Here I Sit All Broken Hearted...

...lent my car and then got martyred.

It's true, oh good people of the world. I am without transportation. I know, I know... that puts me in a comfortable majority, worldwide.  But I'm not used to it! And it's very hard to repair things at people's houses if I can't get my tools there, let alone my SELF. And I'm not one of those guys who would rig a shopping cart to a bicycle so I could ride through neighborhoods near my home, knocking on doors for work... that always struck me as desperate. So here I sit, all broken hearted...

Let me tell the story. It's kinda funny.

My daughter (yes, I have a child. Please continue with your barrage of disbelief... I've heard it all before) drives around in a cute modern Beetle. It may be cute, but it's a nightmare-- it spends more time in the shop, or up on blocks, or with grass growing up and over the bumpers than it does on the road.  Well, it was running okay a couple of nights ago, but then I get a call from her-- on her way back from a visit with friends, she hits a low spot in the road, bottoms out, and then the dashboard starts beeping and lighting up like the Millennium Falcon after a particularly vicious dogfight. She did the right thing-- pulled over and turned the car off (and I love her for that!) and called me to rescue her. Which I did, of course. I drove over in my clunker, a 20 year old Cherokee that takes me anywhere I need to go-- as long as it's within about 20 miles of home. Overheating is an issue, and there's just so much running the heater at full blast during an LA summer I can take.

I get there, and it seems obvious to me we have a serious problem-- her car overheated and there's a huge puddle on the ground-- but it's not radiator water. No it's not.

It's oil. OIL! A HUGE PUDDLE!

For those of you who have little or no car experience here's a quick primer: Cars need oil. End of lesson.

Well, I wasn't about to leave the car there, so I did what any good contractor does: I lashed the Vee-Dub to the back of my car with nylon tiedown straps and pulled it home, with my child in the Beetle providing steering and the occasional brakes. We got home with only minor bumper scratch-age, but we broke about 30 traffic laws on the way. Stop signs? Just a suggestion. Fortunately, nobody was looking out for a pair of cars traveling 9 inches apart. All good. We made it to our trusty auto repair garage and left the car there for the next morning.

Pradeep (our mechanic. No name jokes please-- he kicks butt under the hood) shook his head as he hoisted the car. We could all see the problem immediately-- the aluminum oil pan was split like a loaf of butter-top bread and was oozing oil like a gaping chest wound.

"VW parts are verrrry expensive," Pradeep said, in his lilting Bangladeshi accent. "This repair will cost $500 just for the oil pan, and then we need to see what other damage there is."

We left the car there and headed home. I was thinking of ways for my kid to pay me back for all this... starting with a year's worth of lawn mowing and car washes. Before I could get my plan out she piped up, "Dad, can I borrow the Jeep? I have a job interview." 

How can a father say no to that? I gave her the keys with a strict warning that my car was the last working car in the family and I needed it for my business, et cetera. She nodded and promised to take good care of it. And off she went.

At some point she called and said she had gotten the job (YAY!), and wanted to visit some friends on that side of town. I had no plans to go out that night and said okay. She's into the late-night hangouts and I didn't expect to see her until I woke up the next morning. BUT...

Last night I got a call from her, at a fairly reasonable 4 AM. Yes, I'm often up at 4 AM. But not last night--last night I really needed my sleep (all that pedaling around the neighborhood, you see...). So I'm groggy when she calls and says, "Dad, don't be angry."

Not a good sign.

She continued, "Everything was fine, But I was a block from the house when the Jeep just started making some awful noises and heavy smoke, so I turned it off. What should I do?"

CRAP!  I threw on some clothes and jogged over there, eyes still caked with sleep. I slid behind the wheel and tried to start the car. Very bad idea. Remember Chitty Chitty Bang Bang? That car was whisper-quiet compared to mine. So we pushed the car back to the house. And by we I mean ME. She steered.

Pradeep stared at me, unbelieving. "She destroyed ANOTHER car? Tell me, sir," he started. "Why is it that your daughter hates you? Did you shoot her boyfriend? Spill cherry juice on her Prada? Promise me you won't let her take your PACEMAKER out for a spin, okay?"

I had to laugh. I don't have a pacemaker, but the imagery was priceless. Oh, that Pradeep. I think he missed his calling at Club Ha Ha.

So in the span of 24 hours, my darling daughter has wiped out the family transportation. I shouldn't blame her for the Jeep-- I've been spoon feeding that beast for months trying to forestall the inevitable. And since my kid tends to drive like Mario Andretti evading a speeding ticket, so it's my fault for not driving her to the job interview myself.

