun sets, it is cold.
The furnace fails, the frame is creaking,
The crowd, hypnotized like deer,
Await anon destruction.

As the studs are giving way,
Your lender comes, not to foreclose,
But tell you how to patch the hole
And give you the materials.

You don your work clothes, clear the shards,
Install a specious new façade,
The neighbors nod approvingly and
You become accepted

For now, you’ve learned the secret to
A sturdy set of windows:
Make the glass translucent
And don’t throw baseballs hard inside.

Coming Together, Coming Apart

2006-12-02T15:03:00.000-05:00

In my last post, I wrote about the message that the American electorate sent in the recent congressional elections: stop the bullshit and work together. Of these two, I’ve thought most since about working together, not just in American politics but everywhere.

In 1996, Benjamin Barber, the democracy theorist, wrote a book called Jihad vs. McWorld. Barber described a battle between two competing forces: globalism and tribalism. He portrayed this struggle as a clash of values and it is. However, I focus on the two larger forces behind the ideas: those who want to come together (whom I’ll call the uniters) and those who want to come apart (the dividers).

The dividers clearly seem in ascendance. Whether it’s Shiites, Sunnis and Kurds in Iraq; native European populations and more recent immigrants; rich and poor countries; affluent and low-wage workers; those with “traditional” values and those with “modern” ones; intellectual elitists and Joe Six-Pack; the news abounds with stories of coming apart. To the divider, uniters threaten the identity and culture that makes the world right. There are important distinctions in life and the divider is determined to protect them.

Against the power of division stand the uniters. They form workers’ unions such as the AFL-CIO and UAW; economic agreements like the EU, NAFTA, CAFTA and GATT; philosophical groups like non-governmental organizations; governments; and mutual protection bodies like NATO and ad-hoc coalitions. The uniter believes that diverse people and groups can and should combine to achieve a shared goal.

As I have probably not disguised very well, I’m a uniter, not only for philosophical but practical reasons. The more people we get on the planet, the more sense cooperation makes. Tribalism may be practical when you have abundant space but it is hard work cheek by jowl.

Furthermore, I do not believe in the false dichotomy the dividers draw between “right” and “wrong” ways. We can work together for overarching gain without surrendering the core values of our lives. The boundaries of tolerance and sacrifice are much wider than the divider would have us believe. We must merely make the mutual commitment to exercise them.

Though dividers still grab the headlines, uniters are making their move. I like to think that the recent election was a harbinger of this idea in America. Politicians like Illinois Senator Barack Obama symbolize the yearning and belief in coming together. I can see it now. First, we make it work in America. Then, America adopts a moral foreign policy in conjunction with other countries. Then, we all work together to alleviate inequality, hunger and the things that give tribalism life.

The promise of unity lies before us. “If we succeed,” as Richard Nixon said in his first presidential inaugural address, “generations to come will say of us now living that we mastered our moment, that we helped make the world safe for mankind.” We’ll prove that Tony Bennett was right when he said the best is yet to come.

Get the Message

2006-11-11T10:40:00.000-05:00

The American congressional elections took place last Tuesday. The minority party, the Democrats, won enough seats to wrest control of the House and Senate away from the Republicans.

For those who don't already know it, demographers would call me a liberal Democrat. I was raised in a Democratic house by a proto-feminist mother (who, if there is a heaven, must be leading the choruses of "Happy Days Are Here Again"). I have always voted for Democrats. I have worked for them at election time. I support "radical" positions such as a single-payer national health insurance plan. As my good friend, Lady D, once said with affection, I'm a leftie.

Thus, I'm happy at the election results. I'm glad the President Bush will have a genuine philosophical check on his policies for the first time. Exit polls confirmed that voters decried Congress's culture of corruption and rubber stamp of President Bush's Iraq war policy. However, after popping the last bottle of celebratory champagne, the Democrats and those who love them should sober up and realize what the voters really said.

First, stop the bullshit. Polls, conversations with colleagues and my personal feelings confirm this sentiment. True, the electorate wanted political change. However, they also abhor the games. Members jockey for pure partisan advantage and power instead of debating with good will and respect. Elections are fueled by dubious and distorted negative ads instead of just pointing out, in a calm, clear and honest voice, how candidates differ on important issues.

Secondly, work together to get things done. Don't abandon or mollify your views. Have an honest debate. In the end, though, make the best deal you can. Don't hold the American people hostage to your posturing. As George Will, the renowned conservative pundit, famously said, "Democracy is the slow politics of the half loaf." Take your half, continue to make your arguments and move on.

America is neither as liberal (much to my chagrin) nor as conservative as the party faithful would want; just look at some of the Democrats who won this year (a pro-life Senator-elect from Pennsylvania, a conservative Senator-elect from Virginia). Good people like Landismom, of Bumblebee Sweet Potato, on the left and her counterparts on the right do the heavy lifting of changing hearts and minds in this country. They are real heroes.

As for you, Congress, act like adults and run this country. Your opposition is not the devil, just someone who holds a different opinion as sincerely as you do. Fight but respect them. Deliver us results. Now that you are in control, Democrats, you can set this tone. Do it or, in two years, the American people will cast a pox on both your Houses.

Screwy Louie

2006-10-28T08:22:00.000-04:00

I've been trying to exercise more often lately. Because of my work schedule, I usually get to the health club around 6:00 p.m. There is a bank of televisions (with the sound off, fortunately) above the cardio equipment. They are always tuned to CNN. Thus, try as I might to avoid him, I am confronted with the network's demagogue-in-chief, Lou Dobbs.

Lou Dobbs is the host of Lou Dobbs Tonight. He rails against illegal immigration, outsourcing and trade. His program is yellow journalism at its finest. Its stories and reporters exist only to reinforce Dobbs' views. In between the "news," Dobbs shows viewer mail and guests to buttress his opinions. Each challenge to his worldview is a pending apocalypse (he puts the high in hyperbole).

Were Dobbs just another conservative ranter, I wouldn't have written this piece. However, Lou Dobbs goes further by fomenting middle-class anger. He supports the Minuteman Project for vigilante border patrols. He communicates in the tradition of Father Coughlin, substituting code words and the statements of his guests for his own overt racism. The undertone here is clear. These foreigners are the problem. Get rid of them and you'll have your Leave It to Beaver world back. All of this occurs in news prime time on a "respected" network from a Harvard-educated man who seems as far removed from the middle class as I am from him.

I'm not saying that we shouldn't discuss the issues that Dobbs raises. In fact, they are among the great challenges of our age. However, they are not simple. They deserve reasoned argumentation free of appeals to xenophobia. There is enough sectarian violence and tribalism in the world today. We don't need a fear monger like Dobbs trying to put a Made in USA label on them.

Far and Near

2006-10-15T18:31:00.000-04:00

Mrs. CA and I took a five-day vacation to the northern Lower Peninsula of Michigan (or "up north," as we say here) a week ago last Wednesday. With the Rohn House Bed and Breakfast as our base (props to Robin Rohn, the welcoming proprietor), we ambled between several small towns in only a semi-organized fashion. We fed fish at a hatchery, listened to elk bugle, saw the reds and orange leaved trees of fall, walked on beaches and ate dinner with my best friend from high school, whom I hadn't seen in 30 years.

The vacation was relaxing success. Not all vacations are. What's the difference between a good and a bad one? I have an idea that I'll call the far-near theory of refreshment.

The far part of the theory means that we go to an unfamiliar place. Once there, we immerse ourselves in it so that nothing else intrudes. Our destination could be a distant city, a visualization, a new experience, anything different in that can hold our full attention for a sufficient amount of time. The near part concerns our values. What we do should reflect what is important or enjoyable to us.

Contrast the far-near theory of refreshment with the near-far theory of exhaustion. In the latter, the near is the rote execution of behaviors and the far is the values that we can't seem to find or apply. The result can be sadness, anger or emptiness.

It's ironic but true that we can get closer to our true selves by going to a strange land. Some people call it recharging their batteries. Others call it R and R. In any words, it's a part of being human that we should all do regularly. So, if you're feeling far away from who you are or want to be, get away and rediscover it.

Unfathomable Collapse

2006-10-08T19:17:00.000-04:00

For baseball fans, the title of this piece may say it all. For everyone else, my Detroit Tigers beat the New York Yankees, 8-3, last night to win their American League Divisional Series (ALDS) in Major League Baseball. The Tigers continued their improbable quest for a World Series championship by eliminating the team whom many considered the favorite to win it all.

The mighty Yankees went into the post-season poised for triumph. They had the best record, best offense and highest payroll in baseball. They were a collection of marquee stars. The Tigers, on the other hand, entered the ALDS on a down note. The Kansas City Royals, the team with the worst record in the major leagues, had just swept them in the last series of the regular season (forcing the Tigers to play the Yankees). The Tigers had good players but the baseball elite never mentioned them in the same breath as those of the Yankees.

The first ALDS game, in which the Yanks soundly defeated the Tigers, seemed to bear out pundits who said that Detroit was overmatched. A New York sweep was widely predicted.
It didn't happen. The Tigers rebounded and won a close second game then dominated Yankee bats with the best pitching in baseball to take the next two games. As the game ended last night, the players on the New York bench, Rudy Giuliani and the Yankee faithful must have been asking themselves, "who are those guys?"

Well, those of us in Detroit have been on both sides of that question. In 2004, the Detroit Pistons stunned the basketball elite by defeating the Los Angeles Lakers, then the basketball equivalent of the Yankees, to win the NBA championship. In 2006, however, the Detroit Red Wings, an all-star team of Yankee stature, were eliminated in the first round of the NHL playoffs despite having one of the best regular-season records in history.

This leads to some conclusions that, though hackneyed, I have noticed from sports to chess to work. It takes more than statistics and probability to deliver victory. Great players don't always make a great team. Even great teams falter. "Success is not forever and failure isn't fatal," said Don Shula, coach of the great 70's Miami Dolphins football teams. There is not as much difference as one would think between the best and the others. Competition consists mostly of losing. To do otherwise takes skill, effort, concentration and no small amount of luck.

The good news is that our mistakes can teach and make us better people. Only three years ago, the Detroit Tigers capped several years of mediocre baseball by nearly setting a record for futility by losing 119 out of 162 games. They seemed beyond redemption to us fans. Now, they're back.

So, buck up, Yankee fans. No matter how far down you are, you're never out as long as you are willing to learn, grow and work. You'll be back. When you get there, remember the down times and appreciate how rare and wonderful a triumph in life can be. Celebrate, revel then roll up your sleeves because life must go on.

The Unwritten Written: Office Memo 1

2006-10-01T11:02:00.000-04:00

Today begins a new concept for Struggling with Comfort: the intermittently recurring series. Each of these series will contain an indefinite number of posts ~~more than one if it doesn't suck~~ with a common theme that will pop up from time to time when ~~I can't think of anything good~~ events warrant.

I call this series The Unwritten Written. The unwritten are laws, rules or codes that everyone knows but are not officially documented. Well, to Hell with that. As my project management classes taught me, we should document everything. Thus, as a service to the politically naive, I will make the abstract concrete.

Episode 1: The Office Memo

To: All Serfs

From: Matthew Kaiser, Human Exploitation Dept.

Subject: Office Dress Code

Recently, during my otherwise non-productive walks through the halls, I have noticed several of you violating corporate policies regarding proper dress. Since I have nothing else to do and must periodically justify my existence, my administrator has written the following memo for me. From this point forward, please abide by the following rules or you will be shot:

Executives must wear a suit. Grade level 1 executives may wear custom-made clothing. Grade level 2 bosses must confine themselves to designer wear bought at inflated prices. Grade level 3 cannon fodder may buy off the rack at Nordstrom.

Managers may wear a sport coat if it cannot be mistaken for a suit! Supervisors may wear dress apparel and a tie as long as there is no jacket! Team leaders should wear a dress shirt but no tie. Anyone else should look clean but as subservient as possible.

Strict adherence to this code is critical to the proper functioning of this corporation. We do not want to mistake those responsible for doing actual work for those who make too much money (see Executives above).

Please direct any questions to someone who cares. I will be on the tennis court.

Inimically Yours,

Matt

The Magic Mirror

2006-09-24T08:07:00.000-04:00

On Labor Day, I performed at the Detroit International Jazz Festival in downtown Detroit. Lady D and her husband (whom I'll call Special G) came to hear me; they had heard me play with this band in another venue and particularly enjoyed it. Lady D told me the next week that Special G had taken some pictures of me playing. She thought that Mrs. CA (who hadn't gone to the concert) and I would appreciate them.

Last week, Lady D brought me the pictures. They were excellent photos (Special G is a graphic artist) but they revealed one thing that pictures often do yet always surprises me: I have almost completely gray hair.

I don't have a problem with my hair. I decided long ago that I would never color or augment it to pretend to a youth I no longer possessed. However, I'm always stunned when a photograph throws the truth in my face because I do not see the same thing when I look in the mirror.

This made me think about mirrors and how we use them. Mirrors are supposed to reflect back to us. Mirrors can be objects (like the glass kind for images or a tape recorder for sound), people or effects. Yet, the mirroring process can fail. Sometimes, as with sycophants or fearful underlings, the mirror itself is broken. At other times, though, our conceptions of ourselves trump an accurate mirror. We may process the accurate reflection on one level but we subconsciously alter it to be more favorable.

