Everywhere we go...

The Wizards season tickets have turned out to be the best investment in our mental health since the whole downsizing thing started a year ago. A night out in the profanity-soaked Cauldron section, blowing off steam. A guaranteed seat to top-level football playing. (Uh...well maybe that will come after the team adjusts to their new manager.)
Last night was a great example. Cauldron ticket holders were invited to see a Royals game for the low-low price of $5 a ticket and bring a little of our spirit to America's Pastime.
Mike and I were all over this the minute it came out. School night? Who cares. You don't often get a chance to see a professional baseball game that cheap--never mind how the Royals have been playing lately.
It wasn't until later that I began to think it through. The Cauldron section at the Wizards games is, well, pretty active. It's 45 straight minutes on your feet, screaming, singing and spouting the aforementioned abuse at opposing players. Then a short half-time break to sit down, then up again for 45 more minutes, plus stoppage. It's loud and accompanied by snare and bass drums.
How would that energy translate to the mellower confines of a baseball stadium?
For one thing, a baseball game is so much longer than a football match. We'd all lose our voices if we kept if that level of energy up for several hours.
And then there's the matter of neighboring baseball fans, who would surely be annoyed by the constant screaming.
Would we use some of the standard songs? Well, let's see...
"He fell down like a.." No, that one doesn't work.
"Who ate all the pies?" Well, there are probably plenty of candidates for targets in the average baseball lineup, but again, the neighboring fans might object.
"A rope, a tree, we'll hang the--umpire?" No.
"If I had the wings of a sparrow..." uh-uh.
(for other chants, click here)
In the end, it all worked out. We stayed in our seats, cheered at select times and stuck to lighter fare. ("Let's go Roy-als" eg.) Other "normal" Royals fans were far enough away--either by accident or by design--that there was no drama.
As for abusing the Indians, we had to content ourselves with heckling Indians right fielder Jamey Carroll, because he was the only one ever close enough to hear.
And I guess it worked, because the Royals won and pitcher Zack Greinke beat a team record for strikeouts (which we had to miss, because of our daughter's bizarre insistence at getting home early enough to get enough sleep for school. Sigh.)
So maybe the Cauldron was a good luck charm. Guess they'll just have to invite us back.

Take a breath, let it out slowly

I was going to write a light bit of fluff today about smiling and facial recognition software. But that will have to wait.
Instead, today's topic will be forgiveness.
Something happened to us this weekend that was...well...pretty bad. Imagine yourself writing job application letters for the first time in a couple of decades. Imagine that you messed up, ticked off a hiring manager and got a curt rejection.
Then imagine yourself seeing the text of that exchange--complete with your name--on display in someone's blog.
Yeah, that bad. But there's more. Imagine that wasn't enough humiliation to suit the blogger, so he dug up a cobwebby diatribe from someone who hates you with the intensity of an ex spouse, printed it, then invited followers to commence with the egg throwing. (Should I provide links?....Nah.)
That was Mike's experience this weekend, as we tried to concentrate on our daughter's first soccer matches of the season.
Let me just say here that this kind of blogosphere attack is becoming almost an every-day thing for us. As such, it's losing its power to make our hearts race with fury, indignation, rage, etc. These guys are going to have to step up their game if their aim is to upset us.
Still, this went beyond the normally trite Mike-hating posts in that it could have harmed us. It could have poisoned the job search, conceivably keeping us from paying bills or sending our daughter to college. It could have, and it still might. We have no way of knowing.
So why do we forgive the person who released that application letter?
Because she seemed genuinely remorseful when Mike talked to her. No doubt she believed the blogger would have excised the name and used the application letter as an instruction to his readers. As it turns out, trusting a blogger can be risky, perhaps because many of them believe they can never be sued.
Coincidentally, compassion and forgiveness have been in the news lately. The person serving time in Scotland for the Lockerbie airline bombing was recently released because he is suffering terminal cancer (NPR Talk of the Nation topic today, in fact.)
Science also suggests that forgiving a wrong-doer is good for you physically (here's another Talk of the Nation that's worth the half-hour listening commitment.) It lowers your blood pressure, for one thing. Not that we ever thought of our health.
No, we forgive that hiring manager because it just seems right. The bigger the mistake, the bigger the lesson. She learned about snap judgment and trusting the Internet. Mike learned about an effective job application. I learned about--well, I'm sure I learned about something.
I have no doubt we will all end up improved in some fundamental way by this experience.
In my humbly optimistic opinion.

