The 25 Year Plan

Passion Fruity

2012-02-09T10:47:00.000-08:00

I have a friend who is fond of saying, “You know what thatfeeling of impending doom is? It’s impending doom, mother-f*****!” While thisfriend is obviously equally fond of colorful language, the irony in hisstatement is not lost, at least for me. When one is faced with dread, one wouldexpect an optimist to discount it as only a feeling; things are not as bad asthey seem; or, things are not whatthey seem. I am that one, a latter-day optimist. I try and usually succeed atseeing the positive and never view impending doom as such. Well, almost never.I am beginning to believe that all human beings have the propensity for insanity, for some exceedingly rational human beingslike myself can actually “go there” on occasion.

My younger years were laced with bad decisions. Thosedecisions were based upon a number of factors and most often I could see inretrospect that I should have taken a different course. Among those factors wasa drive to satisfy my passions, the desire to be “happy.” While our passionsare arguably what makes us human, when they are pursued unchecked, they can andwill destroy us from the inside out. Aristotle and Plato disagreed on much, butwhen it came to unchecked passion they both clearly saw the danger. Aristotle’s eudaimonia (the “good life”) was not to be found in the fulfillmentof our every want and desire, but rather in a balanced life where our passionsare kept in check by reason.

Another factor that my decisions were based on and one thatcertainly can be valid was “signs,”or indicators as to what would be the best paths to take. Although theseindicators can and should be taken into consideration, it is important not toread more into them than is there. This is where the insanity comes in,especially when my reason is desperately trying to tell me, “this is not impending doom.” The fact is that doom has darkenedmy door in the past, but usually when I least expected it, and perhaps that is part of theproblem. I mentioned retrospect earlier and in retrospect I have tried tofigure out what I might have missed in an effort to avoid the same pain in thefuture. I was burned (figuratively) badly once before and I have replayed thescene many times trying to figure out what I could have missed. There weresigns and I thought if I had been more aware, I would not have had to sufferso. I no longer believe that and, furthermore, that “analysis” only addedbricks to a wall that, instead of shelter, served as a prison.

Even if I had assessed the signs to reflectwhat turned out to be reality, I was still allowing my passions to add two plustwo to get 10. There was no way to know what I later found out to be true and,truth be told, it would not have lessened the pain anyway. What it did do,however, is jeopardize any future relationship I would have. It is yet another“sign” that reason can easily explain away, but passion will pick up and runwith. My friend’s statement about impending doom loses all irony, becominginstead a self-fulfilling prophecy. Self-fulfilling prophecies, by definition,fulfill themselves. And that insanity, after a long absence, has revisited merecently. Reason was telling me that there is no there there, but my passionswere running the show. As reason was trying to warn me, passion was busy engagingthe self-destruct mechanism. Fortunately for me, my fiancé is incrediblyforgiving (one of the many things I love about her) and did not kick me to thecurb.

I study communication at the highest levels; I am in a Ph.D.program at one of the most prestigious schools in the nation. I knew what my emotions were telling mewas a lie. I know that my success in recent years is due in no small way to thewisdom of Aristotle and that for most of these past few years I have beencloser to eudaimonia as a direct result. Reason was strong, passion was kept incheck, but somehow it slipped its bonds for just an instant and while loosewreaked havoc in my life. In the end, this foray into insanity marks the lasttime reason lets passion call the shots. The risk is too great; its defense is unwarranted,unnecessary and ineffective. The passions are there to make life worth living,but they cannot be counted on to look after my best interests. Aristotle triedto tell me that 2,500 years ago. I am listening.

What We Do

2012-01-30T10:38:00.000-08:00

Author's Note: This was written for a graduate seminar at LSU - posting it here is a cheap way of keeping this blog alive, but the questions posed are, nonetheless, relevant. For those with a scholarly disposition, the in-text citations have been left in place.

In reading the varyingconceptualizations of what communication is, what it isn’t, whether it isrepresentational or presentational, whether it is interactional ortransactional and whether is should be firmly rooted in postmodernism or itsevolutionary heir, the thread that appears to run through these works isWatzlawick et al.’s axiom “One cannot not communicate” (1967, p. 49). Atthe root of the axiomatic debate is the definition of communication itself.Upon hearing this axiom for the first time in an undergraduate businesscommunication class, the explanation used to support it seemed to makesense. In an office setting, layer after layer of communication as wetraditionally think of it was removed until simply the act of not showing up towork became a communicative act that said any number of things from “I’m sick,”to “I’m sick of working here.” Viewed now in retrospect, every layer ofcommunication deprivation represented an intentional act, however, it is alsoclear that the intention might not have necessarily been to send a “message.”

Located on another place in the“What constitutes communication?” spectrum, we have the notion thatcommunication must necessarily occur whenever there are two or more peoplepresent (Motley, 1991). That is, even if one is not communicating, theact of not communicating is communication. Complicating the definitioneven further, the idea that some form of intention (conscious or unconscious)is a sender-based view of communication whereas calling all behaviorscommunication imposes a “receiver bias” (Bavelas, 1990, p. 595). That is, onethe one hand, if a behavior, verbal or otherwise, is intended to transmit amessage, for some that constitutes communication regardless of how or if it isreceived while others claim that any behavior that transmits information, regardlessof intent, is communication. Finally, postmodern thinkers have attempted tobridge the gap positing that communication is not a discrete “thing” that canbe extracted and studied in isolation, but rather an event that consists ofmyriad and intrinsically elusive variables such that absolute certainty cannever be achieved (Cronen, 1998).

All of the above academicepiphamizing still leaves us with the question, what is communication? Whileadopting a stance like the infamous US Supreme Court’s definition of obscenity,“I know it when I see it,” is equally ambiguous when applied to communication,does any of the prior (and certainly future) debate help communicationscholars? Communication Theories has a laundry list of 18 differentacademic definitions of “communication” (Miller, 2005), never mind theancillary and necessary definitions of the terms that spring from thosedefinitions. Some might argue that for disciplinary status and theorydevelopment, we, as communication scholars, need to define in no uncertainterms what it is that we study. But consider this: Can communication be assimple as the sharing of information? What constitutes “sharing” and what ismeant by “information,” of course, is open to further debate, but as Deetz haspointed out, we do not study the substance of, say, psychology, or sociology(also ambiguously defined disciplines), or even hard sciences such as physicsor chemistry, but we do study how the information produced by these diciplinesis shared, used and even, to a certain extent, created – “We have to…producestudies that study psychological, sociological, and economic phenomena asformed and explained communicationally” (1994, p. 568).

Therefore, the definitionalconstraints on what, exactly, constitutes the communicative element is highlyfluid and largely context dependent. Indeed, approaching the same question fromtwo or more communicational perspectives, whether is be a linear model, apostmodern angle or a rhetorical view within the communication studiesdiscipline can each reveal different but still valuable insights. Cronen iscorrect that certainty is an impossibility, however, this is nothing new –Aristotle’s Rhetoric is founded on the very idea of the contingent. Ifmethodologies and theories – indeed, if disciplinary status - are dependent ona narrowly focused definition of communication, then we are forever destined tobe nothing more than a field. But notice the debate regarding the definitionsof terms such as “discipline,” “field,” “areas of study” and the like (Deetz,1994). Similarly, many if not all other so-called disciplines can be subjectedto the same definitional scrutiny. But we as communication scholars, notsurprisingly, seem to dwell on this, perhaps due in part to our tenuousfoothold in the academy, but also due to the fact that this is part and parcelof what we do.

The ongoing debate is atwo-edged sword. It is exceedingly beneficial to examine and re-examine whatcommunication is and toward that end, develop new theories and methodologies thatpropel our understanding of a phenomenon that can never be fully understood.Our discipline’s propensity to communicate about communication is apractical application of the art we study. However, when it comes to entrenchedbeliefs and interdepartmental divisions, it weakens our standing in the academy. Injustifying one area of study to the exclusion of another, we fuel those who seeus as a field without substance, a community of scholars with no community. Thesimple fact is that no area of study, indeed, not even the human race as weknow it, exists outside of or without communication. We don’t study chemistryor psychology or economics or basket weaving, we study how people in those“areas of study” or “fields” or “disciplines” communicate. We study the sharingof information, regardless of how one defines it.

The University in Crisis

2011-12-08T13:32:00.001-08:00

An email alertgraced my inbox not five minutes ago. A police officer at Virginia Tech wasshot today. The details are still sketchy, but it appears as though the shootingtook place during a traffic stop on campus. While the severity of the shootingis still unknown and the possibility of a second victim was reported, the reportindicates no suspect has yet been apprehended. A campus-wide alert is in effecttelling students and faculty to stay inside. It is at least tacitly ironic thattoday is the day that Virginia Tech is defending itself for a fine imposed dueto its response (or lack thereof) in 2007, an event that still reverberatestoday. For those who recall the murderous rampage at Virginia Tech, this reportis chilling and telling; our children live in a much different world today.Many claim that the murders of the “student gunman” who killed 32 students andfaculty before killing himself at Virginia Tech represent a turning point inhow campus police operate, but I contend that the relational alignment betweencampus police and the communities they serve did not change overnight. VirginiaTech provided a convenient justification for campus police, but in reality therelationship between campus cops and students has not been cordial for sometime now.

Look at any locallaw enforcement agency’s regalia and you will find somewhere the words, “Toprotect and to serve.” Ostensibly the protection and service is provided to thecommunity, the law-abiding citizens who, through their tax dollars, employ theforce that is serving them. While never asked out loud, the implicit, perhapsrhetorical, question arises, “Protection from whom… or what?” Of course this isrhetorical because the answer is obvious, but it is decidedly not rhetorical when one digs throughmany of the police endeavors to “protect” us. While overzealous police activityis nothing new – indeed, it appears that a peculiar attraction of the jobappeals to at least a few who are prone to egotistic exertions of power – thereis something darker than just a few cops using too much force to countercriminal activity. Whereas the Rodney King beating was clear example of excessof power institutionalized within the Los Angeles Police Department, RodneyKing was a criminal in the purestsense of the word. This does not excuse the excessive use of force by the LAPD,but it does highlight a troubling paradigm shift that something darker is goingon here. Who are the criminals today, particularly in the institutional mind ofcampus police?

If the events last month at the Davis and Berkeley campuses of the University of California areany indication, the relationship is adversarial at best. Now it could be arguedthat those were isolated incidents and that the police were simply followingorders, but it makes little difference whether either or both of thosecontentions are true. What could not be established in both cases is thepresence of criminals or criminal intent. As the viral YouTube videos of theincidents show, the campus police were squared off against students and faculty who were peaceably protesting.Although it is true that they may have been violating some local rules,ordinances or – how dare they – decorum, they were not criminals any more thanmy receiving a speeding ticket makes me one. The battle cry from the defendersof force, “they were breaking the law, they deserve what they got” can becarried to logical absurdity by calling for the death penalty for parkingviolations. Using OC spray (euphemistically referred to as “pepper-spray”) andbatons on peaceful, non-violent protestors, whether or not they are “breakingthe rules,” is an inappropriate use of force. Period.

But thisrelationship goes much deeper than a couple of publicly displayed instances of(extremely) poor judgment by campus police. And this overall attitude, whilecertainly apparent in those who find the power of law enforcement intoxicating,exists at the upper levels of campus police administration. Shortly after theYouTube video of the UC Davis police attempts to “enforce” the law againstthose they are charged with protecting and serving, UCDPD Chief AnnetteSpicuzza defended her officers stating that they were “surrounded” and justneeded to exit. She continued to defend them until she was silenced by “paidadministrative leave.” As mentioned earlier, the video tells us much, and partof that “much” is that Spicuzza’s justification is patently false. And untilthe outrage went global, the upper levels of administration at UC Davis,including Chancellor Linda Katehi, condoned the actions of its law enforcementagency. When adversarial attitude comes from the top, is it any wonder the rankand file view the students as the enemy?

As a point ofreference, a recent event on the Louisiana State University campus indicates how campus policeleadership can positively influence the actions of its officers. Last summer a communication studies graduate student attempted to make apolitical statement by burning a US flag on the parade grounds. While illadvised, the action is constitutionally protected. On that day, protection isexactly what the student needed. A predictably angry mob of (mostly) other studentsmounted a counter-protest and his safety was anything but guaranteed.According to the student, the LSU campus police, while sympathetic to thecounter-protesters, still managed to usher him away to safety. However, thoseofficers also felt that he might deserved to be charged with some violation –perhaps the ever-popular law against using poor judgment? Causing a scene? Ormaybe even a real law such as unlawful assembly or inciting a riot… regardless,the upper levels of police administration never let that happen. One wouldexpect rational judgment from police administrators and at LSU, apparently,that expectation is realized.

It is perhapslogical that in the wake of Virginia Tech, campus police would reassesstheir role in campus life. However, the murderous rampage there and otherequally random acts are just that, random. There is little that could have beendone at Virginia Tech short of a total police state, and even then a determinednut-case would be able to carry out a similar slaughter. There was, afterthe tumultuous 60s where campus police exhibited a similar adversarialrelationship (climaxing with the Ohio National Guard shooting 13 students,killing four at Kent State in 1970), a détente in campus police/studentrelations. I experienced it as a student at San Diego State University from1983 -1985. As a initiate and later a member of a large national fraternity, Iwas involved in my share of pranks – pranks that occasionally brought me intocontact with campus police. While I was sternly admonished and even detainedfor short periods of time, the police at the time knew who they were dealingwith – a young, immature and easily influenced college student. In my two yearsat SDSU, I cannot remember one student ever being arrested and never once did Isee any indication of militancy even at very large student gatherings such ashome football games.

When I returned tocollege in earnest, it was 2003. The school was American River College, acommunity college in Sacramento, California. At the time, the campus police didnot carry guns, but they were lobbying for the right to do so, arguing thatthere was the possibility that they might face a situation for which they wouldbe ill-prepared. The student apprehension was palatable; many asking whatrecent situation would lead the police to believe that such a scenario wasforthcoming. Despite overwhelming student disapproval, the ARC campus police nowcarry guns and, not surprisingly, have had occasion to use them. While thepresence of weapons and riot gear does not foretell an occasion to use them,being prepared for an all out assault does signify the anticipation that suchan event could occur. But the question should be, from whom would theaggression originate? A campus police force rarely deals with non-students. Arethey expecting the students to mount a counter-offensive?

After transferringto California State University, Sacramento in 2005, my major was journalism. Upon completing my internship, even before graduation, I was a professionaljournalist – I had a real job at a real newspaper writing real news about realpeople and got paid real money to do it. It was not a campus newspaper. In mycapacity as a journalist I was in contact with city police, county sheriffs andstate highway patrol on a regular basis. Our relationship was always cordialeven when investigating occasional police transgressions. I also had occasionto write stories that required input from the California State Universitypolice. I presented myself, depending on the context of the story, sometimes asa student journalist and others as just a journalist, and found the level ofcooperation only slightly better when not identifying as a student journalist.My interviews were always with police “spokespersons” or upper administrationand in both my journalistic roles, when asking probing questions I was met withindifference, indignation and more than once, disrespect. I was evenunderhandedly threatened with arrest on one occasion – for simply askingquestions. This was before Virginia Tech and on a relatively quiet campus. As astudent journalist, I would expect that the campus police would have viewed ourrelationship as synergistic rather than adversarial. After all, are we not onthe same team? Are we not both members of the same campus community? It is asthough the campus police, and more importantly, their leadership, have setthemselves apart from and outside the campus to which they serve.

It is difficult tosay if the new militarism exhibited by many campus police forces is a reflectionof the recent militarism seen throughout the nation in the various “Occupy”protests or not. An argument can be made that the 1999 World Trade OrganizationMinisterial Conference in Seattle was the turning point in the forced quellingof protest activity. The tolerance gained through the sacrifices in the 60sappears the have been forgotten. A college campus is no place to silencedescent, as University of California President Mark Yudof said in the wake ofthe infamous “pepper-spray” incident at UC Davis, “free speech is part of the DNA of thisuniversity.” If campus police use force to quiet civil disobedience the waycivil rights protesters were dealt with in Montgomery, Alabama just ahalf-century ago, what is that telling our students? Although this is adangerous trend, the public outrage in the aftermath of the twin uses of forcein Berkeley and Davis is hopeful. Maybe we haven’t forgotten after all.

Seriously Questioning Authority

2011-11-22T23:20:00.001-08:00

I have not had time to write in this space in quite a while. Ido not have time now. But I am compelled by the recent police action on thecampus of University of California, Davis. I, like a great many others, wasappalled at the egregious violence perpetrated upon the peacefully protestingstudents last Friday afternoon. Many have come to the defense of the universitypolice department saying that the students were breaking the law and failed toobey police orders. That is true, they knowingly did both. They likely expectedto be arrested and might even have foreseen the use of OC spray(euphemistically referred to as “pepper-spray") against them. The numerous YouTubevideos tell a very compelling story, but as many have pointed out, the videos do not tell the whole story. The question is, do they tell enough?

Without completely rehashing the institutional“he-said/she-said,” it is important to at least set the stage. Students at UCDwere protesting – it doesn’t even matter whatthey were protesting. People protest about all sorts of things all the time,college students do it almost as a right of passage. Part of the protest was an“encampment,” a form of protest that seems to be all the rage these days. UCDpolicy prohibits “camping” on campus and in the interest of student safety andwith a blind adherence to policy, Chancellor Linda Katehi ordered the tents, not the protestors, removed. Accordingto her statements today, she was adamant that the police do nothing else, thata confrontation like the one that occurred at University of California,Berkeley days earlier was not to occur.

Apparently, the UCD Police Department (not to be confusedwith the City of Davis PD – an important distinction that will come up againshortly) did not understand this directive. Now, what we do not know is whetherKatehi is telling the truth, - if that was indeed her directive. At the momentit looks as though she is sincere, but time will tell. Regardless, the video(s)show the UCDPD came to the scene in full riot gear, each carrying multiple“zip-tie” handcuffs and a full “non-lethal” arsenal including “pepper-spray”paint-ball guns, OC spray in fire extinguisher-size canisters and batons, at theready. After dismantling the tents and arresting the protestors occupying them,supporters sat in a circle around the encampment, arms interlocked inabsolutely non-confrontational, non-violent solidarity with the cuffed campers.

But they were blocking the pathway through the quad betweenthe officers and their vehicles. There were numerous officers both inside andoutside the circle. Nonchalantly, one officer, later identified as UCDPD Lt. JohnPike, casually stepped over the seated protestors and proudly displayed a can of OC sprayto the bystanders, the officers outside the ring and the protestors beforespraying the seated, peaceful, non-violent protestors, emptying the can atpoint blank range in a sweeping motion like he was applying Miracle Grow to hisgarden. When he ran out, he motioned for another officer to bring his canisterand continue the dousing. All actions are in apparent violation of the UC’s own policies. Inthe words of Katehi, it was “chilling” and the president of the entireUniversity of California system called it “appalling.” It was all that andmore.

Of course the story has garnered worldwide attention. Of course. How could it not? UCDPDChief Annette Spicuzza defended her officers stating that they were “surrounded”and just needed to exit, insisting the officers were in danger. She continued to defend them until she was silenced bya “paid administrative leave” (joining Pike and the other officer). As mentionedearlier, the video tells us much, and part of that “much” is that Spicuzza’sjustification is patently false. Remember that warning not to confuse the UCDPDwith the city police? That’s because the city police were there due to a callfor mutual aid. One DPD officer, later identified as Captain Darren Pytel,is easy to spot. He only appears for a few seconds, but he has no riot gear.His hands are empty, open and gesturing for calm. And he looks bewildered. Itdoes not look as though he has the same “respect” for the “volatility” of thesituation that the UCDPD expected.

It was a volatility that nevermanifested despite the UCDPD’s best efforts. Now I don’t know what theirmindset was, but when the police go into a situation that heavily armed withriot gear and weaponry, they are expecting a confrontation. Perhaps they weredisappointed that the students did not read the script. The students acted in away far more mature than many give them credit for. The UCDPD underestimatedtheir “adversary” and came completely ill prepared for passivity. They went inwith an agenda that they would be facing students completely uncharacteristicof the students on a campus that theypolice all day every day. It is their onlyjurisdiction. They should have known better, even if no directive was ever sentdown not to “create another Berkley.”

The question left is the time honoredwho-knew-what-when? Whose decision was this and whose head should roll? To hercredit, Katehi is not sweeping this under the rug. She and UC President MarkYudof are appropriately appalled and have publicly expressed as much, probablyagainst the advice of their lawyers. If what Katehi said is true, Spicuzza ishistory and Pike should be, too. Even if Pike was “just following orders,” anofficer of his rank and experience should have made a better assessment in thedeployment of force. His salary is $110,000 (of your money) per year. For that much money he should be expected tothink.

These are not “rank and file” officers.They are administrators, executives, they are paid to correctly assessituations, follow directives and ensure that those they are hired to protectare not harmed in the process of “protecting” them. On the quad of UC Davis,Friday afternoon, 18 November 2011, no one was served or protected and someoneneeds to answer for it. At last count, no less than four independentinvestigations are in process. What is on the video is obvious and the overwhelming public outrage is telling, but there are many questions that need to beanswered. The ultimate questions are: Who is responsible and who will answer with his or her job? Because this is a job-costing mistake.

Not Just Any CEO

2011-10-05T21:13:00.000-07:00

Although I must admit I was not entirely surprised to learnof Steve Jobs’ passing today, it is also true that I am more than a littletaken aback. I knew his health was failing even before Jobs’ as much asadmitted so when he stepped down as Apple’s CEO last August. I am, however, alittle surprised that the turning of this final page in his life has me asreflective as it does. I am not a fan nor am I a groupie, but I am an admirer -and it is not just because of my devotion to a superior product line built bythe company he cofounded less than two miles from where I grew up. That garagewhere Apple’s humble beginnings were forged could have been any garage in thesleepy Palo Alto/Los Altos/Mountain View tri-city area. A legend was born rightin our back yards by a pair of visionaries who were not much older than I am.

And maybe that is part of it. At 56, Jobs was not an oldman. Of course, 30 years ago my opinion of what constituted “old” would haveplaced Jobs squarely in that category, but at 48, I’m thinking Jobs was just hittinghis prime much the same as Apple is… and I am. He was a man who had it all -way more than just material wealth. He was (is) highly respected as abusinessman as well as a human; he was fiercely private in his personal lifeand at the same time never shunned the spotlight when it came promoting hiscompany; he was not only a visionary, he was also universally recognized assuch; and most importantly, he changed the world. He made peoples lives better.Millions of them.

He made my life better. Not in a big way, not like he touchedso many others, but Jobs provided me with products I could count on, almost alwayswithout fail. That is how he touched perhaps most of us, but for some hisimpact is even more profound. The employees of Apple are of coursebeneficiaries of his legacy, but so are the thousands upon thousands ofemployees of other companies that are peripheral to the market Jobs carved outfor Apple. Accessories companies, parts manufacturers, carpenters, plumbers,even truck drivers and airplane pilots (just to name a very few) have a sharein the business Apple produced. And it all started in that small garage.

Apple is more than just a great hardware and softwaremanufacturer. And it is more than just knowing what the secret to businesssuccess is. Indeed, it is hardly a secret, but one would not know it from themany companies that come and go that cannot seem to grasp three simpleprecepts. Apple engineers and produces very high quality products. Although itis hard to go wrong when your quality is a notch above everyone else’s, that isnot enough. Apple also knows where their money comes from. The customer isApple’s number one priority and it doesn’t take much interaction with an Appleemployee before one feels like it. Finally and perhaps the most elusive part ofthe secret, a successful corporation must have employees who are happy andloyal. At Apple, they are part of a family. Throughout Jobs’ tenure, these threefactors have not only been policy, they have been culture and one that allowsthem to charge top dollar because the customer is still getting more than he orshe paid for.

As much as the above will keep a company afloat for a verylong time, at some point new product ideas will hit a dry spell. Long-termdominance relies on the insights of a visionary like Jobs who can not only seethe what the technology coming down the pipe can do, but can also developproducts based on that technology that we don’t even know we want. Yes, Jobsdid that. He transformed the way we do so much because his intuition told himwhat we needed before we needed it. And he filled that need while keepingquality high, his employees happy and loyal and all the while telling me, thecustomer, that I am the most important person in the Apple organization.

There are people who wish they had what Jobs had. They envyhis power, his prestige and his money. But I wonder if they would trade placeswith him now, to have all that and pass away at such an early age? I might –not in exchange for his power or his prestige or his wealth – but for theability to make the world a better place for so many people. Steve Jobs hasdone on a massive scale what too few are willing to do on even a personalscale. I, too, want to change the world; I want to make it a better place. Hisvision inspires me and his legacy continues to. Jobs will be sorely missed… andhe’s leaving some mighty big shoes to fill.

Reconstitution

2011-09-30T23:07:00.000-07:00

It has been six weeks since my last blog post. Sincestarting this journal almost six years ago, this is the longest span betweenentries yet. And it is not as though there is nothing worthwhile to writeabout… I am at a loss to explain just why I have not taken the few minutes neededto reflect here over the course of these past weeks. True, I am busy, busierthan ever, but it does not take long to do this type of writing. My archivestell a story, and the frequency of entries is a story in and of itself. The “perspectives,purpose and opinion,” as the subtitle states, are still pronounced, but my motivation to document them has definitely waned.

This blog was started as a living record of my trials andtribulations in a post apocalyptic world. No, the world did not experience anapocalypse – you would have heard – but minedid. This blog began as my world began to reconstitute itself. And that world is a verydifferent place. That is where the “perspective” comes into play. The “opinion”posts are easily identified and there are many, some with the mixed mission ofidentifying perspective as well, but the middle term, “purpose,” has alwaysbeen somewhat indescribable. I have written about purpose many times, but asfar as nailing it down to something specific, well, that is likely nevergoing to happen.

Those familiar with my story (either through reading theseentries over the years or because they know me personally) also know that mylife nearly came to an end almost 11 years ago. In each of the past five yearsI wrote a commemoration of that ill-fated day, but that series is over. Afterthe 10-year mark I felt I said all there is to say about the incident specificallyand I will not rehash it here. Inquiring minds can find the last entry in theseries with links to the other posts here. However, the reconstitution is notcomplete as I find myself now in a place that I never dreamed possible in mypre-apocalyptic days. Despite my lack of posting anything recently to the“official record,” the wonder and amazement are still there.

Tonight I can be found in my apartment in Baton Rouge, justtwo blocks from the Louisiana State University campus. I arrived here on August 12^th after four days of driving the 2,200 miles fromSacramento, Calif. with a trailer full clothes, books, my bike (no, not myHarley, it is still in Sacramento… and we don’t need to talk about that) andother necessities needed for survival. My driving companion/co-pilot/soul-matewas with me 24/7 right up until she had to fly back to Sacramento on August 15^th,the date of my last blog entry titled, Upheaval.The title is self-explanatory. Tonight, after six weeks here, I have “settledin” to the extent possible, but to say that I am at home here is a stretch. Butat the same time, the upheaval I wrote about has faded away.

However, the change is still fresh. I still miss home, myfriends, my family and especially one very special lady who is not onlysuffering with me, but also suffering for me and because of me. And if wasn’tfor some indescribable, nebulous purpose that is driving me, I would not haveput either of us through this. Thankfully she understands; she doesn’t like it,but she understands. Nothing worth doing is easy and although the “pay-off” canbe measured in the material (i.e., a Ph.D. will secure a good job doing whatI love and carry me through retirement), if that was all I was after, Icould have done it with an MA and at home. There is more – something is pullingme, something is “out there,” something that has probably been calling to me myentire life. And it took a personal apocalypse to realize it. It could comefrom the same muses that sang toAristotle, Cicero and other wonderers or it could be a calling uniquely my own,but to deny it is to deny myself.

And that, once again, is as close to purpose as I can get. Icannot define it in anything more than abstract, nebulous, general terms. Likelove, something we know exists, no one can show me a pound of love. I cannot goto a store and by a bag of it. I can find it represented in art but art itselfis not love. But I know it is real. With every heartbeat I can feel it. And soit is with purpose. I cannot ignore it; this “purpose” is real.

Upheaval

2011-08-15T21:35:00.000-07:00

Writing is among the things I do best. This is not to saythat mine is any better or worse than anyone else’s writing (qualifying my craft is a job for those who read it), but it is absolutely a reflection onsomething I am very comfortable with. Through the written word I can accessparts of my psyche that are otherwise difficult to reach. It could be that itslows my thinking down enough to actually be cognizant of my thoughts as theyparade through my mind… or it might be that the part of my brain used tocompose these symbols is not the same as my real-time, on the fly andinstantaneous part… or it might be something altogether different. I suppose ifI were to sit down and examine that phenomenon through my writing, the exercisewould reveal insights, but that is not my purpose tonight.

Tonight I am decidedly not comfortable. And writing bringsme a sense of ease that few other things do. Since my world tonight isupside-down, writing about it is a source of solace that I am usually reluctantto engage, but it always brings relief. Tonight I find myself in a new city ina new state at a new school embarking on a new goal. Almost everythingfamiliar, including the geography, the weather, the time zone, my family, myfriends and especially my girlfriend are still in California. Furthermore,while certainly not in the same class as the people I love so much, I had toleave my Harley behind, too. But since its benefit is largely reliant upon theNorthern California roads I am so familiar with, my bike might actually causeme more stress here than meditative comfort. But I digress…

This is about change. Major change. And though I signed upfor it and knew this was coming, the cold hard reality is just that - cold andhard. I have felt this before, many years ago when I was just out of highschool. I left the home of my childhood to go to school in San Diego. I wasunprepared for the isolation I felt in every respect but one; I was just 20years old and far more resilient. Now 49, I have embarked on an adventurebetter suited for a much younger person. Exciting? Of course. Intriguing?Absolutely. But I have left a far more entrenched and established life andnetwork than I could have possibly attained at 20. My past experience tells me thisdiscomfort will get better. Not in respect to missing my home and friends andmost profoundly, my girlfriend – that angst will remain prominent, but in timeI will establish profession relationships and personal friendships here. That,however, will take some time.

In the meantime, I am struck with the wisdom of age without theresilience of youth. There is, however, another distinct difference betweenthis move and past others. In the past, I was not so much moving toward thepositive as I was moving away from the negative. What I left behind was not much and the discomfort felt upon arriving was no worse than thestagnation I felt prior to. This time there was nothing to run from. But BatonRouge is where LSU, the school that offered me the opportunity of a lifetime,is and this is where I must be for many months out of the next three or fouryears… it can’t happen anywhere else. In this case, it is not a choice betweenthe lesser of two evils, but rather a temporary sacrifice that I willinglyundertook to advance my professional credentials. That will, in turn, positively influence mine and my family's security when I am finished. It will also place me in a job so satisfying that it will hardly feel like work.