We shouldn't do this. We should respect and encourage mirrors. They give us a view of ourselves that we wouldn't otherwise have. If we are lucky enough to have a good one, we should at least acknowledge, if not heed, the accuracy of its reflection. To do otherwise is to get a nasty surprise later - often too late. Now, where's that hair gel?

When Economics Gets Personal

2006-09-17T12:52:00.000-04:00

As long-time readers of this blog know, I like to listen to audio courses from The Teaching Company during my commutes. These courses are university-level lectures by all-star professors on a variety of subjects (history, religion, philosophy, psychology, etc.). One of my favorite courses in the series is Economics, taught by Professor Timothy Taylor. He explains the concepts of basic economics in a humorous, pithy and memorable way.

Lately, though, economics, particularly the law of supply and demand, has been a little too close to home. Professor Taylor explains supply and demand as a price curve on the axes of the amount of goods and the desire for those goods. Prices rise when too many dollars chase too few goods. For example, there are very few superstar ball players such as Alex Rodriguez. Every team wants him so his salary will be high. Prices fall when too few dollars chase too many goods. Here, the example is personal: the Southeast Michigan housing market.

Again, regular readers know the story (see here and here). We moved into our new house almost a year ago and put our old house on the market seven months ago. We started selling it ourselves, progressed to a discount broker and now have a full-service realtor. We've received many compliments from people who've seen the place but they make no offers (looky loos in real estate jargon).

Our realtor says that this is one the worst housing markets he has ever seen. It's not hard to see why. The auto industry is way down. Those who haven't lost their jobs are afraid that they will (too few dollars). Meanwhile, people are selling their homes like mad to either downsize or move to another area (too many goods). As a result, home prices are plummeting.

We've dropped our price (not anywhere near high to begin with) twice to be 6% lower than the appraisal that supposedly factored in market conditions. We will probably have to drop it again. There is no longer a question of profit. It appears unlikely that we will break even. The question is whether our loss will be mild or extreme.

Luckily, we'll survive. Mrs. CA and I, unless one of us is sacked, can cover the payments. We have had to sacrifice (we did not attend the Toronto International Film Festival this year, breaking an 11-year tradition) but our sacrifice is nothing compared with many people around us. I know that I have no right to sing the white man's blues. Still, in these days of distance learning, I wish that my learning were a little more distant.

How Life Is and Isn't Like Chess

2006-09-10T17:55:00.000-04:00

OK. I admit it. I'm a chess addict.

I learned to play the game as a child. A good friend of mine regularly kicked my behind and taught me basic strategy. In high school, I went to the city chess club and where I challenged, and occasionally beat, adults two and three times my age. Then, after high school, I inexplicably left chess behind without regret.

A few months ago, that changed. I was in the midst of a very stressful project and seeking diversion. That's when Yahoo, my home page, brought chess back into my life. I clicked on the link to the new Yahoo Chess and got hooked all over again. I could play real people who tested me (not very hard after 30 years off) at nearly any time.

Eventually, I left Yahoo Chess and migrated to a more serious chess server called the Internet Chess Club. Here I could not only play others but also watch international masters and grandmasters play, enter tournaments, solve practice problems and more. I was in chess heaven, although Mrs. CA probably wishes that there were a 12-step program for this (even though I keep telling her that they're moves, not steps).

As I've reentered the chess sphere, I've thought about how chess is like life. You encounter a situation where you must make a decision. In the beginning, many options are possible. Each move, though, has consequences and narrows your future. You must consider the potential benefits and drawbacks, make and live with your best choice within a restricted time. Sartre must have loved this game.

Chess is not entirely like life. We often go with our gut rather than deliberate (of course, the existentialists would say that this is a choice, too, but it's not a chess-like choice). Unlike chess, where one can resign, it isn't easy to quit in life without great repercussions. A chess opponent is also not as amenable in a tough spot as our friends and loved ones are.

In the end, you could say that it's just a game. It sometimes attracts some strange and antisocial people (not all chess players are so). However, I've noticed that, since I started playing again, I think better. This has helped me in not only expected (mental acuity) but also unexpected (better endurance in music through thinking ahead) ways. As I get closer and closer to age 50, I think that challenging my mind in this way couldn't hurt.

Your move.

Time for a Re-Union?

2006-09-03T09:27:00.000-04:00

Landismom, one of the most socially conscious people I know and proprietor of the Bumblebee Sweet Potato blog, has asked those in her network to blog about worker rights this weekend. This reminded me of a story.

In my job at one of the "big three" auto companies, I work with many people from India. One of these, whom I'll call Sunil, has worked for me for several years and recently became a U. S. citizen. One day, Sunil and I were walking down to the cafeteria when something got us talking about unions. He didn't understand why we need them.

I gave Sunil a brief history of management and labor relations in this country, particularly in the auto industry. Workers banded together to combat employer hegemony and unfair working conditions (pay, hours, environment) to get a better life for themselves. They did this at great personal sacrifice (loss of income and even life).

Sunil acknowledged this. However, he decried what he saw as abuses of union power. He had heard stories of union people just standing around not doing their jobs. There were contracts that bankrupted companies, inflexible work rules and so on.

I agreed that these were bad things. However, they are not exclusive to unions. We had both seen plenty of "management" people who didn't do their share of the work (see the song in the last post). I also told him that unions are very sensitive to how their contracts and work rules affects a corporate business success. Many of them (as in the sad case of United Airlines) gave up lots and lots of benefits to help a struggling company only to be undercut by tricks such as corporate reorganization, chapter 11 bankruptcy and dissolving pension plans.

I also argued the positive aspect of unions from a management point of view. They provided an interested (after all, they pay dues) and stable work force. They can make it easier for a company to communicate to workers and implement new plans to improve productivity. Yes, well-run unions can (warning: hackneyed business term coming) drive competitive advantage.

There is an oddity in all of this: I am not a union member at my "day job" (I do belong to the American Federation of Musicians for my musical gigs). Most IT people do not belong to unions. IT has always paid well. The people are very independent. IT didn't lend itself to unions (pun intended).

We may be paying the price for that now. Now our jobs are being outsourced. We are downsized. Companies make us accept new ways of doing business that may not be in our best interests.

Perhaps it's time for not only IT but also other "management" professionals to consider joining a union. In tough times, power must be met with power. You can try to do this yourself by becoming a superstar but, over time, others will knock you off the mountaintop. It may be a time to ally with those of like minds and collectively pursue common goals. Sacrifice the desire for only individual success and work as a team to achieve.

Come to think of it, isn't that what all of those project management books say?

Tiptoing Back to Reality

2006-09-01T11:26:00.000-04:00

I'm back - sort of. When I left off in May, I was in the throes of great sturm und drang. My house had been on the market three months with no sale in sight. My work project was killing me. I was intellectually and creatively bankrupt. It was a good time to go away - before I hurt someone (probably myself).

Fast forward to now. My house is still on the market. My project defies the traditional definition of such by not having an end. However, I am slowly coming back to sanity (or at least what you're used to reading).

I've missed you all very much. I apologize deeply for not visiting your fine blogs. I also appreciate all of the concerned comments and emails. They, and good friends, helped me through one of the roughest patches I've had in some time. I love you all.

Enough sap. Here's a song to give you some idea of what's been going on for me. This one goes out to one of the special friends who helped me stay sane whom I'll call Lady D.

Delegation Man (sung to the tune of "Secret Agent Man" as sung by Johnny Rivers)

IT life is filled with constant danger,
Each succeeding project ever stranger,
Every set of tasks you take,
A deadline you won't make
Odds are you won't be complete tomorrow

Delegation man, delegation man,
Oh they've given you assignments
And you gave them all away

A crisis calls for fierce imagination,
The project's jeopardizing your vacation,
Oh your team is working hard,
But you need some R & R
Odds are you'll still be in town tomorrow

Delegation man, delegation man
Oh they're working 60-hour weeks
And you're nowhere to be found.

Now your project’s over and it's failed,
Your boss is looking for someone to nail,
And he's looking down at you,
What you gonna do?
Odds are you won't be employed tomorrow

Delegation man, delegation man
Oh they're looking for someone to blame
And you delegate that, too

(I’ve got an opportunity for you. It’ll give you visibility – lots of it. Don’t thank me – I’m a delegation man)

Good Thing They Have Ethics

2006-05-04T20:13:00.000-04:00

Last Sunday, we had our usual open (please buy our) house at the old place. I say we but I really mean she, as in Mrs. CA, who graciously let me have the day off to cook Indian food and otherwise restore my sanity. We spent big bucks to put an ad in the Detroit Free Press classifieds that morning, hoping that we'd get more traffic. We did get more - five sets of people. Not a single one saw the ad.

However, as I was wrapping up my dal and vegetables that evening, the phone rang. It was someone calling about the house. He said that he was a realtor but "a nice realtor." He had seen our ad. As I walked the cordless phone to the bedroom, where Mrs. CA was relaxing, he asked if I would consider engaging a realtor instead of selling by owner. I tried to tell him that we already had a realtor and tried to get Mrs. CA to turn down the TV volume. The guy went ballistic. He said that it was against the law to advertise a "represented" house without displaying the Multiple Listing Service (MLS) number. I handed the phone to Mrs. CA but the man had hung up by that time. She called him back and he spoke to her in a very nasty tone and slammed the receiver down.

I'm certainly glad that I was dealing with a realtor. After all, according to the commercials, realtors all have to take ethics training. It shows. Oh - one more thing, to paraphrase Monty Python: it's a good thing we didn't get the mean realtor.

Working Can Be Fun-ny

2006-04-29T23:14:00.000-04:00

I'm pretty serious at work. Just ask those who think they know me. They'll paint you a picture of a sober, competent, trustworthy and probably boring man. They would trust me to do their taxes, rescue their dog or write their computer program but never expect me to make them laugh.

Actually, I can be quite funny. People who really know me tell me this. However, I've been careful not to expose my sense of humor to general work audience. Why? It didn't seem "professional." I was already a little insecure about this because I had been a musician before going into IT. To compensate, I played the role of a reliable, staid white-collar man.

Recently, I've begun to loosen up (I don't know whether I was tired of the old part, trying to defuse stress or just going nuts). I started with trusted colleagues. When this went over well, I added the occasional wry remark in business meetings. More success. Who knew?

I don't want to give the impression that I'm a walking, talking, IM-ing joke machine. However, I no longer fear my funny side. I am amazed at the power of humor in business. Far from engendering a lack of respect, jokes produce a relief and real human connection that business sorely needs.

So, you there in the suit and tie, let yourself be witty. Drop that bon mot. Make that quip. Crack wise. Connect with your inner comedian and your co-workers. A funny workplace is a happy one. Once that happens, who knows what's next? Maybe the CEO will do pratfalls. Oops - I think those are called stockholder meetings.

Rebate Blues

2006-04-25T21:48:00.000-04:00

On March 18, I bought a new Panasonic cordless phone and two handsets. They cost more than I'd intended to pay but I've always trusted Panasonic phones. Besides, there was a rebate. You know rebates. They're a manufacturer's form of tough love. If you really care for them, you jump through their hoops, swim through their mud and genuflect. 3 months later, you get a check for a tiny amount. Chances are that you don't even remember what it's for.

The phones came in March. They've been great but, since I've been busy, I hadn't had time to send in the rebate. Tonight, I tried to do it. I filled out the forms, cut off the UPC symbols, clicked my heels and was about to lick and stamp the envelope when I read the following sentence: "Claim forms postmarked more than one month after purchase will not be honored."

I can't tell you how warm this makes me feel inside. I get teary when I think how much Panasonic cares for me. I have to do something in return - it's just the kind of guy I am. So, for you Panasonic, and all of you other rebaters, I've decided to express myself in song:

The Pay We Defer (sung to the tune of The Way We Were)

Rebates,
They're the way we catch your eye,
And you purchase for the promise of
The pay we defer.

Scattered strictures,
You don't see them when you buy,
It's too late when you see just how hard
Is the pay we defer.

Can it be you didn't see our limits then?
Don't tell us the print was much too fine,
If we had the chance to offer this again,
Tell me would we? He he!

Rebates,
So appealing to you, yet,
What we count on is that, when it's time,
You'll simply choose to forget.

So it's profits
We will remember
Whenever we remember
The pay we defer.

I'm sorry, I'm all verklempt.

Get Down with Your Bad Self

2006-04-22T16:58:00.000-04:00

I decided to be mean at work the other day. Before taking my latest Teaching Company course on Existentialism, I would have said that I had to get nasty. However, Jean-Paul Sartre has convinced me that my meanness was a choice.

Here’s the back-story. The on-shore and offshore teams for my project from Hell are testing pieces of the application. Certain web server software must be running to do this. Last Wednesday, the software stopped working.

I created a trouble ticket with the server service desk to fix the problem. This problem has happened enough that I know that it occurs for one of three reasons. The actual fix, including the determining the cause, should take about one hour. However, since the service desk is famous for its slowness and inability to route problems to the right group, I gave them specific instructions to help.

As first an hour then a day passed, I became more and more upset. The service desk ignored my routing instructions and sat on the ticket. I had to call a colleague in high places just to get them to send it to a second-level group. Even then, after that group eliminated one possible cause and said exactly to whom to direct the ticket, the service desk reclaimed it and did nothing.