Say #*!&$, Somebody

Holy %^#*ing p$^@#tion! It's a fine day for the %#$ers of the world when you get the news that #$*+ is as good as #%^ing. Truly, I don't know whether to !%$ or get a ^%(@.
There. That's better. I feel fine.
More pressing events of the past week kept me from posting about a delicious little item I came across about a study on swear words and health. By now, everyone's no doubt heard that British researchers have come up with a study that shows a well-timed cuss word can actually help ease physical pain. (Reports appeared numerous places. Here's one from Time.)
The study subjects were asked to hold a hand in ice water. Some were told to repeat an expletive while others repeated a neutral control word. The ones who swore showed more tolerance for pain, the study said.
But there's more. While looking up this study, I came across another saying researchers (again British) have found that swearing at the workplace--out of earshot of customers--improves morale and improves bonding amongst employees. Here's a link from the CBC. Note the site's promotion across the top of a street hockey event. Awesome!
Two general comments:
No s**t, sherlock. And
Great Britian's scientific community kicks a%^.
So let's do some math. Overpriced, underfunctioning health care system + sucky economy + mass depression in the workplace = SWEARING IS THE CURE FOR EVERYTHING THAT'S WRONG WITH THIS COUNTRY!

Those people at the health care town halls? The wild-eyed ones gesticulating and screaming? They're not crazoids, but brilliant health care innovators who have adapted to the lack of affordable care. The chanting and arm waving (meditation, aerobics) and the occasional swear word are not only stunting public debate as planned, they're a low-cost way of keeping the faithful healthy. (The addition of firearms was genius, pure genius. Can carrying a gun also relieve stress? Great Britain, I leave it to you.) Dick Cheney had it right, when he said "f*#@ you" to an opponent in the Senate. Look how many heart attacks he's survived.
And, ooh, here's an interesting question. If by swearing we push our heart rate up and initiate the "fight or flight" response we need for survival, does that mean that swearing actually causes beneficial chemicals in the body? And--stay with me here--would it then be possible to create a speech so larded with profanity that you could fall into a swoon of intoxicated ecstasy, thereby curing the drug trafficking problem? #$&%ing A! I feel a little woozy just thinking about it. How would I sign up for such a study?
Of course the study's authors had to put something in to bring me down, as they did with studies on benefits of chocolate and red wine. Don't overdo it, blah, blah, blah, too much searing could water down the original emotional impact, blah, blah, blah, more study is needed, yadda ya.
To which I say,
"B#$%@t!"

Always Looking Up

I missed the TV special about the nature of optimism last May, and have been regretting it ever since. It was to be a discussion into the nature of optimism, with Michael J. Fox as host and I simply forgot to set the DVR to record it.
But oh, well. I put myself in the library's queue to check out his book, Always Looking Up: The Adventures of an Incurable Optimist, thinking that would have to suffice.
My name finally came up (apparently a lot of people in the library system are chasing after not enough books) and I finished it last week.
And, well, I still wish I'd seen that TV special.
My mistake was in thinking that the show would cover essentially the same ground as the book, only in less detail. From the promos I read, Fox was going to visit the country of Bhutan, which is unusual in that it takes the happiness of its citizens into account in setting national policy. And he was going to have some people on to talk about the nature of optimism.
Just the idea that network television was going into a subject this deep gave me my own little shivers of optimism, celebrity or no.
But, again, I missed it. So did the book deliver the same thing?
Not exactly.
Always Looking Up was more of a bio of the most recent years of Fox's life (Lucky Man: A Memoir was the earlier one). There was no visit to Bhutan, nor much philosophical discussion of the nature of optimism--though there was some.
Always Looking Up is divided into four parts--work, politics, faith and family--and of those, work and politics take up most of the space. That should have told me right there that I wasn't going to get the philosophical road map to optimism I'd hoped for.
The section on work described Fox's decision to give up his acting career and the inspiration behind his Michael J. Fox Foundation, which raises money for finding a cure for Parkinson's. That section flows seamlessly into the politics section, which is full of tales about his involvement in presidential and congressional politics. This section gives an inside look on how it feels to be slammed by the ultra-conservative media, most notably Rush Limbaugh and his reprehensible mocking of Fox's Parkinson's symptoms.
Faith and family then cover Fox's relationships with his wife and kids, his reflections on their involvement in Judaism (his wife's heritage) and his encounters with the Christianity of his own background.
So most of the book is--as expected in any bio--stories and anecdotes about Fox's life. And this is just the reason I found it so frustrating.
Don't get me wrong. They're interesting stories and well written. But when I put it down I did not feel any clearer about what makes Fox an optimist while others struggle with depression.
Other than maybe he was just born that way. At one point, he writes about dropping out of high school and leaving Canada to try his fortune in the entertainment industry. If that isn't the definition of a born optimist, I don't know what is.
This is a problem I've run into time and again in my quest to become optimistic. People who already are optimists, like Fox, have it so ingrained that it's hard for them to describe the process. It's just there for them. What struggle?
And then people like me have to fight every single personality trait. Personal accomplishment? I was just lucky. Financial boon? Better save it for the inevitable "other shoe." Don't set your sights too high, you'll just be disappointed. Risk-aversion therapy, here I come.
Read it, though. At the very least, it will make you feel like contributing to a worthy cause.