But change is still uncomfortable and major change ismajorly uncomfortable. Human nature tends to resist change and I am nothing ifnot human. Eventually I will become more used to the situation I have placedmyself, but I am afraid that leaving those who love me and whom I love willalways remain heavy on my heart. Reunions will be frequent, but bittersweet, aseach will be accompanied by yet another departure at some point until this goalis completed, at which time, of course, a new challenge and more change,probably major change, will come again. This never gets easier, but at leastthis time it represents an advance, not a retreat. Seems like that should help,but it doesn’t…

Petty Crimes

2011-07-19T12:59:00.000-07:00

I live in a pretty nice neighborhood. It is in anunincorporated suburb in Sacramento County, Calif. known as Fair Oaks. Thesubdivision I live in is a relatively new development (late 70s) calledRollingwood. Although we are certainly not crime-free, the level of criminalactivity here is low and for the most part petty. Of course, there areexceptions, but all in all, this is a very quiet neighborhood. One of myneighbors across the street started a neighborhood watch email list so that theresidents are kept up to date on what is going on around here. The followingletter is to alert my neighbors of a petty crime that occurred in my drivewaylast night or early this morning…

Dear Rollingwood residents,

Last night I failed to roll up my windows in my car.Although it was parked in my driveway on Long Canyon Dr., and my outdoor lightswere on, someone decided it was worth entering my car to see what could be had.Fortunately there was not much there, but some items in the tray of my centerconsole were taken – and the tray was taken as well. There was a smallpocketknife, a silver ring and broken silver rope chain necklace… maybe acouple of other items as well. All tolled, these items were not worth much andwith the exception of the tray itself, nothing that I will really miss. But thevalue of these items and whether I will miss them or not is obviously not thepoint. The sanctity and security of my home was violated and this would (orshould) piss anyone off. The crime did not go totally undetected - there arealways clues. The following is what I believe to be a probable scenario:

Although I do not know for sure when it occurred, my kids’dogs were barking at about 5 a.m. this morning. They will bark whenever theysense someone outside my house, but usually it is nothing. This time we shouldhave listened and let them out for if I had, I would be writing a muchdifferent story. It is also probable that the dogs scared off the punk(s)before they had a chance to search in any depth – much more was left than wastaken. This was a crime of opportunity; there was no need to check to see ifthe car was open, it clearly was. I have not checked my security cameras yet,but due to where the car was parked and the pre-dawn darkness, I don’t expectthey will reveal much. But here is the sad truth; the criminal(s) involved aremost likely living among us.

This is a crime a kid would commit – one or more of your kids(not necessarily your kid, but verylikely one of our neighbors’) and/or one or more of their associates. It ishighly unlikely that someone would be casing this neighborhood in search of acar with its windows open to see what kind of score could be made. These arenot professionals, but they are absolutely criminals in training. So here isthe $64,000 question: Do you know where your kids were early this morning? Areany of them sporting a slick little pocketknife (it’s red and about an inch anda half to two inches long when folded), or a silver rope necklace or a silverring? You might ask them how they came up with these things, because they amongthe things that were lifted from my car. I sure don’t want anyone to take thispersonally and I am by no means accusing every kid in this neighborhood ofbeing a thief, but the evidence is pretty clear that at least one is. There isan opportunity here for a proactive, alert parent to stop a lifetime of badchoices in its tracks.

Me? I just want my center console tray back.

Sincerely,

Michael K. Althouse

Still New

2011-07-18T12:36:00.000-07:00

I have not done much writing here for the past severalmonths. According to the archives section on this blog, I wrote 55 entries in2010 and so far this year I have written only nine. And it is now halfwaythrough July. I’m not sure why this is. I wrote quite a lot in 2007 and 2008,logging 160 and 134 entries, respectively. While it is true that some of thoseentries were not written compositions and a few were not even my own work(always properly cited, however), the need or desire to publicly air my thoughtsappears to have been greater when this journey was new. It was almost as if theworldwide access to my words lent some reality or permanence to what canarguably be described as a living dream. Or beyond one…

But it can just as easily be argued that the novelty has notworn off. Each new chapter brings new amazement and the start of the next legis only three short weeks away. It is still staggering to think about where Iwas just seven years ago compared to where I am today. And where I am going,though just as unknown as where I am viewed from where I was, is nothing I waseven capable of dreaming of. This is not a dream, but I did not plan any ofthis. I did not plan to graduate with a BA at 45 years old, did not plan tohave an MA at 48 and I had no idea I would be moving to a new city 2,200 milesaway to begin work on my Ph.D. this same year. I simply did what was in frontof me and availed myself of the opportunities that came along the way, notknowing whether I would or could succeed. I took chances, but without doing thework, the chances of success were zero. This I know only too well fromexperience.

This is not some sort of mid-life crisis; the crises I have faced wererecurring and of my own doing well prior to some arbitrary ‘mid-life’ mark. Itwasn’t until mid-life (I hate that term, it feels as though I have some sort ofexpiration date, but I digress…) that I was finally able to extract myself fromcrisis mode. Indeed, these things that I am now doing should have been doneyears ago, but I had neither the capacity nor the discipline to achieveanything for any sustained period of time. Success was always tentative and fleeting.As soon as I arrived at good enough I stopped doing the work and, truth betold, the work I did to get to good enough was only good enough anyway. Ialways wanted to be happy, satisfied, content, at peace, serene… supply yourown utopian adjective, but I never imagined that those things required work. Asa result, nothing was ever enough, but if there was such a thing, it could behad at a price. Or... perhaps I was simply deficient or cursed; accepting that was easierand in a strange twist of irony, opened the door that led me here.

Because I found peace only externally, even when I had smallwindfalls (which did not seem all that small at the time), it only bought somedegree of comfort. And although comfort can make one comfortable, it cannotcreate happiness. Some may disagree, but I can cite example after exampleof those who have extraordinary wealth and equally extraordinary misery. WhileI agree that the opportunities to manifest happiness might be enhanced withmonetary resources, it still takes effort to achieve that elusive elementof quality in one’s life. Once I accepted that I could never afford the kind ofhappiness I thought I deserved and, even if there was a dollar figure, it wasbeyond my reach – ever – I was able to stop pursuing it. I gave up; Isurrendered that my life was what it was and there was little I could do aboutit.

But that is not entirely true. While it is true that my lifewas what it was; it is also true that it is what it is. The world has notchanged all that much. The injustices (perceived and real) that plagued notonly my life, but many others’ and in far greater measure, are still there. Myluck has not changed either as my infrequent visits to gaming establishmentsprove. But (and this is a key ‘but’), my happiness is not contingent on theoutcomes of those excursions. Win or (usually) lose, I remain at peace. Thisexample might appear to have little to do with anything, but the fact is thatlife is never going to provide me with a windfall of happiness, I have tocreate that myself. It has to do with perception and for me, once I acceptedthat this peace I longed for was not going to just land in my lap, I stoppedseeking it. Once I quit fighting, I had an abundance of time and a bit ofclarity… and I started to have moments of peace. I was experiencing happinessand found that it was not based on what I had (which was not much), but what Idid.

And today I am doing quite a lot. My happiness ‘lucky streak’has lasted almost seven years now and promises to endure as long as I staycommitted to building on what I already have. In other words, I have not yetnor do I ever believe that I will have attained good enough. I know the effortit takes to create and maintain happiness is worth it, but old habits andideals die hard. For me, it is always a battle to stay on top of what I have infront of me, for the idea that I have arrived manifests itself most often inprocrastination… I can always do it tomorrow. But if I said that all thoseyesterdays ago, would I be happy today? Of course, the work involved in beingcontent involves much more than just career-oriented work. That ‘more’ can becaptured in a word: Integrity. Being part of humanity and being content with mycontribution to it requires this. I don’t know about anyone else, but for methat takes some conscious effort as well. It requires work. And that makes mehappy.

Quality - Revisited

2011-06-23T17:18:00.000-07:00

A little more than a year ago, I wrote an essay for this blog that was more reflective than anything of any substance. I had questions - seems I always do. Although I didn’t ask anything of anyone with any specificity, in a little more than 800 words, I attempted to define quality. It is not a particularly easy concept to describe, though most people know it when they see it, hear it, taste it, touch it or even smell it. However, beyond experiencing it through our five senses, quality also has a transcendental nature to it. Real quality, like truth, beauty and goodness, is timeless and readily identified by people from vastly different cultures as “good.” A clay pot and a Greek vase are made from essentially the same materials and have the same purpose, yet one is beautiful beyond its utilitarian function while the other is not. That is quality – in this context artistic quality (or beauty) as opposed to functional quality (or goodness).

We know what it is. We experience it everyday. A selfless act of compassion, a soft wind kissing one’s cheek, a glorious sunset… all universally known as possessing quality. But what is that elusive ingredient? What makes a Rembrandt better than Rockwell? Of course it’s quality, but what is quality? All this may seem to be much ado about nothing, but it leads to a deeper question, one I raised in that essay a year ago and one in which I am no closer to answering today. When it comes to the quality of one’s life – of my life – by standard do I measure it?

Obviously it is not a single “thing’” but rather a complex combination of factors that produce quality in one’s life. It is more a way of life than something in life. In many respects it is how one views life and defines his or her purpose. It can exist in one particular discrete moment in time and it can endure… and it seems not to be so much about one’s physical realities, material items and monetary wealth as it does with contribution. What have I done is far more important than what I have. And where I am going means more than where I have been. Quality is realized in the here and now, but it is not something that I can achieve and be done with it. For some time now, I have led a quality life, but that can change in a heartbeat if I do not continue to move forward… to try to fulfill that purpose, whatever it might be.

Which brings me back to a question I have pondered before and one that will likely always remain: What is my “purpose?” I do not know beyond some abstract generalities that seem to be common among those who experience quality in their lives. It has to do with making a contribution to humanity; being able to say that I did something positive today; and, at least, that I have done no harm. It is not necessary that I know exactly what my path is or where it will ultimately lead, only that I am moving in a positive direction… and for way too many years my life was stagnant. Today, with a sense of purpose comes that elusive quality that I could occasionally touch but never quite hold on to. For more than six years now, that element that defies definition has turned my life from an ordeal into an expedition, turned hardships into challenges and made every single day better than the last. That is quality.

The End of the World

2011-05-24T12:29:00.000-07:00

Another doomsday prediction has come and gone. The end of the world was supposed to occur last weekend and, obviously, we are all still here. This is not the first such prediction and it certainly is not the last. And although we don’t know exactly when it will happen, the world as we know it will absolutely come to an end at some point in the distant future - our science is advanced enough that this is not a mere possibility; the sun will eventually exhaust its supply of hydrogen and it will expand, obliterating the inner planets of the solar system. The time frame is inconceivably long, but it will happen. Furthermore, other cosmic and geographic calamities that are impossible to predict could spell our demise much sooner. It is, however, so highly unlikely that it will happen in my lifetime that it is beyond wise is to continue to plan for the future.

But even with what amounts to a virtual guarantee that the world is going to stick around for a while, I won’t be here to see it 50 years from now. Death is part of life and if I optimistically live into my late 90s, the end of my world will come in 2060, give or take a couple of years. And that is only if everything goes well; indeed, that end very nearly came to me ten years ago. The chances of the world being here for the next 50 years are much greater than mine. But it begs the question: If we all know that we are here for a limited (and, in the big picture, a relatively short) amount of time, why do we do so much work knowing that we will never see the outcome?

We see it in our personal lives as well as our communal existence. We plan for 100-year flood protection, construction plans that extend 25 years or more into the future, research projects that extend over many generations, and hopefully soon, space exploration that might span multiple generations. And those plans project action well beyond some of the designers' lifespans. On a personal level, these questions are perhaps more easily or intuitively answered in the name of creating security for our children and grandchildren. But despite all this, we all face our own personal doomsday someday...

While the amount of knowledge and technological development we have created in the past 150 or so years is unprecedented in scale compared to the total of human history up to the 19th century, it is also true that it did not come out of a vacuum. Great thinkers, scientists and tinkerers alike, laid the groundwork for the road we now travel. They are not here to revel in their genius, but they might have foreseen a world that would benefit from their insights. Driven in part by a quest for a better life and in part by an insatiable desire for knowledge, these now dead visionaries lit the way and each one of them surely knew that he or she would not live forever. Yet they made that contribution anyway. Why?

Obviously I cannot answer for them, but I can say why I do what I do. There is an ever-growing body of human knowledge. It began when we did and will continue for as long as our race does - maybe longer. I am not seeking insight so much because I will find the answer as much as I am making a contribution to what that answer might be. And like so many perennial “big” questions, there can be no ultimate answer. I can surmise this, however; if we are to survive beyond the death of our world, thinking beyond our own existence is an absolute necessity. Taken a step further, this ability, which is uniquely ours, is the only hope that the rest of the animal kingdom has of surviving the eventual destruction of this world... and they do not even know it. That is what separates us and why our species has been able to climb to the top of the food chain in such a short amount of time. We have a responsibility to continue seeking beyond our own doomsday.

And while the prophets predict, I will continue to seek...

Comfort vs. Happiness

2011-04-27T12:06:00.000-07:00

Busy.

Reading, writing, preparing, grading, and myriad other activities have defined my day-to-day existence of late. Both gratifying and frustrating, this unprecedented demand on my time is nothing I ever expected to encounter, nothing I planned on and, honestly, not anything I ever dreamed I would have wanted in my life. My modus operandi for many, many years has been a quest for leisure, an inherent propensity to relax. To be happy. And though that propensity is still with me today, it is that very drive that had left me so unfulfilled for most of those years. While it is true that through the duties I had acquired over the years – that of being a father, a parent (not necessarily the same thing – a father is something a man is, a parent is something a one does), an employee and other roles that must be assumed as one navigates life – I have absolutely felt a sense of purpose and fulfillment. But those things had an obligatory nature to them; they were defined by cultural norms and historical ideals such that success is expected and only failure noted. And it should be noted that although I succeeded in those roles to an extent, failure driven in part by that same need for comfort existed as well. I thought I was supposed to be happy, but I rarely was.

Today that drive is manifested in my always-reliable nemesis, procrastination. Although I have been able to push through it enough to have succeeded in completing the tasks necessary to earn a bachelor’s degree and everything but my thesis so far in my quest for my master’s, that thesis has proven fertile ground my old friend to flourish. The truth is that as busy as I am, I still waste too much time not working on it when I should be. And the looming work ahead of me has proven to be anything but relaxing. The crazy thing is as simple as it is profound: This is all voluntary. I do not have to do any of this - this is decidedly not obligatory. I could just as easily, indeed, more easily find a regular job and work a nine to five routine and be perfectly content with that. In fact, it would be a step up from my former goal of not working at all, living the “good” life of leisure and comfort. And being a contribution to society in that capacity would be fulfilling in its own right. I know this today…

But it begs the question: Why am I doing this? I can only partially answer that question. It is, in part, because I am intrigued by the intricacies of what I study. I have addressed my fascination with human communication in the past and that curiosity is absolutely some of the reason, but many things that I have not immersed myself into at this level fascinate me. Part of it is a desire to teach and the independence a university professor is afforded in the administration of his or her curriculum; and part of that is the very direct and positive effect I can have on the lives of others. But that is still not all of it – quenching curiosity and vocational independence can be had without earning a master’s degree or (if all goes well) a Ph.D. It could be that due to the change in my perspective from one of entitlement to one of service I feel a need to catch up, but that is not entirely it, either. The missing piece is one that I can only feel… it is impossible to articulate. It involves a sense of purpose that comes from someplace indescribable. It is as through this is what I am supposed to be doing.

So the battle wages on. I don’t want to do this work, but I need to. I don’t need to do this work, but I want to. Though I feel destined to do it, that I am supposed to do it, I also know that I am not obligated to. While it serves me as well as others, am I selfishly fulfilling my own desires or am I selflessly making a real contribution to the world? Quite likely both… and neither. I have said it before and it is still true today, this was not my idea. I never planned to pursue my education to this level – in fact, I never really planned to pursue an education at all. Everything I did prior to about seven years ago was a means to an end and that end was comfort. Physical and emotional comfort. I never achieved it. Isn’t it ironic that, considering the monumental tasks I have completed and even more so with those looming on the horizon, I have never been more at peace? I battle procrastination every single day. That inherent laziness has not left me – it still tells me that it would be so much easier to just relax, but I know that’s an empty lie. There is no purpose in leisure; it is not what I am supposed to do. I am supposed to do the work to realize my purpose whatever that turns out to be. All I need to know is that I have one.

And I am almost always happy.

Profile update

2011-04-08T10:41:00.000-07:00

The Blogger profile field is limited to 1,200 characters including spaces and HTML coding (italics, bold, underlining, and other special text require more characters than just the text itself). Although 1,200 characters, with or without spaces, etc. might sound like a lot, it is quite easy to run short. From time to time it is necessary to update the profile field that appears on the right side ("Your host") of my blog and since there are new developments in my path, that time is now. Below is the most current version of this author's blog profile, all 1,196 characters...

Welcome to The 25 Year Plan. This blog was created in December 2005 as a means of keeping my writing fresh during the five-week break in between the fall and spring semesters at California State University, Sacramento. Entering as a 42-year-old junior (journalism major) in fall 2005, I was considered a “non-traditional” student. In fall 2007, I graduated magnum cum laude with my Bachelor of Arts degree - more than 25 years after graduating from high school. The 25 Year Plan is a reflective, inspirational and purpose driven journal of life. It is living proof that anything is possible and it is never too late. Evidence? I am just a thesis away from receiving my MA in rhetorical criticism, a new path that manifested in 2008. I also work at CSUS as a TA, teaching undergraduates public speaking and argumentation. And in the fall of 2011, I will embark on a new journey that will take place in another city in another state. Qualifying for a Ph.D. program at a school as prestigious as LSU was not part of my plan when this blog began just a short time ago, but it has become a reality. Living life beyond one’s wildest dreams requires dreaming bigger than one can. Dream big…

Straight Out of My Head

2011-03-29T21:47:00.000-07:00

Getting started. This has always been the hardest part. It is, perhaps, part of the ritual that must take place before anything gets committed to words on a page. Some might call it writer’s block and I supposed if the resistance I experience in getting started prevented me from starting at all, then that would be my affliction as well. But whether it is for enjoyment, advancement, or pay, I write. Although it is my underlying art that drives any number of professions, past and present, writing is at once painful and exhilarating, both the blessing and the curse – and it is a struggle every single time I set out to write anything.

Including this. Although the words are now freely flowing, getting to this point, for this piece, took not minutes, not days, not weeks and not years. It is not only the culmination of every single minute of my own life, but also of those who have preceded me. At this moment in time, this one, single, unique and never to be repeated moment, this is all there is and it is through a collective community of memory that has turned this energy into these words. My perspective has been necessarily shaped and influenced by only what and who has preceded me – from the “Big Bang” to right now, there is nothing else.

I used to believe that my best, most authentic and purest writing came when it was “straight out of my head.” That is, I believed that simply transforming my thoughts - my insights – into words with some compelling style was my forte. It was the sort of writing I found easiest perhaps because it was just the keyboard, my thoughts and the words; I need not bring anything external into the equation. But after regularly running into resistance when attempting even this “pure” writing, it has become abundantly clear that nothing I have ever written has been “straight out of my head.” Nothing. Every thought I have ever transformed into these symbols we call words has to be placed into context with an infinite number of variables that are decidedly not “straight out of my head.”

From the beginning of time until now, this is what I have. These words. This life. A perspective that has been shaped by not only those close to me, but also by those now gone for thousands of years. All of it culminates in the here and now – it always has. We are unique in the animal kingdom – no other species has the cultural memory we do. None other can communicate as we do. No other animal can use, or as Kenneth Burke noted, misuse symbols as we do. When it is all said and done, when I write I am merely making my contribution to the human experience. With all that going on outside my head, is it any wonder that it is so hard to get started?

Revisted

2011-03-06T12:57:00.001-08:00

Sunday, 24 October 2010

The rain has been falling steadily for about a day now. This first major storm in Northern California is perhaps early by some standards, but certainly not unexpected or unprecedented. It is a time of change; summer is transitioning to autumn in a cyclical fashion that is as old as dirt. And though every season is different from that which preceded it, it is also different from the one that bore its name the years before. And so it is again, this fall is not the same as the fall of 2009 – not in terms of the weather, the place I find myself in the world and the world itself certainly not the same as it was just one year ago. But like the seasons enough remains that we can recognize the changes and hopefully be ready for them.

This is my final fall semester as a grad student at California State University, Sacramento. If all goes well, I will receive my Masters degree before spring turns to summer in 2011. But it is not the end of this journey into higher education; it is simply a turning of the seasons. Next fall another semester will begin at a different school where my post-graduate journey will continue. Another season, not the same as this one, but in keeping with the cyclical nature that the school life is, there are too many similarities to ignore the changing weather. No longer on a quest to obtain a Masters degree, my new goal will be a doctoral degree… a Ph.D. It is a monumental task, but so was (is) my current quest, and it is nearing completion. The culminating experience left to complete is my Masters thesis, a research project the likes of which I have never attempted – both in scope and in size – and that is just now beginning.

It is of particular note that these are not things I should be capable of doing, at least not in terms of motivation and discipline. Although I have always been capable, I have been equally incapacitated. If I knew the amount of effort that was required going in, I would have turned tail and gone somewhere else. I seriously underestimated the work that would be involved, and that is probably why I am still at it. Had I known what I was getting myself into… if I knew this was going to be a particularly rainy fall, cold winter, balmy spring or searing summer, I might have high-tailed it to more comfortable climes. I left myself with little choice but to weather the storm and though I know it’s not yet over, I also now know that I can get through this and that is more than half the battle. It took more than I had, but I got what I needed along the way.

Sometimes I stop and wonder, “What am I doing here? Who am I fooling? How did this ever happen and when will it come crashing down?” Of course I know it does not need to come crashing down, that whatever I am doing here, there is a reason for it and if I am fooling anyone it is myself. The evidence speaks for itself. Yet this is not within my character – to push myself beyond what I think is possible and succeed. And maybe that’s because I never gave myself the chance to succeed. It was always easier to fail, or not even try because of the chance of failure. Oddly enough, the stakes are higher than ever now and the risks, if measured by the effort required, are equally so, yet I have made it farther than I could have imagined…

Sunday, 6 March 2011

I set this essay aside 130 plus days ago because I felt it was going nowhere; I was not feeling it, as the colloquialism goes. I usually don’t open these partially written and abandoned works, but when reading the essay that replaced this, Negotiation, I found myself wondering what it was that I thought was so bad… and it no longer was. Since the contexts of any communicative event include every external reality including time and place, it is likely that whatever frame of reference I was in at the time was not in sync with what I was writing. And today it is.

Some things have changed in the past four months. That final semester of course work was completed and the only thing between standing between my MA and me is my thesis. And that has turned out to be more challenging than predicted… which was also predicted. Additionally, that quest for a Ph.D. is materializing as well. Four months ago I had just begun the application process; today I have results. Of the six universities I applied to, two have accepted me (LSU and University of Denver), two have turned me down (Stanford and University of Washington) and I have yet to hear back from two more (Columbia and USC). Though it is not time yet, in the not too distant future I will have some major decisions to make.

Although these are not decisions that can be taken lightly, they are decisions generated by my willingness to do something. Where my life was defined for so long by a quest for comfort, it is now energized by a quest of an entirely different sort. And though I have not a clue where it might lead me, this journey has transformed life from a passive, observatory experience to a dynamic, active one. And it all started by stumbling into a place I thought I had no business being, a place where I have, at best, experienced only marginal and incomplete success. All it took was a little faith and a lot of work. Maybe that’s all there is to success…

Dear Fran...

2011-02-07T11:46:00.000-08:00

Some time ago, I somehow got on the email solicitation list for the Long Ridge Writers Group, a subsidiary of Writer’s Institute, Inc. Although I admit that I might have expressed an interest at some point in the distant past, that interest was rescinded long ago - and likely because it turned out to be yet another iteration of the “for-profit” model of higher education that I so despise. Over the course of the past few years, I have received numerous emails from Fran Saunders (the director of admissions) that use a strangely guilt-provoking pathos to reach prospective students. These emails almost have the flavor of a jilted lover… that I have somehow betrayed the generosity of this “school” by not accepting (and paying for) the benefits they provide. After a history of briefly responding to and then deleting Fran’s emails, today I finally decided to write at length… and of course, publish that correspondence here.

Dear Fran,

I am not sure how I ended up on your email list, but it is possible I might have inquired at some point in the distant past. Since whenever that was, I have received from you not one, not two, but several emails with subject lines like, "final chance" (Jan. 29, 2010), "is this our good-bye?" (Jan 10, 2010) and "this is our final good-bye" (emphasis added, Jan 9, 2009)... and those are just the emails that have escaped my notice and deletion. Isn't it interesting, however, based upon just these surviving emails that in the space of one year (2009 - 2010) our relationship went from a statement of finality to one of pining for clarity? And today I have been informed that I have one extra week. Since you appear to be having some difficulty putting this solicited relationship behind you, let me be so blunt: This is our final goodbye. I am not interested in whatever services you might or might not have. I am currently in the process of writing a Masters thesis and have little time to be reading or responding to your pleas to better my writing and myself. It should be abundantly clear just from the composition of these few words that I do not need your help.

As far as qualifying for your course - I suspect that everyone who responds qualifies for your course. The Writer's Institute, Inc. is a for-profit business. The purpose (or "mission", if you prefer) of all for-profit businesses is the production of money. That is what a profit is. There is nothing wrong with a mission of making money except when it conflicts with the mission of improving the human condition, society, charity and other similarly noble missions. Education does not fit the for-profit model (neither does healthcare - but I digress). One is either in it to make money or in it to provide students the best possible education regardless of cost. Those costs, because the educated individual's contribution to society is as valuable to society as it is to the individual, should be largely subsidized by that society... in other words, education should be a money losing (in terms of tuition) proposition in the short term. There is not nor should there be a tangible short-term profit, but the enormity of the benefit to society is indisputable - the fact that the US is the world's only super-power in every sense is evidence enough of not only the power of a public education, but also of capitalism - separated.

To conclude, dear Fran, I am not interested in paying you for the privilege of improving my writing and lining your investors' pockets. I am completing my Master's at a highly regarded California State University campus and continuing my education in one of five public or non-profit private universities. The mission of each is similar and has nothing to do with turning a profit. Yes, parting can be difficult, but be comforted that you have now extracted 30 minutes of my time. That time, however, will be immortalized on the Internet through my blog (25yearplan.com) and by the many republications of it (which is permitted free of charge though a Creative Commons copyright). You see, there is more to our global community than trying to extract money by exploiting every possible dream and aspiration - you could do it the old-fashioned way. You could earn it.

Sincerely,

Michael K. Althouse

Uncle Sonny

2011-01-02T01:17:00.000-08:00

It’s been raining here on and off all day. Now 25 hours into the new year, I am given cause to reflect yet again – not about the past year or where my life is, but on the life of my Uncle Sonny, who passed away just hours ago. Henry Smith lived a long and exceedingly full life; many loved him and those who were fortunate enough to know him could only form lasting memories. He was, in many respects, larger than life – a true Southern gentleman. He seemed to know everyone and was always quick to offer support to those close to him. Due to the constriction in this period of my family tree, he was my only uncle. Married to my mother’s eldest sister for nearly 60 years, he has been a fixture in my family for my entire life. He will be deeply missed.

Henry Smith

I write this not to elicit sympathy, but to pay respect to a man I have the utmost respect for. Indeed, I am fortunate enough to have known him, if sympathy is called for, feel sorry for those who did not know him. I do regret that, due to the distance between New Orleans and Northern California, I did not spend as much time with him as I would have liked, but I am absolutely grateful that I did spend the time with him that I did. And the same goes for my children, all of whom formed a bond with him that transcended space and time. Our visits were the stuff of legend, due in no small part to his efforts.

Henry Smith has always persevered despite the challenges life has – and he has experienced more than his fair share. He always appeared to have a profound affinity for life and lived it with all the zeal humanly possible. Although his passing was sudden, it was known the end was near when he was diagnosed with liver cancer just a few days ago. He passed peacefully at home with his family by his side. The end was mercifully brief. I can only imagine the sorrow that my aunt and cousins are experiencing, but I know, too, that the memories he left are of some comfort. I am quite sure Uncle Sonny would not want us to wallow in sorrow, rather, he would want us to celebrate his life and in due time I am sure that will happen... and in grand style. But for now, it is time to reflect upon a man who no one could easily forget, a man who left an indelible impression on everyone he touched. Rest in peace Uncle Sonny.

Unplanned Expectations

2011-01-01T13:19:00.000-08:00

I just deleted 75 some odd words that seemed to be leading me nowhere. It happens. I wanted to write a 2011 New Years Day post reflecting on the past year. I wanted to pull reflective inspiration from my archives and convert it into a new arrangement of words that tells the remarkable journey life is. I wanted to put a frame around where I have been and where I am going. But as worthy as those wants are, it is clear that when this is finished I’ll be no closer to understanding what this journey is all about than I am right now. But for the sake of documentation at least, something should be added to this ongoing journal of life.

I have written some sort of year-end reflection piece each of the past five years. Each has documented how the relative quality of the prior year has been "better than ever," "among the best years of my life" and similar accolades. And 2010 has earned the same recognition – it was a very good year for me. Much is proceeding according to plan and while I am on track to achieve a particular long-term goal this year, it has turned into yet another beginning – a beginning that has already started. For the past five semesters, I have been steadily working on my MA in communication studies at California State University, Sacramento. I am now just a thesis away. If all goes well, by May I will have completed my thesis, I will be awarded the degree of Master of Arts, and I will be exhausted.

In addition to writing the longest and most involved work I have ever attempted, I am also charged with teaching 60 undergraduate students the art of public speaking. And since I have made the decision to continue my postgraduate education so that I can make that teaching gig a career, I am also vigorously pursuing admission to seven different Ph.D. programs throughout the country. This new direction will tack another four to five years onto my formal education, but it will also allow me to gain full-time, tenure track employment at an institution such as Sacramento State. In the past year, my world has expanded yet again – it was not what I had planned.

In the coming weeks, I will be planning lessons, teaching, grading, researching and writing – this much I knew as long as a year ago. I will also be submitting applications to LSU, University of Southern Mississippi, and University of Denver – each of which requires careful consideration to propel my application to the top of a very competitive pool of candidates. My applications to Stanford, USC, University of Washington and Columbia University are already in. All are highly regarded schools and all accept only a small percentage of those who apply. I am hopeful, but just being qualified to apply is amazing to me.

I never know what to expect anymore. Opportunities have come my way in the past, but I was never prepared or motivated to turn them into anything of lasting value. And perhaps that is the difference today: preparation and motivation. Everything that has come my way in recent years was built upon what came before it. My plan for 2011, therefore, is the same as it has been for the past five years… there is no plan. I do what is in front of me and just keep moving. When the doors open, I walk through them with the experience I have built upon from days passed. It is a simple plan, but it seems to be working quite well.

Mountain Song

2010-12-20T03:55:00.001-08:00

TRUCKEE, Calif. – Off in the distance the muted roar of a diesel engine combined with the intermittent warning tones of a snowplow backing from a driveway sing their plaintive duet. As this industrial calliope fades to silence, making its rounds into the next valley, around the next turn, the Sierra winter returns to pristine post-storm silence. The only sounds are coming from nature herself; the crackling of new snow, the drip-drip of water dropping off the icicles and an occasion breeze rustling through the trees form a very different movement… from a very different orchestra. Even the sub-freezing temperature adds a steady cadence that maintains the rhythm of winter in the high Sierras. And through the passing storm clouds the crisp starlight shines all that much brighter.