Enter meanness. I wrote an email to the on-site supervisor of the service desk. I couched the note in proper business language but essentially said that I would rain fire on his organization if I didn’t see action in two hours. Within the hour, the recalcitrant service desk routed the ticket to one of the groups I recommended. That group solved the problem in 15 minutes.

Afterwards, I told the customer lead (who has become a friend) that the server was up again. She thanked me for getting mean. I told her that I always felt bad after doing this, that I didn’t consider myself a mean person. She said that she knew that and that, over the last several years, she had learned to accept and even admire the “bad” parts of herself that she used in situations like this.

This is where Sartre comes in. Sartre says that our emotions don’t happen to us. We choose them to achieve an end. I got angry to get a result because I had tried other tactics unsuccessfully and concluded that ire was needed.

My anger and other ostensibly “bad” behavior and choices are part of who I am. I realize that, though I try to be a good person, I am not, nor do I want to be, a saint. I am happy knowing that, far more often than not, I do whatever I can to empathize with, understand and help others. Just don’t cross me.

Far from the Machine

2006-04-20T22:48:00.000-04:00

I left the office at lunch today to make a late payment on a car loan at our credit union. This loan has a payment coupon that tends to hide in our bill drawer. As a result, the last time that I paid the bills, I missed it. I discovered this only when the credit union left me a voice mail message.

I walked up to the teller and contritely explained what had happened. I asked how much the late fee would be. She smiled and said that there wasn't one. She then told me that I could use an abbreviation for the credit union's long name when I made out the check. She also said that we could avoid the $1 per month that the credit union charged us for a paper statement by getting the statement by email instead. I thanked her and she smiled and thanked me for my business.

I walked out of the credit union with a joyful stride. I thought about how nice this teller was. It made me think about other people (receptionists, nurses, co-workers) who have been nice to me in performing their jobs. I love these encounters because I spend a lot of time "close to the machine," solving problems using only my brain and some software. This time feels tense and solitary. By contrast, every interaction that I have with a person makes me feel human. I am not the only one to notice. The other day, one of our directors told me, "Despite all of our technology, it all comes down to people." I couldn't agree more. People have the power to make the world beautiful. Those of us who spend so much time with machines need to remember that.

A Whammy Post

2006-04-19T23:45:00.000-04:00

Yahoo News had this story the other day about "two mystics who persuaded a student to part with more than $160,000 in exchange for lifting a curse." Apparently, Russians are quite superstitious and willing to put their money where their beliefs are. I have Russian ancestors and I consider myself a pretty rational guy. Nevertheless, I have seen people who had so much go wrong that I wondered if they could be under a jinx.

What about you? Do you know anyone who believes in curses? Have you ever seen someone who seemed cursed?

Dis Content

2006-04-17T11:00:00.000-04:00

It's been a little lonely at Struggling with Comfort lately. Because I get so few comments, I added Stat Counter recently to find out who visits, visits per day and other statistics. The answers have been discouraging. Yes, I do get a small group of regular visitors (including someone from the Information Management Directorate at Rock Island, Illinois, who comes nearly every day). However, 80% of those who land here stay less than 5 seconds.

What could I do to change this? I’ve tried traffic exchanges like Blog Explosion, Blog Mad, Blog Clicker and Blog in My Ear and I’ll Follow You Anywhere. They do increase the number of visitors – the ones who stay for 5 seconds or less. I’ve registered with Technorati, Blogdex and other search engines – they yield more accidental tourists. Nothing seems to get me readers who stay and return. This leads me to a stark and sobering conclusion (sniffle, sob) – it’s the content.

No, don’t try to cheer me up. I see it all too clearly now. I use too many big words. I write too much that’s personal (a real traffic killer according to the experts). If I want to be a blog star, this will not do. I need to write what an audience wants. There’s only one way to do that – ask them. Hence, I present the first annual (or semi-annual, monthly, daily or hourly, depending upon my level of insecurity) Comfort Addict Content Survey.

1. How old are you?

a. Older than you’d think
b. Younger than I look
c. I don’t remember
d. I don’t want to remember

2. What is your sex?

a. Male
b. Female
c. Too much
d. Not enough

3. Level of education:

a. I graduated the sixth grade (just like Jethro Bodine)
b. Hold on, let me check
c. C level
d. We don’t need no education…

4. My idea of fun is…

a. …a seminar on the psychological effects of lawn bowling
b. …calling C-Span and complaining about the liberal / conservative media
c. …ogling the hotties at a sports bar while watching three games simultaneously
d. …surfing the web in a stream of consciousness fashion

5. I like blogs that…

a. …tell how stupid conservatives / liberals are.
b. …tell me how to make lots of money with no work
c. …show and talk about hotties I’d never have a prayer of dating.
d. …give me ideas I can repeat easily at parties to seem cool or smart

6. I surf blog traffic exchanges to…

a. …find others who hold my views and tell me how great I am.
b. …build credits for my blog while paying no attention to the pages that display.
c. …laugh at idiocy.
d. …steal ideas for page layouts.

7. I’d read this blog if…

a. …you actually posted every day.
b. …you were at all interesting or funny.
c. …you were famous.
d. …you paid me enough money.

8. I’d comment on your posts if…

a. …they comported with my prejudices.
b. …I could do it without reading the posts.
c. …you would promise to visit me every day.
d. …you weren’t so strange

9. If I could give you one piece of advice, it would be to …

a. …give up.
b. …practice meditation.
c. …join my multi-level marketing opportunity.
d. …take up poker.

The Bark Heard 'Round the World

2006-04-14T12:25:00.000-04:00

I am at home today for the Good Friday holiday (thank you, UAW). Nevertheless, since my work project is at a critical point, I gave my home phone number to our on-shore project leader so that the on-shore or offshore team could call me if they needed information. This morning, I got two such calls. One was local. The other said "Out of Area" on my caller ID. That was an understatement. It was from the offshore team in Pune, India.

The team apologized profusely for interrupting my holiday and calling me at home. As I answered their queries, I noticed that my Dalmatian mix, Casey, had fixed his attention on something outside. Toward the end of the call, one young woman asked a particularly complex question. Casey leaned back and gave several high-pitched and excited barks followed by a howl. There was a brief silence.

"Does that answer your question?" I thought.

Watch It, Eh?

2006-04-11T07:24:00.000-04:00

Those of you who read this blog regularly know that I don't often plug a TV show. OK, I'm not sure that I've ever plugged a TV show. Warning: I'm going to break that practice now. I've acquired a habit. Its name is Sons and Daughters.

Sons and Daughters was created by Fred Goss (of Orchard Lake, Michigan, by the way), who also stars, and Nick Holly. It is about a dysfunctional extended family in middle-class suburbia. The characters are flawed. The actors are superb. The twist is that the dialog is partially improvised. I don't know what the percentage is but I do know that the script positively crackles and that the timing seems a lot more natural than anything I've seen on network TV in ages.

The show grows on you. I liked it more with each episode. Even my wife and 80-something dad, who merely tolerated it at first, now roar with laughter along with me.

If you already watch and like this show, write ABC and tell them so; I've heard that they may cancel it. If you haven't watched, check it out some Tuesday at 9:00 p.m. (8:00 p.m. Central Time). In these days of stress and stupidity, we can all use a laugh. Sons and Daughters delivers.

I'll Take It!

2006-04-09T10:26:00.000-04:00

Barbara from A Rich Tapestry of Barbara-isms hipped me to an interesting personality test.

I won't bother you with my whole report but it did yield some interesting results that both match and diverge from what I would have expected:

Matches

I am a "generous inventor."
I am less open, extroverted, masculine, authoritarian and attentive to style than average.
I am more empathetic, feminine and imaginative than average.

Divergences

I'm more functional than aesthetic (ouch!).
I'm more spontaneous and less trusting than average.

If I want to change, according to the report, I "might find that trusting people more is a way to broaden...perspective even further" and "remember that much of life can be lived by experiencing it, not just by understanding it."

Of course, this is just a test. I'm tempted to take it again and give a little more thought to the answers (or make up new answers to become a totalitarian strongman). However, as they go, this test is one of the best ones I've seen. If you have time, check it out at http://www.personaldna.com/tests.php and let me know the results. I'll trust you to answer honestly while I go out this afternoon to experience a rehearsal.

No Excuses?

2006-04-08T07:51:00.000-04:00

Damn you, Jean-Paul Sartre. You, too, Albert Camus.

As you know, I'm in the middle of a very demanding and stressful project at work. I've poured body and soul into it for over a year now. I've worked 12-hour days, written extensive documentation and spent lots of time holding everyone's hand while trying to finish my own work. Despite this, the project has floundered. It may yet yield a good product but it will require more time and more energy than any members of the project team ever thought.

To ease the psychic pain, I've tried to fill my leisure time with things I enjoy. I've written a big band jazz arrangement, blogged (thank you, readers and writers) and started listening to a Teaching Company course on Existentialism on my commutes to and from work and gigs. The course, taught clearly and effectively by the redoubtable professor Robert C. Solomon, describes the philosophy of Existentialism through six figures commonly associated with it. In particular, Solomon starts with Camus and ends with Sartre.

Camus and Sartre are interesting people, often linked but very different from each other. Camus grew up poor in Algiers, Sartre in some affluence in Paris. Camus gained fame for his novels (The Stranger, The Plague), Sartre for the nearly impenetrable philosophical work, Being and Nothingness and plays like No Exit, the original production of which starred Camus. Critics deemed both Existentialists but, whereas Sartre invented and embraced the term, Camus ultimately spurned it.

The difference between Camus and Sartre that interests me is illustrated by Camus' essay, The Myth of Sisyphus. Sisyphus was a character in Greek mythology, condemned to an eternity of pushing a boulder to the top of a mountain and watching it roll back down. As the Wikipedia article in my link says better than I, "Camus presented Sisyphus' ceaseless and pointless toil as a metaphor for modern lives spent working at futile jobs in factories and offices. Some people find this metaphor comforting, since it makes them feel they are not alone, and indeed can draw a parallel between their life and the life of a character from the dawn of time. A major difference between Sartre and Camus is that the latter suggests that some things and situations are out of human control (for example, death), whilst the former believes everything can be changed and manipulated, regardless of the situation or individual."

This brings me full circle to my project. I have tried to be Sartre and change things by choosing how to frame them. However, Camus keeps butting in with his notions of absurdity and futility. Which way should I go to avoid insanity?

My answer is to try to keep things in perspective but not beat myself up for the occasional lapse into discouragement. I can choose how to perceive and react to a difficult situation. However, I recognize that my efforts may not change the outcome and will sometimes weary. That's all right. I do the best I can, learn and move on. Sartre may not have liked it but, in the words of his countrymen, c'est dommage.

An Opportunity Gained

2006-04-02T08:14:00.000-04:00

Last night, I played a gig with a big band. We were the feature act at a high school jazz concert. The band was full of good players, including my old improvisation teacher, George Benson.

In case you didn't click the link above, George is not the famous guitarist with the same name. He is a jazz and saxophone legend in Detroit, though. He has played in bands for Motown acts (Stevie Wonder, Marvin Gaye in What's Going On) and jazz greats. Currently, he plays in local bands and has his own quartet.

I studied with George at the old Detroit Wayne Music Studio on Gratiot at Seven Mile Road when I was in high school. I was taking trombone lessons there when I saw a sign for a jazz improvisation class. I had done some improvisation by then but really didn't know what I was doing. I signed up for the class and, with about 10 other people, learned from George, who was a master. Eventually, the other nine people dropped out and it became a private lesson.

People have told me that, unlike some other players, I improvise with taste. They smile and say that this can't be taught. I don't know whether this is true but taste can be learned. George was my guide. He taught me how to listen, think and feel in jazz. He set the tone with his emotional, intelligent soloing that seemed just right for the piece and the mood. He also showed me how to conduct oneself with kindness and dignity.

Last night, George and I left the building at the same time. He had told me in the green room after the gig that I had played some good solos. As we walked to our cars, I thought about telling him that he played a big part in that. I wanted to thank him for his patient teaching and being an exemplar of class. I didn't do it, though. For some reason, the moment felt awkward. We simply talked about the weather and said, "See you on the next gig."

As I drove home, I really regretted not saying what I had wanted to say. It made me think about other people (such as Mr. J, my high school band director) to whom I want to say thanks and express my feelings. In those cases, I haven't had the opportunity. Last night, though, I had the chance and I missed it.

I plan to remedy that shortly. George told me that he would be playing downstairs at Andiamo at the Renaissance Center next Wednesday while I'm playing upstairs at Seldom Blues. During a break, I plan to take him this post.

Thank you, George, for being my teacher and helping me become the musician and person I am today.

Blowing My Nice Guy Image

2006-03-28T22:17:00.000-05:00

It was a tense status meeting at work. My manager, business customer and the consultants were following the agenda but all of us could feel the dispute that was imminent. As we drew closer to the confrontation point, I could see my manager steeling himself. Finally, the consultant manager finished. The time was here.

"Do you want me to start?" I asked my manager, fatalistically.

"No," he said staring at the consultant who was the target of his wrath, "let me take a whack at it."

"Me, too," said the business customer.

"Let's all take a whack," I said with a smirk. "Just like with a piñata."

Bleak House-Selling

2006-03-26T22:39:00.000-05:00

As though of you who read this blog regularly know, I moved recently. Unlike many people, who sell their current home then try to buy another, Mrs. CA and I did the reverse. We did this because the new place had such a good price and worked so well for us that we didn't want to lose it. In addition, we knew that we needed to fix up the old place before putting it up for sale.