Don't cry for us, commentator

Consider this a gift and get out while you can. The last thing you want is to end up like Mike Hendricks. Alone, isolated and begging for crumbs like a rat trapped in a cage.

August 11, 2009 12:08 PM

So said the anonymous commenter on McClatchy Watch--the right-leaning blog devoted to the goings-on at the McClatchy newspaper chain.

The subject: A one-week furlough announced Tuesday, extension of the wage freeze and a voluntary separation package to be offered to most full-timers. It's been five months since Mike's pay cut and bump down to part time, yet here we see his name mentioned again, as if he is some kind of poster child for the newspaper economy. (He's not, but feel free to send your donations anyway!)

There are a couple of things I'd like to say about this.

First, I am touched--deeply touched--that in the midst of all that's going on in the economy and in the print media someone would still be thinking of us and extend us these kind, sympathetic thoughts.

Second, Put away your hanky, dearie. It ain't like that.

"Alone, isolated and begging for crumbs like a rat trapped in a cage."

You know what's funny? If this was five months ago, that is pretty much how I would have described my feelings about the startling news that we would soon be getting by on one-third (plus) less income. Back then I was losing sleep, losing appetite and unable to focus on much of anything but our finances.
But somewhere amidst the laughing yoga and the brainwave therapy and the inspirational books, things have changed. A lost week of pay? Did I really used to worry about that? I should have been ashamed of myself.
Let's parse this.
Alone
Totally not accurate. We're surrounded by the best family and friends anyone could ever ask for. I just spent one of the happiest weekends of my life in the company of my accomplished, intelligent and self-sufficient kids. My own proudest accomplishment has been launching them, one by one, into the community. And friends? Not everyone is a right-wing wacko nursing a festering grudge--though it seems like it sometimes. The vast majority of people we know are kind, generous, empathetic. And fun to be with.
Isolated
Isolated? Seriously? Hey, he's not up in a mountain cabin, eating squirrel brains. We do a lot of our own food growing and cooking, but we still have the telephone, the Internets, the Twitter, the Google. Is anybody really isolated any more? Well, maybe the Unabomber was.
Begging for crumbs
Awww... Just like the little Match Girl. How can you not pity the person who is begging--not for spare change--for the tiniest crumb? But is that us?
Let me just go check the cabinet. Nope. Plenty of crumbs here. No need to beg.
Both Mike and I had the good fortune to be raised by older parents and grandparents who had seen the Depression and the shortages of World War II. They showed us how to cut back and be frugal and after all this practice, we kick ass at it. So there'll be no begging for crumbs here. But if you're hungry, we'll FedEx you a loaf of bread.
Like a rat trapped in a cage
Funny thing about downsizing. We both felt a lot more trapped and hemmed in when we were worrying about hanging onto the Star job. The cutback has actually been a freeing force for us, because it has enabled us to think of other, interesting career paths. Not just as a daydream, but as something to act on. This is now a transition time, and it's exciting to think of the fresh projects we might take on.
Let me point out here that we aren't one cent better off than we were. None of Mike's former salary or status have been restored. No promises have been made. But the economy is improving. The jobs are out there. We can ride this thing out, because neither of us is afraid of rolling up our sleeves and going to work.
So, anonymous commenter, thanks for your interest in our time of need. But don't worry about us. All the things that have happened the past five months have only strengthened us. We're more focused, more appreciative of what we've got and--dare I say--even happier than we were in January, when all we did was worry. And by the time we get out of this, we'll be more liberal, too.