From 1998 to 2003, Truckee was my home. Although my current home is only about 100 miles to the west, it might as well be 10,000, for this winter song takes more than a short visit to reveal its beauty; it demands immersion. For the past two nights and again for the next, I am immersed - there is only acquiescence and submission, nature always calls the tune. The parallel to life in the grandest scheme is apparent and as usually seems to be the case, this has become unavoidably apparent when the world outside is at its quietest. Perhaps due to the volume of this particular brand of silence, this song of dominance and renewal, it has stirred me from my sleep. And the words will not wait…

This blog debuted five years and two days ago, give or take a few hours. I am not sure why I did not mark this particular milestone with some words of reflection, but it is quite likely I did not have much to say. It seems to be the case, at least as far as this project is concerned, more often of late. Busy? Sure, more than ever, but it usually doesn’t take a major commitment of time to write these posts. It very well could be that the novelty of life’s unexpected turns and twists has worn off… it is not as profound as it once was. That is not to say that life is any less profound, only that I notice the multitude of ironies, complexities, connections and interconnections with such frequency that it does not surprise me as deeply – and that sense of wonder is often a source of inspiration.

Thankfully it is not the sole source as this post clearly demonstrates. I am tempted to say that my life has come full circle without really understanding or caring what that means. I am beginning to believe that there is only one way to truly come “full circle” and I am not ready yet. But in many respects this colloquialism makes sense. These mountains and this little tourist town marked a line of demarcation in my life. The one side came to a violent end while the new one had its tenuous beginnings right here. Since leaving Truckee about eight years ago, that tentative new beginning took root and flourished, although I did not and could not know it then. This is the first time in a long time that I have returned and stayed long enough to allow the mountain’s winter serenade to engulf – and awaken – me.

In five years much has happened in my life and most of it was not planned. It did not just happen, it took effort on my part, but the results are beyond anything I could have imagined. The same is true of the many relationships I have formed and it is this unpredictability that has me thinking about that parallel I mentioned. Snowflakes are each unique in their creation. As they fall to the earth they combine with others to form complex and beautiful relationships. There is no blueprint, they come to earth and do what they are supposed to do. They cannot fail. As long as I can do the same - what I am supposed to do – then what is supposed to happen does not matter. Only then can I experience the same harmony that the mountains are singing now.

Not Good Enough

2010-11-28T13:23:00.000-08:00

I have not posted anything here in the entire month of November (so far), and it has been more than a month since my last posting. Actually, there was a rant I posted for a day or two, but it served its purpose and I took it down. It reflected a rare moment of anger and thankfully that moment morphed into proactive engagement such that it no longer takes up space in my head. The ball, so to speak, is no longer in my court. But even if that one short-lived post is included, this has been a dry spell the likes of which this blog has not seen since its inception almost five years ago. And since diving into this medium, I have seen other blogs come and go for a variety of reasons - my circumstances are likely not unique. I am busy with other things; it takes a great deal of motivation to start the writing process; I feel as though I have nothing more to say. This last reason is probably the most difficult to accept, but it is what it is.

Life is challenging. My life has been particularly challenging due to my own choices and sometimes just because that’s the way life is. And this is true in both the negative connotation as well as the positive. The challenges I face today are due to choices I have made that are absolutely positive, but to realize my goals, there is a great deal of work to do. I recently shared with a friend how these hurdles often look overwhelming from the front side, but my experience has proven that as daunting as they appear, these challenges can be met if the effort required is applied. But like everything else worthwhile, success does not come overnight – it takes time. Here again, this is something I’ve said before. My pearls of wisdom regarding perseverance, patience, positive-thinking-glass-half-full insights are nothing new… I feel like the proverbial broken record.

For the sake of documentation, I’ll update where my recent path has led me thus far. This blog was created so that I could keep my writing fresh during the five-week winter break at California State University, Sacramento. It was just after the completion of my first semester there (I transferred as a junior) working toward my BA in government-journalism. Blogging was a suggestion from one of my journalism professors, but I never imagined it would continue this long or that it would have spawned more than 500 posts. I have not only documented my educational and professional path, but also many of the insights I have had along the way as inspired by everything from family to friends to politics to our society in general. The subtitle of this blog, “Perspectives, Purpose and Opinion,” turned out to be prophetic indeed – I had no idea that it would be the common thread that ran throughout, it just sounded good at the time.

Very early in my archives, I explained how “The 25 Year Plan” got its name. In 1983 I was a first semester freshman at San Diego State University. At the time, many of the students there accepted the reality that finishing a degree in four years was unrealistic. When seniors were asked what their standing was, many would say, “I’m a senior, but I’m on the five-year plan.” Today, the term “super-senior” has replaced the euphemism used at SDSU to denote a second (or more) year senior. I never made it past the freshman level at SDSU. I was placed on academic probation after my second semester and after my fourth I was disqualified – another euphemism; I was kicked out. College, apparently, was not for me.

In the intervening years between 1985 and 2003, I reentered post-secondary education (some college, some vocational) many times for different reasons, but the common denominator was that my path had come to a dead-end and I needed to regroup and start over again. My success at these various attempts was remarkably better than what I experienced at SDSU, but I was never in it for the long term. I stayed just long enough to get the carrot and then moved on. When it means being satisfied with the bare minimum, “good enough,” at the time, was. But things changed profoundly with the new millennium and by the fall of 2003 I found myself once again staring over, this time at American River College in Sacramento. If I said that my perspective had changed as a result of the events that had occurred between October 2000 and fall 2003, I would be lying. In some respects it had, but not regarding my propensity to put forth minimum effort to get by… good enough still was.

How I ended up at Sac State is a long(ish) story, but for whatever reason, I got excited about school again. My grades were better than ever before and though I had no real plan this time, circumstances serendipitously led me to that journalism professor, this blog and an education path I am now pursuing. I graduated with my BA in December 2007 – a full 26+ years after my 1981 high-school graduation. That’s how this blog got its name – “The 25 Year Plan.” I know, it’s not exactly 25 years, but “The 26 ½ Year Plan” didn’t have the same ring to it and if the clock is started in 1983 at SDSU, it’s 24 ½ years. You get the idea. The point here is that my best intentions are what led me to this point – always. That is, I have always intended to succeed – everyone does. Who would set out with the intention to fail? But good intentions, like “good enough,” were not enough.

Jumping forward, I am now almost finished with an MA in communication studies at Sac State. I have only a couple of assignments left to complete this semester’s work and next semester I am only working on my thesis. It did not take long before I was not satisfied with what a BA could do for me – good enough no longer was. And I am not stopping at an MA either. I am currently in the process of applying to eight different doctoral programs in the hopes of earning a Ph.D. I do not know whether I will be successful at getting in yet, but the only way to guarantee failure is by not trying. Some might say, “Okay, but I know the college thing is not for me, what’s any of this got to do with me?”

The answer is another question: “Are you satisfied with good enough?”

Negotiation

2010-10-24T17:56:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I’ll write simply because I haven’t written anything in a while. Sometimes that feeling is just that, a feeling. The fact is that I am writing every day and some days I am writing quite a lot, but it is not the sort of writing that I would post here. So that aforementioned feeling probably stems from not doing this kind of writing in a while. I just abandoned a piece of garbage that will languish in my documents folder titled “unfinished stupid shit.” I can’t bring myself to delete it, but it will likely never be re-opened again either. There are not many of these files on my computer, but there are those rare occurrences that I have written myself into a corner with no hope of return. I am trying to redeem myself at this very moment…

When it comes to writing for this blog, I only have to answer to myself. Nothing is ever “due;” I have complete freedom to write or not about anything or nothing. My archives are full of anything and nothing, some of which I am quite proud of, some not so much. But writing for me can serve as a window into my soul, as a way of exploring those areas of my psyche that I am otherwise too preoccupied to pay much attention to. And it always comes back to the words. Words are random; meaning is arbitrary, if we have not agreed to a large extent what words denote, there is no meaning whatsoever. But that is only a start. Our language is in constant evolution and the connotative meanings of words bring life to them – and often become denotative in time. However, language in all its infinite flexibility and variety is still restricted by our ability to come to agreement.

Yet despite all our differences and seeming inability to agree on much, especially in the polarized society in which we currently find ourselves, the ability to come to terms on terms is astounding. Despite the butchering of the English language that is found in the explosion of textual communication in recent years, correct grammar is still the rule – the gold standard – one that is still acknowledge even by those who do not, cannot or choose not to practice its tenets. Changes in the rules of grammar have been few - the structure of our language has remained largely static even if the vernacular evolves daily. Yet the proliferation of willful violations of those rules in places where they are still paramount does not bode well for the continued agreement of this most basic requirement in communication.

But it begs the question: If communication is about the sharing and creation of meaning, does it really matter how that is done? In other words, does the response, “But you knew what I meant” hold any validity. I would argue that in discrete, isolated and informal circumstances, the resultant exchange and negotiation of meaning is sufficient to satisfy that communication did in fact occur. But in a more global context, this is a non-fallacious slippery slope. If the rules of formal communication, mass communication, research and the like are made up as we go along, relying on the sole criteria that “You knew what I meant,” then the already imprecise nature of communication based upon agreed norms becomes nothing more than a crap-shoot. It leaves too much open to interpretation and a return to textbook postmodernism that takes away any universality to what is true, good and beautiful. Furthermore, what if I “don’t know what you mean?” Then what?

My world is self-admittedly about communication. It is what I study, what I practice and what fascinates me every time I stop for just a moment to ponder it. Our ability to communicate has transformed the world, for better and for worse. The power of communication is undeniable. No other species has come close to the accomplishments ours has and the one and only factor that separates us from them is our ability to communicate symbolically. It is more fascinating than our technology, our mobility, our arts and our sciences because communication makes all of that possible. It seems that as a species we disagree on more than we agree on, often violently so, but we could not have become who we are if we were unable to effectively negotiate meaning – to communicate.

Ten Years

2010-10-16T22:49:00.000-07:00

A lot can happen in 10 years. Adolescent children pass through their teens and into adulthood in 10 years. Some investment accounts and US Savings Bonds can reach maturity in 10 years. And a 12 year-old Scotch whiskey need only an additional two years to make it so. But in all seriousness, 10 years represents a considerable stretch in the context of one human life. If we lived to be 100 years old, 10 years represents a solid 10 percent of that life – it is not insignificant. Ten years is also a nice round number to do some reflection, perhaps a targeted self-assessment and acknowledge that I am but one man and I cannot do this life thing alone. The last part of the preceding sentence would be the likely answer if one were to ask, “Which one of these things does not belong?” Read on, it more than belongs; it is pivotal.

I wrote a post in January 2006 titled “Five Years.” In October of the same year, a sequel of sorts was written titled “Six Years.” In October of 2007 and 2009, the predictably titled “Seven Years” and “Nine Years,” respectively, graced this space. What happened to “Eight Years?” I am not exactly sure, but despite the absence of a dedicated anniversary installment, the theme was picked up in other posts. I hyperlinked the "n Years" series for a couple of reasons: First, I do not want to rehash what I have already written. Indeed, in rereading those posts, I see that has happened too much already. The details and the “facts” of this particular event have not changed. Second, this anniversary is likely the last in the “n Years” series – not that there is nothing left to write about, but from this time forward this anniversary will be remembered with some quiet reflection and contemplation. Words will flow from that, but not in dedication to the anniversary of my death.

Yes, death. Those that know the story and/or hit those aforementioned links before reading this already know the details. For those that don’t know, I was involved (okay, I caused) a head-on collision with a logging truck on October 17, 2000… at about 9:00 a.m. Or so I’m told by very reliable sources – I have no recollection whatsoever. I fell asleep at the wheel of a Jeep Cherokee while driving my then 13 year-old son to school near Squaw Valley, Calif. My son and the truck driver suffered relatively minor injuries – mine killed me. And then I stopped being dead. Repeat. I don’t know how many times. The records are a little unclear – not surprising considering the nature of the emergency medical attention I required. I guess they did not spend a lot of time writing things down in those early moments. For the details on my injuries and what some of that surreal “near death experience” (I hate that term) was like, hit the above links (and this link). This is not about that.

In less than 12 hours, it will have been 10 years since I should have died. Whether or not one believes in being at death's door, or crossing over and coming back, or the ubiquitous “near death experience,” one fact is indisputable: Based upon the nature and extent of my injuries, I should have died – but I didn’t. I am not only still here, but by a sizable margin – 10 percent if I live to be 100, a higher percentage if I miss that mark. In the context of one human life this is a considerable length of time; in the context of my life it is virtually an eternity. It should be quite obvious that without the help of many, many others I could not have survived or recovered. And many of those who helped I’ll never know.

But that whole idea of not being able to walk this life alone has become so much more prescient as I have navigated these last 10 years. It’s way more than thanking all those who stood by me (especially my family), and it is way more than being grateful for every single day since waking up in the hospital some time just prior to Thanksgiving, 2000; it has become apparent to me that constantly pulling away from and creating barriers between myself and humanity (as impossible as totally succeeding at such a plan is) had become my life’s perspective. I was becoming socially antisocial. And the crazy thing is that getting into that wreck and even recovering (mostly) from my injuries was not enough to make me grateful for the people around me, to say nothing about having my life spared. I was alive, but not all that happy about it.

That attitude began to change – slowly – when I finally came to the realization that life is a team sport… and I was not a team player. I’d like to say it hit me like a bolt of lightning, but I’m not so sure my psyche could have handled that much truth that fast. It happened over days, weeks, months and, in some respects, years - since the day I was born. I guess I had to come around to it on my own – maybe it had to be my discovery, who knows? But I finally figured that if I went along, followed some rules and became a team player, I would be, at the very least, less agitated (read "angry") all the time. I found not too much later that the team I joined was the winning team. Together it appears that we cannot lose. By this time I was around 40 years old and losing was a living place for me. Now almost 48, I have not had a losing day in many years.

I can’t begin to relate or recall all of the people who have come into my life and touched it in some way. The relationships I have even with strangers have an authenticity I could never fathom, and the relationships with those close to me? Absolutely priceless. Friends, colleagues, professors, family (not exclusively, some fill more than one category) all play a pivotal role in shaping who I am and what my life is. And life is good. All I had to do was join the winning team… and participate. Perception is everything.

Queue the music…

We are the champions, my friends
And we'll keep on fighting - till the end
We are the champions
We are the champions
No time for losers
Cause we are the champions - of the world*

*Freddie Mercury, 1977

Apples and Trees

2010-10-03T16:47:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow my youngest son turns 21. Actually by his clock, in the time zone he is currently stuck in, he is already 21, but in Afghanistan it means far less than it does in most of these United States. He will not go barhopping with friends; he will not go out for a nice steak dinner; he will continue to protect this nation because the employer he chose is the United States Army. And I could not be more proud of him. It was not an easy decision to make, he knew the odds were very good that he would end up on a combat mission and that it would not be pleasant. He accepted the risks and the discomfort for a number of reasons – some included the opportunity that comes with military enlistment, but he also felt a sense of duty and patriotism such that the sacrifices he makes and the inherent danger he faces on a daily basis are worth it.

I can’t help but remember him as a small boy. These milestones permit a window into the past - more than an opportunity to reflect, it is an obligation. It has been 21 years since Matthew came into this world and much has happened in that time. For him personally, he has moved from an adventuresome, highly independent boy to a young man who carries those qualities into adulthood. These are absolutely factors that influenced his current career choice. Whether he decides to reenlist or not, it is safe to assume that he will remain on a quest for adventure. Matthew’s older brothers posses strikingly similar characteristics, though they are manifested in other ways. And that old saying regarding apples and trees? There appears to be some truth in it. But this is not about Matthew’s brothers or me – it is his birthday and for reasons that have been instilled through our cultural history, it is a big one.

Even if those reasons are not recognized in the hellhole he is currently residing in. Matthew will be done with his yearlong deployment in just about a month and I can’t think of a better birthday present. He will return to Germany where he can properly celebrate his birthday, abusing his new freedom in the traditional manner. Although there are risks involved with that, too, at least there will be no one shooting at him. And no one is happier about that than I am. He will have some time to collect his thoughts, relax and determine how the next chapter will be written and where it will take place. Although the options available at this point are almost limitless, it is virtually guaranteed that he will surprise me with the next turn – he seems to have a knack for that.

Apples never fall far from their trees.

Concrete Symbolism

2010-09-14T12:17:00.000-07:00

I often feel that I am on the verge of some great insight, something that will reveal to me what this thing we call life is all about. It seems that whatever it may be, it is always just out of reach – sometimes at my fingertips and other times more than an arm’s length away – but it’s always there. Since beginning my study of communication in earnest, that feeling is more profound than ever, but at the same time the frustration of not being able to grasp it has become more pronounced. How does one describe what is beyond definition? Words, for all the robustness and versatility they hold, are painfully inadequate.

Yet this is what we have. Symbolic communication – via words and otherwise - is the hallmark of the human enterprise; it separates us from the rest of the living. We are connected by the ability to think in and communicate those thoughts symbolically with each other. But the thoughts are not symbols – they are real. Our representations are abstract images of what we think, they are not the same as the substance of thought. Since symbols are the product of a process of encoding, and interpretation one of decoding, vast rifts can form between intention and interpretation. For all our ability to communicate, we still fall woefully short in transmitting and receiving messages. The greatest achievement of our species, therefore, is wrought with infinite variability in how what one says is turned into meaning by another.

Despite it’s imprecision communication has given rise to human domination of the planet. We have climbed to the top of the food chain in very short order. We are not the biggest or the strongest; not the fastest or the longest lived, but through our intellect and the ability to symbolically share our view of the world with one another, a degree of cooperation has occurred sufficient enough to have mastered our environment. Indeed, we have created it. Yet for all that communicative prowess, when someone looks at us the wrong way we read into it all the evil the world has to offer. For all the civilization we have created, we too often act with abject savagery. Differences of opinion beget personal affronts and peace, the very thing we (all humans, all the time) say we strive for, is lost in the destruction of what we have built.

Perhaps we will master the art of communication someday. Maybe that is what is just out of reach, a formula of encoding and decoding that leaves no room for interpretation – concrete symbolism might be the next great achievement of the human race. Computers can do it – digital instructions are followed to the letter (or number) without variation, without judgment. But if and when that day comes, what will be left for us to say? It is the very nature of six billion visions of the world, six billion symbolic representations and six billion interpretations that makes life the dynamic experience it is. With no variation, there is no humanity - even when some of those variants seem so very inhumane.

It's Not About the Boobies

2010-09-06T13:01:00.000-07:00

A local high school student, Hunter Cooper, 15, is getting more than his allotted 15 minutes of fame. It happens sometimes when the planets align just so and the event, the social climate and decisions made by certain authorities combine into the perfect public relations storm. And Cooper has found himself in the eye of it. His claim to fame? He wore a rubber bracelet to school emblazoned with a slogan deemed offensive by administrators at Rocklin High School in Rocklin, Calif. The bracelet is part of Keep A Breast Foundation’s breast cancer awareness campaign. The slogan, “i [heart] boobies,” is aimed at raising awareness among young people and if the current media bonfire is any indication, it has done that and more. The uproar in this case, however, has less to do with a school’s right to limit certain freedoms of expression and more to do with the reasoning behind the disciplinary action taken against Cooper by school administrators.

According to a Sacramento Bee story that ran today, Cooper complied with his physical education teacher’s demand that he take the bracelet off, but when the teacher asked him to hand it over, Cooper started to ask questions regarding his teacher’s reasoning. He was told the slogan was demeaning to women and that there had been complaints. According to the Bee, Cooper responded, “If girls feel that way, then why are so many wearing the bracelets as well?” The response he received was a one-day suspension for being defiant. Other news sources tell essentially the same story, including quotes from Rocklin High School Principal Mike Garrison that establish the school’s rationale for the policy and the authority behind it. Schools do, in fact, have a great deal of authority regarding disruptive or offensive expression that would otherwise be protected under the First Amendment. This is not about that; this is about the so-called defiance.

Cooper raised a legitimate question – one that could have easily been answered in a dialogue that would have taught him far more than blind adherence to authority. Granted, this case could well have occurred in such a way that Cooper’s attitude was in fact defiant, that he was not legitimately seeking clarity and he was inviting a confrontation, but as reported none of that is apparent. Cooper is, by most standards, still a kid. But he is at an age when he is beginning to think critically and that should be encouraged. The answer to his question is simple and if it had been provided in a mature manner, he would have learned how thinking critically is applied in one of a lifetime's worth of real-time situations. They could have pointed out his glaring logical fallacy; that just because some women do not find it offensive, that does not make it inoffensive to all women. They might have followed up by citing case law that gives schools authority to limit certain First Amendment rights – or at least the rationale behind those limitations. If Cooper then refused to remove the bracelet (which, by all accounts he already had), they could have concluded the lesson for the day and issued the appropriate disciplinary action. To a young adult, the answer, “Because I said so,” should no longer be sufficient. They should be asking “why.”

Cooper engaged in a losing argument, but the way in which it transpired he could never know it. Indeed, he never got to lose his argument; it ended by force before it began. And force should only and always be a last resort. The school played its trump card way before it was necessary and lost out on an educational experience that could not easily be simulated in the classroom. In the classroom of life the consequences are real - the very foundation of our nation was represented by this single exchange. At some point kids need to be treated as real, thinking adults and when adults in authority squash their questions in an egotistical application of power, what does that teach them? Cooper may well have been motivated by an opportunity to be defiant – to exert his power justified by the righteousness of his cause. Or he may have legitimately wanted to know why he was told to remove what he believed to be nothing more than a sign of support. Either way, the school missed a golden opportunity to do what it is supposed to do – teach.

The Good Old Days

2010-09-03T03:28:00.000-07:00

My middle son turns 23 today. My youngest will be 21 next month and my eldest, now 26 has a son of his own with another child on the way. All this has happened before I turn 48 later this year. I guess that means I’m getting old, but I don’t feel old. And except for the grandchildren, this was all foreseeable – one only need do the math. But I don’t recall ever putting in the effort to do that math… it kind of catches me off guard every time one of these milestones rolls around. My kids are not kids anymore and have not been for some years now. Sure, they’re kids in the same respect anyone 25 years my junior is, but at the same time, these are adults we are talking about. And each has made some very adult decisions that carried with them both negative and positive consequences. It was not that long ago that I was their age – I didn’t forget.

In some ways, however, it seems like a thousand years ago. So much has changed in the world in such a short time. My children never played a record or actually “dialed” a phone. They have never been subjected to black and white TV and the handful of stations that came into the home from an antenna. And this, we are told, is progress. They grew up with the Internet and are as used to it being an everyday part of their lives as my bicycle was in my youth. By the time they were in the latter stages of grade school the paper route had gone the way of the dinosaur and afterschool daycare was a necessary evil. Although technological evolution is inevitable, it feels as though it is moving at a logarithmic rate… or maybe it’s because I have a larger frame in which to view it from. Perhaps mine is no different from every other generation in the recent, post-industrial, past, each looking back from a half-century of experience to the “good old days.”

My life will come to an end well before this century comes to a close. If I live to be 100, I’ll see 2062 and no more, and that is a big “if.” But my kids should see the latter part of this century and their children have a good shot at celebrating the turn of the next; I can only imagine what kind of world they will be living in. The human race is unique among all the species in that we plan not only for our own future, but that of our posterity as well. We have been working to make the world a better place for millennia all the while knowing that the immediate and short-term benefits we realize pale in comparison to what we are building for generations to come. The ever increasing pool of knowledge we have been filling for the past several thousand years is not just ours to benefit from now, but to contribute to for those that come long after we are all gone. Why?

And to be clear, it is not just the technology that is advancing at an alarming rate. We are also growing culturally into a world-society, though with the wars and conflicts that we seem to pass through with great regularity, it could be argued that we are still somewhat primitive when it comes to getting along. Still, great strides have been made when it comes to tolerance and equality even if the current status is a long way from ideal. I am hopeful that with advances in human communication – and with the help of technology – there will come a time when my offspring will not be faced with conflict resolution through force. A lofty dream perhaps, but it is what we, as humans, have always worked towards – even if that security, at various points in our short history, was reserved for certain humans and not others. As the world grows smaller and as our population continues to grow, our children will have to find a means to work together – and I believe they will.

I have great hope that a better world awaits my young sons. I don’t know of any parent who feels any differently. But it won’t just happen; we have to continue to show the way even when that journey is an uphill climb. I have a vision of a world in which conflict and differences of opinion can be worked out by human communication, leaving the need for force as a lesson in the history books. It can happen – it’s going to have to or there won’t be anyone left to read those history books just a few generations down the line. The dinosaurs ran the store here for millions of years, we have been at the wheel just a few thousand. If we want to last as long as they did, we’d better learn to live together. Nothing can wipe us out faster than we can.

Apathy - Revisited

2010-08-18T15:47:00.001-07:00

It’s odd how some thoughts can pop into my head that, in a split-second, appear just as insane as they really are. That I recognize them as such as quickly as I do speaks volumes about how my view of the world has changed, but it also speaks to the vision I had of the world for many years. I have referred to my generation as the “age of apathy” in the past. Although I realize this is a gross generalization, like most generalizations there is an element of truth in it. I came of age in the late 70s; a decade that could be characterized in a number of ways, but one that I remember most profoundly is that there was no real drive. There were some major events that came to a degree of resolution – the Vietnam War, the civil rights movement, Watergate and other forms of civil unrest seemed to come to some sort of closure towards the end of the 70s. And then things got pretty good pretty fast in the 80s. A sense of entitlement settled in and the work ethic that had already begun to take a beating in the 60s was dying a slow death. Generalizations, yes, but the sense of apathy from those days is real.

At least it was for many in my generation. Although much was left to fight for or against, no one felt much like fighting anymore. It was a time of harvest and some, like myself, who were to entering adulthood and the workforce had no sense of priority. It’s not that the previous generation did not show us the way, but to a certain extent that age-old idea that parents want their kids to have a better life than they did was perceived by many as a sense of entitlement to the good life. Tom Wolfe described the 70s as the “me decade” and for this product of that period, it certainly proved to be so. Although this attitude inflicted many, many of them eventually grew out of it. I, however, profoundly confused the good life with the easy life and worked harder at avoiding the necessary work to attain it than the work to attain it would have been. So when the thought that I can just say, “screw it” to my work pops into my head, the insanity of where that will lead me is readily apparent. The good life is not easy – it isn’t supposed to be.

I wrote the following essay for Prosper Magazine back in 2006. It is almost four years old, but it still applies…

The Apathetic Revolution

“I'd love to change the world - but I don't know what to do,
So I'll leave it up to you.”

These lyrics from the 1971 hit by Alvin Lee and Ten Years After turned out to be prophetic indeed. It was the beginning of a time in this country’s history when so much would be redefined. The political and socio-economic fabric of a nation had been unraveled and rewoven, catching many by surprise and leaving others by the wayside. The decompression following the 60s became the time of the hunter, the hunted and the silent.

The uber-morality of the 60s, with the civil rights and equal rights movements… even the peace marches which finally brought an end to the Vietnam War was replaced with a paradigm shift toward the “self-center.” The “good fight” had been won and it was time to regroup, relax and reflect. We fell back into our collective cocoons - and stayed there. Tom Wolfe’s “me decade” of theb 70s became the “me generation;” a status quo that has endured for more than 30 years.

Perhaps it was the ultimate success of these popular uprisings that harkened the coming of the “apathetic revolution” - its battle cry, “It’s none of my business!” We stopped noticing things. Life was comfortable, at least for the silent majority. We wanted to trust our leaders in the face of irrefutable evidence to the contrary. Nixon got us out of Vietnam, made nice with China and nearly got away with Watergate. Had it not been for two nosey reporters… well, no one else paid much attention.

The problem is not that we didn’t learn; some did - too well. Business at every level began to play “follow the leadership.” They added qualifiers, justifiers and rationalizers to redefine that which is right and wrong. The age-old robber-baron practices of days gone by were dressed in new garb only to become the savings and loan debacle turned Enron scandal. Even the recent shenanigans of the likes of Congressman Randy “Duke” Cunningham went unchecked until he finally tripped over his own greed.

Standard operating procedure is now based on risk assessment. Dirty dealing is nothing of the sort if no one finds out – or if can be lobbied and legislated into law. Morality has become a game of chance; not black or white, but rather shades of risk. It’s ok if the consequences are personally inconsequential. In the quest to obtain wealth and power, anything goes and everyone is fair game. Lawyers continue to argue the letter of the law, never minding its spirit.

Today, news of corruption is virtually a daily occurrence. We’re barely moved when an elected official, civic leader, businessman or even a clergy member gets caught with his or her pants down. Only recently has the punishment begun to fit the white-collar crime. And only then when the sheer magnitude of the offense elicits an outcry. For the vast majority, the risk has proven worth taking.

It’s time to wake up. Our political and business leaders need to know that we, the people, expect them to take the moral high road - and that we are watching. The idealistic visions of utopia of the 60’s have yielded to the all too real apathetic myopia of Lee’s lyrics 35 years later– “So I’ll leave it up to you.”

Who? In his 1961 Inaugural Address, President John F. Kennedy answers: “In your hands, my fellow citizens, more than in mine, will rest the final success or failure of our course.”

I believe he was talking to you.

The Will of the People

2010-08-15T23:53:00.001-07:00

There have been a couple of recent events that are, although seemingly unrelated, both centered upon the sort of government we operate under and the inconsistent views (often based in misunderstanding and misinterpretation) some hold our form of democracy to be. First, we are not a pure democracy, but rather a representative democracy - entirely at the federal level and mostly at the state and local levels as well. We elect representatives who then make our decisions for us. It is impractical, probably impossible, for a nation of this size to make every decision via a popular vote. We elect those who we feel best represent our views and (ideally) entrust them to carry out the action we elected them to carry out. It is still the will of the people, but in a more manageable (again, ideally) form. Our views are communicated to our representatives in a number of ways, and the First Amendment guarantees our ability to do so… and then there is the ballot box.

But in some states a form of direct democracy exists. In California we have the initiative, the referendum and the recall. These are vehicles that allow the people to directly dictate law and public policy. But there is a catch: the laws must still adhere to both the state and federal constitutions. And constitutionality is determined not by the executive or legislative branches of government, but by an independent judiciary. It is part of the system of checks and balances that our founders so cleverly set in place to keep the majority from oppressing minority views, groups and positions. If the majority were to exercise its will by a simple vote, then all sorts of civil liberties that we take for granted might never have come to be. Indeed, if the will of the majority were always allowed to prevail, we would be living in a much different country than we do today.