Three months later (and poorer from the expense of the repairs and dual mortgage payments), we held our first open house. We had decided to sell by owner out of necessity and because our old neighborhood has historically had a lot of sales this way. I was confident, knowing that we had priced our home well and made it more attractive than it had ever been when we lived there.

After five weeks, things have not gone as well as I had hoped. Everyone likes the house. We've had some people who seemed seriously interested. However, they never got back to us. The economy in southeastern Michigan is bad right now. Many folks, especially those connected with Ford and General Motors, or their suppliers, are afraid that they may lose their jobs. There's lots of competition in the neighborhood, too, including a couple of foreclosed homes offered at freakishly low prices.

As each week passes, Mrs. CA and I discuss more concessions to this difficult market. First, we told a buyer's agent that we'd pay his 3% if he brought us a buyer. Now, we're considering paying a discount seller's agent to get the house on the Multiple Listing Service (MLS) used by realtors. Each of these steps further trims our margin. When we started, I was thinking about enough profit to pay off the debts we accumulated fixing the house. Now, I began to hope that we don't lose money. Mrs. CA calls this terriblizing (warning: only licensed mental health professionals may use this word). I call it the resurfacing of the bleak side of my soul.

Then, this afternoon, I got an unexpected reminder that things don't always go according to a dark script. The George Mason University men's basketball team, who nearly didn't even get invited to the NCAA Basketball Tournament (a.k.a. March Madness), beat number one seeded Connecticut to advance to the Final Four. George Mason had been on an improbable run leading up to this game. It's pretty safe to say that no one gave them a Popsicle's chance in an incinerator of going further. Yet, they defeated the powerful "UConn" by out-hustling them.

These young men have inspired me again. Through persistence, work and determination, you can reach a difficult goal. We will sell the house. Heck, maybe the Detroit Pistons will draft one of those George Mason players, he'll read this post and feel such an affinity between his work ethic and mine that he'll buy the house on the spot! Just one more thing (because I know Mrs. CA will ask). Does anyone know an antonym for terriblizing?

Great Expectations

2006-03-25T23:53:00.000-05:00

Recently, I went over to Mostly Risible to catch up with my blogfriend, Risible Girl. RG always has good posts but she wrote an especially thought-provoking and moving one last Wednesday about body image. It made me think about the terrible things we do to ourselves and each other in the name of acceptance.

Let’s start with women. As a man, I think that the messages that society sends women are appalling. We tell them that their worth is measured by thinness, beauty, sexuality, youth, motherhood, career success and ability to “manage a home.” I can only imagine how trying to maintain some kind of superwoman balance among these divergent and unattainable ideals can hurt. For instance, I have met many women who have told me of horrible prolonged cycles of losing and gaining weight.

Men, too, have their problems. We are told that our worth is measured by our success, power, strength and wealth. To achieve these unnatural heights, we shut down our emotions (which, after all, just get in the way). This “drive for the prize” mentality leads at best to heartburn and at worst to heart attacks.

The distorted sex roles set up equally distorted relationships. Since each sex is taught to value the epitome of the other, they are reciprocally injured by the flaws of these models. Men who are inculcated with the Centerfold Syndrome may have tremendous problems having a true relationship with a real, not fantasy, woman. Women who seek out high-powered men will find them unable to communicate emotionally.

Of course, there have always been women more attractive and men more successful than others. I have seen them pair off for years while playing at country clubs or other affluent settings. The danger I see, though, is the transmutation of the experiences of a highly exceptional few into a norm necessary for the good life. For the unlucky many not to the mantle born, as the guy in that truck commercial says, that can’t be good.

A Little Minor Destruction

2006-03-19T23:14:00.000-05:00

As some of you know, Mrs. CA and I recently moved into a new house. We did this before selling our old one because we got a great deal. We also knew that we would have to work on our old house for a few months before putting it on the market.

Four weeks ago Sunday, we had our first open house. Since we are selling our house ourselves rather than through a realtor, we have made this a weekly ritual. Mrs. CA bought directional signs for nearby street corners and plastic flags like the kind gas stations used to use that we put up each Sunday morning. She also got a nice lawn sign that sits in front of the house all the time.

When we arrived at our house this week, we had a little surprise waiting for us. Someone had taken our sign out of the ground and put it flat on its face. I say “someone” because the wire stakes that held the sign had been twisted and cut.

As I went to the hardware store to get more stakes, I was angry. Eventually, as my anger subsided, I tried to imagine what makes someone vandalize. Isaac Asimov, one of my favorite childhood authors, once wrote that “violence is the last refuge of the incompetent.” If that’s true, then vandalism seems the last refuge of the cowardly incompetent. It’s a combination of rage and fear, a few steps removed from a shot in the back, a favorite weapon of the sociopath.

What are your experiences with vandalism? How did you feel about it? Did you ever find the vandals? If so, what happened? What do you think causes vandalism?

Diary of a Mad Secretary

2006-03-18T14:41:00.000-05:00

Today, after a long absence, I surfed to Blog Explosion, Blogazoo and Blog Clicker. I visited these traffic exchanges regularly when I started blogging, not only to publicize my blog but to discover new blogs to read. I found several of the blogs on my Blogroll in this way. Today, I found another.

The blog is called Clerical Work: A Survivor's Guide. The proprietor is the Mad Secretary, so named because of seven years of experience in that profession. I haven't read the blog long enough to know if she's mad-insane, mad-angry or mad-magazine. I do know, however, that she writes well with enough sprinkles of wit to raise a smile.

I urge you to check out this secretary's dictation. If you do, however, watch your language - she's an English major.

The Cold Truth

2006-03-13T17:56:00.000-05:00

I enjoy watching the movie Groundhog Day. It's funny and has a kind of Twilight Zone plot. However, what I like most is its irreverence, especially toward that furry celebrity, Punxsutawney Phil.

I'm sure that all of you know Phil's shtick. Every year on February 2, this animal, purportedly 120 years old, scurries out of his burrow in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania. The president of a group called the "Inner Circle," who has been specially trained to understand "Groundhogese," communes with Phil. Then, the president translates Phil's forecast - which is "never wrong" - for the huge crowd. News directors dutifully give Phil his annual 20 seconds of fame then we all go on - except me.

Normally, I don't have a problem with towns that market themselves in this way. Stratford, Ontario can continue to stage all of those Shakespeare plays. Gilroy, California needn't cancel its garlic festival. For some reason, though, Punxsutawney and Phil get me. It's not the town, which I'm sure is fine, or the animal (after all, I like animals). It's the weather. I hate the cold. Old Phil's prophecy of six more weeks of winter is like a finger in an already irritated eye.

As a result, when it comes to Punxsutawney Phil, I'm not above a little schadenfreude. In the last few days, I thought that I had it. It's been abnormally warm around Detroit recently. Today, the temperature even hit 70 degrees. "Aha, you little rat," I thought, gleefully, "we'll see whose predictions are error free." Then, I looked at the 10-day forecast. It was horrible - snow, cold, yecch. Phil had gotten me again.

I guess that it's time for me to give up and make peace. I admit it, Phil, you are the king. Maybe next year, Mrs. CA and I will go to Punxsutawney and worship at your shrine. At any rate, though, I'll ridicule you no longer. It has taken me a long time to learn but now I know that, even for a groundhog, revenge is a dish best served cold.

What's Hot

2006-03-12T22:56:00.000-05:00

Here's something unusual for me - a restaurant review. Tonight, Mrs. CA and I went to a place called HuHot Mongolian Grille. For the uninitiated, a Mongolian grille is a kind of buffet. There are stations that have raw meats, vegetables and sauces. You put your favorite combination of these in a bowl; hand your bowl to one of several cooks at a big, round grill; watch him chop and sear it; and pick up your steaming hot meal minutes later.

Mongolian grilles have been in the Detroit area for several years now but this one stands out. The room has an open feeling but doesn't seem as noisy as others. HuHot makes its own sauces from scratch without MSG. The vegetables (and meats, according to Mrs. CA) are safely cold and well tended. Little things like a dinner salad with crisp, dark green (i.e. real) lettuce bespeak quality. In addition, the entire room, except a very small bar in the corner, is smoke free.

If you are lucky enough to live near a HuHot (or any other Mongolian grille), I urge you to give it a try.

Note: I neither work for nor am compensated by HuHot Mongolian Grille. If you can read this, you have better eyes than I do.

The Stranger Within

2006-03-11T23:53:00.000-05:00

Those of you who read this blog regularly know that I’m working on a very intense project at work. What I haven’t mentioned is that most of the project development is being done in India. A few people from a firm based there sit with me “on shore” and several more sit nearly 8,000 miles away, not far from Mumbai. Whenever we speak with “off shore,” we do it in our early morning because they are ten and a half hours ahead of us.

As I sat on one of these calls the other day, I realized that I’d been hearing a lot of news stories about “foreigners” lately. The Dubai Ports World flap caused a near stampede of office holders trying to prove their patriotic manhood. The House and Senate debated a “border protection, anti-terrorism and illegal immigration control act” while 100,000 people marched in Chicago for immigration rights. President Bush’s recent trip to India re-ignited arguments about visiting guest workers and off-shore outsourcing.

This is nothing new in America. As long we have had contact with people from other lands, some have us have mistrusted them or worse. However, the horrible events of September 11, 2001 have given a new imprimatur to this xenophobia. It’s OK to put up a 700-mile fence, criminally profile people by nationality or religion and restrict trade in the name of national security. Politicians and lobbyists of all stripes are rushing to clothe their bills in this new finery.

I have no problem with serious arguments about national defense, immigration and trade. My problem is with bigotry, prejudice and unreasonable fear in disguise. Why do those senators who rush to bar Arab foreign ownership of our ports fail to rise when the foreigners are Britons? Do people who want immigration reform really just want a country with more “folks like us?” If call centers were outsourced to Amsterdam instead of Bangalore, would people complain as much?

I know that these are scary times. Terrorism has landed. Global competition brings uncertainty. If you grew up in a racially or culturally homogeneous area, living with people who are different can cause apprehension. In the face of these concerns, however, Americans must not yield to knee-jerk prejudice. We need to get beyond our fears to know, respect and appreciate others. In a world increasingly more diverse and interconnected, sincere understanding and acceptance is the surest way to prosper, not only at home but abroad.

Slow Down for Happiness

2006-03-04T16:31:00.000-05:00

Some years ago, I saw Ken Burns’ Baseball film on PBS. I have been a baseball fan my whole life. Though the nine-part series was riddled with inaccuracies and more than occasionally maudlin, I enjoyed parts of it very much. I especially liked the section on the Negro Leagues. Several former Negro Leaguers (including the gentle and genial Buck O’Neil) reminisced about their time in the game and the players they encountered there. One of these was the legendary Satchel Paige.

Mr. Paige was a wonderful pitcher and an equally sparkling character. He famously came up with a variety of maxims. “How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you was?” “Don’t look back. Something might be gaining on you.” Lately, however, I have focused on one of his lesser-known sayings. “Avoid running at all times.”

This used to just make me laugh. It seemed ironic that a fine, professional athlete like Satchel Paige would disdain what many do to keep in shape. Finally, however, I think that I get his point. Don’t hurry, rush or go through life scared. It’s not physical activity that he disliked. It’s the idea of moving faster than a person should.

I’ve been thinking about this because of the stress that I’ve been under lately. The other day, I suddenly realized that I was in near perpetual motion at hyper-speed. I made a conscious decision to slow down. Take your time. Don’t try to do more than you reasonably should. Take breaks. In the course of a few days, I began to feel much better. My blood pressure went down to its normal range. I wasn’t as angry or jittery.

I don’t know what Mr. Paige would have thought of our Internet age. Maybe he would have had a blog to display his clever wit. I am sure, however, that he would have shaken his head at our multi-tasking habits and overly accelerated pace of living. Just because we have machines that perform in nanoseconds doesn’t mean that we need to emulate them. Easy does it. You’ll see, learn, grow and enjoy more in a walk than in a ride in a rocket.

Learning and Forgetting

2006-03-01T23:19:00.000-05:00

As Mark Twain once said, “rumors of my death are greatly exaggerated.” However, I have had some setbacks recently. In addition to the one you know about (the passing of Megan), I discovered at a corporate health fair (read: inquisition) that I am “pre-hypertensive.” They also took my fasting cholesterol. “I’ll show them,” I smiled to myself, knowing that I had always had low readings. Wrong. My cholesterol is 200, the highest fasting number I’ve ever had by far. Amid all of this bad health news, I’ve also been working lots of overtime and suffering from lots of stress on my work project from hell. Of course, this is in addition to carrying two mortgages and the general uncertainty about the horrible economic climate in the Detroit area.

All of this has brought my panic and anxiety back from hibernation. This didn’t surprise me. I had never really expected to vanquish these demons for life. In fact, I’m accustomed to return visits every few to several years. What did catch me off-guard was how I reacted. Despite a lot of hard work learning about anxiety and myself, this recent reappearance put me in a real funk.

Slowly, I am regaining a modicum of sanity. I took a step back and realized how distorted my life is now. I made myself go slower, stop pushing so hard, make time for fun (what I call giving my life some green space). I try to keep irrational thoughts from gaining a foothold. I remember that life is in the little things, a conversation, a laugh, petting the dogs.