I probably should be angry. Or frustrated. Or even fearful, because I can't really make any money without a vehicle. But my actual emotion is  excitement... yes, I'm excited. Why? Well, for the longest time I've been driving round in that old clunker. Now I have to get another car, and because the economy stinks, I can get a great deal on a new car! As a matter of fact, I heard of a dealership that is offering two-for-one cars: buy one, get one free!

So yeah, I'm excited... I'm getting a new car! Yay!

Now, if I could only GET there... 

Decompressing From the Anger Management Meeting

Wait... I thought this meeting was supposed to bring about calm reflection and greater insight into my own psyche!

It has become a weekly rite with my roommate and myself... I return home after 2 hours of anger management, and we talk about what I've taken from the session and how I've broadened my understanding of interpersonal relationships. But this week was different.

First let me say that my roommate is probably the most well-adjusted (for lack of a better term) human I have ever met. We have parallel histories-- we both have one child, a daughter; both of us married capricious European egotists; and both of us saw the writing on the wall and separated from our mates when our kids were about 2 years old. He's logical, thoughtful and even-handed and is the perfect person to bounce ideas off of because he'll point out the flaws in an argument with compassion and honesty.  

He is the wiser of us though, because he saw no reason to move back in with his spouse. I did, unfortunately, and that's partially the reason why I'm taking court-appointed anger management sessions. 

We were discussing last night's meeting and a few (I thought) important points came up:

1) While some of us humans have trouble handling our rage, MOST of us are good enough at self-care to know when a conversation is turning dangerous and make the appropriate changes, whether it be a step back, an apology, a breather or a time-out. The times when any anger spills out into rage and physical action is common for an infinitesimal few. For the vast majority of people, whenever somebody directs their rage at us, we back away and say something like, 'take a chill pill, buddy... you're gonna have an aneurism!' I repeat... that's MOST of us. 

Those few 'top blowers' bring me to my next point:

2) Anger management is only one-half of a necessary set of tools to help individuals in our modern society cope with stress, and the other half is largely overlooked, which would be (to coin a term) 'anger induction management'. In other words, the other side of the coin. Since it takes two to Tango, arguably there is somebody who is helping to CREATE the angry moment. Anger management meetings may help people who regularly rage up at a friendly 'Hello', but it can do nothing for the person who is not even at the meeting.

Actually, if a study were to be done, I wouldn't be surprised to find out that, of all the angry moments everywhere, there were certain key people who were largely involved with most of them. That is to say, some people's lives seem to center around stirring up the emotional pot. Certainly in my own firsthand experience, I remember being friends with crowds of people where one of them were always more excitable than the others and were involved in most of the flare-ups. Aren't THOSE people the ones who need to be ferreted out and helped? More so than the people who were incited to anger and had no desire to be angry on their own.

All in all, I can't help feeling that I've been thrown into a machine with half the parts missing. We all have-- watch out for that tie rod!

In my own situation, I am forever frustrated that I am required to take Anger Management and yet the angry person who was in the altercation with me is free to create more angry situations whenever she likes. Goddammit, she needs the help Anger Management can provide! 

Such as it is.

One of our group members had an issue with money, and was unsure how to get his happily unemployed wife to help. Which is funny on the face of it, because the money problems I am talking about are that his wife wanted a bigger home and an expensive exotic pet. The problem seemed to self-correct in my head, but I kept quiet and listened to the group leader's take on it. I was astounded when he said what he did. I expected something like this: "You make enough money to pay all the bills and put away savings. Your wife wants more. Seems she should also work to bring in the extra money for all the things that she wants, since they all seem to be big-ticket items."

Did he say that? Uh, uh, nope. Apparently this group frowns on problem solving. The focus of this group is on identifying emotions and learning to make wise decisions based on that information. His contribution was more like (and I paraphrase) "How does that make you feel? What can you do with those emotions?" 

I suppose there is some help to be gleaned from that. While his wife is raging away at her situation, he can calmly reflect on his feelings. I can see how that will go:

She says, "I want a bigger house... and a pet whale!"

He says, "I feel afraid of the added burden."

She says, "Wimp. I'm gonna find me a real man."

And that reaction is what helps me make my next point:

3) The financial and political climate in the US today make 2 income families more a necessity than a luxury. 

The American dream is slipping from our grasp. Although the reasons are legion, I won't go into them. All I will say is that what used to be achieved with a regular guy's salary no longer can. That makes a man seek a second job, which causes him to spend less time with his family. Emotional separation occurs and at some point the wife feels abandoned, and opts for divorce.

OR,

The money's no longer good enough, so the woman gets a job. Now the kids are latchkey kids, and much more likely to get in trouble, use drugs, fail in school. The parents fight over that, then separate, then divorce. 

Either way, that's good for owners of apartment buildings, those rich bastards. Oops, I said I wouldn't get into the reasons for today's financial climate. Moving on.