Those two events? The overturning of California’s Proposition 8 and the proposed construction of a mosque near the site of the massacre at the World Trade Center. The word “massacre” was chosen carefully, it represents the depravity of those who perpetrated it and the senseless loss of so many innocent lives. I want to be clear that my stance regarding those who planned and executed the terrorist attacks of 9/11 is nothing short of disgust. But what could a planned mosque near the site and Prop. 8 possibly have to do with one another? Both hinge on the constitution. The United States Constitution guarantees, above all else, freedom - freedom for all and freedom from oppression. It is not a perfect system, but over time it has proven to prevail even when majority opinion would have us do otherwise. In the case of the mosque, the gut reaction is to penalize an entire religion for the acts of a few extremists operating under its name. All groups have extremists and some perpetrate heinous crimes, but to oppress the entire lot is not only unconstitutional, it is anti-American. I know this is an unpopular position when it comes to Islam, but it is true nonetheless. The proposed mosque near Ground Zero is a bad idea, unwise and even insensitive, but it cannot and should not be determined by the masses simply because it is the majority view.

California’s Prop. 8 is another even more clear-cut case of the majority limiting the rights of a singled-out minority. This time it happens to be the gay community, but it could just as easily be women, an ethnic group or lefties. And whether the court is correct in ruling against the proposition is not the point; the court is performing its role as an independent check on the majority’s right to impose its will on a minority. The case will now proceed to the US Supreme Court where the ultimate adjudication will take place – hopefully. It is quite possible that the court will side step the controversy by making a very narrow ruling that will not settle the matter. Regardless, the will of the people in this “democracy” is not now nor has it ever been the final word. Our founders were wise beyond the world as they knew it; they were acutely aware that tyranny could come from the masses just as easily as it can from an autocracy. These two issues demonstrate that our system of checks and balances is not designed to quench the thirst of the majority, but to protect the rights of all – even if exercising those rights violates common sensitivity or the majority's idea of morality. It might not be a perfect system, but so far it has mitigated a host of injustices ranging from women’s suffrage to civil rights to the rights of the disabled. The lesson here is to be careful which causes are championed under the guise of “the will of the people.” Next time the minority might include you.

2,190 Days

2010-08-05T23:33:00.000-07:00

Six years ago, my life was a wreck. There was little to look forward to, I had burned much of what was good in my life to the ground. It didn’t happen overnight, but over the course of too many years my world gradually spiraled out of control. I was at the end of the line, some things were going to happen… and then I had some decisions to make. Without really knowing it, I finally quit fighting. I had no other choice. I gave up my idea that I was some kind of exception; that I could live life on my own terms; that the universal rules that apply to everyone somehow did not apply to me. I could no longer allow my ego to keep my on a crash course that had already nearly killed me and now was making living more unbearable that death. If I had it in me, suicide would have been a viable option, but that took more courage than I had.

I don’t reveal much here regarding the specifics that led me to this defining moment in time, but it doesn’t take much to read between the lines. My story is not unique and those familiar with this particular form of desperation know exactly what it is like. Nothing was working out, if it wasn’t for bad luck, as the song goes, I would have had no luck at all. Failure time and time again was a living place for me – and I couldn’t understand why it was always happening to me. Of course, I placed the root cause of it all outside myself. I had to, if it was my own doing then I could only conclude that I was wrong – and I was never wrong.

But I was seriously deluded. It’s not that I was evil (though I had myself believing that sometimes) or that I ever intended any harm to others or myself, but my entire outlook was so self-centered that I was incapable of seeing outside the box I had created. It took being broken down – beaten by the same system that I spent so long fighting so hard against. I had to surrender – which is not the same as giving up or admitting defeat necessarily – it meant that I had to just stop. Stop fighting. The battle I was waging, as it turned out, was against myself and I could not win. Ever.

Although the turn-around started almost ten years ago after a near-fatal auto wreck, that was only the beginning of the end. The final round took place on August 6th, 2004. I didn’t think there was anything significant about that day – in fact, it was worse than normal and normal at the time was pretty bad. The next many days were not much better, but I was in a situation in which my physical needs were met and I had little to do but rest and reflect. It was not a pretty picture, but very slowly the days started to get a little better and over a period of about six months, my anger subsided significantly. And more importantly, my whole outlook on the world and my place in it gradually shifted – it was a huge shift in perspective, but at the time it happened so slowly I didn’t even notice.

I was not in every respect an irresponsible man, but in many I was. I was not responsible for my own feelings and in large part that dictated my actions, which, by extension, were also not my responsibility. As my attitude became more rational and my outlook changed, so did my fortune. But it is not nor was it an action/reaction, punishment/reward paradigm… I was looking for some peace between my ears and the only way to achieve it was to take a good hard long look at how I viewed things. As much as my lot in life has measurably improved, many things are no different now than they ever were. Where my reaction to those things was often met with defiance, anger and rage, it no longer is. Things that used to turn my world upside-down no longer faze me – I just watch them pass on by.

There are so many people who were and still are instrumental in this process. There are those such as my parents, my kids and other family members who were witness to the worst of times and never gave up on me, loving me unconditionally through it all. There were the nameless and faceless who, through the course of their lives intersected mine and systematically prodded me along the way. Then there is my current core group of friends, colleagues and professors (not exclusively - some fill all three roles) who believed in me even when I did not. I could not have done it alone, but no one could do it for me.

In the past six years my life has evolved from one that was barely tolerable to one in which I look forward to every new day. At almost 48 years old, I am more content, more serene and more valuable – both to others and myself - than I have ever been. I embrace every new challenge life brings and meet them head-on despite the presence of the same fears that used to paralyze me motionless in place, often for years at a time. Things that I would not attempt for fear of failure are no longer roadblocks in my life – and that does not mean I always succeed – but I never shy away from trying. I get the satisfaction of not only trying my best, but more often than not that satisfaction is sweetened by having succeeded.

At six years into this journey, I have only just begun. The tunnel’s end is too far away to have any idea what waits there, but the light shines brighter than it ever has before and it grows steadily brighter with each passing day. It took an unimaginable amount of personal (and self-inflicted) suffering to arrive at this point, but I wouldn’t trade any of it knowing what I know now. Regrets? Sure, I have many. I wish that I had not hurt the people who loved me most along the way, but I am graced with six years so far, and hopefully many more, to make it up to them. Some day I’ll recount the story in all it’s unedited detail, but for today the message is that no matter how dark it gets, there’s always a new day just around the corner. Seize it.

An Epic Journey

2010-07-31T17:27:00.000-07:00

I have not taken a real vacation in quite some time. Yes, I have been to some (and some new) places in just the past year, but none of those excursions could be called, in a primary sense, a vacation, though secondarily vacation-like characteristics were present. But a vacation is more than just going some place or sightseeing or experiencing historical, natural and other wonders; a vacation is an escape and if there is an ulterior motive other than the journey itself, the entire experience is compromised. In this respect, I have not taken a vacation in a very long time. Earlier this summer, Stephen Gamboa, a friend who has a passion for motorcycles similar to my own, floated the idea of an extended ride across several western states over the period of a week to ten days. Originally there were more than a handful of friends who signed on, but for various reasons (money, time and other conflicts), all dropped out but Steve and me. On Monday morning, July 19, 2010, we hit the road not knowing what to expect or even exactly which route we would take to get there.

We had a destination, sort of. The first half of our journey was to culminate in Butte, Mont. Steve’s cousin, Doug, and his cousin’s wife, Diane, live in Butte; they extended an invitation to us to stay for the weekend - to see the sights, ride their horses and generally recoup after riding for four or five days. Neither of us has had any experience with riding that far, riding horses (a couple of times for each of us, but not really), with Butte, with Montana or with most of the roads that would take us there. As an added bonus, the 9th annual Evel Knievel Days festival was also taking place in Butte that weekend, an event that turned out to be far more fun than I imagined it would be. Butte is not exactly a tourist town, but like any old city it has a colorful and rich history. Our resident tour guides showed us Butte like only a local can. In many respects, Butte’s founding on copper mining is not unlike Sacramento’s history based in the California gold rush. And Montana’s geographic beauty is equaled only by its expansiveness – indeed, the view from Doug and Diane’s deck is enough to earn the state’s unofficial nickname – “Big Sky Country.”

But getting to and from Montana was where the true magic of this vacation took place. Because it was just the two of us, we were free to make route decisions on the fly – and we did so regularly. The plan was to stay off of the major interstates and freeways as much as possible, but as far as plans go, this one was seriously open-ended. We left Sacramento going east to Truckee, Calif. on SR 49, SR 20 and old US 40, hopping on Interstate 80 occasionally before heading North on SR 89 towards and through Lassen Volcanic National Park, finally arriving in Klamath Falls, Ore. via US 97. We were delayed by road construction at various points throughout our 11-day odyssey and this initial leg was no exception. After getting some much needed overnight rest in Klamath Falls (our initial day was a 400-plus mile ride), we headed north on US 97 to Bend, Ore. before turning east along US 26 though numerous small towns scattered in and around the Ochoco and Malheur National Forests. This route took us through largely empty roads, long sweeping turns and magnificent scenery. Our second day took us nearly 500 miles and into Boise, Idaho for the night.

We left Boise the next morning with the intent of riding through the Sawtooth National Forest along SR 21, but our original plan changed several times along the way, taking us to what turned out to be some of the most exciting riding, challenging roads and breathtaking natural landscapes so far. We missed the portion of SR 21 that would take us north and altered our northward byway to SR 55 and then east to Banks-Lowman Rd., which took us through the Boise National Forest. Our missed turn turned out to be one of the greatest surprises as this little road offered not only some of the most challenging twists, but also some contact with other motorcyclists and their emphatic suggestions to take a mountain pass that lay a little out of our way. The same suggestion came from one of my Facebook friends and the decision was made to alter our route to access Beartooth Pass – but that would not take place until two days later on our way (and a little out of our way) to Butte. As we approached Idaho Falls, the weather towards the east was threatening and we saw lightning strike in the mountains we had yet to cross to get to our next destination, Jackson Hole, Wyo. We managed to miss the bulk of the thunderstorm, but still hit a little rain and very wet roads as we descended SR 33/22 into Jackson Hole where, just prior to our arrival, the city received ¾ on and inch of rain. We had light rain as we crested the summit, but the view of the dusk sky and clearing storm clouds over Jackson Hole was worth every ultra-cautious mile on the rain slickened road.

Day three came in at more than 400 miles. We were ready to find lodging and rest our weary bodies and minds after a day that ended in extremely dangerous riding conditions. Descending into Jackson Hole was slow and painstaking and at this point our plan (that was not a plan) revealed a major drawback: There were no rooms to be found in Jackson Hole during the mid-summer tourist season. Fortunately we found a lone vacancy, it was pricey, but so is everything else in this tourist mecca. The next day we headed north through Grand Teton National Park before entering the south entrance of Yellowstone Nation Park. At less than 200 miles, this would be our shortest riding day. We did not plan to camp anywhere along the way, but brought sleeping bags and a tent with us just in case. Somewhere between Jackson Hole and Yellowstone, we decided that camping in the park was an opportunity that should not be missed. Our intentional lack of planning again presented an issue in that the campgrounds were all full, but a ranger suggested that we check with the people who run the reserved campgrounds for a cancellation and one came in moments before I arrived at the head of the line. We pitched our tent and road around the park for the remainder of the day.

In both Jackson Hole and Yellowstone, congestion – the kind of congestion we were trying to escape – was present everywhere. It was not until we left early the next morning, before most of the sightseers hit the road, that we escaped it and headed for the northeast gate of Yellowstone towards Beartooth Pass on US 212. We gassed up in Cooke City, Mont. and started our climb up to the summit of almost 11,000 feet. Although the ride up Beartooth Highway was everything we heard it was, we did not fully understand why so many so strongly recommended it until the descent towards Red Lodge, Mont. The grade, the switchbacks and the desolation were beyond description; the terrain surrounding the road was surpassed in grandeur only by the road itself. At one point, the road (which is closed in the winter due to snow) passed the top of a ski chair lift. We were literally on top of the world. Once we arrived in Red Lodge, we mapped a route to Butte that would take us on more empty and easy riding roads, many that went for miles without a single turn... or another vehicle. Montana is somewhat liberal when it comes to speed limits – you can fill in the rest. Day five was another 400-plus mile day.

After two days of R&R in Butte, we decided to completely alter our plan (again, that wasn’t a plan) and go back north, west and south rather than south and west through Utah and the Nevada desert. Although we wanted to ride back through Utah, we were not at all looking forward to riding through an entire Nevada wasteland to round out our ride. We headed north to access US 83 through the Rocky Mountains to Kalispell, Mont. and then east along US 2 to the Idaho panhandle before turning south onto US 2/95, just 13 miles from the Canadian border. Our goal was to reach the Harley Davidson dealership in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho and then spend the night in Spokane, Wash., but just prior to an eastern detour into the city, a phone call revealed that the dealership was closed on Monday, so we just went straight to Spokane for the night. Crossing the Washington state line, we reversed a small celebration we enjoyed so many days earlier when we crossed the Snake River from Oregon into Idaho – we put out helmets back on. Every state we rode in except Washington, Oregon and California does not require adults to wear a helmet – a form of respect for personal liberty that the nanny’s in these Pacific states don’t recognize. Our eighth day away and fifth day of riding yielded more than 500 miles.

From Spokane we went north on US 395 into the Cascades. We spent the bulk of our day on SR 20 riding again on some extremely challenging roads with nicely banked and well-marked turns. At many points on this journey I had felt as though I was one with the bike, a Zen-like state where everything falls perfectly into a naturally balanced rhythm in which the mind goes quiet and the senses are tuned to the road and nothing else; on this particular leg, that experience was at its most profound and seemed to never end. I rode my Harley Davidson Road King - sometimes in front of Steve and his Heritage Deluxe, sometimes behind - like it has never been ridden before. Some of these series of linked turns on this magical day reminded me of my younger days on my (much smaller) Kawasaki GPz 550. More than an individual oneness between us and our machines, the two of us were in tune with each other such that our coordinated attack of the road resembled a intricately choreographed dance… beauty in both form and function. We finished the day by crossing the Deception Bridge to Whidbey Island on Puget Sound and crossed the sound by ferry to stay in Port Townsend, Wash. for the night. At just more than 400 miles, it felt like much, much more.

We got a slow start the next morning – by this time we had been gone for nine days and ridden hard for seven of them. We still had more than 1,000 miles to go and planned to reach Coos Bay, Ore., by nightfall. Part of what slowed us down was the number of other vehicles occupying the road with us down the Washington and Oregon coast. We also made a small detour to Tacoma, Wash., for a short visit to Steve’s mother and graciously accepted a homemade lunch from her and her husband. Although this detour did not cost us many miles, it did eat up about two hours of daylight. In addition to the congestion, the temperature along the coast was just south of tolerable – we had to stop in Tillamook, Ore., not for the cheese, but for some long johns to keep our legs operational. We fell about 100 miles short of Coos Bay, stopping for the night in Newport, Ore. Our room was cheap, but nice, and it was within walking distance of the waterfront and world-famous Mo’s seafood. It was one of many fabulous meals (along with too many consisting of fast food), but this one was at least as good as those that cost twice as much. Despite the slow start and the less than comfortable temperatures, we still managed to cover more than 400 miles on what turned out to be the second to last day.

But for the last day to be the last day, it would mean our longest riding day of the entire journey. From Newport, the only reasonable route was to continue south along the coast on US 101. Our plan for the day was to continue down the coast along US 101 to California SR 1 and turn east at Fort Bragg on SR 20, but by the time we arrived in Crescent City, Calif., we had had enough of the cold and, furthermore, we decided that we would finish the ride that day. We had to change our route to accomplish two goals: Get inland where it was warmer and cut miles (and time) off our last leg. That opportunity came in Eureka where SR 299 cut east to Redding; we would finish the final 150 or so miles on Interstate 5. Darkness would fall before we arrived home, but this route did not present any danger from deer or other wildlife intersecting our path after dark (bugs do not count as wildlife…).

One of the things that struck us during the many miles we rode the inland states was the fact that the roads were generally in excellent condition, extremely empty and went on for not just a few miles of uninterrupted serenity, but, in some cases, for hundreds of miles. We couldn’t help but notice that in California, where these quintessential motorcycle roads exist, they are either crowded, in sad shape or short. Though I realize this is a generalization and that there are exceptions, it is also true that those roads in the other states were not some kind of hidden gem - they were everywhere. Imagine our surprise when we found SR 299 to be long, in excellent condition, largely empty and as challenging as anything we had ridden up until that point. And what better way to finish off this journey than to ride like the wind on a road in our very own home state. That Zen-like state found me once again. By the time we reached Redding, the temperature was beginning to cool from a high of around 90 degrees making for perfect t-shirt riding weather all the way back to Sacramento. The final day of riding was by far the longest, coming in at a little more than 630 miles and a total of 13 hours on the road.

When Steve approached me with this ride, I was apprehensive, skeptical and not sure if it was something I really wanted to do. As time wore on and the others who said they were in dropped out, my mind was reeling through numerous excuses why I could not go. None were valid, but the uncertainty on many levels had me questioning the wisdom of taking on such a long ride. Steve shared that he was experiencing some similar sentiments, but he and I share something else besides a passion for riding: we both have sons fighting for our country in Afghanistan. Steve explained it this way: If our sons are brave enough to go to war and be shot at, we can walk through any apprehension we might have about this ride. Besides, I made a commitment and I surmised that if I didn’t do this now, I might never ever do it – and it has been a dream of mine for some time.

As little as 10 years ago, both Steve and I were not only not in a position to attempt anything like this, we probably were not even able to dream it. I know it was out of any realm of possibility for me. In the ensuing years, we have both found that elusive purpose and value in life that makes dreams like this a reality. This was a lifetime experience that, if not for some major life decisions I made about six years ago, could not have happened – and Steve’s story is similar. I think I can speak for Steve… we are definitely doing this again.

Maybe Alaska next year?

Don’t bet against us.

The Saga of Steve Miller and the Photonazis

2010-07-17T11:59:00.000-07:00

Anyone want to buy some Steve Miller pictures?

No?

Sure? There are some great shots, and they’re only a few hours old.

Still no?

I didn’t think so, but apparently Steve Miller or someone within his organization, his promoter or someone within the hierarchy at the concert venue, Raley Field in West Sacramento, thinks there is some kind of demand for pictures from his concert tonight. How do I know? The following concert review-turned-rant should explain. But first, I promised a concert review, so here it is.

It was a good show. Miller played many of his hits, spewed some political opinion and made a lengthy solicitation for donations to his pet charity. All in all, his show lived up to my (lofty) musical expectations and went well beyond what I expected in those other two aspects. I didn’t pay $75 (including service fees and parking) to be solicited, no matter how worthy the cause. But at least Miller delivered when it came to the music. It was a good show.

Okay, now that the review is out of the way, here is the rant. Although Miller’s show probably deserves more words than the highly abbreviated review above, it is lucky that I was able to write anything at all. I almost had to leave before the show began - you see, I was carrying contraband. I didn’t sneak in any alcohol or outside food nor did I try to bring in any drugs, although judging from the odor wafting through the air I must have been in the minority. I was not armed and I was not fighting. I had a camera. Not just any camera, but a so-called “professional” camera. Nowhere on any of the numerous signs listing the items not allowed was the fact that cameras, professional or otherwise, were not allowed. The security guard who checked my camera bag for all those other banned items didn’t say anything and, furthermore, if you include cell phone cameras, virtually everyone had a camera and was taking pictures.

When Miller took the stage, I pulled my Canon 30D out of my bag and squeezed off four shots before an oversized security guard stopped me. He wanted to know where my photo pass was. I didn’t have one. I didn’t think I needed one. I wasn’t working for anyone; I was shooting because I take pictures. My camera is a notch above a consumer model, but it’s not exactly a professional model either. Regardless, after explaining how no one said anything about this policy to me, how it is written nowhere and if I had known I certainly could have obtained a photo pass, the guard told me that if I took my camera out of my bag again he would take it. I put my camera away, but I was not about to leave it at that. Unfortunately, I couldn’t tell you what the next three or four songs were because I was pissed off and trying to figure out who was going to answer for this.

My opportunity came when another patron found himself in the same predicament. He was shown to a supervisor and I made my way over there to plead my case as well. This particular photographer had his press-pass with him (mine is no longer current and I didn’t have it with me anyway), but he too was informed that he needed the necessary photo pass to use his “professional” camera. I didn’t see what he was shooting with, but it was a DSLR, not a point-and-shoot like most everyone else had. When I explained my situation to the supervisor, she informed me that, though not publicized, the lens I was using was not allowed and that I would have to leave. Leave? Things went from bad to worse; then I realized that their concern was the size of my lens. I told her I had a smaller lens and would be happy to switch it out. Bingo. But I did have to check in my “large, professional” lens with guest services.

Reluctantly (not because I thought I would need it, but because I was not too keen on leaving my lens with anyone) I handed my lens over to guest services. But I safely retrieved it after the show and the people working in guest services understood my frustration, though they had no control over whatever policy was in effect. It would appear that the score is now photonazis-1, Mike-0, but appearances can be deceiving. The lens I gave up was a 28-135mm zoom with an aperture range of 3.5 to 5.6. It’s a good lens, but not particularly effective in low light – and the sun was just setting. The “smaller” lens I put on was an 85mm with an aperture of 1.8. It was, in fact, a shorter lens, but in terms of the size of the glass – the determining factor in how much light is let into the camera - this lens is much, much bigger. And it was the lens I planned to switch to once the sun went down. Score change: Photonazis-1, Mike-2.

Now I was free to take pictures at will; the jumbo-sized security guard was informed and left me alone. And I got some good shots – several hundred, in fact. Once edited and compiled, there will likely be a good deal more than a handful that are worth keeping – but not worth anything more. There is no market for Steve Miller concert pictures. Furthermore, a Google search will turn up more than any die-hard Steve Miller fan’s heart could desire. Forgetting about egotistical paranoia for a moment, I’ll concede that Steve Miller has a right to limit or restrict photography, recording or any other use of his likeness, name or image and that the “professional lens” policy is a legitimate way to control such use, but not arbitrarily and not without notification. The policy, as my “small” lens use proves, involves a complex array of parameters not understood by those enforcing it and regarding the total lack of informing the audience of this policy, there is no defense.

I went ahead and edited a few shots for publication here. They are copyrighted – if anyone, especially Steve Miller, wants to use any of them, it will require my permission. For Steve Miller, that permission is available – at a price.

Antennagate

2010-07-16T16:17:00.001-07:00

I am a Mac. Those who know me know that I have been sold on Apple technology for several years now. It was not always the case – I was deeply entrenched in and committed to the Windows family of products and to Microsoft – some might even say arrogantly so. That arrogance also caused me to swallow some large slices of humble pie, but I have learned from my mistake and that mistake was… Microsoft. Ok, I am a little less arrogant as well, but I’m afraid my commitment to Apple products and services resembles arrogance so much that it can be easily confused with the blind allegiance I formerly held towards my first love, Microsoft. There are, however, some valid empirical differences that back up my loyalty to Apple and due to some other less tangible factors (such as maturity), I can look beyond the hype to the product itself. For example, I do not own an iPad. Unless or until the iPad becomes something more than an oversized iPod Touch, I will not buy one.

But I love my Macs and iPhones, past and present. I don’t have to ever think about my Apple AirPort wireless router. AppleCare has always delivered on the rare instances when I did have a problem and even though my iPhone also serves as an iPod, I still use my original iPod Shuffle MP3 player when engaged in certain activities where I’d rather not expose my phone to any unnecessary risk. Every one of these products has worked for me over a considerable length of time with almost no problems, and when contrasted with the comparable non-Apple products that they replaced, the difference in reliability, durability and performance is noticed on a daily basis. Although the empirical evidence supports these claims, my own considerable experience is the clincher.

To those already on the Apple bandwagon, I’m preaching to the choir. For those who are Windows devotees, nothing I say will make any difference and I know too well the arguments they would cite. For some, there are technical reasons that keep them bound to the Windows platform. And when it comes to the service structure of the various hardware brands that use Windows, the service aspect ranges from one similar to Apple’s excellence to nonexistence. But as a package and as a company, Apple is a one-stop shop for this exceedingly average user. None of this is new and none of this will likely influence one towards Apple or away from Windows or, in the case of smart phones, from Android. Furthermore, Apple does not need my help. This is not about that, but it does lead into a particularly interesting public relations phenomenon that Apple is currently facing.

Despite Apple’s success of late, the Mac OSX market share is still relatively small compared to Windows. True, it is gaining ground, but in the big picture Windows is still the dominant operating system and this is true despite the Windows Vista debacle. One of the reasons for this is also a key pro-Windows argument – ubiquity. Windows is everywhere and has been for a long time. It is also not hardware dependent – everyone except Apple makes Windows machines (since Apple changed over to Intel processors, Macs can now run Windows as well). Despite (and perhaps because of) its control over its products, Apple has become the technology industry darling, and as a result a backlash has occurred over the most anticipated technological device since the original iPhone, the iPhone 4.

Maybe because Apple has never faced a PR challenge of this nature, the company was ill prepared to deal with it. For three weeks, the response to what has been termed “antennagate” has varied from inadequate to dismal. In today's press conference with Apple CEO Steve Jobs, those issues should have been put to rest. But it is naive to think this will end the controversy. However, Jobs did succeed at putting the issue into context and focused attention to solving customer complaints – not media reports or quips like, “It looks like the iPhone 4 might be their Vista, and I'm OK with that” from Microsoft COO Kevin Turner. How many complaints? Of more than three million iPhone 4 customers, only a little more than one half of one percent (16,500) have complained about anything regarding reception, signal strength, dropped calls and all other antenna related issues since the phone’s release. The return rate to AT&T is less than one third that of the iPhone 3GS and a presentation of internal and external data showed that the iPhone 4 is no worse than any other smart phone on the market. Forgetting all of that, just try to get one - the demand still exceeds supply.

But the really noteworthy thing about this press conference is that Steve Jobs and company, only 22 days into what has become Apple’s biggest PR challenged, has learned a few things very quickly. They did not role over, but at the same time they took responsibility not so much for a hardware issue, but for the happiness of their customers. Apple is far more than a hardware manufacturer and much more than a software developer – it is a customer service organization. Apple is in the business of making and keeping its customers happy. Where do you think this almost cult-like loyalty comes from? Rather than gleefully bash Apple for some perceived hardware glitch, those in the business of serving customers might follow their lead and treat their customers appropriately. They just might try a little harder to make their customers happy.

The Quest

2010-07-14T14:50:00.000-07:00

I haven’t written anything for this blog in a while. I have no good excuse. It’s not that I owe anyone anything, and I have not broken any sort of commitment or exceeded any deadlines, but what I do is write and although I have written some small pieces here and there, I feel as though this is where I stay accountable to myself. This blog will reach its five-year anniversary in December and there is a great deal of evidence that it has evolved in a number of ways. Externally, it is clear from my archives that I was far more prolific early on than I am now. Delving a little deeper into each archive individually, there are signs of evolution in terms of content, style and substance. But one lasting characteristic remains – these words, though publicly aired, are primarily for me.

I used to thrive on how many hits this site received, how many comments my writing generated and how my thoughts inspired reaction from others. It would be a lie if I said that was not still important, but at the same time this type of external validation comes and goes – an evolutionary process is present in the Internet community itself and the rise and fall of various platforms has a key effect on how our thoughts are distributed. I have become far less attached to how and whether my thoughts are received than I used to be. I used to sit down and force myself to write even when there was nothing really inspiring going on in my life and in many of those instances what came out surprised me, both in terms of content and insight. Writing, like other artistic expressions, can produce introspection and revelation not ordinarily accessible in my day-to-day life. But I rarely ever force myself to write just for the sake of writing anymore. These words, however, are an example of such a rarity.

In some respects, I feel as though I have said it all, though I know that can never be. When I title these pieces, I usually have to do a search of my archives to be sure I don’t replicate a past title. It seems that I have used up all the common “catch” phrases, but there is always something unique about every new set of words that can be captured in an equally unique title. And I almost always write the title last. I have written about writing, about publication, about politics, about life, about nature, about spirituality, about education and about everything else that strikes me as needing further exploration and that happens most effectively right here. These literary assemblies help me understand the world I live in and, more importantly, my place in it. The extent to which others relate to my musings has clearly become a bonus, not a goal.

It is odd how certain past events dovetail with current events. Not so much on a geo-political scale (although that certainly happens as well), but on a personal level. New bits of information come to me that help explain or expand on prior experiences. In some cases it sheds new light such that some old, almost forgotten life event becomes brand new again. It happens all the time and the best way for me to process these epiphanies is to write about them. One such experience is founded in the act of writing itself. Although the vast majority of my work has been produced in the past ten or so years, writing has been with me for my entire life. Through a series of life-altering events, I rediscovered this latent ability to string words and punctuation together in a mosaic that conveys more than just a collection of dictionary definitions. And, perhaps more importantly, I found much greater value in all manner of artistic expression... and artistic expression in places I never expected it to be.

As much as I have recently found myself at a loss to compose, it is still very clear that the well has not yet run dry. Indeed, I am far from tapped out – what is left to say far exceeds what has already been said, by others or myself. The pool of human knowledge, of human experience and of human understanding is infinite. The process of discovery will never end. It comes not just in words, but also in a vast and ever expanding array of media that is conveyed with the diversity reflected in each and every individual expression of what it is to be. Though far more is unknown than known, today I feel just a bit more enlightened.

Independence Day

2010-07-03T14:55:00.001-07:00

Today is July 3, 2010. The last year of the first decade of the new millennium is now half over. Our nation’s 234th birthday comes tomorrow. It is a big deal. In just a very short period of time, our country has risen from surviving a precarious balance between existence and dissolution to the world’s undisputed and sole super-power. Like any story of growth, this country has perpetrated a number of injustices along the way, but my purpose here is not to dwell on the negative, but rather focus on the inconceivable prosperity the United States has brought to not only her citizens, but also to the citizens of the world at large. Again, for all the steps in the right direction, we have stumbled back a few and there are those who might be prone to claim the best days of these United States are behind us, but I say the evidence does not support this notion. Indeed, we have seen far darker days than those we are facing now and come through even stronger and more resolved for it.

Our founding fathers would likely not recognize the nation they created as it is today; however, I doubt they would be surprised at the prosperity we have experienced. That is, no one 200 years ago could have foreseen the technological advances that this world has experienced, but it would not surprise our founders that the United States would become the engine for much or that advancement. It is, in fact, how they set it up. This nation was founded on the principle of freedom and although there have been considerable inconsistencies with that principle and the actions of our government over the years, the foresight in the structure of our constitution with the overarching principle of equality and freedom has always, eventually and ultimately risen to the top. The dance of the three branches of government with its checks and balances is at the same time complex and beautifully simple in that the power that rests with the people cannot be easily wrested because of considerable and potent oversight.

And it’s not as though some individuals and groups of individuals (referred to by our founders as “factions”) have not tried. It continues today; political parties, interest groups, labor unions and many other organized and disorganized groups have tried to impose their will on others and have done so with varying degrees of success, but the structure of our government has an innate way of weeding out what is right and what is wrong, even if the process takes some time. Corrective measures have created not a perfect union, but absolutely a “more perfect union,” one that enjoys the kind of peaceful diversity and equality that even 100 years ago was only a dream. And although there are very vocal groups that would have us a racially pure nation, those groups are spitting into the wind – we are moving more towards our founders’ words in the Preamble than even they could have foreseen.