All of this reminds me of an excellent PBS documentary that I saw years ago about former president Bill Clinton. One of the people interviewed observed the Clinton was great at identifying what had gone wrong in a particular situation and resolving to act differently. Unfortunately, as time would go by and a similar circumstance would occur, he would often repeat his mistakes.

The longer I live, the more I think that this learning and forgetting is part of being human. For one thing, no two lessons are quite the same; our beasts tend to don new clothes when the revisit us. In addition, we get out of shape after a long period of respite from the fight.

If we’re lucky, we remember and recover quickly and add the new knowledge to our store. In my case, I think that I’m doing that. The advanced course may be kicking my butt a little now but I think that I’ll pass with a high grade. There may be no graduation but, at the end, I plan to party.

My Valentine

2006-02-14T18:01:00.000-05:00

Given the date, it is only appropriate that I post about my wonderful wife, Mrs. CA. Those of you who have read my 100 things list know a little about our history. Others of you who have read my post about those I admire know a little more. I actually knew that I wanted to marry her when we were cooking together one evening during the time we dated. She had such an easy, honest manner and confidence that I knew that we could be happy together.

Mrs. CA has put up with a lot over the years. During that time, her support has never flagged. Despite stresses and my occasional thoughtlessness, she approaches every day of our lives together with the energy and desire to make our relationship work. Her commitment makes me want to be a better man.

She and I share so many values and interests. She is smart and beautiful. As each year has passed, our bonds have grown.

I have taken her for granted sometimes, especially lately. However, I am determined to improve and be the best husband that I can be. This is what she deserves.

I wish that I could put into words the affection that I have for her but the feeling is so deep that words won't come. So, for now, I'll just say Happy Valentine's Day, dear, with all my love and wishes for many more.

I Disgust Me

2006-02-13T22:43:00.000-05:00

After work today, I went to Trader Joe’s and Whole Foods to pick up some groceries. For those you of you who don’t know, Trader Joe’s is a chain of specialty grocery stores at comparatively discounted prices. Whole Foods is a chain of large natural foods grocery stores.

I like these stores because I can get healthy convenience foods, organic fruit and vegetables and staples that make it easier to be mostly vegan. Occasionally, though, I have a hard time shopping there because of the company they keep. Both stores are full of the affluent (most, but not all, of whom are white). Sometimes they wear a suit, sometimes casual fashion but they always wear their class. I catch snippets of conversation that seems miles away from average working people. I wince until I realize that I’m not just a shopper among these folks, I’m also a member.

After nearly a year of writing this blog, I have come back to the reason I started it (hence the title of both the blog and this post). When I was young, I used to like to think that I had a social conscience. I gave to charity and participated in political campaigns. I still care about what happens to people and have a liberal view of nearly all issues. Yet, here I am in my nice life buying my nice groceries while there’s real work to be done. Two sides of me wage frequent war: the one who enjoys comforts and the one who despises me for doing so.

Realistically, I know that this is not a black and white argument. I don’t have to become an ascetic to live a worthy life. On the other hand, I’ve learned enough over the years to know that hedonism is not an answer for me. Life’s a balance of family, self, work, play, practicality and ideals. I also know that, in the midst of a major work project and trying to sell the old house, this is not the best time to make a big change.

Still, there are times such as those in the store when I yearn for a different path. I am lucky enough to be read by two people, Grace from State of Grace and Landismom of Bumblebee Sweet Potato, who live that path. Then there was my mother, who always fought for the oppressed.

In the end, I know that I must find my own way on this journey of the self. I have to find the life that works for me. The lessons are many and much discovery remains. Despite occasionally self loathing, I believe that I can reach my goal and thank you for helping me toward it. Peace.

Imitation of Life

2006-02-05T09:13:00.000-05:00

Recently, Mrs. CA and I enrolled in a medical plan that my company offered for the first time this year. We had belonged to a PPO for several years but it had some deficiencies. The new plan seemed to address them. Thus, we decided to try it.

Because the plan is new, we had some questions about how it operated. I called the toll-free number provided to get the answers. I was greeted by an automated response system with menus. I have always found these irritating. However, this one bothered me even more than usual because it tried to simulate a person. Instead of asking me to press 1, 2 or 3, it asked me to say words. It then tried to restate the words for me and ask questions as would an attentive (albeit annoying) listener.

Ultimately, I kept pressing zero until I got a person. However, the experience made me think about attempts to get computers to act like people. Alan Turing, the British mathematician, logician, cryptographer and computer pioneer, devised a “Turing Test” in 1950: if you’re talking to machine and you can’t be certain that you’re talking to a machine then the machine has “some intelligence.” Doug Lenat, a prominent artificial intelligence (AI) researcher, has spent years running a project called Cyc that aims to get computers to perform human-like reasoning by feeding it thousands of concepts, facts and rules. The AI community promotes the idea of machine learning, neural networks of pattern recognition, and even evolution. However, these movements have been rife with spectacular failures and slow progress.

Given the difficulties in producing intelligent machines, should we continue to try? I worry that many businesses want to implement AI systems only to put people out of work and reduce the bottom line. “Digitalizing” communication also cheapens our lives by oversimplifying complex, human interaction. On the other hand, the AI experiments may teach us more about ourselves and, in seeing the unbelievable richness of human intelligence, actually enhance the value of real people.

Based on my experience with the medical plan system, we’ll have lots of time to think about this. Until then, I’ll enjoy sassing it by answering “yes or no” when it asks me to say yes or no. It’s a small, passive-aggressive rebellion but it makes me smile – let’s see a machine do that.

Suddenly

2006-01-24T22:08:00.000-05:00

Yesterday morning, Mrs. CA took our middle dog, Toby, to the vet for surgery to remove and biopsy a couple of hard growths. We had been anxious about these lumps ever since we had felt them and anxious about having our baby anesthetized and under the knife. Mrs. CA had planned to pick him up late in the afternoon. At almost 4:30, I hadn’t heard anything from her. I figured that everything was going as planned and went to the gym at my workplace to do a quick workout.

When I got back to my desk, there were four messages on my voice mail. All of them were from my wife. Toby was fine. However, Megan, our oldest dog, was not. Earlier in the afternoon, she had collapsed on the bathroom floor and simply lay there and cried. My father, who was home at the time, called my wife, who came home. When she got there, Megan could not move her hind quarters at all and she was lying down in a funny way. My wife then left the messages for me.

I rushed home and helped my wife take Megan to the vet who had worked on Toby earlier. We were trying to imagine what could be wrong (hip dysplasia, stroke). Megan seemed alert but let the vet’s cats crawl right up to her (very un-Megan-like). The vet tried to do some tests but, after a short time, it was clear that he did not have the proper equipment to really figure out what was happening. Mrs. CA and I packed Megan and Toby in the car, dropped Toby off at home and headed to the one place that could help us late at night: the 24-hour emergency animal hospital about 10 miles away.

We helped Megan walk into the hospital and got her seen right away. The veterinary tech took her back into an exam room and we sat in the waiting room until a doctor came to see us. Megan was in very bad shape, he said. She was in shock. She was essentially bleeding to death from the inside. He thought, given her breed and age, that a tumor was causing the bleeding. He told us that, once he had stabilized Megan, he could do surgery to determine the location and nature of the tumor. If it was located on the spleen and was benign, that was good. If it was on the liver, there was no hope.

I signed some papers to approve the surgery. They let us see Megan, who was in a sort of doggie oxygen chamber on IV fluids. We petted her and noticed that she seemed quite a bit perkier than before. We tried to be as cheery as we could before going home on the advice of the hospital people (it was a long surgery). They said that they would call us immediately if the situation was grave. Otherwise, they would call us in the morning.

We went home and I conked out from exhaustion. At about 3 a.m., my wife woke me up sobbing heavily. Megan’s liver was completely full of cancer and coming apart. As we had agreed earlier should these circumstances occur, the doctor put her to sleep while under anesthetic.

Now, almost 24 hours after losing my baby girl, I have a hole in my soul. I can’t believe that she was here, playing so energetically, one day then gone the next. I keep expecting her to sit at my feet while typing or meet me at the door. I can still remember her as the young, gentle lab / shepherd mix who used to cock her head to the side when you’d ask her a question. She loved to chase and herd other dogs at the dog park. Over the last few years, she had seemed to get fussier. I had attributed it to age. Now, I couldn’t help wondering if it was the cancer.

In a way, Megan’s death hurts me more than my late mother’s. Mom had many health problems over the years and had refused treatment for them. She also withdrew from us over time and, as a result, I didn’t visit her all the time. Megan, on the other hand, was part of my daily family. Despite how I sometimes wished that she was a little less panicky, I loved her.

I’m sure that some people will read this post and think that I’m being stupid for feeling this much for an animal. I can hear them saying that they hate it when people treat their animals like children. They don’t understand how pets can become part of a family. They don’t know that, for my wife and me, our dogs are our children. I’ll say no more about why.

I don’t believe in heaven but I’d love it if Megan proved me wrong. I’d give up all of my doubt if I could know that she was frolicking around with other dogs, herding sheep or galloping across an open field. For such a heaven is a place where Megan belongs. She was a wonderful friend and I’ll never forget her.

Discrimination Begins at Home

2006-01-22T08:08:00.000-05:00

My good blog friend, Landismom, recently sent me a link to an interesting thread about fighting poverty in India. Although the discussion was about poverty, the responses reminded me of how women in India had suffered systematic discrimination over centuries. I thought of other legalized bias in foreign lands on the basis of gender, class, race or religion.

Then, while trolling Google News for stories to spark a post, I ran into this one. "A Maryland judge yesterday struck down a state law banning same-sex marriage, saying the measure violated a state constitutional amendment prohibiting sex discrimination." "Prevention of same-sex marriage," wrote Judge M. Brooke Murdock, "is not rationally related to the state's interests in promoting stable families and protecting the best interests of children."

As someone who was raised by two liberal parents, discriminating against someone is anathema. The United States, in law if not in the hearts of all of its citizens, seems to have gotten this in some ways. The 1st amendment of the Constitution guarantees freedom of (and from) religion. The 15th prohibits denying rights “on account of race, color or previous condition of servitude” (although civil rights laws had to be passed to give this some teeth). Yet, we have an abundance of laws, old and new, designed to discriminate against gays. The most recent laws ban same-sex marriage.

How do we, as a society, decide whom we may discriminate against? Some may argue that the difference is between how we’re born and what we choose. They would say that we are born with our race, color and gender but we choose our “lifestyle.” This rings false, though. If we follow this argument to its logical conclusion, we could justifiably deny rights to people on the basis of religion. If scientists proved conclusively that people are born with sexual orientation, would states suddenly rescind their sodomy and marriage laws?

Others may believe that we should interpret laws based on predominant social values. Clearly, Judge Murdock did not agree. "Tradition and social values alone cannot support adequately a discriminatory statutory classification. When tradition is the guise under which prejudice or animosity hides, it is not a legitimate state interest."

This last sentence gives me my answer. People discriminate against others to express animosity. When our animosity is really huge, we enshrine it in law. We use this law as a weapon to confer opprobrium and deny rights in an effort to stamp out the hated parties. In this case, we express our extreme hatred of gay people by denying them the many benefits that come with marriage (taxes and benefits come to mind).

Thus, this is really about us and them. We are the normal, they are not. We feel justified in passing and maintaining laws that quash the liberty and happiness of consenting gay adults otherwise like ourselves. We do this to maintain our hegemony (the patina on our fear) and a more homogeneous world in our image. After all, we’re right, right? Now, if we could only impose a state religion…

Victory in Defeat

2006-01-15T10:50:00.000-05:00

Tonight, while watching a football game (filthy habit, I know), I saw something no one had ever seen before. It happened when the New England Patriots lost a NFL playoff game to the Denver Broncos. It was the first time that Tom Brady, the Patriot quarterback, had lost a college or pro post-season football game (after 12 consecutive victories). In addition, Mr. Brady threw an interception and other errant throws that directly contributed to the loss.

This made me think about losing and making mistakes. I’ve had a lot of experience with this. I did not excel at music as an undergraduate the way I had in high school. I’ve made mistakes in auditions, performances and jobs. I've lost relationships and, occasionally, my sanity. My failures reached their apotheosis at 28, Mr. Brady's current age, when panic, a lack of steady work and being dumped all converged.

I took such setbacks very hard as a young man. I exaggerated my failures and minimized my successes. I felt that I had to be perfect to be accepted. Because I had poor self-esteem, I needed that acceptance to feel good about myself. As a result, any mistake could have a terrible cost.

Fortunately, therapy, age and experience have taught me that defeat and mistakes are a part of life. The more you stray from what you know and have already done, the more you may lose. It took time but, eventually, I realized that this isn’t a bad thing. It’s how we grow. Every time we make a mistake, we can learn a lesson that is the foundation for more learning. When we are defeated, we can learn how to lose and still be happy. This is crucial to living a balanced life.

Recently, I've had some failures at work. I won't get specific but they were pronounced (although they were not, either literally or metaphorically, broadcast on national television as were Mr. Brady’s). I screwed up in ways that, as a young man, I would not have forgiven. Other people let me down, too. These failures disturbed me greatly for a day or so. Then, I tried to learn the lessons, keep the mistakes in proportion and move on. The errors still injured me but they were more like a paper cut than a heart attack.