4) The guidelines in American society dictate that a marriage is forever, although there is a way out (separation and divorce) and more than half of the married people choose that way out. IMHO, Marriage is right for some people, and for others, being single is the way to go. And a growing group are looking for that third option-- not living alone, but not being financially or romantically linked to the person you ARE living with. 

In other words... ROOMMATES. 

Someone who helps out with the common bills, but makes no extraordinary demands on your life or your time. Someone who will be there in case you have a slip 'n' fall in the tub, or receive bad news and need comfort, or can watch TV with you. In other words, someone who is close, but not too close. I hear some talk about 2 married couples that live in adjoining homes-- the husbands live in one, and the wives in the other! I wonder how many fights that solves. 

Sadly, I also wonder how many fights that CAUSES.

I was chewed out for making light of a 'politically incorrect' term at the last meeting, even after the group leader made his feelings known. Talk about uncomfortable!

5) Although the term is undeniably sexist on the face of it, the concept of defeating your financial, emotional and physical challenges with grace and aplomb is attractive and necessary, whether it be called 'manning up' or not. 

This brings out a larger issue-- has political correctness gone too far? It was designed as an easy way to guarantee that we don't inadvertently insult people within earshot, but has been corrupted to such an extent that our basic language skills have been crippled. (Oh, should I not have used the word 'crippled'? Maybe I'll replace it with the term 'speaking impaired'...) I certainly understand how right it is not to call an Italian (I'm Italian) a 'dago' or a jew (yes, I'm also a jew) a 'kike', but are we able to draw the line at absurdity? Can we even find the line? When I take back a present I have given somebody, has it REALLY insulted our Native American friends when I am called an 'Indian Giver'? Or do the 'tomahawk cheer' at a ball game? At some point will we be so busy editing our 'politically incorrect' language that we end up not being able to make our point any more?

I really don't think I'm insulting women to say 'man up'. I think the term comes about because men have traditionally been the breadwinners. Now that women have gotten in the game I would not have any problem overhearing a woman say, "When things got tough I had to woman up and fix it." I just think it's not a smooth term, phonetically. Heck, if it does come into fashion, I'm afraid I may be banned from saying, "I had to woman up and git 'r' done," because I'm not a woman!

So yeah, this week's meeting stirred up a lot of emotions in me.

I guess that's what it's for, huh?

Why Do You Think It's Okay To Treat Me Poorly...

...just because you're rich? Or beautiful? Or famous or powerful or any of those benchmarks society seems to use to judge your 'success' as a citizen? I know that inside your skin you are the most important person in the universe-- actually, I'm willing to bet that you are probably the ONLY person of note, and everyone else are just props on your stage, entering and leaving as needed to populate your 'life'. How is it that you can't see the obvious-- that these same thoughts are running through EACH person's mind, and you are no more or less than the other 7 billion grains of sand huddled next to each other on this crowded beach called Earth?

I suppose it's not your fault... you behave this way because you have been conditioned by years of awed responses to your 'wonderfulness'. When you were the new girl in fifth grade, skipping into class with your curly gold locks bouncing and your perfect smooth skin glowing, you noticed how students and teachers alike seemed to vie for your attention. The seeds of superiority were sown in your brain right then and were watered and nurtured with repeat performances on the playground, in the store, and even at home throughout your life... I suppose it makes sense that you feel better than everyone else. And in a way you are.

When you were the new guy on the bottom of the totem pole at work, you noticed how you were NOT abused the way some of the other new guys were. Was it your decency that people could read, or was it the expensive suit and fancy car they saw as you pulled into the parking spot next to your dad, the CEO? Would you even need to practice that decency, when all your needs were being met by simply showing up?

Do you obtain a good place in line because you asked sweetly, or because you tote around 250 pounds of rippling muscle?

How DO you make your place in a crowded society where, at least on paper, we are all supposed to be EQUAL? I remember when I was young the lessons presented to me that would teach me how to 'get along' with others... say please and thank you, wait your turn, study hard and work hard and you'll get ahead. I also remember feeling cheated when one of my peers would get further than I without resorting to hard work.

The important thing is that I REMEMBER. At this stage in my life I've had some successes, and I was always careful not to flaunt around people who had less. It's the old golden rule at work-- I would not like it if someone did that to me. Which brings me to my point.

Recently a customer of mine did exactly that. I am a cabinetmaker/craftsman, and before that I was a teacher. Before that I was earning a master's degree in industrial technology. So I feel as though I've gotten a handle on my chosen field of interest; enough to be able to handle just about any situation. But this one always exasperates me. I'm at the job, remodeling the kitchen in a modest house, when the owner walks in and says it's unfortunate but he has to leave, some kind of crisis at work, and I have to leave too. I ask why I have to leave-- I had an entire day planned out, and this is happening at 10:30 am.