In my 47 years as a citizen of this nation, I have lived through a number of potential crises – all of which threatened this county’s very existence, but the strength of our founding documents have bound us by a principle of freedom that, at the end of the day, we all embrace. And prior to my time, the obstacles we have overcome are written into our heritage. We are currently facing another time of trial, but I am not one to say that this nation is “heading in the wrong direction.” We are, however, experiencing growing pains and if history is any indication, we will emerge stronger and more evolved, more experienced. In 1776, no one expected this experiment in democracy to succeed. Allowing the seat of power to rest with the people was considered folly - it could not last. And in the big picture, 235 years is relatively young for a nation, but the end is nowhere close to near. This is still the United States of America and for all of our warts and scars, we are still that “shining city upon the hill,” a beacon of freedom that still epitomizes what our founders so painstakingly set out to make us.

I leave this tribute to my country with a quote from the Ronald Reagan, acknowledging the sacrifices of my son and all the other men and women of our Armed Forces who are celebrating our nation’s birthday in far away lands - protecting our freedom:

"Freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction. We didn't pass it to our children in the bloodstream. It must be fought for, protected, and handed on for them to do the same, or one day we will spend our sunset years telling our children and our children's children what it was once like in the United States where men were free."

Passenger in My Own Mind

2010-06-29T16:09:00.000-07:00

I will often find myself in quiet reflection. After nearly a half-century of life, I have considerable experience to draw upon – far too much to digest in a single moment, but the web of interrelated memories that, on their surface, have little to do with one another still coexist in the same head and they often link in unforeseen ways. For the past several years these moments of silent contemplation have produced overwhelming feelings of gratitude not only for the fortunate turn my life has taken, but also for those who have played a role along the way. While many have had direct involvement and others have touched my life indirectly, the bottom line is that nothing I have made of my life today was a result of some singular effort on my part nor did it take place without any effort either; it was not luck. Life is a team sport.

I am often asked to share what my life used to be like, what happened and what it’s like today. My “story,” as it is often referred, is unique in the particulars but not nearly so much in its substance. It is familiar to those who have been where I’ve been and done what I’ve done – all the good, the bad and the ugly. Not physically necessarily, but substantially. I was trapped in a downward spiral that nearly killed me and all things considered, death was not looking so bad. I was not suicidal, but I was not at all thrilled with life either. Although I was constantly seeking for gratification externally, it is also true that I found the source of my suffering there, too. I know now that the vast majority of my pain was self-inflicted, but to admit that then would mean accepting something my ego would not allow me to do. It was the world against me - and I hate to lose.

But I was losing. The reality is that the world had nothing to do with it. I was fighting myself and it was a fight to the death. The only way to come out alive was to quit fighting. It took a long time to come to the realization that everything wrong in my world was a result of how I perceived it – it was not the world itself. There are numerous books and other guides to enlightenment and many tell of the power of positive thinking. I sought the magic formula for a long time before I realized that there is no secret formula… no quick fixes, no shortcuts. I was convinced that if I only had enough money I would be able to find happiness and I did not see how any psycho-babble positive thinking crap was going to change my lack of resources. A friend recently shared that he felt like a passenger in his own mind, and this is a friend who, like me, has experienced great darkness in his life. His particulars are different, but that substance he shared with me is something I can relate to only too well. I was indeed a passenger in my own mind.

In the coming weeks and months I will be passing some significant milestones and, later next year, I will come to the crest of another mountain – one that was far too much to climb not that long ago. Those looking at my external life might say that it’s easy for me to find gratitude - look at the car, the house and the motorcycle. What they fail to realize is that my gratitude for life itself preceded all those things – and those were things that I had (and later lost) in those darkest days when no amount of anything was ever enough. Looking past the external, those tempted to say it’s easy for me to find gratitude because of the intangible things I have would be correct – it is easy to be grateful with the relationships I now enjoy, the integrity I now possess and the value my life holds. Those are things that not only eluded me, they are things I never placed any value on - they seemed so unimportant… a nuisance, even.

It’s hard to know whether a positive outlook has created the reality or if the reality has created the positive outlook. It is likely a bi-directional effect where the two aspects play off one another in a beautifully synergistic melody. It didn’t happen overnight; in fact, it kind of snuck up on me. One day (now every day) I realized that I had not been unhappy for any sustained period in a very long time. I have not raised my voice in anger in a very long time. Those numerous little things that used to drive me insane no longer get a first thought, let alone a second. I have friends I can count on and (probably more importantly) that can count on me. It turns out that the world is not such a bad place after all, one just need to live with it rather than against it.

Facebook "Friends"

2010-06-17T12:41:00.000-07:00

I currently have 880 Facebook “friends.” I placed friends in quotations because it is unrealistic that anyone has that many friends in the traditional definition of the word. True, many are friends in the classical sense, but most are associations made based on some other paradigm. My criteria for Facebook friendship is relatively loose – the connection must be made through some channel other than just Facebook, that is, I do not accept random friend requests. I get them often, usually based upon mutual friendship; once I discover where that outside connection is, I’ll accept those requests. In other words – I need to know who the requester is beyond a profile picture and a status update.

Some of those friends are friends I have never met; yet I have a personal connection based in private correspondence such that they are considered actual friends. Perhaps not exactly close friends, but we are not talking about casual acquaintances either. Many were forged through this blog, well before my participation in the style of social networking that Facebook epitomizes. My involvement in these social networks (Myspace, Facebook and now Twitter) was not a natural extension of my social network, indeed, my joining each network can only be characterized as reluctant. However, once on board the benefits proved numerous and obvious. Take my Facebook high school network, for instance. Most of those old friends were long lost and likely would have remained so if not for a means of ready access and Facebook provides a forum for regular, albeit sometimes superficial, communication. In some respects, it is not unlike the sort of communication that actually took place in high school, but I digress...

Interestingly enough, my path has taken me down the road of academia and my area of study is human communication. Although this is a wide field of study and my specific area isn’t necessarily social media, all areas are intertwined and the pursuit of an MA in communication studies requires extensive study in all areas. Communication is, in fact, the umbrella under which all other knowledge is formed – symbolic communication elevates us above all other known forms of life and makes possible the civilization we find so convenient. The world as we know it does not come to be without the ability to communicate symbolically. However, as robust as our tools of communication are, they can be woefully inadequate when trying to relate what is really going on with us and nowhere is this more pronounced than in personal interaction.

When we communicate on a face-to-face basis, we are privy to communicative symbols that extend far beyond the verbal. Body language has been studied extensively, but so have other forms of non-verbal communication such as appearance, intonation, pace, and word choice (not what the words themselves mean, but which are chosen and how they are arranged sends a signal, too). When communication is limited to text only, much of that is lost. We have attempted to make up for some of those non-verbal cues with emoticons, abbreviations and even our choice of a profile picture or avatar, but those measures only make up for a small piece of what is lost. Some of the same sense of loss was experienced with the invention and proliferation of the telephone, but at least then the audible cues were still there. With a purely text-based conversation – especially when that text is limited to Twitter’s 140 characters – there is precious little to go on.

Friendship, like all personal relationships, requires maintenance. The social networking platforms give us an ease of maintenance never before available. It gives me a means of maintaining a relationship with 880 “friends.” But there is no way to maintain any degree of closeness with that many friends under any circumstances. The best I can achieve is to stay in contact with a few – however irregularly or infrequently – on a deeper level. It can be done through computer-mediated channels, but not through the simple posting of status updates. There was once a time, before the telephone and even before the telegraph, when written communication was the only way to maintain relationships with friends and family over long distances. Electronic communication did not supersede it: Facebook, for example, provides a means of private and in-depth communication beyond instant messaging, wall posts and status updates. And there is always email.

But the best way is to stay close the old-fashioned way - face-to-face (and the phone, due to its ubiquity and entrenchment in our society, can be included). By availing ourselves to the richest communication experience available – one that goes beyond mere short messages, status updates and wall posts – we can receive a message in all its fullness. Technology has been incredibly useful in helping me to stay in touch with a vast network of associations, to rekindle old friendships, to forge new ones that never would have been possible without it and to gain the insight from those well beyond my geographic limitations. But where the quantity comes easy, the quality takes effort. Nothing can replace face-to-face communication, but with a little effort computer-mediated communication could become just as robust as telephone-mediated communication has. And over the vast distances in this global village the world is becoming, short of teleportation electronic communication is the next best thing.

Accreditation

2010-06-12T12:40:00.000-07:00

I received this in my inbox very early this morning. I get these invitations from time to time and on rare occasion one will spark some interest. This one was not one of those until I started to compose a short note declining the invitation…

Hi Michael,

We would love to share with you an article that we just posted on our own blog! Top 10 Con Artists In Academic History would be an interesting story for your readers to check out and discuss on your blog, so we hope you will consider sharing it!

Thanks for your time!

Lauri Xxxxxx

Lauri,

Although academic cons are nothing new they are still worth discussing as, unfortunately, they are still ongoing. If I were to approach the subject on my blog, it would be from a different angle than just reproducing news accounts of what has already happened - it likely would dig more into a discussion of ethics, of morals and of the personal benefit of not cheating as this is ultimately the only way to persuade those who are prone to "short-cutting" the process to realize the person they are hurting the most is staring back in the mirror. For this same reason, I do not endorse "alternative" colleges that generate degrees based upon "real-world" experience. It is not the education per se, but what these schools call it when completed. An associate's, bachelor's or master's degree means much, much more. (As an aside, I am also philosophically opposed to the for-profit model of education). A university degree should indicate that the holder has learned far more than the technical knowledge required for accounting, or engineering, or programming, etc. - it should indicate a willingness to be open to the varied requirements of university education, a commitment to the time it will take and the sacrifice it takes to see it through. A BA or BS degree should take at least eight full-time semesters - for the brightest and most disciplined, maybe six, but that is still three full years at the minimum. It shows potential employers and everyone else who understands what a degree of this magnitude represents - that the holder has not only the ability to perform a job in a specific area of expertise (one's major), but also the ability to think clearly and critically with the insight of those who have gone before over the past many thousands of years.

The blog you referred me to is a tool for those seeking online education. As I am sure you are aware, this is a trend that is increasing in popularity and even traditional universities are offering online courses in an attempt to serve a larger student body and save costs on both the universities' and students' ends. I am not, in principle, opposed to a wide variety of instructional formats, but when one is used to the exclusion of all others - especially to eliminate the classroom, or lecture hall, or lab - then a huge part of the academic experience is lost. It does not appear to me that your blog advocates this position, only that it offers those in search of online education a resource. However (and this is a big however), because many for-profit institutions are for profit, the best way to maximize income is through cost-cutting and where those reduced expenditures are used to attract students in the form of lower fees and "degree equality" with a traditional university education, we end up with an online course market that is polluted with these institutions (University of Phoenix, DeVry, and the like). And to my dismay, your home page is plastered with links to these schools. There are a number of accredited (really accredited) public and private universities that offer online courses (and some) online degrees.

My plan was to write a simple response declining your invitation because I do not want it to appear that I endorse these schools as equivalent to the comprehensive traditional universities that provide well-rounded education to their students. I believe that vocational education has a place - an important one - and it has as much value as a university degree, but it is not an apples and apples comparison. For these schools to portray their degrees as equal to one from a real university is borderline fraud. Try getting into a PhD program at University of California, Santa Barbara or Harvard with a University of Phoenix master's... or into a master's program at any of the California State University campuses with a bachelor's from DeVry - let alone a teaching job at such an institution with one of these degrees. My planned response has now changed, this correspondence has become that discussion of ethics and morals I mentioned above; it has become a blog post. I therefore have little choice but to link your blog post... but as the old saying goes, there is no such thing as bad publicity.

Angels

2010-06-11T13:07:00.001-07:00

I’m not one to entertain thoughts of fantasy or fiction as though it could be real. My mindset is thoroughly scientific - thoroughly, but not entirely. The “facts” are not always easily grasped, especially when evidence is circumstantial or coincidental. Sometimes the observed outcome, real as it is, has a source that can only be described as surreal. Creativity, inspiration, beauty... these things have an origin that cannot be nailed down. Doors open and they close, demise is sometimes a fore drawn conclusion, fate does not always manifest in what happened, but rather that the inconceivable did happen. Granting that astronomically long odds do not eliminate anything from occurring, when something so unlikely does occur it leaves one wondering…

Some time ago, I bought a book about near-death experiences. I bought it because I experienced one and I wanted to find some empirical or experiential information by which I could contextualize or perhaps reify my version of it. Although the writing was horrible, that was not the main problem I had with the book. And it might not have been the book that was the problem so much as the question I was trying to answer. I did not realize at the time that my question was not answerable. There is no way to know what I experienced, what it meant and whether or not it was “real.” I still only have my convictions – there is no evidence. The book was much more certain than I, however. It had answers and I could not help but continually ask, “How do you know?” It spelled out in rather certain terms what those who experience death – and then did not die – all saw (for lack of a better word). There seemed to be some hard and fast rules and my story did not fit the mold. Yet I know I was there.

Not all books have value. Though the entire incident could have lasted anywhere from a split second to several weeks, the actual time spent flirting with the hereafter could not have been very long. However, a virtual eternity passed – and not without notice. The accident I speak of is one that I have written about many times before. Now nearly ten years ago, the specifics are all but gone, but the profound nature remains. The question or questions I have were answered but the answers are forgotten. Maybe by design. I believe there is more to all this... this everything... but I am no closer to proof than I was prior to coming to this conviction. I believe I was not alone – a guiding force, an angel, was my constant companion. But I can barely translate the experience into words, let alone prove it. And I cannot say what others might or might not experience in a similar brush with death.

But I can say this – I know what I knew. I know what I forgot. I know what I know. And that is enough.

Political Cues

2010-06-08T12:49:00.000-07:00

Today is “mini” Super Tuesday – Election Day. And in California that means it is time to vote in the primaries to determine who will represent each party in the general election next November. It also means that we will determine the outcome of a number of initiatives that we, the people, supposedly put on the ballot in an effort to do what the legislature cannot or will not. Of course, there is very little of the “people” involved in the initiative process anymore. For some time it has been an instrument of special interests to get custom tailored laws on the books that are portrayed as benefiting the general good, but in reality specifically target a much narrower interest. Among the most egregious to date is Proposition 16, euphemistically named “The Peoples Right to Vote.” Almost entirely funded by PG&E, if passed this measure would solidify a near monopoly the utility has in the state.

My purpose here isn’t to weigh in as for or against this or any other proposition (for the record, I will be voting against it), but rather to address the argument that those who do not take the time to get informed should not vote. The predicted turnout for this election is characteristically low with estimates as dismal as only one third of those registered taking the time to cast a ballot. I am also not going through an exercise that argues the much-trumpeted call that those who do not vote have no right to complain. Comedian George Carlin turned this argument upside down, but I would argue that every citizen who is affected by the laws of our land has the right to complain – it is, in fact, a constitutional right. But I do believe that voting, even if “uninformed,” is a sacred responsibility and that the daunting amount of propaganda should not be a deterrent – there are many avenues to getting informed.

Most people voting do not research the issues as thoroughly as I do. Most people take their cues from other sources and I would hope that those sources are at least a little deeper than the 30-second spots that those with a vested interest provide us with relentless fervor. There are other cues that can be much more reliable reflections of how a voter would vote if he or she had taken the considerable time it takes to be “informed.” The most common is one’s political affiliation, though with the disarray and inconsistency the two major parties display in their platforms – or perhaps more in their actions versus their rhetoric – this is not as reliable a cue as it perhaps once was. This is nowhere better evidenced by the growing trend of voters registering “decline to state.”

But there are other cues that voters can and do utilize that reflect their ideology without having to go through the tedium of researching the issues directly. They include columnists, analysts, peers and friends. I have had many a political discussions recently with a number of friends who know that I make it my business to stay on top of the issues and that I can see through the deluge of propaganda. I have no idea if I have influenced their vote and I never advocate for a particular decision, but I can answer questions with a balanced perspective. If I am asked, I will indicate how I intend to vote, but that question rarely comes up – those friends are seeking information, not advice. And I am interested in their views as well because I do not come up with my perspective out of thin air – I cannot see a given issue from all possible perspectives.

The bottom line is that I reject the idea that those who are not informed should not vote. Essentially I reject the idea that they are not informed – most are far more than they realize. Stephen Colbert ridiculed President Bush at the 2006 White House Correspondents' Association Dinner for relying on his gut to make decisions, and while making decisions such as waging war should be far more informed than a gut feeling, a feeling is more than sufficient for casting a ballot. Even relying only on the advertising can be sufficient to form an opinion if one pays attention to what is not included and listens to opposing arguments. But perhaps the best way is to bounce ideas off those whom we already respect – our friends. That can be the most accurate cue available.

Heart/Hagar Rock Sacramento

2010-05-31T23:50:00.000-07:00

I started going to rock concerts in the late 70s. Living in the San Francisco Bay Area, virtually every major tour made a stop at one of several large, local venues. Many of those bands have long since disbanded and, unfortunately, many of those musicians have since passed away. However, some have proved resilient and are still performing with the same intensity and passion they did more than 30 years ago.

Two of those bands, Heart and Sammy Hagar, graced the stage at Raley Field in West Sacramento Sunday night for a benefit concert culminating Hope Productions Foundation's Walk 'n Rock event. Although both groups have undergone personnel changes throughout the years, both have maintained a presence in the industry for the long haul. Neither are resurrections from some bygone era; both are still active and judging from the near capacity crowd Sunday night, both enjoy long-term fan loyalty.

Prior to headliner Sammy Hagar, Heart, featuring sisters Ann and Nancy Wilson, took the stage. The opening number, "Fire," demonstrated the Wilson sisters' versatility with lead singer Ann Wilson on the flute and younger sister Nancy on guitar. The next four songs ("Heartless," "Never," "Straight On" and "These Dreams") were an anthology of Heart hits highlighting the band's breadth and laser-like precision. From Heart's soon to be released album, "Red Velvet Car," the band debuted two tracks, including the title track, before performing a version of "Alone" featuring only Nancy Wilson on acoustic guitar, keyboardist Debbie Shair and lead vocals from Ann Wilson. The set was rounded out with the powerful 1970s classics "Magic Man," "Crazy on You," and closed with "Barracuda." A two-song encore consisted of a cover of Led Zeppelin's "What Is and What Should Never Be" followed by the band's 1985 hit, "What About Love."

Although I am a journalist and a writer and I have "reviewed" various performances in the past, I am not in even the remotest sense a music critic or reviewer. I am a fan and have been for many years. My impression of both bands' performance is from that entirely personal perspective. The music quality is derived from two distinct but intersecting points of view: That of the music itself and the performance of it live. The Wilson sisters are consummate musicians and songwriters and the performance showcased their talents as both, but it is easy to write about the instruments played, the intricacy of the music and the mixing of the sounds. More difficult to relate is the connection made with the audience. This band knows why they do what they do and their appreciation is evident in the energy they bring to the live performance – even after more than 30 years. It is a not something that can be faked and the Wilson sisters made their audience feel like their performance was a personal effort to reach each and every individual who attended.

If it was possible to duplicate or surpass that audience connection and energy, Sammy Hagar was the man to do it. His 13-song set took him and his band right up to the 11 p.m. Raley Field curfew leaving no time for an encore. A video montage preceded the band's opening song, "There's Only One Way to Rock," which went right into "I Can't Drive 55." Hagar engaged his audience at every turn, encouraging those in attendance to sing along. The band followed with "Why Can't This Be Love" and "Three Lock Box" before breaking into a Led Zeppelin medley that hinged on the hit "Whole Lotta Love." At this point Hagar took a moment to recognize the purpose of the benefit and thank those in attendance for supporting Hope Foundations Productions, then fittingly performed the Van Halen mega-hit, "Right Now," with its message, an overtone of hope. Changing gears, Hagar launched into a string of three hits ("Space Station #5," "Rock Candy" and Bad Motor Scooter") from his first band, Montrose. Rounding out the set, Hagar performed "Best of Both Worlds," "Heavy Metal," "Mas Tequila" and concluded with a soulful version of the 1988 Van Halen hit "Finish What Ya Started."

While Heart entertained with high energy and a complex musical repertoire, Sammy Hagar's ability to intimately and personally connect with thousands of fans in a single moment is unsurpassed. Although musically his set consisted of more basic, perhaps more typically album oriented rock of the 70s and 80s, Hagar's passion for performing live remains undiminished since first seeing him live almost 30 years ago. A Sammy Hagar concert is and always has been more than just about the music. It is an event, an indelible experience that one will not soon forget. I remember that first Hagar concert in 1980 like it was yesterday and his performance Sunday night proves that old rock stars need not fade away - they can shine well into the night, even if the night has an 11 p.m. curfew.

Useless Education

2010-05-28T12:06:00.000-07:00

I have heard many grumblings from students regarding, well, many things, but one complaint that is perpetually recurring is regarding the requirement that they take classes that they “will never need.” Although this view appears to be valid from the student’s perspective (I was once that student), it is only so because of youthful myopia and inexperience. The student usually has neither the vision nor the years to know what he or she will need in the future. To exacerbate this problem, the student also doesn’t know that he or she doesn’t know. When school is approached from the right perspective, when one is in it for the journey and the experience and the excitement of learning something new, it is not an issue. It only becomes a chore when one views it as such.

There is, however, some truth in what they say; there are some classes required that would probably hold no practical purpose later in life. The catch is knowing which classes they might be. I was a math whiz in high school, I was good at it and it was exciting for a while. I never stopped to think about what good it would do me in my later life because I didn’t care, it was fun. I cannot say the same for English or some of the social sciences, but here I am so many years later with a life that is heavily entrenched in just those areas. I knew how to read and write – learned it in grade school - what else did I need to know? Of course, I had no idea what the future held, but I thought I did. Today I rarely use any of the advance math I learned so many years ago and it is pretty clear that those other areas turned out to be anything but a waste of my time.

While I was an undergrad at California State University, Sacramento, I took an optional upper-division class while pursuing my government-journalism degree. Magazine writing was a fill-in class for me. I did not need it to fulfill the requirements for my degree, but I had room in my schedule, it sounded interesting, and… it was fun. I learned the particulars of magazine journalism, but I also learned (or re-learned) some valuable insight about myself. A large part of writing for magazines is that, unless one is actually employed by a magazine, it is largely a freelance endeavor. It involves writing query letters announcing story ideas to magazine editors and then waiting for a response. Freelancers have to be more than just good writers; they have to be good salespeople, we are selling ourselves. And it’s a lot like fishing, a sport I never really had the patience for.

As a full-time form of employment, freelancing can be daunting. Once established, a writer’s name can be all one needs to get regular writing gigs, but even then there is no guarantee. However, as an addition source of income, or in my case as a way to just do what I love for money, freelance magazine writing can be worthwhile. That is, the tools I learned in that magazine writing class – tools I have not used since taking it more than three years ago – are invaluable in the right here, right now. And since it’s not about the money, I can afford to have the patience and wait for a bite.

This summer, some friends and I are taking our Harleys on a 2,000-mile, seven state ride through some of the most magnificent terrain anywhere in the world. There is a story here that might be of interest to several different magazines, but of particular interest to those that cater to motorcyclists – and there are many. In addition to knowing a thing or two about putting words together, I also know my way around a camera and my trusty Canon 30D will definitely be along for the ride. I can offer not only the words, but also the pictures that will tell a story – a story that means more than just machines and scenery and more than just a summertime escape. It’s a story of people, of relationships and of camaraderie. It’s the kind of stuff I like to read and if the content of these magazines is any indication, I am not alone.

So what does this have to do with that magazine writing class? It is not so much about the writing, although there are nuances that are particular to magazine writing. And it’s not so much the personal insight I gained in that freelancing, as employment, is not for me. The class taught me how to go about getting the attention of the various editors and the formalities involved in submitting query letters, a term I knew nothing about prior to taking that class. There are procedures unique to the business and all of the many other journalism classes I took did not touch on these. And I did not know what I did not know.

Fortunately I had experienced an attitudinal shift long before enrolling in that class. School at that point in my life had taken on a much more global perspective. I was there to learn and all learning had become exciting. It still is. I learned that magazine writing was not going to be my bread-and-butter and I guess I surmised that what I learned would probably never be used again. And that was okay. As it turns out, however, there is a use for it after all. It’s not a necessary need – I could certainly go on this ride, take pictures and put it all right here in my blog. But I write for a number of reasons and one of them is to be read - getting a major magazine byline would be pretty nice way to get more readers... and a little money, too.

Bigfoot

2010-05-26T16:45:00.000-07:00

I love the Science Channel. When my television is on, it is usually tuned to the news, the Science Channel or one of its derivatives (Discovery, Bio, TLC, History, etc.). The quality of the programming is usually excellent as is the subject matter and the production quality. Usually. Like any other TV station, there are programming dead zones – time slots that don’t usually have a lot of viewers. When these occur in the wee hours, one can usually find (and avoid) infomercials or, as the cable guide terms them, “paid programming.” But when they occur during the day, I can only assume these slots are filled with what can be kindly referred to as “second tier” programming. And trust me, that is being kind. One such program is currently droning in the background as I putter around my office doing not much of anything today.

Update: This documentary is apparently part of a series, Monster Quest, and this particular theme of Sasquatch is running throughout the entire day. It doesn't change the gist of this column, but in the spirit of editorial accuracy, there it is.

A word of warning: If you have any particular affinity for the notion that there exists a mythical creature known by such names as Sasquatch, Bigfoot and the like, please stop reading now. This will likely be offensive to those beliefs. If, however, you are among the many who profess a belief in this “creature,” but don’t really believe it or perhaps would like to believe it, but really can’t – it’s all just good fun – then read on, this is in the spirit of fun, but it will take place at the afore mentioned believers expense. Sorry, but y’all are funny. Ah, but it is probably too late, I have already offended. Might as well read on then, this could be educational.

There is no Bigfoot. I seriously doubt there ever was. The documentary currently airing on the History Channel is exploring the possibility of a “Bigfoot-like creature” in Ohio. It looks at eyewitness accounts, crude video and other very inconclusive evidence. Although this documentary does go through the counter arguments such as various hoaxes and the like, the fact that this is ostensibly a “serious” investigation that relies on self-proclaimed experts and the experiments these same experts have proposed gives Bigfoot’s very existence a degree of credibility. These experts even have terminology to give the impression that they know what they are talking about. “We have vocalization” is but one example that I can only assume means that this creature made a noise… and they heard it, evaluated it and concluded that this was a Bigfoot “talking.”

What has yet to be produced is any physical evidence of such a creature’s existence. There has never been a carcass (they do die, don’t they?), or waste material or any evidence of a dwelling that cannot be attributed to any other known animal. What we have are numerous, but easily explained sightings and a number of experts who are either seriously deluded or con artists. There are, however, some things that are known about Bigfoot. We know of several hoaxes - with varying degrees of success - that have been perpetrated over many, many years. We know of how the sightings have had lifelong effects on some of the individuals who have seen it. Real effects generated by false sightings are nothing new; the mind is a powerful thing. Also, a bandwagon effect exists such that as more sightings are reported, more sightings will be reported.

The bottom line is that there is probably little danger in this irrational fantasy that Bigfoot is real. Except for those who are maliciously taking money from those who are desperate to be the one who finally discovers this nonexistent creature, it is a rather harmless pursuit – and of course the words of Thomas Tusser come to mind regarding fools and their money… or P.T. Barnum’s more direct adage about how often suckers are born. The History Channel is apparently not above the fray. Perhaps this documentary is not intended to reach a wide viewership, but there is still money to be made. And that is the only thing real about Bigfoot.

Show Me the Money

2010-05-26T09:13:00.000-07:00

In 1981, President Ronald Reagan fired more than 11,000 striking air traffic controllers. The union representing the controllers, PATCO, ordered the strike to get the controllers' workweek reduced to 32 hours, among other demands. Although public employees such as police officers, postal workers, etc., are prohibited from striking under federal law, these strikes in various incarnations still occur with little or no consequence. This time, however, the consequences were dire for both the union employees who refused to return to work and, to a lesser more temporary extent, the general public in the form of interrupted air travel. Important, but not indispensable, the air traffic controllers lost their gamble and were sent packing.

So what? That was 1981 - things were different then. Yes, but much remains the same. This idea of self-importance of various interest groups – trade unions and otherwise, is as much or more an act of self-interest than it is about the public interest. And before any individual member of one of these groups takes offense, let’s be clear that these are institutional, not personal attitudes. That is, individual teachers or prison guards, for example, are very likely to be in it not for the money but rather the service they are providing to society. But as an organization, these groups are almost entirely based in self-interest. It’s all very convenient; the individual can hold onto his or her personal ethos while vicariously pursuing self-interests in a detached manner, thus absolving oneself of individual responsibility for organizational self-interest.

Don’t get me wrong; I am hugely supportive of some professions (teaching being one of them, prison guards not) getting much better compensation. I am also in favor of any professional advancement through excellence. The combination of better pay and merit-based advancement will produce much better employees, but that is not how these organizations operate. They demand higher pay and benefits for every member – they have to do it that way to maintain the strength of numbers. And to do so, these interest groups portray their services, their departments and their status among other departments as indispensable. In California, with another multi-billion dollar deficit looming, nothing and no one is indispensable.

Each of these groups, however, claim they are. “You can’t cut us,” they exclaim, many citing valid and often compelling arguments as to why this is so. And maybe they are, but the money has to come from somewhere. At the institutional level these groups are largely sticking to their guns, making small concessions perhaps, but expecting the bulk of the budgetary relief to come from some other, less essential group. They are pointing the finger in some nondescript “somewhere else,” leaving it to someone else to magically make the money appear out of thin air. They don’t come out and say, “Take it from the prison system,” or “just raise taxes,” but they do say, “you can’t cut us.” They all do.

The lobbyists present the doom and gloom, the end of the world scenarios that range from real possibility to outright fantasy and they do it with impunity. They tacitly acknowledge the budget is in crisis, but point out how small their particular department’s percentage is in the overall picture, or they show how the money spent on their service is paid back tenfold in future savings. Or my personal favorite, "our money doesn't come from the general fund."

But the future is now. The money must come from somewhere and it is going to hurt everyone. I could argue for the necessity of every single one of this state’s social and public services - not the least of which is one that is personally near and dear to my heart, the publicly funded state university system – but we can’t continue to fund them all like the lobbyists that represent them demand. We simply can’t. The money has to come from somewhere.

Here is an L A Times column that pretty much says it all.

Quality

2010-05-23T07:15:00.000-07:00

It’s always like this when the semester comes to a close. More pronounced at the end of spring than fall perhaps, but the feeling of relief, of pride in completing another segment of both my educational and career aspirations and of inching ever closer to that next big milestone equates to far more than just mere satisfaction. The day before yesterday, when asked by friends how I was doing, my response was, “Better than ever; I can’t remember when I’ve felt so good,” and I might have even let slip out, “Best day of my life.” And although it’s all true and accurate when placed in proper context, by that same context, yesterday was even better and today promises to be better still. To fully understand why this elation is so pronounced at this particular moment, it is important to take a step back to gain a broader perspective.