I hope that Mr. Brady can take a similar approach with his defeat. After all, it was Don Shula, longtime coach of the Miami Dolphins who said that “success is not forever and failure isn’t fatal.” Life is long if we’re lucky. There will be a lot of adversity along the way. Get used to it. Learn from it. Grow from it. The sooner you do, the richer and fuller your life will be.

Inauguration Day

2006-01-09T22:32:00.000-05:00

On Sunday, unfortunately, I had a rehearsal with one of the big bands that I belong to. I say unfortunately for the players around me. It had been nearly a month since I had picked up my trombone. I had been busy with work, moving into the new house, moving out of the old one and catching up with blog posting and reading. I didn't have any gigs so I quit practicing for a while.

Ouch. I limped through the rehearsal, hoped that I hid my tired chops well and swore that I'd practice tonight and each night until my Thursday gig. As added incentive, a work colleague who had kept saying that he'd come to hear me has finally decided to come (of course, he couldn't come during any of the times when I was in shape!). So, out came the horn for the first time in the new house.

To my astonishment, it was actually fun. My new room (the front room of the house) can produce many different kinds of acoustics from live to studio dead (thanks to hard walls punctuated by a wing chair and bookshelves). My chops (lips and the surrounding muscles for the uninitiated) felt decent considering the thrashing I gave them yesterday. Best of all, I was able to focus in the quasi-meditative way that marks my best sessions.

This made me think about the blissful state of absorption, where you become one with what you're doing. Time seems to slow down. You are at peace, creative and effective. Music does this for me. What does it for you?

The Times, They've Been a Changin'

2006-01-05T23:04:00.000-05:00

While taking my father to a doctor’s appointment recently, he remarked that I had gotten a haircut that was shorter than usual. I said that I had gotten the cut at work; one of the perks of working at corporate headquarters is that there is a hair salon. Dad then told me that, when he worked in the GM Building in Detroit, there was a company barbershop on the ground floor staffed with 10 barbers. An employee would just call and make an appointment with his favorite.

All of this made me think about the nature and atmosphere of the workplace has changed over the past several decades. My dad worked in an area where everyone had an office with walls. When I joined corporate America, all but high-level managers had cubicles. Dad’s tools of choice were a typewriter and pencils. I’m nearly lost without my computer. In Dad’s day, companies needed hordes of workers to do what only a few do today.

The amateur economist in me knows that this is the inevitable consequence of competitive necessity in capitalist economies. Improve efficiency or die. We would not have the incredible standard of living that we enjoy today without computers and other technological advances that yielded greater productivity.

This begets the “creative destruction” that economist Joseph Schumpeter described. Innovation and gains in productivity or efficiency destroy certain companies and jobs and “replace” them with others. The problem is that, in the process of job destruction and creation, people suffer. Yes, certain people do quite well riding the wave of the hot new skills. Some, however, are tossed and thrash about, never again finding the prosperity that they once knew.

Today, the whirl of creative destruction spins ever faster. Tough competition, fewer trade barriers and accelerating technological invention make it much more likely than for our parents that each of us will be out of a job and need to re-invent ourselves. I’m ambivalent about this new world of growing insecurity. On one hand, I’m glad that people in other parts of the world (outside the United States, Japan and Western Europe) have a chance to improve their lives and prosper. On the other, I or people I know and love may suffer for it.

Of course, there is a backlash. Benjamin Barber, in his book Jihad vs. McWorld, cites the tribal counter-movement to globalization’s march. This manifests itself most popularly in theocratic (lately Islamic) states. However, there are other forms of rebellion, too. They range from the American religious right to the European, anti-global left. All groups seem to feel that, in the process of everything getting faster and more connected, something has been lost. I’m sure that they are right but how do you advocate for it without bringing in other problems?

When I started to write this, I thought that I’d be able to conclude with some kind of clever answer. I can’t. I know what I’d like to see (a world that works together in relative peace, prosperity and self-respect) but I just don’t know how to bring it about. Thus, I welcome your thoughts, dear readers. I especially look forward to hearing from a couple of my favorite, socially conscious people, Landismom and Grace. However, I encourage all to respond. While it’s true that I don’t know the answer, I do know that finding it starts with conversation.

Resolving to Be Happy

2006-01-02T00:44:00.000-05:00

Happy New Year. I hope that you didn’t celebrate too hard on New Year’s Eve and that you are ready for another year of Struggling with Comfort.

For as long as I can remember (at least five years), I have made New Year’s resolutions. Some people pooh-pooh resolutions because they may be unrealistic or won’t be kept. I disagree. Resolutions are goals that we set for ourselves. They are hopes for a better life. Even if we don’t achieve them immediately, they give us direction and purpose.

Here, in no particular order, are my resolutions for 2006:

Be nicer to others and myself.
Lose weight through regular exercise and avoiding overeating.
Try podcasting.
Practice trombone more.
Cook far more.
Read more books.
Watch less television.

What are some of your resolutions?

Relatively Nice

2005-12-30T10:53:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, my aunt M invited Mrs. CA, me and my Dad for an after-dinner snack and conversation at my cousin L's house. Aunt M, my Dad's sister, was the aunt with whom I spent the most time as a kid. Her sons were close to my age and we always seemed to have a lot in common and enjoy each other's company. Her daughters, L and J, were older and always sweet to me, too. It turns out that, now that we've moved, L lives only 5 minutes away.

It was a wonderful evening with aunt M, cousin L, L's daughter and grandson (yes, L is a grandmother). We ate cookies and drank tea. We discussed progressive politics without fear of rebuke, friends, relatives, jobs and current events. We saw pictures of M's kids from the late 50s. The conversation moved easily from topic to topic. Everyone listened and was listened to. I had forgotten how much I enjoyed aunt M (still feisty and sharp-minded in her mid-80s) and her family.

When I got home, I reflected on how, for so long, I have been isolated from family. Until the past couple of years, when my mother got ill and passed away, I didn't see (or even call) my brothers and sister often. We only saw cousins, aunts and uncles at weddings or funerals. I was focused on my own life and its problems without, ironically, noticing that the support I needed was nearby.

My late mother used to say that family was "the people who have to take you in." However, I think that they are more than that. The bond and common understanding formed over years with family are a balm in a world of fear, uncertainty and unkindness. We can, and do, take family for granted. If we're smart, though, we'll nourish it instead and deepen the well from which they and we can draw when we thirst for love and understanding.

Thoughts for Food

2005-12-29T11:25:00.000-05:00

One of my favorite TV shows is the PBS series Frontline. Frontline consists of high-quality, intelligently-written documentaries about contemporary issues of politics, international relations and society. Because the topics covered are broad or complex, the shows are sometimes more of a survey or introduction than a comprehensive treatment. However, they always make me think.

The other night, I saw a Frontline episode called Diet Wars. The show examines the strengths and weaknesses of various popular diets promoted today in a quest for the "best" diet. I enjoyed the show on a couple of levels. One was its content. The program gave a concise, if abbreviated, history of diet philosophies in the late 20th century. It featured interviews with the diet proponents themselves (Dr. Atkins, Dean Ornish, Walter Willett of the Harvard Diet, Dr. Arthur Agatston of the South Beach Diet and representatives from the Pritikin Diet) as well as nutritionists, doctors and scientists. It outlined some basic principles of nutrition and revealed why dieting (and maintaining weight loss) is so hard.

The show was also entertaining. It was written and directed in a way that holds your attention. The correspondent, Stephen Talbot, is the editor of a separate series called Frontline World. In addition to being a first-class producer, Mr. Talbot is an interesting narrator. Some of this probably comes from his days as a child actor on Leave It to Beaver (he played Gilbert). Mr. Talbot has heretofore done everything possible to minimize this part of his life. In Diet Wars, however, he refers to it to make a point about how lifestyles (especially those of children) have changed to contribute to our near-epidemic of obesity. He also explores the topic through his own struggles with weight gain.

As someone who has had my own problems with weight gain, this show (perfectly timed for the post-holiday regrets about overeating) was a wakeup call. I'm not going to go on any crash diet. I know a way to eat (and exercise) that works for life. I just needed inspiration to start it again. Diet Wars did that. I recommend it highly.

The Post of Christmas Past

2005-12-24T22:58:00.000-05:00

On the PBS program The News Hour the other night, the inimitable Roger Rosenblatt did an essay on the irritating pervasiveness of Christmas songs during the holiday season. In addition to being an absolute hoot, the piece made me think about my relationship with Christmas, Christmas songs I like and one Christmas in particular.

Those of you who’ve read my previous post on religion know that my late mother was Jewish. My mother always seemed to have animus toward Christmas. She tried not to let it show but, in the occasional times when she’d relax her guard, I got the sense that Christmas symbolized her resentment of being a Jew in a largely Christian country. As an agnostic, I also felt detached from this holiday. I liked the presence (and presents) of family, the time off from school and performing in Christmas church services but I always felt like an outsider, peering through the windows at a celebration of the holy Jesus.

Perhaps my ambivalence toward Christmas explains my taste in Christmas songs. I tend to like the melancholy ones (except “Little Saint Nick” by The Beach Boys and “The Chipmunk Song” by the Chipmunks). “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” is the fond lament of a World War II GI imagining the holiday with his distant loved ones. “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” has as its subtext a world of trouble, stress, isolation and uncertainty about the future. “Merry Christmas, Darling” features the haunting voice of Karen Carpenter as a lover separated from the one she loves.

This leads me to a memorable Christmas. It was 1985. A couple of months earlier, I had been dumped by a woman I felt fully in love with and destined to marry. After a lot of sorrow, anger and depression, I was still hurting. As luck would have it, that year I was playing a Christmas Eve Midnight Mass only a half mile from her house.

I tried not to think about this as I performed. When the mass was over, though, I couldn’t resist driving by her house (this was before the days of today’s robust stalking laws). The lights were on and I could see that only her car was there. I stopped my car in front of the house and sat for a few minutes. Part of me wanted to knock on the door and wish her Merry Christmas. In the end, however, I sensibly decided to leave and never return. It was a turning point in my grieving process. After the holiday, I applied myself assiduously to my studies, got my computer certificate and my first programming job. As in one of my favorite Twilight Zone episodes, the pull of my former love got weaker and weaker until I couldn’t feel it at all. Ultimately, I found career success, other relationships and happiness with Mrs. CA.

If you are hurting now, I hope that this piece gives you hope or, at least, commiseration. For all of you, especially you wonderful, regular readers, I wish a very happy and healthy holiday season of peace and love.

Rear Admirables

2005-12-23T13:55:00.000-05:00

Not long ago, I wrote about my most inspirational teacher, Mr. J. Mr. J changed the course of my life by making me want to choose a career in music. However, there are other people who have inspired or changed me because I admire them. They are either people I’ve seen from a distance, close friends or family members. I’ve written about some of these people before (my dad) but here are some others I may not have mentioned.

Mrs. CA. Mrs. CA has taught me so much about caring, sensitivity and compassion during the last 10 years. She has a nearly inexhaustible supply of these qualities. She gives them not only to me but to all of her counseling clients, co-workers and even people she doesn’t know personally. She has also made me more aware of the consequences of how we speak to people (I have a tendency toward sarcasm that can disturb some) and the importance of having a positive outlook. I learn more from her every day and consider myself lucky to be married to her.

Dr. B. Dr. B is the therapist to whom I seem to return every couple of years (I joke that I’m coming in for my 10,000 mile tune-up). Dr. B. has a wonderful, droll sense of humor. He is also very easy-going, sensitive and intelligent. He is one of the few people I know who seems unaffected by the hurried pace of events these days. He teaches by the example of how he carries himself and communicates. When I’m in a tough or tense situation, I often ask myself what Dr. B would do (someday, I’ll make a bumper sticker) and act that way myself. It almost always works.

The Dalai Lama. I am not a Buddhist, although I may become one someday. The Dalai Lama inspires me with his ideas and actions. He and Thich Nhat Hanh have shown me that Buddhism is not a wimpy religion but a brave and powerful one. He inspires Buddhists and non-Buddhists alike with his clarity, simplicity and courage.

Brian Wilson. Brian Wilson was the major creative force behind The Beach Boys. He was raised by an abusive father and later suffered a breakdown in the late 60s and early 70s. Part of the reason for the breakdown was that other members of The Beach Boys (particularly Mike Love) rejected an adventuresome, ambitious, untraditional album called Smile. Brian took many years to recover from the breakdown and the misguided intervention of a controlling psychologist named Dr. Eugene Landy. Eventually, however, he conquered his demons (including stage fright) and, in September of 2004, released a re-recorded version of Smile with other musicians than The Beach Boys. I saw him and that ensemble perform Smile live in Ann Arbor, Michigan, and it was inspirational. As one who has suffered some of the same problems, I was in awe of both his courage and musicianship.

What about you? Who do you admire? Why? How have they changed you?

Are the Kids All Right?

2005-12-20T13:16:00.000-05:00

One of the unexpected benefits of our new neighborhood is the presence of children. Our old subdivision consisted mostly of retirees, childless young couples and singles. The new one has lots of youngsters. In fact, a group of them who look to be between 8 and 10 years old wait in our driveway for the school bus each weekday.