5K my way

See me in there? I'm about a third of the way back. Green tank, black shorts, red headband?
Oh well, never mind.
The Susan Komen Race for the Cure has become a birthday tradition for me since my mom got breast cancer five years ago. It is not the kind of 5K I usually seek out because a)it's always so hot b)there are so many people crowding in it's hard to get a decent time and c)it's always the weekend of my birthday.
But I run it for my mom (she's survived) anyway. Normally I'm a bit of a worrywart. Will we get heat stroke? Will I get stuck behind a bunch of walkers, like I did three years in a row? Will I lose my kids--also running--in the sea of humanity by Union Station?
Yesterday, though, was the happiest I can ever remember being during this run. The Star had a team, so we were able to do it on their dime, which was nice. And it was hot, but I only really suffered when facing into the sun the last quarter mile or so. And the new route did have a few more hills. But somehow, I wasn't spending my time worrying about making it up those steep ones by the new Kaufman Center for Performing Arts.
Usually on these things, my thoughts go like this: Oh, God, I'm outpacing myself. So many people. Don't let me get winded and have to walk. Don't let me fall down by the finish line. But yesterday, I don't think I ever had any of these negative, performance-anxiety self talks. So that's progress, isn't it?
As a result, I was able to just enjoy the scenery and the tunes from the bands along the way. In other years, we've gone east through the Jazz District, but this year we went north, just in front of the Star and it's new printing plant, the Sprint Center, then back through downtown and the Power and Light District, and up again past the construction on the arts center before heading to Union Station via Broadway.
All those civic improvements got me thinking. A lot of people on this run--maybe even most of them--aren't from Kansas City proper. I'm willing to bet many of the runners and walkers who live in the area come from the outlying suburbs. And of those, there are probably at least a few who rarely visit downtown. Many, if you ask them privately, voice a disdain for downtown and its politics.
I can remember, a few years back, being a parent chaperon for our kids' field trip through Union Cemetery, the Plaza and other points of interest downtown. We drove, since we weren't lucky enough to get a bus seat. And it was up to me to keep us oriented. None of the others in the car had a working knowledge of the downtown.
Some suburban people just have an unreasoning fear on this subject. They've heard about a rolling gun battle or a carjacking, and to them the whole area gets painted with that same dirty brush. It's partly racist and partly just ignorance of the territory. So getting people downtown--even if it's just for a few hours' visit for the Komen 5K or the Kansas City Bicycle Club's Fountain Tour--can go a long way toward introducing reason to that fear.
It works both ways, though. There are plenty of downtowners who scorn the burbs--JOCO in particular. Some people are wealthy, shallow or racist, so then we all must be. Some Joconians make fun of KCMO, so then we all probably do.
Maybe the suburbs need their own big event, with people from all over walking the streamway trails, or riding through the historic sites. Maybe what we all need is a series of field trips.
Anyway, thinking this stuff helped pass the time so pleasantly I was hardly aware of running at all. Maybe it was just that delusional runner's high I've heard so much about.
I didn't get a timing chip this year. So let's just assume I got my best time ever.

PS. Photo credit to Susan Pfannmuller. I remember passing her by and almost hitting her shoulder. Wonder how long she had to stand still before it was safe to move out of there.