First, and probably most immediately, I have what I need. I have a roof over my head, a car, food in the fridge and I have enough to keep the electricity on and pay for the other essentials – not stuff that is necessary for survival in the broadest sense of the word, but arguably essential for survival in today’s industrialized West. Those and other similar goods and services are the tangible needs I have. I am not by any stretch of the imagination financially well-off, but I’m not starving either and though not all of my wants have been met, I would be remiss if I didn’t say that I have much that I certainly do not need. I have these things do to fortune, grace and my own hard work - I do not discount the help I have received, but I must not minimize the work I have done either. Indeed, the grace and work seem to go nicely together.

But there are other things that we, as a species, as a society, as a people, also need. These are things that cannot be bought or sold – they are priceless not because they are so astronomically valuable like a Picasso or a Rembrandt, but because they literally cannot have a price. If one has enough money – everything material is for sale, if it’s not, it has value beyond its molecular appearance and therefore is priceless for other reasons. Reasons like love; friendship; loyalty; faith; and a host of other intangible elements that I would argue people need just as much as they need food and shelter. We need a purpose. I need a purpose.

The subtitle of the 25 Year Plan is Perspectives, Purpose and Opinion. When I titled it almost five years ago, I really didn’t know where that middle element in the subtitled came from. It just seemed to fit and although I knew at some level of consciousness that I was discovering a sense of purpose, I had no idea or any real intention of articulating it. The main title itself is laced with sarcasm in some respects and irony in others. There was no plan – it does not represent where I want to be in 25 years, it looks backwards and though a plan certainly was never formulated by me… well, let’s just say it’s funny how things work out.

Apparently there is a purpose, then. Some know much more about the many preceding years than I share here, and others can read between the lines. The point is rather simple, though, even if all one knows is what has appeared here for the past several years. It has to do with the journey. I am nowhere close to realizing my full potential; I don’t even know what it is. If I were asked five years ago where I would be in five years, I would have sold myself way short. The ancient Greeks believed that it takes an entire lifetime to reach eudemonia – a word that doesn’t easily translate, but it loosely means “happiness,” or “the good life” or “a fully formed (or informed) inner self.” It is a balance of reason and passion, the ability to wisely decide what the right thing to do in any given situation is. It is about knowing truth, beauty and goodness.

We are not robots. It takes more than food, shelter and comfort to be truly content with life. Indeed, many have found that elusive good life in decidedly bad times. This whole life thing is way bigger than me or anything I can imagine, but as it applies to the here and now – in this fluid moment between the future and the past, it seems that although I know not what it is in any specificity, I know that there is a reason, a purpose, a telos, and that the quality of life is a direct reflection in the success of fulfilling of that purpose. And today, qualitatively speaking, looks like it’s going to be even better than yesterday.

Freedom

2010-05-19T07:55:00.000-07:00

I posted a Facebook status on Monday (primarily consisting of “done,” repeated many times) that was indicative of my relief to be finished with a major project for one of my classes this semester. It was a huge burden relieved and because I could, I took my Harley out for a short ride yesterday through some back roads in parts of Sacramento, El Dorado and Placer counties. I had no plan, no destination – I wasn’t going anywhere and in doing so, I was everywhere. I just rode. Although the heavy lifting this semester is largely over, I am not done yet. There is still some work to do on another class project and a fair amount of grading for my students left to complete, but yesterday I put all that out of my mind. It was my first truly stress-free day in many weeks.

It wasn’t as though I had nothing else to do yesterday. Indeed, there is always more to do, but there was nothing - for an entire day – that had to be done. While sitting in my office, staring at my computer, thinking about the several tasks left and their immanent deadlines, I heard something. It was not exactly audible, not that anyone else would have been able to hear it, but something was drawing me near, and away. What I heard was the smell of an unusually cool spring day, the feeling of wind on my face, the vision of mile upon mile of ribbons of asphalt twisting through the foothills, and I could hear the rumble of my motor. In a moment I heard it all. It was beckoning me. It could not have been more clear. My mind, after weeks of thinking, was finally clear enough to hear that primal call and there is no better place for listening than the open road. At once I knew what I had to do, five minutes later I was on the road letting my bike lead the way.

It wasn’t a particularly long ride, maybe a couple of hours, though I can’t really say. Time was not a worry. I don’t know how many miles I rode, either. I rode fast, but I did it slowly, I wasn’t going anywhere and I wasn’t in any hurry to get there. I have written about moments, small but indelible moments that one might find oneself in and realized all at once, “this is it.” And it was. I was free. I am free. And though we treasure our freedom in this nation, how many of us truly are? We are slaves to this and beholden to that. There are deadlines, stop signs, bed times and phone lines. Freedom, true freedom, is too often elusive - it comes in moments and those moments are absolutely necessary to make my life full.

That ride yesterday returned me to primordial sanity. It put all that I do into perspective. I gave myself back to my heart and allowed my mind to quiet – to rest for a little while and let my bike do the thinking. That ride yesterday saved my life. And it never fails. It’s important to listen with my heart to the sounds my ears cannot hear. Those sounds are sometimes so faint they are easily missed. And the moment is gone. That sense of true freedom comes in many forms. It might not be on a Harley; maybe it’s a long walk next to a cool running stream. It could come from the view of the Pacific Ocean from the bluffs high above the coast, the cold ocean wind stinging, waves crashing. Sometimes the pristine briskness of the snow-capped Sierras presents freedom at its freest.

It speaks in silent whispers.

Listen. Do you hear it?

It’s freedom.

Ride it.

Motorcycle Enthusiasts

2010-05-12T11:09:00.000-07:00

Those who know me also know that I love the feeling of the open road, the wind in my face and the rumble of 96 cubic inches of V-twin power beneath me. I am not, however, one to ride my motorcycle at every available opportunity - that is, I am decidedly not fond of commuting to work on my bike or running errands and I do not consider it some form of fuel efficient “green” transportation. But I do enjoy the journeys that take place for no other reason than the journey itself; I am always up for a ride to nowhere. The term “motorcycle enthusiast” gets thrown around a lot and to different people it has different connotations that vary from a cloaked reference to membership in an outlaw motorcycle club to simply someone who likes the idea of having a shiny (and barely ridden) motorcycle parked in the garage. Most of us, however, fall into the expansive middle area.

I have been riding off and on (for the past several years, mostly on) since my teens. Even before my first bike (a 1974 Honda CB550 “Four,” purchased used in 1981), the call of the open road captivated me. My current ride is a 2007 Harley Davidson FLHR “Road King” and its moniker is a truly accurate symbol of what it represents. Big, heavy, powerful and loud, this bike is more than a presence on the road; it is an event. Like most Harleys owners, I have modified mine to suit my style, but the engine is mostly stock. Mostly. Again, none of this is news to those who know me either in person of via this blog. And though this blog is many things, it is not, in a dedicated respect, a “motorcycle” blog any more than Robert M. Persig’s Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance is a motorcycle book. But the parallels between my blog’s subtitle, Perspectives, Purpose and Opinion, and riding are at least tacitly apparent.

Although I don’t necessarily write to gain large numbers of readers or any sort of a “following,” it would be misleading to imply that do not I get some degree of satisfaction that my words are read by others. I have a couple of “hit counters” on this site and I do check my numbers occasionally, but I don’t release the data to anyone. I don’t have any advertisers and I am not selling anything – these numbers should, therefore, be of no interest to anyone but me. But the Internet being what it is, others are able to track traffic to my page through a variety of means - Technorati is probably the best known, but there are others. I received an email from one such site (Wikio) today that indicated my blog is ranked number 52 in its top 100 motorcycle blogs. I have know for some time that a motorcycle forum has my blog linked on its site, but I had no idea that this ongoing project was considered a “motorcycle blog” to the extent that it could be ranked at all, let alone in anyone’s top 100.

Of course I am honored. They offered a badge indicating my status within their ranking and it is now displayed at on my sidebar. Just to put this in perspective, this blog is ranked at number 22,363 when not categorized. I posted this ranking on my sidebar as well. Still, of all categories, why have I climbed so high in the motorcycle rankings? I rarely write about motorcycles or riding - I would estimate that only a small percentage of almost 500 posts are directly related to motorcycles. Could it be that those who share a love of the open road also relate to my perspectives, my purpose(s) or my opinions? Perhaps. Like Persig, I find more to motorcycles than the machine itself. When riding I find myself closer to something transcendent - more than most anything else I can do. To the extent that we as human beings are always seeking to grasp at something larger than we are, the freedom a motorcycle brings seems to resonate amongst those of us who share a culture, an attitude... a perspective. The vast diversity of my readers indicates that this is not unique to “motorcycle enthusiasts,” but it would appear that it is largely common to us.

Night Owls and Early Risers

2010-05-06T05:29:00.000-07:00

I never quite understood the term “night owl.” Seems redundant. Aren’t owls largely nocturnal? Are not virtually all owls “night” owls? The colloquialism falls apart further when one considers that the term is typically applied not to those who work a graveyard or swing shift, i.e., those who actually are nocturnal by vocation, but rather to those who have a tendency to stay up late, but still go to bed at night and wake up in the morning (defined as before noon, when the numeric portion of the time is followed by “a.m.”). The term used for the opposite of a night owl is cursed by the perfectly descriptive and innocuous moniker of “early riser” or its contextually imprecise equivalent, “morning person” (morning defined in this case as the often still dark early morning hours). Regardless of how these idioms came to be, I have always been a “night owl” and although I often find myself rising early, I am not now nor have I ever been a morning person.

But here I am nonetheless, awakened in the predawn hours with no necessity to be up just yet. Although Tuesdays and Thursdays are my “early” days, I certainly do not have to be up before the sun rises – 4:30 in the morning is early even for an early riser. And rest assured (for lack of a better term), I was absolutely “night owling” it last night; because my normal bedtime is usually around the first morning hour, today I will be operating at a sleep deficit. But something was calling me – to write, to be present for something that just cannot wait – and I am awake to head that call. It happens this way from time to time and when I don’t fight it I usually come away with something more than just a few more hours in my day. I should be tired, but I’m not. I should be characteristically groggy, but I’m not. It should take two or three cups of coffee before my brain can function beyond the instinctive level, but I haven’t even ground the beans yet. It is quite obvious I need this time to do something in the predawn quiet that cannot be done once my world wakes up.

I never used to be available for these moments. In fact, I can recall occasionally waking before I needed to for some strange reason, but I never felt it was anything more than just a nightmare or some other profoundly real dream that stirred me from my rest. I never felt that I needed to do anything other than find my way back to sleep – sometimes successfully, others not so much. I never viewed it as an opportunity or a calling (from wherever, I am not here to debate or explain what the possible sources might be), and I am not usually all that happy about the opportunity to be alone with my thoughts at such an inconvenient hour. Couldn’t these urges to write adhere to normal business hours? However, there are times such as this one where my waking is so sudden and complete that there has got to be a reason…

In have been trying to make sense of the world for a very long time – since long before my quest led me back to school. Ever since I was a kid I found myself asking those “big” questions. As I grew older, I searched in vain in all the wrong places; I sometimes consciously tried to find answers to what I was all about, but more often I subconsciously stumbled through the world believing there was no way to ever know. In a sense I gave up and in giving up I gave up any reason to strive forward. And while it is still true that those questions are by definition unanswerable, the quest for satisfaction is, in and of itself, satisfying. Understanding does not come in a discrete moment in time – it occurs over a lifetime.

And so the journey continues. I suppose that some days require an early start. Today is Thursday, my “early” day. I have to be on campus by 9 a.m. because (most of) my students will be there waiting for me. Between now and then I have time to seek answers, to listen for the whispers that can only be heard when the world is dark and quiet. I was called to this moment – today I am present in it and for it. But some coffee sure wouldn’t hurt.

Small Strategic Errors

2010-05-05T12:07:00.000-07:00

I started to write yesterday. After a little more than a paragraph and a half, I deleted it. It wasn’t because the writing was poor or because I was insufficiently inspired, rather, it was simply nothing of any substance. All it amounted to was whining, high-end whining, but whining all the same. I’m busy, I’m under extreme pressure, there is so little time, etc., etc., etc. Furthermore, this is nothing new; it happens twice a year and I have recounted it before. It was profound only once. I found that after about 250 words, I was sharing nothing new or even worthwhile. I’ll get through this, I always do – said it before. These are the problems that come with moving forward and succeeding – said it before. I signed up for this – and I said that before as well. While it is true that I have procrastinated less and persevered more this semester, this should come as no surprise to me or anyone who regularly ventures here - one would assume or at least hope that progress has been made in this area.

This morning, while finding the will to grade my students’ work, my mind began to drift a little. I was remembering certain seemingly unrelated events and placing them into some sort of “what if” context. Nothing big, mind you… not what if I had changed a major decision in my life. I was thinking of the minor everyday words spoken, actions taken and things that fall into a category of the often automatic or unconscious decisions that are made hundreds of times every day. Whether we are aware of it or not, we all have a “strategy.” The things we do or say conform to a world-view that evolves with the passing of each moment and these decisions are designed, at some level, to produce an expected or desired outcome. There are the big-picture plans and goals the likes of which I am currently embroiled in, but there are also the little things that are often not so little at all.

We are a species that thrives on community. Without each other, we are nothing. Our greatest evolutionary leap – the ability to communicate symbolically – by definition cannot happen in isolation. We need each other. All communication involves a strategy. And if a strategy exists, so do strategic errors. Although it is rather easy to identify the larger blunders, the small strategic errors are far more difficult to assess. They could go either way; the consequences might not manifest immediately or even at all in anything more than a perceived relational shift. There is rarely anything concrete to indicate what went wrong… but something did. Things do not go as planned and though it could be just the way things are, it could also be a small strategic error. The evidence for this phenomenon can best be found in the old axiom, “You never get a second chance to make a first impression.”

I have some very public goals. I also have a number of private aspirations. Each is important and each requires an approach that does not compromise who I am. However, the way I present this person can radically alter the way he is perceived by others. That requires a communication strategy and it is one that can never be perfected. There are simply too many variables. But it takes more than just the knowledge that I am a good person and allowing fate or faith to guide the rest. If I cannot be open to the fact that, in my exuberance, I have erred - that I have failed to make the connections or to form relationships that I desire, then I am destined to repeat those errors. Any successful strategy must be fluid. Major strategic errors are much easier to identify and correct – or at least mitigate. But these small strategic errors are not and, furthermore, they are often only perceptive... rarely conclusive. But to discount their existence would constitute a strategy that is destined to fail.

Fatherhood

2010-04-24T00:18:00.000-07:00

I’m not sure whether I’ll post this or not. It is very personal and although I am no stranger to publicly airing certain catharses, this one has put me in an odd state of mind. In all likelihood some version of this will find its way to publication, but at this point I have no idea as to what that will look like. It deals with family, with a long period of time and with relationships. It is an attempt to describe feeling and emotion using mere words and though I would be the first to tell anyone about the power of words, this is an instance where words seem so very insufficient.

I have three sons. My eldest, Anthony, is 26. He has a one year old son, a wonderful fiancé and a career in Southern California. He is a good man, a good father and a responsible member of society. I am very proud of him. My youngest, Matthew, is 20 and serving in the U.S. Army, currently stationed in Afghanistan. My middle son, Timmy, 22, is perhaps the one most like me. He has tremendous but largely unrealized potential. I am equally proud of all three of them not for what they are or are not, but for who they are. My father once told me that if his children have embraced good moral values, high ethics and care for others the likes of which he and my mother modeled for my siblings and me, he has done his job well. By that standard, I have done my job well – my boys are all very good men.

There are other standards – measures of parenthood – that indicate I could have performed better. I don’t think there was ever a parent who never second-guessed his or her execution in this sacred role. But one thing I can say for sure and without qualification is no father ever loved his children more than I love mine. When it comes to love there is no continuum, no gray area – it is forever at the maximum all the time. My boys are all individuals and my relationship with each is uniquely personal, but my love for each of them knows no bounds and is equal in its indescribable strength. I would go to the ends of the Earth for each of them - no holds barred, no limits. And this is true despite the fact that I came into Anthony’s life when he was just past his second birthday. I married his mother and although that marriage did not last long, my role of father to that boy never ended.

Except on rare occasion when it is necessary for clarification, I never refer to Anthony as my stepson. Because he does not carry my surname, occasionally I feel compelled to explain, but even then I most often use terminology like “not my biological son,” however, I avoid even that technically correct language if at all possible. I avoid it because I do not now nor have I ever felt that he was not a part of me. It just doesn't feel natural to call him anything other than my son. I fell in love with him right from the start – there was never any question. Timmy is, and since his little brother was born, always has been my middle son; and of course, Matt has always been my youngest. I have three boys – end of story.

Anthony has known since he was very young that I did not conceive him. Although he has not asked many questions regarding his biological heritage, I know those questions had to exist. And I absolutely understand. Anthony’s biological father exited the picture (for reasons only he knows) soon after I came into it. For more than 20 years, his whereabouts were unknown. Through the miracle of Facebook, Anthony and his biological father have found each other. Anthony informed me right away and I assured him of what he already knew – that I am okay with it.

And I am. And I’m not. It’s not that I feel somehow threatened, that my status as Anthony’s father would somehow be reduced – that is not possible – but at the same time it bothers me when this veritable stranger comes into my world calling my son his son; my grandson his grandson. It makes absolutely no difference in my relationship with my son or my grandson, but being a father means sacrifice - willing sacrifice - and as far as I can see, this guy has made none. It’s about day care, mini-vans, midnight drives to the doctor, stitches, Little League games, camping, girlfriends, snowboarding, birthday parties and myriad other things that come with fatherhood that cannot be redone and that cannot be quantified by any measure. There are a billion moments filled with tears and laughter and everything in between that can only be lived once.

But my son has the right to have his questions (whatever they may be, all of them) answered. I have no intention of interfering with whatever relationship he might build with his biological “father.” I am here in the same capacity as I have been for the past 24 plus years – that of a father who loves and supports his son no matter what. That’s what real fathers do for their children. And I am Anthony, Timothy and Matthew’s real father - past, present and forever more.

Just Another Sunday

2010-04-04T11:58:00.000-07:00

The Easter Bunny has not visited my home in many years. No brightly colored eggs, no fancy baskets, no plastic grass that gets everywhere. He (or she) used to, but since there are no longer any young children residing here, my home has been crossed off the Bunny-list. For me, this is just another Sunday. Also absent is the deep religious meaning that today brings to so many around the world, and closer to home, to many of my friends. Those who are familiar with my musings here know that I do not subscribe to nor have I any personal experience with any established religious doctrine. As a scholar of communication, however, I am fascinated by the tradition and history of religion and the influence it has on humanity. But I am not, in a structured sense, a “believer.”

But many of my friends and family are. The fact that we do not share certain beliefs has not negatively affected the closeness or the authenticity of those relationships, indeed differences in religious belief (or lack thereof) is just the beginning in a long list of different and sometimes opposing beliefs. None have ever tried to “convert” me, though many have argued for the legitimacy of what they believe. So do I, and I am not trying to win converts either. I used to have a much different view of religion; Christianity specifically, but organized religion generally appeared to be a game of politics in which the one that ends up with the most followers wins. And it seemed that they would say or do anything to win.

I know better today. Not that there are not those extremists who view their beliefs in a decidedly egocentric and myopic way, but rather that this is not the norm. A vocal, often hypocritical minority within not only fringe groups but also bad apples within mainstream religious organizations formed my impression. Those extremists are also often news, and I was constantly exposed to religion portrayed only at its ugliest. It’s still true today; even the current scandal within the Catholic Church is not a reflection of the vast majority of Catholics, although the church’s inept and bumbling organizational communication is certainly not helping matters any. The point is that through maturation, education and a little bit of common sense, I can view religion without being reductive.

Does that mean that I am doomed to eternal damnation? Perhaps, but if I truly believed that, I certainly would do something about it. I’ll not go into the multitude of contradictions and claims made by differing religions, but I will say that I am absolutely sure that I will get whatever I deserve in the end. I am not living my life for any reward in the hereafter, but rather in the right now. I believe that if I can adhere to the principles that are considered universally virtuous throughout the history of humankind (coincidentally enough, the same principles almost all religions hold as honorable), I will have fulfilled my purpose. Whatever else that purpose entails specifically, I believe we are all meant to strive for the highest moral standards that have always existed.

Of course, that last sentence opens an entirely different can of worms: If we have meaning, where did it come from? I’ll leave that question for another time.

Moving Mountains

2010-04-02T17:07:00.000-07:00

My professors, collectively, at California State University, Sacramento are simply amazing. They are and have been professional, dedicated, informed and selfless… they are genuinely interested in the success of their students. These are attributes that cannot be faked. Although this is true for the vast majority of my instructors during the pursuit of my bachelor’s degree, it is universally so for every one in my postgraduate quest for a master’s degree. Every single one. All have helped to shape not my vision of the world per se, but my ability to critically form a vision of my own. All have had a profound and lasting influence on my life. Frequently - check that - daily, something one or more of them has said becomes real in that particular moment in time. Today is no exception.

I know how to write. I have been gifted with some innate ability to string words and punctuation together that seems to make sense not only to me, but to many others as well. It is not the artistic talent I would have chosen, but I am grateful for it nonetheless. But it is not as easy as it might sound – I still have to take what is in my head and articulate it. It’s the articulation that comes naturally; apparently, getting the thoughts out of my head is a different story. One of my professors acknowledges the simplicity of the act while identifying how complex it often is in one simple statement: “Know what you want to say and say exactly that.” Of late, that middle ground that exists between the knowing and the saying has been quite a challenge.

Another former mentor once told me that he thinks in pictures. He was not trying to say that I should or that everyone does, just that he has identified how his thought process works. It helped me to not only understand where he was coming from, but also to think about how I formed my ideas. After thinking (and writing) about it, I came to the conclusion that I do not think in pictures – not as a primary modus operandi anyway. I resolved that I think in words. And though I still put a large degree of stock into that notion, I am beginning to think it’s just not a simple as all that. If it were absolutely true, I would not have as much trouble extracting my ideas and setting them to words. In other words, my thoughts do not begin life in language – it is something more primal than that.

The first part of that statement my professor made it not exactly difficult – I almost always know what I want to say. The problem rises when that knowing doesn’t manifest itself in language, it is more an abstract feeling that must be further translated before it can be expressed symbolically. That is not to say what is happening between my ears does not get communicated in other ways; non-verbal communication occurs all the time. It may or may not be as precise as symbolic communication, but even words need to be translated and interpreted. And when I decode the words of others, I do not necessarily believe that they are taken in and processed as the symbols that conveyed the ideas – they are translated back into abstract feelings that I can relate to. It explains why a moving speech, or scene, or image is moving… symbols alone cannot do that, they only represent something else and what that is can never be absolutely, precisely represented.

But when those symbols are carefully constructed, what they represent can move mountains.

The More I Know

2010-04-01T15:57:00.001-07:00

The more I learn, the more I know how much I don’t know. The academic history just over the past 2,500 years, despite the fact that likely more is lost than has been retained, is overwhelming. Studying it is like digging a hole in the sand. So often, just as things appear to become clear in a moment, the moment is gone. I started this quest, in a formal academic sense, late in life, but in reality those haunting questions and the search for understanding has always been with me. Today, that fire is burning brighter than ever.

The frustration is part of the journey, but at some point small segments will begin to crystallize. Indeed, in many respects they already have. And there is something to be said for experiencing much of life’s brutality without any prior theoretical knowledge. Many facets of my unscripted life were experienced unfiltered by any great framework by which it could be analyzed, rationalized or contextualized. It just was. From that, however, a more global perspective has both aided and confounded my post-graduate experience… a brutality of a decidedly different variety.

Core to my inquiry are answers to the questions that cannot be answered empirically. Science is of no use here; it is all about finding meaning and more often than not that meaning is elusive. It’s not just in words or language, communication is part of our everyday lives – it is part of every part of our everyday lives. Nothing happens outside of communication. That is not to say that if a tree falls in the woods and no one is around to see or hear it, that it did not happen. I am not interested in such sophomoric philosophical diversions. I am, however, interested in what those diversions mean.

It speaks to a much deeper and, for me, personal quest. Purpose. And that leads to quality, for the way to determine if a thing is good or not is by determining how well it serves its purpose. And that goes for us, too. But it begs the question; before I can judge the quality of my life, first I must determine its purpose. And that is a question I never stop asking myself. For a very long time I never consciously thought about it, though it was always lingering at a subconscious level. From purpose, we get morality, we get ethics, we get beauty - very basically, the ideas of right and wrong have been largely static for the collective history of humankind. It is not a matter of perspective despite what postmodernism would tell us. There is no individual truth: right is right and wrong is wrong – always.

But in the postmodern age, we seem to be able to justify the most egregious behavior - in the name of justice, in the name of religion, in the name of democracy, in the name of nationalism, in no name whatsoever – because we are free to interpret circumstances in a very personal way. And that way is easily manipulated. Yet even the institutions that we hold to dear, that ostensibly take the moral high road in their stated ethos, do not live up to the standards they profess even when they accept a moral obligation to embody them (some even claim to have delivered or created them) – and the global brutality of just the past century is witness to that fact. And often the amoral justification is simply whether or not we can get away with it.

Too often, I’m afraid, we do.

Thankfully, another timeless truth survives: virtue is its own reward.

Author's note: I know this piece is scattered and more than a little unclear - it very much reflected my state of mind when I wrote it.

Perception

2010-03-29T14:12:00.001-07:00

After a string of sunny days and mild temperatures, the weather here in Sacramento has turned dark and gloomy again. Rain is immanent and another dose of snow in the Sierras will be applied over the next week or so. Ironically enough, today marks the beginning of spring break. For me, the break is only in the day-to-day duties that are routine for a grad student/teaching associate. I am not required to be on campus for the classes I teach or the ones in which I am enrolled, but that is where the “break” ends. In an effort to avoid the semester-end crunch that has been part of my graduate experience thus far, I plan to take a few days of my week "off" and disappear with my reading so that when I emerge, the heavy lifting will have been largely dealt with. It will not entirely relieve the anxiety that comes naturally with the close of the semester – they are heavily end-loaded – but it will give me the time that I historically lose to what is perhaps my greatest nemesis – procrastination.

And the truth is that I need to get away anyway. As much as I cherish my friendships and the deep relationships I have with those friends (and my family, too), I feel that in some respects, I am losing touch with myself. And I am afraid that feeling of discontent is externally manifested in some odd and impossible to explain intuitions. Although these feelings are based only in some interrelated perceptions, it is the perception of interrelatedness that has me wondering in some cursory and often fleeting way if I really know whom I present to others. That’s an overly complicated way of saying that there is a disconnection between that which I perceive myself as being and how others perceive that same person. And though much has changed in regards to my self-perception, my self-esteem and how I view my place in the world, this disconnection I am feeling now has been a recurring theme throughout my life.

Experience tells me that it cannot be explained, it will pass and that it can be endured. It is nothing to worry about and, furthermore, it is likely nothing anyone else can necessarily perceive. It is just a feeling. I used to want answers – answers that existed outside myself and, in the extreme, existed within others. But no one would or could answer questions that are not really questions in the first place. No, this is part of a process that I am inclined to believe will continue until the day I die – who am I? Who could possibly answer that question better than I?

I have found that key areas of my life – areas that are not particularly connected in any other way – strangely dovetail with each other. And maybe that’s not so strange – the common denominator, after all, is me. My advanced studies in communication have touched every area of my life – past, present and future – and in large part my current quest for knowledge doesn’t just inform me, it forms me. It helps me to understand the why questions and, of course, with every answer comes ten new questions. So it is fitting to take a little excursion to be alone with my studies and myself; this is no time to let a lack of confidence derail the arduous work I have put in over the past few years. The person that emerges will be essentially the same, but I will have a better understanding of who that is. Will that change anything outside myself? Probably not, but it should change my perception of what that is.

Politics as Usual

2010-03-27T08:50:00.000-07:00

There was a time not so very long ago where the possibility of working closely with a governmental legislative body was a very real possibility for me. I was actually looking forward to being able to help my state and my country by plying my skills toward the noble and necessary role of the public servant. Not as an elected official, but in service to those who are. It could have been from the inside as a staffer or the outside as an analyst or lobbyist, but in some capacity I thought I could make a difference. Through the series of events and opportunities that have directed me instead to academia, I have serendipitously avoided what would have proven to be a very frustrating existence. The body politic is, by its very nature, adversarial, but it seems more and more that it is much more than that – it is down right hostile.

It might have always been that way, or, it’s possible that continuum is always in flux and we are currently just experiencing the flow towards the hostile side while the ebb of peace and harmony is only a matter of time. And then there’s this bridge in San Francisco I’d like to sell you… All cynicism aside, I have come to the conclusion that it takes a special variety of patience and perseverance to last very long in that role and although the strength of these qualities has grown as I age (as evidenced by my soon to be completed Master’s degree), these are not inherently my strengths. I admire more those who are working in the background than those for whom they are working – our elected officials. Those officials, presumably, are working for us. I would argue that they (as a body, all of them) have not done a very good job.

So instead of contributing in this more direct manner, my path has taken me down the road of education. I don’t teach my students what to believe, but how to form their beliefs. I don’t want them to think what I think, but I want them to think critically. Too many are buying the quick and easy, blindly parroting what on even cursory examination does not pass the smell test. They are jumping on board a bandwagon that is becoming more and more intolerant of dissent. We have a two party system in this country – it wasn’t designed that way, but that is how it evolved. Regardless of how it came to be, it serves a purpose; it is another form of checks and balances. The problem is that the evolution is moving away from compromise and toward an all or nothing paradigm. You’re either with us or against us – there is precious little middle ground. Politics has turned into a game of winners and losers and in the end we all lose.

There is plenty of blame to go around. Republicans blame the Democrats; Democrats blame the Republicans. Here’s the dirty little secret – it’s all of them, and, it’s all of us. Ultimately we have the power to send the whole lot of them home, but we need to be able to think critically. We need to be able to filter fact from fiction and make decisions not based on an “us vs. them” mentality. We have become so polarized that decisions that are literally life and death are being made based on party affiliation – an affiliation that often does not even reflect the ideology that a given party supposedly identifies with. I have said it before and although it is admittedly a gross generalization, there is some truth in it: The only difference between the Republican and Democratic parties is how they spell their name. So when is it going to end? When are our elected officials going to get back to work for us?

Obviously, this is a very simplistic assessment of a very complex problem. As the size and power of government grows, the structural intricacies that perpetuate and exacerbate the divide grow right along with it. The money involved is unimaginable and our debt, equally so. As optimistic as I usually am, this is not a pretty picture. There are signs that some things might be improving, but I don’t believe that a healthcare reform bill – one that I am not particularly happy with – is any kind of indication that the root of the problem has changed. The chasm is still there as the party line voting on pretty much everything shows. They don’t seem to be able to agree on much of anything and increasingly, we, the people, are following blindly along. We’ve got it backwards - we should be showing them how to behave, not the other way around.