This has not only made me more diligent about clearing our pavement of snow and ice but has given me a chance to watch small children at close range. So far, I’m surprised at how little they have changed from when I was young. I expected these members of the post-Internet generation to be jaded beyond their years. Not so. They speak with the same buoyant voices, play the same or similar games and tease each other gently in a way that’s so familiar. They appear blissfully unaware of such problems as terrorism, domestic spying and economic uncertainty.

Of course, my view could be wrong or skewed. These children could be a small, insulated subset of quasi-affluent young people. I could be seeing them at the wrong time to notice differences or fears. That’s why I want some opinions from you, my readers (especially those with kids). What is your take on young children today? What challenges do they face that we didn’t? How are they handling it? What can we adults who don't have children do to help?

Winter Wonder

2005-12-18T20:08:00.000-05:00

As regular readers of this blog may know, I live in the metropolitan Detroit area of Michigan. I’ve spent most of my life here. For the most part, I enjoy it. There’s only one major problem (and no, it’s not the Detroit Lions): winter.

I have always hated the cold. People who know me know that I grit my teeth from December through April. Then, there’s the snow, which brings the dual joys of shoveling (see freezing while doing so) and treacherous driving.

Given all of this, and a winter even colder and snowier than usual, I had been particularly aghast to hear people celebrating, not bemoaning, the season. “I love the way the cold freezes my skin,” one woman opined in a radio piece about the “joys” of winter. A colleague at work kept talking about how pretty the snow looks on the trees. Others cooed about how “wonderful” it was to have 6 inches of the white stuff twice in the space of a week.

“Ugh,” I thought as I heard these things. You love the cold freezing your skin? That’s morbid. The snow looks pretty on the trees? It probably doesn’t look as pretty as your car is careening out control. You like having a foot of snow? Perhaps you’d like to take my shift at shoveling and chipping ice.

Then, the other day, a terrible thing happened: I realized that, if I were being honest with myself, I didn’t hate winter as much as I used to. The severe temperatures were bearable if not enjoyable. My winter driving had improved (thanks largely to anti-lock brakes and traction control). I had even come to appreciate the cardiovascular workout of snow shoveling.

When I related this epiphany to a colleague familiar with my annual season of complaint, she smiled. “Maybe you’re finally getting used to it after all these years.”

Now that’s cold.

Home at Last

2005-12-17T20:50:00.000-05:00

Over a month ago, I posted about my success buying a new home. I’ve been AWOL from blogging during the last few weeks, preparing for the move, moving and settling in. Now, I’m here with a tale of a move that may not have been from Hell but was close enough to feel the heat.

I last moved 10 years ago, from my apartment into my wife’s house. I didn’t like that process. However, moving from an apartment is to moving from a house as running a mile is to running a marathon. Until you do it, you probably won’t realize just how much stuff you have.

To make things easier, we moved in stages. Whenever we could, we took boxes over to the new place. Thus, by the time the movers came on Sunday, only big things and stuff we either hadn’t had time to take or needed to live remained.

The weather on the day of the move was horrid. Imagine a continuous rain that would make Seattle proud chilled in Minnesota. Nevertheless, I felt ready when the movers arrived. Mrs. CA, who had had movers before, had prepared me for the fast pace at which they would operate. We walked the two of them through the house and explained what was going and what was not. Then, I went to pack last-minute boxes, my dad stayed out of the way and Mrs. CA tried to keep things organized.

The two guys, a laconic African-American (whom I’ll call Butch) whose cool seemed impervious to any earthly force and a white guy (whom I’ll call Skip) who worshiped him to the point of trying to use street slang, started with the packed boxes. Then, they moved to the furniture. That’s when the fun began.

First, there was the entertainment center, a hulking, heavy edifice of wood and glass. Mrs. CA had warned me that the movers would take a long time with this one. What I didn’t expect was that Skip would whine and that Butch would kvetch. After about a half hour of this, punctuated by occasional interjections of “yo, dog” from Skip, the two of them managed to get this Empire State Building out the door and into the truck.

The next challenging item was Mrs. CA’s classic (and huge) desk. This thing had been there when I moved in and I sometimes wondered how she had ever gotten it up there. “Don’t worry,” she assured me. “The same moving company got it in. They can get it out.” Butch and Skip tried every angle possible, grimacing all the while. Finally, they gave up until Mrs. CA authorized a bit of destruction. Butch and Skip fiercely chopped away the molding of what was once a door and the desk was liberated.

Big fun, however, was to wait for the basement. Mrs. CA and I had a tall, heavy, upright freezer there. Given what had happened with the entertainment center, I readied myself for complaining. Instead, however, I heard Butch shriek and Skip say “whoa, dude!” I went downstairs and learned the cause of their distress. Under the freezer were the dead bodies of five mice who had undoubtedly been trying to keep warm. Butch then explained that, by company policy, he and Skip were supposed to remove everything from the truck, drive off and charge us full price anyway. They then told us that they weren’t going to do that. “Just be nice to me and my partner,” he said with an aural wink.

We got to the new house and the two guys hustled the packages off of the truck. They brought in the easy-to-carry furniture then finished, with even more grunting and groaning than before, with the entertainment center. We paid the bill and slipped Butch and Skip each a hefty tip (hush money). “If anyone asks,” Butch said dryly, “everything went fine.” Then, Mrs. CA, my father and I sat back, shaken like three James Bond martinis.

Three weeks later, the new house feels a lot more like a home than the hotel room it seemed at first. Most of the important boxes have been unpacked. We’ve discovered some good restaurants and stores. I’ve really gotten to love my new, shorter drive to work.

We’ve also found some pieces of furniture damaged. We thought about complaining. We even wondered if Butch and Skip had made up the whole company policy about mice. However, Mrs. CA had a social worker colleague pose as a prospective mover and confirmed that the story was true. Under the circumstances…everything went fine. Sure. Moving was a piece of cake. I just wish that someone had remembered to put the file in it.

Mr. J

2005-11-23T10:01:00.000-05:00

From the time when I was very young, my mother impressed upon me the value of education. Education is the way up the ladder. Knowledge is something they can’t take away. Learn throughout your whole life. I can still hear her saying these things that she always told me were drilled into her by her mother who, although not formally educated, spoke five languages and was very smart.

I, too, believe that education is one of the greatest things. However, there is one reason that my mother never enumerated that I hold dear. An inspirational teacher can change the course of your life. I was lucky enough to have such a teacher in high school: my band director, Mr. J.

Until high school, I wasn’t sure where music would fit into my life. I had been told that I had talent when I started playing the trombone in elementary school. However, my junior high school band director corroded my interest with destructive comments and negativity. I enrolled in concert band as a high school freshman not knowing whether I would really continue it beyond that year.

Then, I met Mr. J. He was a dynamic and enthusiastic teacher who cared deeply about his students. He had an outstanding knowledge of musical technique and literature. He challenged us with music that made us stretch our abilities and our minds. He made us work, think and feel as a team and believe in ourselves.

Suddenly, I got serious about music. I started taking lessons. I practiced a lot. I improved to the point where I could enroll in first the symphony band and later the symphony orchestra, too. I became first chair in these groups. I competed in solo festivals where I got high marks. Ultimately, the fire that Mr. J lit led me to become first trombone in the all-state band.

Along the way, I also developed a personal relationship with Mr. J. He was the first adult, outside my parents, to whom I could really talk on an adult level. He gave me the confidence to be a leader, first as student conductor of the band then as president of the band and orchestra. He was a role model.

When I was graduated from high school, I went to Mr. J’s alma mater, the University of Michigan. I wanted to become a high school band director like he was and a fine performer in the university’s top bands and orchestras. Unfortunately, things happened. All of the other players were very good. I was so intimidated by the Zen-like band director, Mr. R, (a college classmate of Mr. J’s) that I never made the top band or orchestra. Although I thrived in the jazz program (which got no respect at that school), I lost the confidence that I’d had.

Occasionally, I would go back and visit Mr. J at school. I never spoke to him about the tough times that I was having at Michigan; I felt that I had let him down and couldn’t bear to share that. I saw how hard he worked at his job; the constant pressure of millage votes and people who didn’t think that the arts were important; and how this wore on him physically.

Ultimately, Mr. J and I both moved on. I switched my college major, paradoxically, to performance and, not long before I graduated, had a couple of moments where I got a chance to prove to the inscrutable Mr. R. that I really could play better than he thought. I went to a different university for my Master’s degree and thrived from that point on. Mr. J, as I remember, eventually switched to teaching math classes then took an early retirement. Not long afterwards, my old high school band program, one of the best in the state while Mr. J was there, disappeared entirely.

I didn’t think about Mr. J for a number of years. Then, I saw the movie Mr. Holland’s Opus. This wonderful film brought back a flood of memories of Mr. J. I wanted to try to organize a reunion of band people whom he had affected and tell him how much he meant to us. Life got in the way and I never got around to organizing the reunion but I still haven’t given up.

If you’ve ever had an inspirational teacher like Mr. J, I’m sure that the story above is familiar. If you haven’t done so, take some time to think about and, if possible, thank that teacher. Education, as my mother and grandmother said, is one of the great things but, as Mr. J and many other outstanding teachers proved and prove, knowledge isn’t the only reason why.

The End of Delusion

2005-11-14T19:57:00.000-05:00

De·lu·sion, n. 1. a. The act or process of deluding. b. The state of being deluded. 2. A false belief or opinion: labored under the delusion that success was at hand. 3. Psychiatry. A false belief strongly held in spite of invalidating evidence, especially as a symptom of mental illness: delusions of persecution.

I don't hang my hat on a lot in life but I do take a few things for granted. For instance, I have always thought of myself as a healthy person. I'm a vegetarian and, until the past year (when work and family situations intervened), I did cardiovascular and strength exercises three times per week, an hour and a half per time. Even recently, I've tried to do a lot of walking at work and escape to the gym when I could to at least use the treadmill or the elliptical machine. Thus, when I went for an evaluation to join the health club at work, I was a little worried about the strength tests but not at all about the cardio one.

Oops. My technician stopped my test early because my heart rate was at the high end of my target zone. She then told me that my VO2 max (the amount of oxygen you can consume while exercising at your maximum capacity) was very poor for men my age. She even said that, when I exercise, I should work in a narrower target range to avoid problems.

The test results made me think about beliefs and what do they do? Why they are important? What happens when they are put in doubt? My belief of fitness helped my anxiety. It made me feel better about myself. I defined myself by it. When I got the test results, I was alternately depressed and scared for the next few hours. Eventually, I convinced myself not to exaggerate an isolated result (I'm prone to do this); remember that my blood pressure, cholesterol and other medical tests come out very well; and know that things will probably get better as I work out more.

What about you? Have you ever had a belief invalidated? How did it affect you? How did you handle it?

Dead Art

2005-11-13T08:19:00.000-05:00

As those who've read my 100 things list know, I once belonged to The Glenn Miller Orchestra (and no, I'm not one of the original members). I have lots of good memories of the band and a few bad ones, too. One of the latter concerns The Glenn Miller Society of England. The Society was formed by people who saw Glenn's last performance before his airplane was lost on a flight to Paris in December, 1944. A band mate showed me the society's newsletter while we flew to England to do a series of concerts. The newsletter had detailed historical information about the original Miller band and news about the current one (right down to my name and home town). He then warned me to play my improvised solos exactly as they appeared on Glenn's records or risk boos from the Society members who would be at our concerts. They wanted the band, in the minutest respect, to sound just like the records they knew.

I thought of this the other day when I heard a story on NPR about the new film version of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. The story describes the reaction of members of the Jane Austen Society of North America to a special screening of the film. Several of the members objected to the film’s deviations from the precise original text, period details, even grooming. One member summarized the spirit of this criticism when she said “Jane Austen to us is almost sacred scripture.”

Why do people feel this way about art they love? Why do they want to freeze it in time instead of letting it evolve naturally? Maybe it wears a groove in their brains. This also reminds me of how some people feel about their past (hence, the popularity of reunions). The term “nostalgia” was originally used by a seventeenth-century Swiss physician to describe the disease of homesickness. Maybe some people need the security of constancy in a time of uncertainty.

I, however, look at this issue as a performer. To me, the message is simple. If you want the original, get the original. Play your old Glenn Miller records. Read your Jane Austen books. Just don’t expect real, live artists to become human jukeboxes to support your habit. They, and many others, have moved on.

We'll Have a Home

2005-11-08T08:56:00.000-05:00

Note: I'm on quasi (or crazy) sabbatical due to a near complete absence of time. The following is a post I was able to scratch out when my various wardens weren't looking:

A couple of months ago, I posted a narrative (Domus Interruptus parts 1, 2 and 3) about my first adventure buying a home. I had been a renter all of my adult life. When I married Mrs. Comfort Addict, she already owned the house where we live now. Though she and I have refinanced twice, the experiences that I wrote about quickly showed me that buying (and selling) a home was a whole new thing.

Now, the saga continues, albeit not in the same style as Domus Interruptus (Mrs. CA wasn't too crazy about my characterization of her). The experiences that we had in September definitely helped crystallize our requirements. This let us eliminate a lot of homes that wouldn't have satisfied one or the other of us and save a lot of time.

After a looking at a few ranches in various sizes and prices, we thought that we had found a place. It was a spacious place with a finished basement and an in-ground pool. It seemed nicely maintained and appointed. I had reservations because of the price (at the highest end of our range), yard (as big as a park) and proximity to a major road but Mrs. CA was so taken with the place that I was willing to go along.