Feel Like a Million

You gotta love the comics. Only a few days ago, I commented on a Zippy strip on the nature of optimism.
Yesterday, the Zipster came to the rescue again with this bit on being a millionaire. After reading it, I slipped into a reverie about something I haven't though about in a long time--having a million dollars.
In fact, I haven't revisited my "winning the lottery" daydream since before the big economic collapse of last winter. I don't know if this is a good thing or a bad thing.
Before the crash, when our personal finances were slipping more slowly, I'd often film little mind movies on the subject. They'd usually be set on a podium, where, flanked by our lawyers and state lottery officials, we'd accept the check and then take questions from the press.
And how would I plan to spend all that money? Of course, I'd be noble and generous. First, I'd see to it that family was taken care of. My mother would have a secure old age, my sons' and daughter's college would be paid off. Perhaps we'd pay off the house and invest in some energy-saving improvements we've been unable to afford.
Kind of pedestrian, huh? But what if I'd won an incredible amount of money? What if I'd caught that man-sized catfish of legend, the multi-state Powerball? There'd be plenty of cash left over after that for glitz. How to spend it?
And there's where the fun comes in. I'd dream of traveling anywhere and everywhere--and taking the grown kids with us. We'd camp--but only because we wanted to. Never just to save money. Sometimes we'd stay in posh resorts with multiple pools, too.
After that? If there was still cash left after that...I don't know. Maybe I'd start a foundation. Or buy me some government like the big boys do.
That's where it always ended. With me dreaming about setting up a nature conservancy (best idea: an audio museum, set far enough out in the country so that no internal combustion engines could be heard. Restricted air space included.) Or a PAC.
But, for whatever reason, I don't dream about winning the lottery any more. Maybe imagining a brighter future before the end of my life is just too big a stretch. If that's the case, this is a bad development.
On the other hand, maybe it's good to take those thoughts out of the realm of dreams. When I daydream about it, it stays just that. A daydream. Did any current millionaires spend much time daydreaming about future riches? I doubt it. Maybe it's better to put my mind to work conjuring a path--quickly, please--out of this financial nightmare.
Yeah, that's the ticket. I'm thinking in real terms, not dreams, about how to get at that money. We know it's there, behind the dam built by top-level CEOs to prevent any of it from trickling down. But I'm going to bust a hole in that dam, or die trying.
At least, that's the take I'm going with today.
Here's a favorite on the subject from the Barenaked Ladies.

A Year Half Gone

Let's review. In the six months that has passed since I vowed to become an optimist, the following has happened:
*We huddled in fear for two months as layoffs at the Star passed over our household.
*In March, Mike learned he would be cut back to part-time status, with a 33 percent cut in pay and additional cuts in benefits.
*We used the company's bridge payment to pay off the credit card, but had to put two college loan payoffs on a one-year forbearance.
*Mike got recognized with a second place award for his column (humor) by the National Newspaper Columnist's Society.
*Mike's doctored picture appeared on the Bill O'Reilly "Factor," where his column (on the killing of abortion Dr. George Tiller) was pummeled. In separate news, he was apparently targeted for reputation destruction by a couple of local bloggers.
*I became interested in the occult.

Oh, I kid. I'm not actually fixing up voodoo dolls and visiting graveyards for revenge rites (as far as you know). But when I look back over the things I've tried on the road to optimism, there does seem to be a theme running through it. The research on the patron saint of journalism, the experiments with karma, the obsession with dolphins and the blue heron totem (they're everywhere! I see them every time I go out.) And there are plenty of things I've tried--brain wave therapy, laughter yoga--that a suspicious Christian nose would sniff out as occultish, but maybe not fully in the black arts.

Sure, I've also tried things with more of a scientific bent. I tried unmindful smiling, putting my voice in the "happy range," that sort of thing. But dang, it's always more work and a lot less fun than finding a New Age charm. Can't I get more optimistic if I spin around in one of earth's special "vortexes" or arm myself with the right crystals? I promise I won't forget to try.

But to business. Boys and girls, what have we learned so far?

A lot of stuff makes you feel better momentarily, but just doesn't stay with you. Kind of like fast food. Smiling constantly is the best example I can think of. I feel better when I smile. Others react positively when I smile (the ones that aren't freaked out). But I just can't keep it up forever.

It really doesn't help to dwell on negative emotions. Sure, imagining your family's blogosphere attackers stumbling through a DUI road test on YouTube may make you feel good (oh, so good). But it really doesn't solve anything, and no amount of chicken entrails will change that.

Forward motion is the only potion. (Like that? I just made that up.Attention Dave Ramsey--this is now a copyrighted catchphrase. Contact me to pay for its use.) Better a shark than a dolphin. In response to our financial crisis, we've started a bunch of new projects. Maybe one of them will end up making us some money.

Meantime, there are new horizons of optimism to explore. For example, what affect do firearms have on mood? And if I visualize something enough, and pretend that it's true, can I make it happen? Or is that something better left to a priestess?

On the Good News front: We managed to sell some wood siding that was in the garage when we bought this house. That replaced most of the vacation money and made it possible to buy our daughter a new cell phone when hers broke just this week. Yay for keeping our heads above water.