Same Old Song and Dance

2010-03-25T22:03:00.000-07:00

I think maybe it’s time to grow up. It’s time to bring in some adult supervision. The petty school age shenanigans going on in Washington are exactly what drove the Republicans from power in the last two elections… and what drove the Democrats from power before that. It goes beyond the handful of less than discreet elected officials caught in their indiscretions – on both sides of the aisle. That sort of behavior is to be expected from a small minority of any population and congress is no exception. But the juvenile antics of a sore loser gets to be tiring and the only place left to rebel is at the ballot box. I think we are fed up. I know I am.

Lets start with some misconceptions first: The passage of the healthcare reform package was perfectly legal and perfectly American. We have a democratic republic – that means that the “people” don’t decide which laws are passed and which are not, our representatives do. We decide who they are. And if I am not mistaken, they (enough of them to be successful) promised to do just that - and they passed a law that addresses our healthcare system. There is absolutely nothing un-American about anything in the process. If anything, it was ultra-American; too much like it’s always done… with all the unnecessary complexity that comes with two parties that cannot play nice together. Healthcare reform was a major campaign pledge, and this time it was a promise that was actually kept.

But there’s more. Because the Republicans have lost the argument with any appeal to credibility (ethos) and the reasoning used is politically biased at best (logos), they have resorted to the only appeal they have left – an appeal to our emotions (pathos). This stuff is 2,500 years old and every bit as valid today as it was in Aristotle’s time. And arguably the most powerful appeal to emotion rests in what is arguably the most powerful emotion – hate. So now we have the mischaracterizations: Obama is a socialist? A communist? Godless? A Muslim? Not born in the United States? I left the racial epithets out, but there's more than a little of that, too. And, of course, he is out to get us… to control every minutia of our lives – and it starts with an attempt to fix a system that is famously, notoriously and seriously broken. True, it remains to be seen how effective the plan will be, but if it is only marginally successful, it will be a success. Healthcare is already “socialized.” We all pay for those who cannot afford their own care and we do it in the most expensive way – at the emergency room. Death panels? Please.

The most radical are intentionally (and effectively) propagating fear, and that invariably turns to hate. And the less radical are cosigning it. In a comment regarding threats and acts of violence against supporters of the healthcare reform package, House Minority Leader Rep. John Boehner, R-Ohio, said the acts are “unacceptable.” Really? Unacceptable? How about reprehensible? How about illegal? How about, dare I say, un-American? And Sara Palin has the Democrats' districts that she views as vulnerable in the mid-term elections marked on a map with gun sight cross hairs, urging her followers to “take aim.” Real big-girl talk.

What blows my mind is not so much what passes for day-in and day-out behavior for so many of our elected public servants (and not just because it’s the Republicans who are taking their ball and going home this time - it’s a not very long walk down memory lane to where the Democrats were acting like rotten kids, too), it’s that so many people have bought into the outrageous hyperbole, either by acquiescence or by actually jumping on board the bandwagon. Some actually seem to enjoy it. Many are currently receiving “socialized” (meaning we pay for it) government aid – healthcare and otherwise – while they are arguing against the same for others. The hypocrisy is palpable. Our government is operating just as it is supposed to and it has for a very long time – in good times and in bad, regardless of the party in power. This is still the greatest, most prosperous and freest nation on Earth and no single president has the power to destroy it.

Just ask Nixon.

"Religious Views"

2010-03-17T12:03:00.000-07:00

Facebook has a category under in its profile information area titled “religious views.” Like all of these informational categories (such as age, political views, relationship status, etc.), it is entirely optional whether one wishes to provide that information and/or make it public. These are standard questions asked on any number of profile surveys (both official and not) and I have always struggled with these seemingly very simple questions. Race or ethnicity is always one that makes me think of my heritage before finally answering (if required) white or Caucasian. But my heritage, like perhaps most Americans, is more diverse than could ever be captured in a single term or categorization. But that’s not what this is about. I did provide an answer to my “religious views” on Facebook and that answer, though it is only a single word, says much about me and perhaps humanity in general.

First a qualification: I have absolutely no religious (in the formal sense) upbringing, whatsoever. Church of any kind was not a regular or irregular part of my childhood; it was completely absent. Although there are likely both advantages and disadvantages to this lack of indoctrination, it is what it is and for reasons that are not important here I am satisfied that I did not miss out on much. However, it would cast some doubt on whether or not I am qualified to answer a question like what my religious views are. Other than answering “none” or just leaving it blank, what could I possibly say that was not born of ignorance? And though it is true that in the West and in our current era the definition of the word “religion” has expanded well beyond what it typically used to mean, that definition still carries certain de facto components - church, ritual, sacred texts, etc. – and there is a wide range of interpretation within each disciple.

So in the context of Facebook, I felt qualified to provide a single word that best describes my “religious views” using a decidedly broad definition. I am a “seeker.” As it turns out, that term also has roots in a particular denomination of Christianity, but I did not know it at the time. And it does not mean that I am in search of an established religion to call my own or even to define a new one that works for me. It simply means that I am always in search of answers to the unanswerable. It is arguably a common thread that runs throughout the history of humanity, consciously or not. It is always in the background and although many believers and nonbelievers alike think they know (oversimplified, either physical reality was “created” or it is just a natural phenomenon), no one can know for sure. Science and theology, to a certain extent, are trying to answer different aspects of the same question: the former asks how we got here and the latter asks why are we here?

And I suppose, as a seeker, I ask both. In theory, we can discover as much as we are capable of in the physical universe. All “things” consist of matter and/or energy – we know this. We are limited in discovery only by our means and as much as we have learnt over just the recent past, what we know pales in comparison with what we don’t. Within the lifetimes of every person alive today, this will not change. As a practical matter, those answers to the questions that lie outside our lifetime are unanswerable. Yet we seek these answers anyway. Why? On the other side of the coin, we have the unprovable - the infinite and eternal - and many seek those answers, too. The methods are decidedly different, but I would argue that the motives are the same. We all want to know and it matters little if that knowledge comes in our own lifetime.

Believer or not, we are all seeking answers. And those answers are, for reasons either by design or practicality, unanswerable. Yet we seek them anyway.

The Game of Life

2010-03-12T17:18:00.001-08:00

Once upon a time, I was an avid gambler. More than avid, actually, my diversion ultimately evolved into much more than a hobby or a pastime; it was to the point that every time I went, I was on a mission. And living in Truckee, just a short drive from the gambling mecca across the state line, I went to the casinos regularly. Too regularly. Where it was once a delightful distraction, when winning wasn’t everything, it became all about winning… and winning big. The odds being what they are, that sort of winning was irregular and infrequent and as a result, most of the time gambling was not fun – not like it used to be. The parallels to my life then and now are startling.

Some say life is a game. If so, it can be won and lost with the roll of the dice or the spin of a wheel. But if it is simply about attaining a score or toppling some worthy competitor, what does that say about the human race? Are there rules? Strategies? How does one actually win in the Game of Life? A popular saying some years ago declared, “He who dies with the most toys, wins.” “Toys,” I presume, is a catchall term used to mean stuff – physical stuff that can be acquired and lost, bought and sold. It was a notion that I bought into for quite a long time. After going through a series of boom and bust cycles, the evidence appeared to be squarely in support of that saying. Until the last bust cycle, I would never have thought any differently – life was indeed a game and I was losing.

But something was different that time. As I started to refocus my life and reassess what it had become, I started to gain a sense of peace. I didn’t have much, but perhaps because fortune regarding the physical can be so fickle, I was becoming strangely acceptant of the very real idea that there just might be more to this whole deal than the senses can account for. I was still losing, but I didn’t feel like a loser. I started to make distinctions between what I needed and what I wanted. I came to the amazing insight that I have always had what I needed and usually much more. Even in my “depreciated” state, I was doing far better than surviving. Furthermore, I was beginning to see value in the non-monetary and to my surprise, I discovered that I possessed some of it. I had (and have) value that is not connected to anything external.

My perspective did not change overnight and I often catch myself slipping into the mindset that I do not have enough. But it doesn’t last long. By the standard set five or six yeas ago by the bottom of that last bust, my score in the game has improved much, but there is always another level, someone wealthier and always more wants than needs. Some might say that it’s easy to have a positive outlook on life when I have all that I do, but they fail to recognize that the outlook preceded the stuff and no matter how much stuff I have ever had, I have never been more at peace than now – or than I was five or six years ago. But in one respect, they are right: It is easy to have a positive outlook on life when I have all the things I do – but those things don’t weigh an ounce; they cannot be purchased at any price; and one can neither give them or take them away. These are the things that I need.

I have already won.

Essential Human Needs

2010-02-24T16:35:00.000-08:00

In my research regarding Internet ethics, I have run up against a term I have encountered before: The Digital Divide. Essentially, the digital divide portrays how many of the world’s citizens (not only the undeveloped or “Third World” nations, but also those in the lower levels of the socio-economic strata of wealthy nations) are not connected to the “information super-highway.” Although this could be due to a number of factors, the common denominator is money. At the personal level, the poor in a rich nation may have access to the Internet if only they could afford the service and equipment while on a cultural or national level, there is no access at any price due to lack of infrastructure. Now, all this seems to be more about economics, globalization, politics (both international and national) and status than it does with ethics.

But when one speaks of status or standing or, more generally, value, one is speaking of ethics. The questions here are many. The so-called digital divide is a fact; and the variables that create and maintain it are just as real. We are not dealing here with what is or is not, but rather, what is right and what is wrong. Or, in this case, stated more plainly: Is this fair? It’s the same question, really. Inasmuch as ethical considerations with the Internet are concerned, does communication technology create a new underclass, or does it merely amplify that which already exists? In one textbook I have been assigned, the subtle but real slant is that communication technology is as important to humanity as clean water and electricity. In this light, Internet access is absolutely an ethical concern. Or is it?

Let us look first an obviously humanitarian concern: Clean water. Few could argue that this is important to eliminate needless disease and human suffering throughout the world. It is a basic human need and one that, ethically speaking, we as a species should be in favor of, at the very least. Never mind logistics or whose responsibility it is - just as a matter of principle, does anyone not “deserve” clean drinking water? Okay, then, reasonable people agree. What about electricity? This one is a little stickier, ethically speaking. Although arguing for clean water is a relatively easy sell, the same cannot be said of electricity – and I know there are those who would argue fervently that it is equal in importance and therefore, an ethical issue.

Where electricity is essential for clean water, I’ll grant it, but otherwise no, it is not necessary nor is it an ethical issue. Electricity makes life more comfortable, it is not, however, essential to life. In other words, it is clearly not in the same class as clean water. Since communication technology is much farther up the continuum than electricity, it, too, is not an ethical issue. And as much as free speech is an inalienable human right, access to various mediums is not – not even among the wealthiest. I cannot take my message down to my local newspaper and say, “Here, print this.” I can, however, pay them to print it, but not just any old way I want it – it would be clearly identified as an advertisement. No amount of money (theoretically) can get my message printed with all the credibility of an actual news story. I know that there are myriad examples of ethical rules being broken in journalism, but that is exactly the point – these are the ethics. Access to a particular medium is not an ethical question.

And by extension, so goes communication technology. Before the telephone was invented, nobody had one. It was many years before the telephone was available to the masses. In many places in the world, it is still not. Is this fair? In some senses, no, but in respect to what one needs to lead a life without unnecessary risk or danger – in terms of humanity – yes, it is as fair as it has always been. Should we, the “haves,” strive to help those less privileged than ourselves? From a personal ethical position, yes; but is there a responsibility to get all the billions of “have-nots” onto the information super-highway? Not necessarily - it is not that cut-and-dried. There are far more pressing concerns than to call communication technology essential to being part of humanity. It is questionable as to whether it even makes life better. We have done quite well without for thousands of years; just because we enjoy the pleasures (and the pains) of instant availability – and despite the fact that some cannot now "live" without it – the Internet is not an essential human need. Not here. Not anywhere.

Who vs. What

2010-02-21T13:31:00.000-08:00

Sometimes is difficult to define what I am. It’s not the same question as who I am, that is a much more internal and personal reflection of my current place in the universe. What I am denotes more of the role I play in life. I am currently both a student and a teacher, but I also still write news from time to time, so I guess I am a journalist as well. I am and have always been a son, and for about 25 years I have been a father. And although much of that plays a key part in defining who I am, it is not necessarily what I do that makes me who I am. Who I am is determined much more by how I do what I do and my performance has varied from absolutely miserable to excellent, often at the same time.

We all have many roles to play at any given period in our lives. Some are persistent while others are fleeting, but the belief that a given role is static and singular is false. “What” I am is always many things. I am dynamic, evolving and always learning – we all are. And although I am, at present, formally both a student and a teacher, it is also true that as human beings, we are all always those things. Always. I have also been, in no particular order: a businessman; an entrepreneur; a patient; a Little Leaguer, a Boy Scout, a trombone player and a member of my high school marching band; an owner of many vehicles; an inmate; a college drop-out and a university graduate; and many more things I cannot immediately recall (some, perhaps, by choice). I am also a friend, a son, a father and a grandfather – things that I am particularly proud to be.

And for more than four years now, I am a blogger. When I started this project in December 2005, I had no idea that I would still be doing it four-plus years and almost 500 posts later. It is not only one of the things that describe what I do, but it is also an important element in making me who I am. My blog is a mirror. It is a visual and public assessment of where I am in life and what it all means. There are never any clear answers, but awareness has proven to be key; optimism written takes on a concreteness that, for me, is self-fulfilling. Writing it out and giving it to the universe is not only cathartic, it becomes, in some sense, real. I write often and for many different purposes in many different formats for vastly different audiences. What I write here is all me; it’s free and unrestricted (from external sources)… and it is for anyone who wants to read it.

I am currently doing some research into online ethics. Because the Internet is still relatively new and the advent and proliferation of broadband is even newer, this is consequently a new area of research. But it’s not really all that new. Ethics, etiquette, and morality… these things have been part of the human experience ever since we acquired to ability to communicate symbolically. Although the intricacies and nuances of online communication have created challenges as to what people are able to get away with online, it hasn’t changed the intuitive and inherent feeling in most people of what constitutes right and wrong. Hacking, viruses, identity theft, malware and the like are just technological iterations from those who are predisposed to do wrong anyway – I don’t believe opportunity by way of anonymity turns a good person bad.

In my vast virtual community, I have relationships with those who are either openly anonymous or possibly hiding behind a false persona. The age of information allows us to connect with people we might never meet, and I have many such connections. But all of these associations are built upon the same qualities I seek in my “traditional” relationships - a level of decency and humanity that is consistent with my own. I know who I am and I know what is right and wrong, my friends, online or not, shared those qualities. That is what ethics and morality has always been based upon. It’s what makes me who I am - no matter what I am.

Three Days

2010-02-15T11:02:00.000-08:00

A little more than a year ago, my youngest son, then 19, approached me about his intention to enlist in the US Army. My political views regarding foreign policy are no secret and he might have expected me to react unfavorably to his decision. I did not. It was his decision; I did and still do support it. I support all the men and women who have chosen this course – it is a noble profession and one that is vital to our national security. Those who sent our armed forces unnecessarily into harm’s way, however, are much less than noble and they did not have my support – and I was not alone. The idea that one cannot support our troops without supporting the administration that sent many of them to their deaths for nothing is ludicrous. Yes, Dick, I’m talking about you.

So I support my son and what he is doing with his life. I admire him – I don’t think I could have made that decision when I was his age and I am too old to make it now. Things were much different in the post-Vietnam era; I did not really understand what all the fuss was about. It seemed to me that even though there was tremendous political and social upheaval over the Vietnam War, it shouldn’t be taken out on the troops. They surely had no choice, especially since the vast majority of them were drafted. It left a sour taste in my pre-teen mouth, one that became even more pronounced with the Watergate scandal that soon followed. I was entirely disgusted with the government and many of the "protesters" – there was no way I was going to join in any form.

There were a number of lessons learned from Vietnam, not the least of which is to respect those that protect this nation, even if the war they are fighting is a fool’s errand. Iraq was such a war. Unnecessary, costly in terms of the lives lost and those permanently altered and because it diverted attention and resources away from our true enemies, it is still unclear what we gained. Democracy in the Middle East? Perhaps for the moment. Eradication of a tyrant? Yes, but are we the world’s exterminators? If so, there is so much left to be done and this nation is not too keen on consistency. But throughout it all my support was firmly behind our troops while consistently critical of those who sent them to places we had no business being.

Now our efforts have been refocused on the true threats to our security, although it remains to be seen whether we can affect any real change in Afghanistan/Pakistan. At least the threats there are real and our presence there is, in my measured opinion, necessary. My son is there and it worries me every day. When he enlisted about a year ago, we both knew that he was likely to get deployed to Afghanistan and I accepted it as best I could. I still do, but it has now been three plus days since I have heard anything from him. Due to the communication technology that is now ubiquitous even in the Afghan wasteland, I have been able to stay in touch, at least indirectly, through a number of channels, primarily Facebook and Myspace, but also via cellular technology.

But for the past few days, there has been nothing. I am not one to jump to conclusions; indeed, the possibilities are heavily loaded towards the “it’s nothing” side of the spectrum. But still, and despite all the modern warfare technology he has at his disposal, he is in a situation where large numbers of people want to kill him. And his job is to stop them. This is a job that, like only a few others, involves direct confrontation with death on a regular basis. It is hard to rationalize that away. He is smart, well trained and well equipped; the odds are still in his favor, but it has been three plus days.

I need to hear from him…

UPDATE:
I heard from my son tonight and he is fine - this is obviously going to take some getting used to.

Motorcycle Meditation

2010-02-14T14:26:00.000-08:00

I am experiencing some conflicting feelings right now. On the one side, I have a great deal of serenity and peace in my life and I have experienced the very real and direct manifestations of that peace more than once since waking about six hours ago. On the other side, there is a latent frustration, no, irritation with aspects of people and institutions in my life that should behave differently, in my opinion at least. Yet, when coming to my keyboard to ventilate and let some of these irritants move along into the cosmic wasteland, I find that they already have…

Yesterday was a beautiful, warm (for mid-February) and sunny day in the greater Sacramento metroplex. Although it was a bit chilly in the morning, it was not so cold that extreme cold-weather gear had to be adorned before pulling my Harley onto the road; standard leather apparel appropriate for cool temperatures was all that was needed. Several friends and acquaintances met at a local restaurant before a short-ish ride through Auburn and on to Grass Valley. The sun never stopped shining as the temperature slowly rose as the day wore on. Some 110 or so miles later I was resting comfortably at home in a Zen-like state, my body and mind completely joined through motorcycle meditation. Soon, I drifted off to sleep.

After a short nap, I decided it was a good night to do nothing. Waking just after dark, I felt too drained to go out and do anything. I stayed home with the intention of watching the Winter Olympics on TV, but that plan changed as I channel-surfed through the inept and irrelevant programming that NBC has decided sports coverage consists of. Channel surfing destroyed what was left of that Zen-like state I had achieved just hours prior. I am never truly surprised by what people will produce in the name of “art,” but it never ceases to amaze me what people will watch on TV, for if there were no viewers, these inane reality shows would never get any airtime. It is a sad state of affairs that this is what we are entertained by – largely the pain of others.

It is surpassed only by real reality – the live action stupidity, ruthlessness, rudeness and carelessness of too many. The news is full of it and often we are unlucky enough to be there in person – live, with a front row seat. That I still feel this discontent, even though I’ve only interacted with a handful of people and have not yet gone anywhere else today, is testimony to the potency of the negative. Yet, those I have interacted with reminded me how important my friends are to me. Those interactions are indicative of the quality of the people who have regular access to my life – and they are the ones that matter. Not those who produce that inept “reality” garbage on TV and certainly not those who seem to go out of their way – often without a clue - to make the lives of others miserable… they only affect my life if I allow it.

It would appear that Harley meditation has persistence as well, for even with the ugliness that too many bring to an otherwise beautiful world, the vast majority of those around me are at least decent human beings – and many surpass decency. Life is too short to allow externally created negativity – that being served unto me by others (on TV or live) or that which I create myself. Fortunately, once far enough removed from it, it is easy to spot and avoid. And as long as the sun is shining, I can always jump on my Harley and gain clarity - one mile at a time.

Freedom Road

2010-02-10T16:34:00.001-08:00

I had occasion today to make a round trip drive to Fresno. The vast majority of the trip takes place on US 99 and although it is perhaps a little more “scenic” than the parallel journey down Interstate 5, that is not saying much. With a little more than six hours behind the wheel, I found my mind wandering. Eventually those loosely constructed thoughts began to congeal and by the time I was about 100 miles south of my home near Sacramento, this essay started to take shape. I have traveled that road many times – literally and figuratively – and the overarching theme this time was one of peace, despite not having any desire to go to Fresno or sit in a car for the better part of the day.

The reason for my venture is not important. The destination or the time spent there are not of any particular interest, either. Even the governmental bureaucratic inefficiency that made the trip necessary didn’t faze me. It was all okay. A waste of time? Perhaps in some respects, but it never seems to feel that way when I am generally at peace, especially when I am able to reflect upon and acknowledge it. It all began by thinking about stuff; the material things that make life more comfortable. From there the thoughts moved toward what is necessary and extra-necessary. I realized that I have some nice stuff – this is not a new revelation, but in my busy day-to-day life, I can take some of these things for granted, even when I know better.

In this day and age, there are a few necessities. They were not always necessities and I suppose an argument could be made that they are not absolutely necessary at all. I would counter that argument. I need a home and I need a vehicle. I have both and both are definitely beyond necessary – they are nicer than necessary. And I need to eat, but probably not as well (or as much) as I do. As necessary as these things are – nice, basic or otherwise – I am not entitled to any of it. I didn’t used to think that way; in fact, I thought I was entitled to much more than even the nice things I have today. Although these things do not constitute who I am, who I am plays a role in producing them. When suffered from the illusion of entitlement, no matter how good I had it, it wasn’t good enough. But the effort to get what I thought I needed was, at best, only good enough.

The respect I showed the stuff I was fortunate enough to have through fortune or grace reflected the dissatisfaction I had with my place in life. And it is no wonder that when I define my inner self by material items found outside myself, that identity was subject to change with the ebb and flow of fate. Today, I like my stuff - I intend to keep it; I take care of it, but if it were gone tomorrow I wouldn’t think any differently of myself than I do right now. That stuff has nothing to do with who I am, it only serves to make physical reality slightly more comfortable. But it wouldn't mean a hill of beans if I didn’t have a positive image of myself to begin with – I’ve been there, too, I know.

Coming back from Fresno - to my home and in my car - I realized that these things I have today are far more valuable than all the things I had before the past five or six years. It’s not because they are all that much nicer, but rather because I know I don’t need the “nice” component at all. True, I need a home, a vehicle and food (and the means to pay for it), but all the rest comes from the inside. That is where the peace I felt today came from.

Word of Mouth

2010-02-03T13:28:00.000-08:00

I’m not sure if other bloggers like me are experiencing the same phenomenon. And when I say “like me,” I am referring to those who blog about pretty much anything and everything, those who are blogging in much the same way the blog was originally created, as a “web log” or essentially an online journal. Now, of course, the blog authoring tools are so robust that it is difficult to differentiate some blogs from full-featured websites and often blogs are incorporated into websites. Corporate websites. Yes, this is a trend that, although perhaps not new, is gaining in popularity.

My humble little blog has received numerous invitations and solicitations over the past four-plus years, but they are coming much more frequently and regularly lately. Where the solicitations were once obviously automated and poorly written spam, the new generation are written by people – and they are being followed up. They have valid names, email addresses and links to websites… these new inquiries are sincere and real. But mostly, for me, still not real opportunities. I have accepted a few in the past – one specifically very recently – but my interest was piqued not because of the product involved, but more due to the curiosity I have towards the increasing popularity of blog-based peer marketing.

Word-of-mouth, it has been said, is among the most effective forms of advertising. Provide quality goods, exceptional service and stand behind those goods and services and people will talk. The converse, of course, is also true. My blog, in terms of the daily hits it receives, is very small. Big advertising money doesn’t even begin to accrue until a website is generating thousands or hundreds of thousands of hits. People read me, but not in those numbers. But when multiplied by thousands of blogs like mine… you get the picture. And many of these blog authors are reviewing like I did, for little or no pay – often for just a free product sample to review and keep. If the experience is positive – people will talk, readers will read and in rare instances, a snowball effect can take place where the buzz is everywhere.

The cost for this form of advertising is, incrementally speaking, not much more than the cost of providing excellent customer service in the first place. If a business’s employees know who they work for, that the customer is king, that the only way to build and maintain a good reputation is via consistent excellence, customers will talk. Bloggers will write. And if lucky enough, the mainstream media will get hold of it. It is not possible to buy that kind of exposure at any price, but for these companies – not all of them small – they are putting a 21st century spin on what has always worked: high quality; attention to detail; and customer service. Do those things, be it in person or through cyberspace, and a business will be successful.

And people will talk. They always have.

LuShae Jewelry Review

2010-01-31T22:04:00.000-08:00

As promised, the following is a review of the sample item I received from LaShae Jewelry. Because the item was of my choosing, this review is not slanted by the company selecting a piece for me. Furthermore, I did not select a piece that was the most expensive or extravagant, but rather something I would consider buying for a real “gift-giving” occasion. Before I review the piece itself, however, I want to reiterate and emphasize what a professional enterprise LuShae Jewelry is. Their commitment to customer service is obvious at every level of interaction… this is truly a company that knows who it works for.

I ordered the Dolphin Pendant, a .925 sterling silver dolphin bonded in white gold rhodium. It is grasping a round clear-cut cubic zirconium between its fins and chin. The dolphin sports a matte finish except for its fins and nose, which are polished to an exquisite shine. Although the pendant itself is a fine example of quality craftsmanship, the black rope that is supplied with it does not equal the same level of quality. I would try to order it with a different chain or simply buy just the charm and place it on a standard sterling silver rope.

Despite the less than ideal rope, this is still, at just $74.00, an excellent value. Combined with a service structure that treats the customer with the kind of consideration that is rarely found in this day and age, I gave LuShae Jewelry a 9.5 on a 10-point scale. Go check them out, it is worth a couple of clicks - at least.

Sincere Solicitation - LuShae Jewelry

2010-01-22T13:06:00.000-08:00

I have taken it upon myself to review a select handful of companies on this site, usually because they have crossed me in some way or another. Examples include Microsoft Xbox Live, Comcast, and Photosource of Sacramento. I have had occasion to give positive feedback as well to a handful of excellent businesses like Apple and Action Camera of Roseville. These companies never requested a review, but due to exceptional service in both extremes, they have received one. And I don’t believe the larger corporations (even Apple) care much what I think, never mind what I publish. But At least one smaller business does appear to care as someone from Photosource’s URL searches Photosource, me and/or my blog’s name frequently. I get hits every month directly from photosource.biz.

I study communication and I concentrate on ethics, morality and truth. When it comes to organizational communications, most would agree that those three qualities are seriously lacking at the insanely large end of the spectrum, but they are more easily found in much smaller companies. The organizational ethos of small businesses are less likely to be embodied in an anonymous corporate persona, but rather mirrors the ethos of the owners. With more direct control over who is hired and fired and a far more personal stake in the company’s success, a small business owner has much better control over how his or her business operates, and especially in how that business treats its customers.

Despite the fact that I do not regularly review goods and services here, I get commercial requests on a regular basis. Usually it is an offer to pay me a pittance for a banner advertisement on my blog. Although I have nothing against using this spot for commercial gain, I have no interest in reducing my integrity by advertising something I don’t believe in. To date, no such offer has met that that standard. And many of those offers are out and out scams – too easy to detect to even congratulate myself for my cleverness. Recently, however, I received an unsolicited email that was decidedly different. It was an invitation asking me to review a sample product from an online jewelry company. Sarah, with jewelryartdesigns.com (AKA LuShae Jewelry) offered me a free sample of any product in the company's online catalog, asking that I only write my honest opinion, “good, bad or ugly.”

If it was a scam, it was a well-written one and I could not see how I would be exposed in any way. Aside from providing my home address for shipping, no other information was requested or provided. No credit card numbers, no Social Security number, not even my age was requested and shipping was not tacked onto my free order – it was entirely complimentary. So I took the bait. Any small business that is willing to take the time to reach out via this medium with a well written, humble and catch-free request has earned my attention. I responded on January 13 and receive my complimentary gift coupon via email the same day. Within a day or two I placed my order and yesterday (Jan. 21) it arrived in my mailbox.

My review will be coming shortly, but besides reviewing the actual piece itself, I can say this about Jewlery Art Designs: Their website is exceptionally clean, easy to use and professional; their commitment to customer service is obvious; in short, they know who they work for. I can recommend them even in the interim, prior to taking a closer look at their product (and if first impressions are accurate, expect a similarly glowing review) because a dissatisfied customer will not remain so for long with them. Yes, they are that kind of company. The bend-over-backwards kind of customer service that has gone the way of the dinosaur is alive and well at Jewlery Art Designs. And that is more than half the battle to succeeding in business. Go check them out at LuShae Jewelry.

In the Eye of the Beholder?

2010-01-21T11:39:00.000-08:00

My eyes are pretty good. Considering my age and the abuse I’ve put my body through, I am only slightly nearsighted and I do not need reading glasses yet. And it does not appear to be as though my enduring DMV restriction-free eyesight is a genetic gift from my family, the vast majority of whom needed corrective lenses much earlier in life. But my eyes are certainly not immune to the effects of aging and although glasses are still not necessary, they do allow my 47 year-old eyes to see the world more clearly. For the past six months or so, I have grown accustomed to having them on my face – especially when I’m driving.

The difference is, well, clear. Instead of relying on memory or a GPS guidance system, I can read the highway signs before I am too close to make a decision. Those large green blobs lining the sides of my street are actually individual leaves on trees, each of which I can see distinctly when wearing my glasses. It’s also far easier to spot police cars… not that I would ever have any need to know where they are. Still, I can get by without them and yesterday after one of the lenses popped out, I had to do just that.

It was nothing more than inconvenience, really. Since I was out running errands anyway, I made a stop at my local Walmart Supercenter to get my glasses repaired. On my way home, after they were repaired and cleaned, I encountered a deluge that reduced visibility to near zero. It was at the tail end of a storm that dumped rain on California for most of the day, but when I left my home in the late afternoon it looked like the storm was done doing its thing. Those lingering, localized cells, however, can be potent. This one was very much so.

It got me thinking. About abstract reality. About power. About how small we really are. We are at the top of the food chain – the most highly evolved species ever to live on planet Earth, but for all we have conquered, that deluge could not be stopped. We were at the mercy, yet again, of a power that we cannot duplicate or mitigate. And it was impressive. I have always marveled at the power Mother Nature can wield. Bad weather gives me an adrenaline rush. Although I get no pleasure from the human suffering that these natural phenomena can cause, I can’t help but respect the destructive – and creative – power nature holds. It does not discriminate; young and old, rich and poor, black, white and everyone in between, Mother Nature will have her way. And she does not care.