We were all set to make an offer when our buyer's agent told us that another couple was interested, too. After consulting with her, we decided to bid $1000 over the asking price. The seller was on vacation in a place with no fax machine so his agent phoned him to give him the offers. Since (we learned later) our offer was $1000 higher than the other one, he accepted ours verbally.

I was excited (within reason, given the misgivings above) and had begun to psychologically prepare myself for the larger mortgage payment. Then, a couple of days later, our agent called. She said that, when the seller finally reached a fax machine and reviewed the two offers, he reversed himself and accepted the other one. Why would he turn down an extra $1000? In our bid, we wanted to have a home inspection. The other offer did not want a home inspection.

After some initial sadness and anger, Mrs. CA and I both said a collective "whew." Then, we started our search again. This time, we looked at houses in the lower and middle part of our price range. We saw several ranches in the same general area as the one we had lost and settled on a really nice one on a corner. Like the other one, it was very well maintained and had a beautiful finished basement. The yard was not huge but it was big enough for our three dogs. According to the owner, we could add a privacy fence to keep the dogs from barking at everyone who walked by.

We asked our agent to put a bid on the home. Just to be on the safe side, though, Mrs. CA insisted on confirming that we really could put in the privacy fence. After some calls to the city, she discovered that we could not. We quickly called our agent and asked her not to place our bid.

By then, I was feeling pretty low. I wondered if we had too many requirements for anything to satisfy. Nevertheless, we and our agent started looking again. In about a week or two, we went to see a few properties. As we moved from place to place, my fears were confirmed. Each of them had some fatal flaw (not enough room, a yard too small, nowhere for my music stuff, too many maintenance issues) that disqualified them. Then, we drove by a house that we could not see that day because the seller’s agent had not returned our agent’s phone calls. It was a nice brick ranch that looked well cared for from the street. The yard was not huge but it was bigger than most that we’d seen. In addition, it looked as though someone was home.

We asked our agent if it would be totally out of line for her to go up to the door and ask the seller if we could see the place sometime that day. She did so. The seller was very friendly. He said that he hadn’t heard a thing from his agent. He said that, if we gave him 30 minutes, we could come back and see the house.

30 minutes later, we walked in. It looked as good on the inside as on the outside. It met all of our different requirements. It wasn’t the perfect home but both Mrs. CA and I agreed that it had more going for it than anything we had seen or were likely to see. Besides, it was the least expensive house we’d looked at and, well, comfortable. An hour or so later, we went to our agent’s office and put a bid on the house. This time, it was accepted.

In the midst of our joy, we did discover one nagging problem. The foundation of the house had been leveled a few years ago. This didn’t seem like a major deal. There was a lifetime warranty on the work and our inspector found no evidence of any shifting or structural problems. Then, we discovered that the franchise that had done the work and provided the warranty had gone out of business. The parent company was reluctant to honor the warranty.

Despite this, I tried to keep my happy face showing at the closing. Mrs. CA and I got there first and got a head start on the documents. Later, the seller showed up and signed his documents in a separate room. Then, we were all brought together in the same room.

We exchanged small talk and jokes for a little while. Then, our seller handed us a couple of pieces of paper. They had the watermark of the parent company of the foundation work. One of them was a letter from a vice-president of the company promising to honor the warranty. It turned out that the seller had worked for a couple of weeks to get the company to honor the warranty. He just kept calling, working his way up the chain of command until this vice-president agreed. Now, I really was happy, not only about the house but humanity.

We’re awash in boxes now but, later this month, we should be moving in. The only problem that remains is selling the current house. The same buyer’s market that helped us with the new home will hurt us with the old. In addition, we want to do some minor work on the old house before selling it. Will we get what we want or need from the old house or take a bath? The sage continues…

Trying to Get the Feeling Again

2005-11-01T20:53:00.000-05:00

Before Al Franken became a talk radio star, political pundit and best-selling author, he was a comedy writer for Saturday Night Live. Occasionally, he appeared in front of the camera. He had many different bits but the one I remember best was a sly reversal of John F. Kennedy’s “ask not what your country can do for you” inaugural speech. In the sketch, Franken, playing himself, asked viewers to consider “what you can do for me, Al Franken.”

I thought about this because I’ve noticed that I can be pretty self-centered or, more accurately, unconscious sometimes. My late mother used to say that I lived in a dream world because I wasn’t as absorbed as she in the latest news. Mrs. CA says that I have a capacity to ignore messes or things that need to be done.

I’ve also noticed that I don’t feel things as I think I should. When my mother passed away recently, I expected intense, or at least palpable, grief. It didn’t happen. This may be because of the complicated relationship my mother and I had over the years but it’s not an isolated incident. Mrs. CA is moved deeply by tragedies near and far. I often can’t muster the concern I would expect.

Why is this happening? I tell myself that I’m tired, busy or that the Zoloft is responsible. Maybe I’ve walled off my compassion for self-protection (having gone through periods of intense feeling and caring in the past where I felt wrung dry). I could be going through “the change,” my version where the bleeding that stops is from my heart. Then again, since I tend to exaggerate things, perhaps I care more than I realize.

In the end, all I can do is try. I’ll try to listen, stay aware of what others around me may need and help. It may not be the best thing I can do for Al Franken but it is the best thing I can do for myself.

The Road Not Taken

2005-10-27T22:45:00.000-04:00

As those of you who read this blog regularly know, I am a musician. I started playing the trombone in fifth grade. I got serious about music in high school, thanks in no small measure to a great band and orchestra teacher (the subject of a future post). In college, I began writing songs and developing my jazz chops and ears. I spent my twenties as a full-time professional musician until, to make myself more “respectable” and successful for a woman I thought I would marry (who ended up dumping me hard), I decided to go back to school for computer programming.

I’ve had my IT “day job” for nearly 20 years now. Most of the time, I don’t regret having chosen the straight life. I can pay my bills, go to a nice restaurant or take a nice vacation without a thought and enjoy each gig instead of worrying where the next one would come from.

Now and then, however, I do feel sorrow about the road not taken. Sometimes, it comes when listening to a great performance (or, occasionally, marveling at my own) makes me giddy. Other times, it happens after a hard, frustrating day of office politics and rigmarole. I get the sense that I’m wasting my life, that I’m not expressing myself artistically and that, when the end comes, I’ll be disappointed that I didn’t follow my dreams further.

The feelings never last too long. I have too many struggling friends in their forties and fifties to have the illusion that success is assured or even probable. I also subscribe to Satchel Paige’s most famous maxim (“Don't look back. Something might be gaining on you.”). Deep down, I know that my choice was the right one for me. As my nom du blog indicates only half ironically, I do feel better with a modicum of comfort.

Music has given my life a richness that I’ll never regret. If I do occasionally mourn not pursuing it as a career, I remind myself of the wonderful life and family that I have. Besides, who knows? What might have been might still be – someday.

Running on Empty

2005-10-22T08:35:00.000-04:00

When I started this blog, I promised myself that I'd never apologize for not posting more often. However, I have not been posting as much as I want to (in my dreams, every day). This is mostly for two reasons: lack of time and lack of good ideas. My time has been usurped by a man-eating project at work and various family responsibilities; I could forego sleep but that tends to make things worse. I also can't think of much to write that doesn't seem crappy.

Of course, these two things are probably connected. Just as a city needs a certain amount of green space to let its occupants breathe, I need down time to let my energy and spirit thrive. My work and family activities have eaten away at this spare time. This has suffocated my creativity.

Thus, to preserve my sanity during this period, I have cut back on posting. The good news is that the events going on now are fodder for future writing. Lately, little germs of posts have been fluttering past. I've captured some of these butterflies and put them in a nice enclosure to be visited later.

So, my friends, I am sorry for not posting more often and, especially, for not visiting your fine blogs. As time permits, I will try to do more. Until then, I hope that you'll stop by every now and then. You never know when the butterflies will go free.

If You Please

2005-10-16T12:32:00.000-04:00

Early this evening, I’m performing with a jazz group at a church that hosts a series of jazz concerts. Normally, this band plays very adventurous and original music. Tonight, though, we’ll be toning it down a bit. The coordinator of the series is a little leery about “modern” jazz (meaning anything after the big band era). Also, since we’re playing for the door, it pays to please the crowd.

This got me thinking about pleasing. To me, there are two different kinds of pleasing: pleasing to give and pleasing to get. Pleasing to give is born of some degree of affection, from simple courtesy to deep love. In this mode, I please you because I care for you and want to express that care. This is a beautiful thing.

Pleasing to get bothers me more. It seems more of an exchange than freely chosen behavior. I play the music that you like so that you’ll give me money (like tonight); remain silent about my minority political and religious opinions to avoid your persecution; conform to a way of dress or action to receive your approval; or, in the extreme, give you what you want so that you won’t hurt me.

I’m not saying that there is no place for this kind of pleasing. To pay the rent and eat in a market economy, you have to supply what people demand. I also know that, as my boss is fond of saying, you have to pick your battles in life. However, pleasing to get is a slippery slope. One moment, you’re making people comfortable. In the next, you’re violating your ethics.

So, the next time I find myself pleasing someone, I may ask myself why I’m doing it. If my reasons are at the questionable end of pleasing to get, watch out. I may decide, in the words of Ricky Nelson, that it’s best to please myself – if you’re okay with that.

Underdog Victorious - Review

2005-10-09T22:46:00.000-04:00

I just finished listening to a good CD called Underdog Victorious by Jill Sobule. My sister gave me Ms. Sobule's first, self-titled album for Christmas several years ago. The smart, funny, poignant songs, as well as Ms. Sobule's musicianship, attracted me right away. The new album continues in the same vein, juxtaposing clever lyrics and bouncy hooks. My favorite songs so far are "Joey," about Joey Heatherton, "Cinnamon Park," a variation on Chicago's "Saturday in the Park" starring stoner kids, and "Freshman," about the price of following your dreams. If you like honest tunes that you can dance to and think about at the same time, check this CD out.

The Sociopath Next Door - Review

2005-10-07T19:20:00.000-04:00

I've just finished a good book. It's The Sociopath Next Door by Dr. Martha Stout. Stout, a psychologist from Harvard, argues that up to 4% of people are sociopaths. She defines a sociopath as someone without a conscience. These people lie, manipulate and harm others easily, without remorse. Their great joy in life is winning. They can't truly love others. Stout gives composite case histories of sociopaths who have victimized her patients. She then tells how to recognize and deal with them.

If you decide to go to the Amazon link above, you will notice that Stout has her detractors. Most of them criticize her either because she didn't cite enough controlled studies or because she used "composite" case histories. Given that this is not a scientific treatise, I have no problem with the absence of citations. As for composite histories, I think that Dr. Stout is just being ethically prudent by not using real cases.

I liked this book because it gave me a straightforward description of sociopathic behavior. It is also very well written and accessible. If you want to recognize the sociopath next door (or, in my case, next cubicle), this book seems a good primer.

The Curse of the Gadabout Gladiator

2005-10-03T22:50:00.000-04:00

I try to avoid watching television. I don't do this out of snobbery. Watching television makes me passive, edgy and stupid. It’s like junk food for my brain.

Alas, I sometimes backslide. When this happens, though, I try to choose nutritive programs and avoid those that will give me heartburn, like football games. These modern-day pseudo-wars always bring out the worst in me (much to the chagrin of Mrs. Comfort Addict). However, as anyone who has ever been on a diet knows, it's very easy to fall off of the wagon and, Sunday, I did.

The object of my defection was the Detroit Lions game. For those of you who live outside the Detroit metropolitan area, the Lions are a professional football team (or, at least, members of the National Football League). Back in the fifties, the Lions were practically America’s team. They won championships in 1952, 1953 and 1957, the year I was born. They have not won a championship since.

If you do know the Lions, it’s probably for their spectacular combination of bad luck and boneheaded plays. In fact, the Lions put the 1961 Mets to shame in this last category. Receivers drop balls right in their hands. Quarterbacks throw balls where even Kareem Abdul-Jabbar couldn’t catch them. Defensive players injure each other and knock themselves out for the season. Coaches even get into the act, taking the wind instead of the ball in overtime.

What could explain such an unrivaled record of futility? Normally, I would look for a logical explanation such as bad management, poor players or ignorant ownership. In this case, however, I’ve found a different reason – it’s a curse.

What is this curse and whence does it originate? I call it the curse of the Gadabout Gladiator. That was the nickname of the last great Lion quarterback, Bobby Layne. Layne was a hard-playing, hard-drinking Texan who led the Lions to championships, and wonderful play, in the fifties. After a couple of games in the 1958 season, the Lions traded him to the Pittsburgh Steelers. According to legend, when the press asked him about the trade, Layne said that the Lions would not win a championship for another fifty years.

Bobby Layne died in 1986. If there is an afterlife (and doesn’t that sound funny after the last post?), he must be yucking it up, saying “I told you so” all around.

What can be done to lift this curse? Perhaps, the experts who finally managed to get the Boston Red Sox off the schneid can be brought to bear. Maybe an exorcism can be tried. Possibly, if the current Lions quarterback, Joey Harrington, flew down to Lubbock, Texas and prostrated himself at the gravesite, relief might be found. I’m open to any and all ideas. Until then, I’ll have to do as the doctor orders: take two books and tune in Sunday afternoon – 2009, that is.