As rapidly as the rain appeared, it left leaving a spectacular double rainbow in its wake. "For what purpose," I wonder. Yes, I know, it is an explainable, physical phenomenon. Science can tell us exactly what causes a rainbow, but it can’t tell us why we find it beautiful, why it gives us pleasure. What makes a rainbow, or majestic mountain vistas, or a sunny California coastline, or the vastness of the Sahara Desert, or a sunset in all its pastel glory, or any of the other natural wonders that are everywhere, profound? Since the beginning of human history, men and women have written about it, composed music about it, depicted it in paint and marble, wood and metal and yet there is no end to the wonder of nature.

Beauty exists. It cannot be measured or otherwise quantified, but its quality is universal. Opinions might differ, but to say it’s solely in the eye of the beholder relegates the likes of a double rainbow to nothingness. It is much more than sunlight refracting through raindrops to create a visual image. It is profound. It stirs us. Beauty can be many things, but the idea that it exists in my mind and my heart alone as a unique concept is false. It is universal. It is real. And it is not just in the eyes of the beholder, whether those eyes need glasses or not.

Easyriders Bike Show Tour - Sacramento Press

2010-01-19T15:10:00.000-08:00

The following story, with photos, appeared yesterday in the Sacramento Press

Bikers come thundering into Sacramento Convention Center

by Michael Althouse, published on January 18, 2010 at 11:00PM

Hundreds of motorcycles lined both sides of J Street in front of the Convention Center on Saturday while their owners attended the annual Sacramento stop of the Easyriders Bike Show Tour.

Although the rain Sunday reduced the number of bikes parked on the streets, attendance at the two-day event was as good as or better than last year, said event manager Kari Roben.

Inside the Convention Center, the main floor was full of exhibitors and vendors displaying custom motorcycles and related goods and services, including accessories, apparel and custom fabrication.

Sacramento was the second stop on a five-city tour that started in Pomona on Jan. 9. “This is our second biggest show,” Roben said. “Only the last show, the invitational in Columbus, is bigger.”

Roben said that the Sacramento show owes its success to a large number of subscribers to Easyriders magazine, local support from Harley Davidson of Sacramento and other vendors, and the fact that the city is centrally located.

“Sixty to 75 percent of our vendors return year after year,” she said.

In addition to vendors and row after row of custom motorcycles, there was live music and entertainment. And clowns roamed the exhibit floor, entertaining young and old alike.

Woodland resident Meagan Murphy, also known as "Denim Jean," created balloon animals for all who happened by the booth of Anne Nix, owner of Sacramento-based Anne’s Badass Boutique (or Anne’s Incredible Bodywear, depending on her clientele).

“This is my 12th or 13th year,” Nix said. “I’ve been doing biker shows all over the U.S. for 16 years.”

She said the economy has significantly affected her business and that she was not sure how much business the show would generate. Other vendors, though, were more optimistic.

James Dean, owner of Rebel Design, a local custom motorcycle paint and fabrication venture, said, “This is the best show I can do all year.”

Dean said he receives “eight to ten jobs out of the show.” But another local vendor, Mike Armtrout, owner of custom-parts manufacturer Bigger Pimps, from Grass Valley, said he was there “mostly for exposure.”

Many national vendors also were exhibiting.

Representing Iowa-based J&P Cycles, Patrick Garvin said the show was “at least as good as or a little better than last year.”

A large motorcycle parts and accessories vendor, J&P Cycles distributed free catalogs for Harley Davidson, vintage and metric motorcycles.

John and Christi Huddleson were exhibiting for the first time at the bike show, traveling to Sacramento and Pomona from their home in San Diego.

The Huddlesons' business, Patch World, generates its income entirely at motorcycle events, John Huddleson said.

“These shows have been better than expected,” he said. “If I had known, I would continue (with the entire tour).”

Some booths had a more philanthropic bent.

“Spurz,” who declined to give his real name, is the state founder of Bikers Against Child Abuse. He said that although one goal of his booth is to raise donations, “our primary purpose is to raise awareness.”

Calvin Jefferson, also known as "Redbone," has been riding motorcycles for 35 years.

“I’ve been coming for the last five years and this is better than last year,” he said, adding that it’s still not as well attended as years prior, “probably because of the economy.”

Robert and Maggie Sanchez were attending their first Easyriders event with their granddaughter Alexia, 2, who was enchanted by Denim Jean. Sanchez has attended the similar Street Vibrations show in Reno but enjoyed Sacramento's version better because it's more family-oriented.

Although the show focuses mostly on V-twin powered street motorcycles such as the venerable Harley Davidson, there was something for every enthusiast.

The show attracted attendees from outside the Sacramento area as well.

Dorain and Christine Sallee traveled from Santa Rosa to view the exhibits and visit the various vendors.

“Last year there seemed to be more Harley stuff,” Dorain Sallee said, adding that he rides a Honda Gold Wing.

A large variety of custom motorcycles were exhibited, some worth more than $100,000.

Lane Shipp, Matt Toro and Andy Clark were checking out their favorite motorcycles Sunday.

“I’d like to see more bikes and less booths,” Shipp said. “I like the simple ones. Less is more.”

In reference to the image of the "outlaw biker," many attendees said that it has faded.

“A lot of that stigma has gone away," said longtime motorcyclist Jim Warnken of Livermore. "It’s not like it used to be.”

Christine Sallee added, “Bikers get a bad rap. It’s not deserved.”

The next stop on the Easyriders Bike Show Tour is in Charlotte, N.C., Jan. 23-24.

Preview - Easyriders Bike Show Tour: Sacramento 2010

2010-01-16T10:35:00.000-08:00

Those who frequent this page and those who know me also know that one of the many facets to my personality is that of a motorcycle enthusiast. Although my love for motorcycles is currently concentrated in a particular area, ever since I first became aware of their existence, all manifestations of motorcycling have held my attention and fascination, now going on more than 40 years. Street, dirt, track or stunt, it matters little – if there are two wheels and a motor I’ll stop and take a look. My current steed is a Harley Davidson Road King, an apt moniker for this big, powerful street cruiser.

And as one might surmise, the Harley Davidson “culture” is not only the one I am currently enamored with, it has been a latent draw on me ever since those days of boyhood discovery. It’s not just the freedom or the oneness I feel when riding any motorcycle, when riding my Harley it’s also about patriotism, rebellion, history and a host of other intangibles that make riding a Harley a truly different experience. The same could be said for a host of other customs that are inspired by Harley’s big V-twin design, and perhaps to a lesser extent for all other large street cruisers that most manufacturers produce; but the heritage that comes with a Harley Davidson is impossible to replicate.

I am not a “hardcore” biker. I am not a member of a gang or motorcycle club. I just ride. I do, however, wear black leather when I ride and my motorcycle is loud. I like it that way and though others might not, those who would not otherwise be aware of my presence on the road will hear me long before they can swerve into my lane. But it’s more than just safety. The copious amounts of chrome, the shining paint and all the other ancillary accessories that create the image have little to do with getting from point A to point B in one piece. Indeed, often points A and B are the same place: my garage. It’s not about the destination.

Today my destination is the Sacramento Convention Center and though the weather probably permits it (only a slight chance of rain today), I will be leaving my bike in my garage. The absence of my bike, however, will not be noticed in a veritable sea of thousands of motorcycles – the vast majority of them Harley Davidsons. This year’s annual Sacramento stop of the Easyriders Bike Show Tour will be my forth in a row, but this year I am not merely attending, I am covering the story for the Sacramento Press. And to comfortably transport my camera gear and computer, I am compelled to drive.

When a friend at the Sac Press asked if I would like to cover the Easyriders Tour, it didn’t require much thought. I was going to go anyway. I was going to shoot literally hundreds of pictures anyway. And I was going to write about it anyway. The only difference is that now I am also going to write a feature news story… I think I still remember how to do that. And of course, with a press credential I’ll have ready access to those I need to interview – and I will not have to pay the admission fee, which is the only compensation I’ll receive for this freelance venture.

Okay, that’s not exactly true either. There is far more than just monetary “compensation.” I write for the same reason I ride - because I love it. That I can share this experience with those outside the motorcycling public is just icing one the cake. So I don’t get to ride my bike there today… it’s okay, it might rain anyway.

Sick Puppy

2010-01-12T14:19:00.000-08:00

I lead a fairly peaceful life. Despite the career and academic pressures that are ever-present, more often than not I keep everything in perspective and on an even keel. Most of what goes on is foreseeable; for the most part there are not too many surprises. Those afore mentioned pressures are expected and I usually see them coming well in advance. There is nothing much to get flustered about. But the habit and/or instinct to spring into action when emergencies present themselves does not, apparently, atrophy. There is, however, a difference between reacting and responding.

There was once a time when the unexpected occurred so frequently that it was almost expected. Most often I met these "emergencies" with a quick and poorly planned reaction - or none at all. Instant mitigation or ignorance was the only end - the means had no limit. And although that sort of reaction can produce results, the side effects can create problems of their own, problems that were unforeseen not because they were unforeseeable, but because I didn’t take the time to look. Reaction. Mitigation. Make it all go away right now, damn the consequences.

Life-threatening emergencies require quick action and certain risks must be assumed. Most emergencies are not of that variety, but it seemed my reaction was always some sort of boilerplate without regard to the magnitude of the situation. This appears not to be the case anymore; I can even say that when a situation is life threatening, I can meet it with a reasoned and measured response. My son and I had a life-threatening situation materialize late last night. His new chocolate lab puppy, Bella, got very sick very fast and we needed to make some decisions. After gathering as much information as we could at home, we decided that an emergency visit to a veterinarian was necessary.

Not a human life? She is part of our family and although she is my son’s dog, I love with her as I do a great many people I care about. And as I would with those people, I gave everything I had to be sure Bella would make it through the night - and my son got to participate in this calm, measured response to a very real emergency. We gathered everything we needed, scooped Bella up and drove – at the speed limit – to the pet hospital. The closest emergency vet is about 20 minutes from our home – I suppose I could have made it in about half that time, but that could have very easily caused more problems. It turns out that our response likely saved Bella’s life.

We have a very sick puppy. She was extremely dehydrated, vomiting and would have had diarrhea if there were enough fluids in her system to produce it. Although she has had her shots, she still managed to contract canine parvovirus – almost always fatal in puppies if left untreated. She was tested, prodded and poked, given fluids, medications and we were sent home with a battery of instructions, injections and other medicine to get her well. Bella saw her regular vet this morning and her prognosis is good. She is feeling better today, but Bella is still not out of the woods. And now that she is hydrated she can and does produce copious amounts of… it’s a mess, an unexpected mess, but one we have responded to with love and reason.

The problem has been mitigated, but it is not yet over. There is nothing instant about solving this issue. We have a pensive two to four days ahead of us, but right now we are feeling a great deal of relief and we both know that the relief is due in no small part to our response. We are not cleaning up the mess of a shortsighted reaction, but we are cleaning up the mess of a sick puppy - and it looks like she’s going to make it. Somewhere between no reaction and over reaction lies what proved to me to be so elusive for so long – a response.

UPDATE:
Bella appears to be making a swift recovery. Her symptoms have all but disappeared and we are weening her back to solid food. Other than tiring faster than normal, she is no longer a sick puppy.

Clarification, Committment & Hope

2010-01-09T17:09:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I posted what could be the preface to the book I have started and put aside at least twice. I had a mentor a few years ago who was instrumental in helping me to change my perspective on life and he told me that everyone has at least one book in him (or her). My story is unique, but so is everyone else’s. Despite the singular life experience we all have, there are also universal themes; elements that many if not all of us can relate to, however the specifics may unfold. I believe there is a book in me (maybe more than one) and I also believe that there are those who suffer from the same search for something that I did. This will not be a “self-help” book nor will it be some kind of universal guide to the good life. But it could offer hope and inspiration in much the same way the experience of others has done for me.

The preface assembled in my last post will likely change before I am done. This blog and the many pieces written for it will be found sprinkled liberally throughout the book, but the book itself will not be published here. Although my motivation for writing is couched in a genuine desire to contribute to the vast pool of human understanding, secondary motivations include distribution and income. To be successful in getting published (which is a long shot at best), pre-publishing it here would be counterproductive. That is not to say excerpts or “trial balloons” will not show up from time to time, but my intention is not to publish this book “live.” Also, the scope of this blog has precluded publishing certain details that have little to do with where I am now, but everything to do with how I got here.

In respect to the limited scope of The 25 Year Plan, those boundaries will remain in place. However, the book will not be so limited – everything that needs to be included to present a complete picture will be; nothing will be left out. If and when the book is published, I will have occasion to revisit and perhaps modify my blog policies, but that is still a very long way away. My goal is to have a manuscript completed before the end of this year, but nothing is set in stone. The reflection required to be able to write what I feel (or felt) will mean reliving some very painful experiences, for I am not living in pain anymore.

This documentation of my intention is a commitment to myself. Staying on task and following through is always a challenge for me, but one in which I have made marked improvement over the past few years. It is no coincident that my fortune has turned as a result, but there is far more to it than simply “just doing it.” If that were all it took, I never would have found myself in a quagmire of desperation with no good idea of who I really was. I don’t know if I can say, “If I only knew then what I know now,” but I do know that it certainly would not have hurt. And I don’t know what the answer is. I only have this one life to share. However, from the compelling stories I have heard from many others, knowledge that there is hope is not only important, it is absolutely necessary.

A Preface to a Memoir

2010-01-08T13:30:00.000-08:00

I was born on December 6, 1962. At least that’s what they tell me, “they” being my parents and the authorities involved in documenting my emergence into the world. Although I believe my parents and those authorities, I have little choice but to take it on faith that the date of my arrival is accurate. Since I cannot remember that day, those that followed and especially those that preceded it, I am also obliged to rely on the words of others to relate what the world was like in those halcyon days. Many might recall the late fifties and early sixties as troubled, but in my little world all was calm. It would not remain so…

My parents met in Southern California in 1961 and married in January 1962. I came along ten months later followed by my little brother in November 1964 and my sister in September 1966. I do not remember my brother’s arrival (but the evidence that it happened, like my own birth, is overwhelming), but I do remember when my parents came home from the hospital with my little sister. It was among the first handful of sketchy memories I have from my early childhood. When my sister came along, we were living in the home that all of my formative years from about the age of three on would occur. The geographic stability I enjoyed as a child was unusual then, almost unheard of now.

Shortly after my parents married, my father was offered (and accepted) a job in Northern California. Raychem Corporation was located in Redwood City, just south of San Francisco and was an ideal place for a young research chemist to ply his trade. He worked hard and before I was four years old, he and my mother were able to purchase our home in Los Altos, not far from where he received his Ph.D., Stanford University. We were located in what would become Silicon Valley, but at the time the development of the semiconductor was just in it’s infancy – the Santa Clara Valley was better known for its fruit tree orchards and mild climate. By the time I entered Kindergarten, I was able to start remembering my life from personal experience; and for many years that experience was good.

If it remained good, there would be little else to write about. I would simply say: “I graduated high school; went to the college of my choice; got a good job; met a wonderful woman who became my wife; we bought a home; had 2.3 kids; and lived happily ever after.” Isn’t that the American Dream? It used to be. Now is not the time to get into how that dream has evolved, but suffice it to say that my story did not follow the script. However, as chaotic as my life grew in my late teens and the many years following high school, and as bad as I imagined it was, and as much as I held disdain for the abject unfairness of my fortune, I can look back retrospectively and retroactively change the vision of how bad or unfair my life was.

The genre of “memoir” has experienced some degree of disgrace lately. The liberties some memoirists have taken with the “truth” have left some, myself included, with a healthy skepticism for what many claim to be real, calling it instead the “essential” or “emotional” truth, all the while telling us that embellishing details or outright fabrication is fair game when telling their story. It is not, but for this reason I hesitate to call this a memoir. But it is not an autobiography, per se, either. I will not bore you with every little chronologically organized detail of the 47 years I have lived thus far. I am not that important nor am I that interesting, however, I am a formerly miserable human being who is not anymore. Ever. And that transformation could be of use to others. To that end, I have little choice but to document sections of my story – to present pieces of my life that illustrate how it went from a storybook childhood to an empty aimless existence and, most importantly, how I came out of it.

This is a story about how to change the past.

Visibly Smaller Pores

2010-01-07T12:53:00.000-08:00

I rarely watch television advertisements, opting instead to use the features of my DVR and zip right through them (not as zippy as I would like – the Comcast DVR I am stuck with is only slightly better than no DVR at all, but I digress…). Because of this, the only time commercials get any airtime in my home happens when the TV is on in the background – when I am not paying attention to it anyway. But there must be something at some level of consciousness that is paying attention because I heard something this morning that had me using that DVR to zip back to listen to a commercial. Unbelievable? Yes, however, the commercial was even more so.

L’Oréal is currently airing television advertisements for a new facial skin care product, Go 360° Clean. Billed as the “1^st Deep Pore-by-Pore Cleanser,” it comes with its very own “Scrublet.” Working away in my office one room away from the droning TV, I did not hear any of this. It was just the standard run of the mill, daytime personal hygiene product commercial - blah, blah, blah. What made my ears perk up was one of the benefits this new cleanser provides to its users. After rewinding back to the beginning of the 15-second spot, I viewed the entire commercial, this time paying very close attention. Not believing what I thought I heard, I needed confirmation. And I got it.

The spot is obviously aimed at women and women, apparently, are very interested in being 100 percent sure that each and every pore is thoroughly clean; hence, the “Scrublet.” And it's not just about women... I mean really, who doesn’t want clean pores? I certainly do. The scrublet gimmick, the thorough cleansing appeal and the beautiful face model with the absolutely flawless skin are all standard fare when it comes to marketing this sort of product. None of it is particularly noteworthy and none of it captured my attention. But in this spot there was something new; this benefit mentioned earlier was one I did not know was in demand. I now know that I must concentrate on yet one more attribute that defines beauty – small pores.

Yes, that’s right. L’Oréal’s Go 360° Clean will provide its user with, and I quote, “visibly smaller pores.” I never knew that pore size, or the appearance thereof, was a measure of beauty. But apparently while I was off in the twilight zone not paying attention to TV commercials, it became one. Like pretty much every other measure of beauty created by those selling us products to create it or maintain it, the appearance of pore size is now of critical importance where beauty is concerned. And now that I think about it, it makes perfect sense. Who in his or her right mind would even think about walking around in public with large pores?

These marketing folk are clever. Although it’s difficult to tell when it was that the pore size issue came up, it is possible that the extreme close-up photo of Sarah Palin on the October 4, 2008 cover of Newsweek helped to identify just how important it is to have well-behaved – and beautifully small – pores. Whatever would we do without these manufacturers of beauty? Everyone would be going out in public with these huge pores, disgracing themselves and everything they stand for. I, for one, never gave much consideration to pore size, actual or visible. Thank God for the good folks at L’Oréal for bringing this to our attention. The scrublet has provided the solution to those of us who now know what a profound problem large pores can be.

Taking Time

2010-01-03T02:14:00.000-08:00

Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
Fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way

A friend of mine started a blog sometime last year to work through her feelings regarding matters of the heart. She often intersperses her prose with song lyrics – maybe as inspiration, or identification or solace – I never asked and she has never said. Regardless of her reason, it has at different times aroused memories when certain songs have spoken to me in similar situations. When my more “rational” thinking returned to me, I would often scoff, “life is not a song,” not really knowing what I meant by it. It very well could have been a subconscious image of my pride or masculinity that told me I didn’t need such “art” to deliver me from inner turmoil. But there were often times where my life was not directed by art, but often art mirrored my life. With the completion tonight of a task that was a major mental burden on me, I find myself uneasily at ease.

Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain
And you are young and life is long and there is time to kill today
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun

In reflecting upon the passing of 2009, I was compelled to look at much more of the 47 years of my life than just the past year. Yes, it was another good year, it was a productive year, but it hasn’t always been this way. And still, as productive as it was, procrastination and killing time have been my nemeses. It is why I am just now feeling the relief/uneasiness of a task completed – it should have and could have been done many days, indeed weeks, ago. Yet, for all time is, there is always and forever only one time – now. And I cannot remember a single moment of a single day during the past year that I was not at least happy, if not content with the now.

And you run and you run to catch up with the sun, but it's sinking
Racing around to come up behind you again
The sun is the same in a relative way, but you're older
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death

So I am getting old. How ever many years I have been allotted, 47 of them are used. The funny thing is that for the past five years, I can say that my time has not been wasted even if I have “frittered and wasted the hours in an offhand way.” In a way, those hours have been earned even if I do happen to borrow some against future anxiety. I do not want to justify my procrastination, quite the contrary, my aim is to reduce it even more than I already have. But I also need to be sure to remind myself that what I have accomplished thus far (all 47 years and counting) is real and represents, in total, a productive use of my time. And the past few years are not the apex, but a continuing climb to an as yet unknown mountaintop.

Every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the time
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way
The time is gone, the song is over, thought I'd something more to say

There is still time. My mantra is also my curse. If I could put to productive use all the time I have been given, well, who knows where I’d be. By the same token, though, I might have crashed and burned. It is important to take care of business. But it is also important to take a little time.

* Lyics from Pink Floyd's Time

Still a Seeker

2009-12-31T23:59:00.000-08:00

I made a New Years resolution (sort of) last year and it fell victim to the same fate most do. I was not a big deal and I certainly didn’t lose any sleep over it. I do, however, still believe it to be a worthy goal and although I am not resolved to do it this year, I still might. And compared to what I have accomplished this past year, what I didn’t is insignificant.

A yearly reflection, however, is still in order. But to confine such a reflection to just the events of 2009 is futile; a little more historic perspective will add clarity. I started this blog a little more than four years ago to fill some idle time between semesters at California State University, Sacramento. I was entering my second semester as a junior and I didn’t really know where this blog – or life for that matter – would take me.

I was awarded my BA in December 2007 and entered grad school in September 2008. I am now half way to a Master’s degree in communication studies. In just three semesters I will be graduating again, this time with many more accoutrements adorning my cap and gown. When I returned to school (American River College) in 2003, my goal was only to gain some new skills and an Associates degree to legitimize those skills – I did not intend to transfer to Sacramento State; I did not intend to attain a 3.8+ GPA; I had no aspirations to obtain any sort of post-graduate degree and now I am well on my way to the first of two. Yes, I do plan on exploring the possibility of earning a Ph.D.

Of course, if I were to reflect on just this past year in terms of academia, it would look like the completion of another year of grad school - pretty staid, pretty foreseeable, no real surprises there. Of course there is life outside of academia and it has thrown me a few curves. I became a grandfather on Easter Sunday. My youngest son joined the Army and is now serving in Afghanistan and my middle son is working on his place in the great fabric of life as well. And then there are my parents who have seen me through some rather grave situations and although I am not traveling the path I now travel for anyone but me, it gives me great pleasure that is pleases them.

My life is two stories, but both culminate in the here and now. I might be getting accustomed to success, but it doesn’t take much effort to remember the not so distant past when my life almost came to an end, both literally and figuratively. I could not have planned what came to pass before or what is coming to pass now, but I know this: Happiness has little to do with anything external - it comes from within. All those years of wondering and waiting for it to come to me were perhaps necessary to get me to where I am today, but at the same time, it didn’t have to be that way. Do I regret it? No. I am content with my place in the world today. I am still a seeker, but now I know that what I seek can be found.

Happy New Year

On the Metaphoric Road Again

2009-12-28T06:43:00.000-08:00

I don’t usually wake up this early; I only went to sleep just a couple of hours ago. But it happens and there comes a time when laying in bed, tossing and turning, trying to get back to sleep becomes an exercise in futility. Actually, first it becomes an exercise in futility - then I realize it. When I stop fighting and go with whatever it is and let it take me wherever it wants to take me, I will benefit. I know this, but I’d rather be sleeping. This morning, it would appear, I will benefit whether I want to or not. This morning I get to contemplate... things, and stuff. This morning will not begin in the afternoon. This morning I will write and whatever it is that has me up at this solitary hour will show itself – it always does.

In recent weeks I have experienced and expressed some degree of frustration in my ability to communicate. That frustration is necessarily amplified because my art and my area of study both are communication – this is not only what I do, it is my area of expertise. Writing (specifically) is not just a gift, it is also a responsibility and although I have not exactly been shirking it, it is also true that I have not kept on top of it as I should, either. Indeed, I have put aside many dark mornings just like this one in favor of not answering the call. It is always easier to stay wrapped up in comfortable ignorance and a warm bed than it is to open up to the unknown, face the darkness and welcome the early morning light. This, again, I know.

It is forever a choice between stagnation and comfort, on the one hand, and growth and enlightenment on the other. It is, once again, a question of journeys and destinations. “Are we there yet?” The answer always has to be “no.” Ultimately, there is only one destination. It is final and I am in no hurry to get there. The journey, however, is another story entirely. So what about these moments of complacency? How does one overcome the comfort of the destination, however temporary it necessarily must be? When is it time to get back on the road again?

Maybe it happens when, no matter how dark, how silent or how solitary a morning might be, the light is still too bright, the noise is deafening and the muses will not leave me be. When the discomfort of comfort becomes too much to maintain, the journey must resume again. And so it is again this dark, silent and solitary morning that the muses have woken me with their siren song, taken me away from yesterday and thrust me into the now. The journey begins anew; the destination is too far to see. It has always been this way for me – how much comfort can I stand before the road beckons me back? I know only too well that if I get too comfortable for too long, I will reach my final destination before I am due.

A note to concerned passerby...

2009-12-23T22:40:00.000-08:00

If you are here because you hear a puppy whining inside my house, you need not worry about her. She is adorable, she is a baby and she is not yet house trained. She is in a LARGE dog crate and she is not happy about it. Not at all. But she is safe, she is not in any pain and she has plenty of water and chew toys. She doesn’t need food, she just ate and I’ll be back well before she needs to eat again. If you feel compelled to just absolutely, for sure and beyond any doubt know that she is safe, then please feel free to call me on my cell phone - (916) xxx-xxxx. I will drop everything and rush right home to allow you to appease your conscience and know that you did the right thing – no matter how much hassle you caused me.

If you are planning to break in, either to check on the puppy or to rip me off, rest assured my alarm functions quite well and in addition to me, a rather large “safety” committee will be greeting you.

Merry Christmas,
Michael Althouse

Just Words?

2009-12-20T23:09:00.000-08:00

For about the past two months, I have been experiencing some strange form of writer’s block. It’s not the variety that prevents one from writing anything at all (that would be much worse), but it is preventing me from writing anything good. And maybe that’s not exactly it either; maybe it’s more like this odd strain is keeping me from writing anything really good. And as far as I’m concerned, if it’s not really good, it’s crap. For the last many weeks, in my overly critical opinion, everything I’ve written is crap. Add one part partial writer’s block and two parts perfectionistic tendencies and it all gets wrapped up into a perfect storm of self-perceived crap.

I have been here before. In fact, although it feels more prolonged recently than it has in the past, the reality is this is my default. When it comes to my own writing, I like far less than what I don’t like. This is not to say that there is no value in the projects I fall short of what I believe to be perfection (or good) - there is value in everything I write, whether anyone else reads it or not (and believe me, there is plenty that never travels beyond my hard drive – some of it gets deleted before it even gets that far). It has more to do with style and flow and the artistry in the words than the words themselves – and lately I just have not felt as though I’ve nailed anything.

But I also know that in time, some of that might change. I have written much in the past that has come to mean something much more profound and enlightened than it did when it was written. So, too, I have written prose that I imagined rather brilliant at the time of conception that later come across as naïve – or even foolish. Yet the writing must continue for a number of reasons; perhaps the most important is that I have little choice. This is obviously true from a career perspective, but it is also true for more primal reasons. Writing is not only what I do best - it is what I do. It is my telos, it is among my primary purposes.

One of my professors boiled down the art of writing to simply this: “Know what you want to say and say exactly that.” He readily admits that this is much easier said than done. Language is so imprecise; there are myriad ways of lacing words together that say the same thing, but mean something entirely different. It is so much more than just the proper use of grammar, correct spelling and proper contextual definitions because the ways in which the words are assembled also convey logic, emotion and credibility. If that sounds familiar, it is because Aristotle told us of logos, pathos, and ethos around 2,500 years ago. What we say is every bit as important as how we say it.

At the moment, I must write and I must write some very specific words to transmit the results of the research I have conducted. It matters not if I am “feeling” it or not, the words must be written. They will meet half of the communicative goal – they will convey what I have discovered and hopefully they will support my premise. If the magic returns to me, however, they will also convey the passion of my ideas, the importance of the research and my commitment to my profession. All that must also be said with words, without actually saying so.

17,166 Days Toward Eudaimonia

2009-12-05T13:41:00.000-08:00

After 17,166 days, one would think I’d know a thing or two. And though it is absolutely true that not a day does goes by in which I have not reaped some wisdom, I am quite far from “there.” Tomorrow - day number 17,167 - will also conclude my 47th year. It would appear as though I have been graced with an entire weekend to celebrate, and indeed, the celebration has already begun. I have scheduled the bulk of this weekend and the next two weeks to the completion of two term papers so that I can successfully complete this semester of graduate study. In this respect, my birthday is just another early December Sunday in Sacramento, just as today is another early December Saturday. Fall semesters have been coming to an end during this time of year for way more than 17,166 days, this year is no different.

I graduated high school in 1981, but I didn’t go away to college until the fall of 1983, turning 21 that December. It was finals week at San Diego State University (SDSU) and the serious students were preoccupied with their studies. Although I aspired to be and thought I might yet become one, I was not a serious student. I had not the capacity or introspective capability to realize it, but retrospectively it is painfully obvious. Regardless, that seminal birthday was somewhat anticlimactic, but I understood why. It was nobody’s fault, I did not hold any resentments – I just got drunk at a local watering hole with my fraternity “big brother.” The 26 years since that night have been enlightening in so many ways and among the outcomes has been a demotion of the importance of celebrating growing old.

So this year, like more than a few in the recent past, the focus of the days surrounding December 6th are not on celebrating the beginning of another year in my life, but continuing on the path to eudaimonia – loosely translated Greek for “happiness,” or “the good life” or “a fully formed (or informed) inner self.” It is a balance of reason and passion, the ability to wisely decide what the right thing to do in any given situation is. It is about knowing truth, beauty and goodness. But what does it means as far as the celebration of my 47th birthday? What kind of celebration could the grind of schoolwork possibly be? Interestingly, it is only through the wisdom gained from those 47 years – all of them – that I can answer those questions.

I could, and probably will take some time tomorrow to relax and reflect… maybe ride my Harley to my local Peet’s Coffee enjoy a leisurely cup of joe. But the real satisfaction I derive from these semester-end days will come from a celebration of a different kind. It is a deferred celebration, but like anything really worthwhile, these are the things that have lasting value. Aside from the fuzzy memory of getting drunk on my 21st birthday, there is little I could relate about that day or those surrounding it.

By the time this calendar year comes to a close, there will be real, substantive and perhaps even important work finished that I will be able to point to. Moreover, that work is part of a far loftier goal and one that I could not even imagine just five years ago. In other words, I am doing what I need to do to celebrate success that is much greater than simply staying alive for another year (although my history shows that is no small task, either). It is the practical balancing of reason and passion. It is not yet eudemonia, but the next (and only) best thing is the continued striving for it; like perfection, it is never fully attainable. In that respect, today (and tomorrow) I am celebrating my birth - and my life. And the celebration occurs regardless of any particular box on the calendar.