I tell you, he looked squarely at me and said, "I don't want anyone in the house when I'm not here." Just like that.  He walked away and said over his shoulder as he retreated, "I'm locking up in 10. Anything in here stays in here 'til I get back."

The freakin' nerve! I was incensed! I felt like taking my 20 ounce straight claw hammer and driving it straight into the refrigeration unit of his expensive Sub Zero refrigerator. Who the hell did he think he was to behave in such an arrogant manner? Why does he think he is better than me? Does he really believe I am laying in wait for his back to turn so I can ransack his house or molest his linen?

Well, as an angry man, I wanted to run up to him and explode all over his smug little face with every imaginable curse and threat, but as a professional I had a better solution. It's true that sometimes money is a great motivator... the idea of losing the job, i.e. money, over an anger tantrum was unattractive to me. But the idea of MAKING money for doing NOTHING is a great one, and I just had happened to add a little clause in my contract years ago, covering this very problem!

So I chased him down and said, "Are you certain it's worth the money?"

He screeched to a halt and barked, "What money?!"

"You signed the contract, sir. This falls under the heading of 'Avoidable Work Stoppage'." I started quoting from memory. "'Whenever an avoidable work stoppage is created, the customer must pay labor cost for the time that would otherwise be spent working'.  That means," I paused for effect, "I'll have to bill you an extra eleven hundred dollars." Truthfully, I pulled the number from out of my butt-- I didn't know how much it would be until work resumed, but I made it seem high to change his mind.

I knew what was going on in his head-- I had seen that look before: the reddening of the face, the clouding over of the eyes, the mouth writhing in little incomprehensible words, and finally, the scrunching together of all his features into what could only be described as 'sphincter-face'. He was weighing the cost/benefit ratio and hating the answer. Finally he muttered, "Okay, you can stay. But I'm putting the alarm on. And I'll be back in 2 hours, tops."

I was thinking that would give me more than enough time to ransack his house and molest his linens, but I should probably just put the crown moulding on the ceiling instead. He left and I began to work. A short while later I accidently shot a staple into a poorly shielded length of Romex electrical wire while installing the crown. It was electrically sparking, so I ran to find the circuit breaker box. It wasn't in any of the normal spots-- closets, cabinets or hallways-- so I figured it must be downstairs. I found the door to the basement and opened it... and that's when I realized I had been judging my customer unfairly.  

See, all that time I'd been thinking that he didn't want me in the house when he wasn't there because he thought I was untrustworthy. But that wasn't the problem.  The problem, my friends, was the mini-field of marijuana plants growing under lights in the basement! What I thought was snobbiness was in fact, simple stoner paranoia!

I bet you're wondering what happened from that point on. I bet you're DYING to find out! Every time I tell this story, people are screaming to hear the ending. Well, all I can say is...

...anybody need any weed?

The War Of The Egos

I Fight Because I Can.

The other night I was visiting a friend who likes to host small late-night gatherings. That night it was just three of us. We started out as we often do, with discussions of the day's remarkable events, and move on to other topics of interest to us, followed with personal new discoveries a la show-and-tell, and all done in a comfortable environment, listening to choice music and partaking heavily of that which we all enjoy. This time it was nectar of pomegranate (or whatever was on sale at Ralphs).

Now is a good time to interject with a couple of personal observations. First, the host is a fine man with high standards and perhaps because of that, is almost impossible to impress. Nonetheless, we all give it the old college try. I'll call him Mr Ego. 

Second, our third that evening is a man who, in my humble opinion, is in far more desperate need of the group I currently attend than anyone I know, except for She Who Shall Not Be Named. Let's call him Mr Anger.

Back to the story: 

I happened to mention to the group that a television show two of us watch was ending-- the series would be finishing that night. I mentioned it because I had watched a commercial on television earlier that evening which stated the fact. "Series finale tonight!"

Well, my very smart, very egocentric friend said, "I don't think so."

I looked incredulously at him and said, "I heard it on TV... tonight!"

He frowned and said, "Well, my DVR (digital video recorder, or TiVo) has it scheduled to record for tonight, as well as several weeks from now."

I laughed. "So your DVR is right and the commercial I saw TONIGHT is wrong?"

Very seriously he answered, "Why would it record shows if there are NO SHOWS to record? They program these things remotely to record exactly what I ask for!"

Our third friend, who had been listening silently to this conversation, could stand it no more. He shouted, "Why don't you check it out on the TV guide, you idiots?"

I responded, "I don't have to... I'm not contesting the information! I brought it here to begin with!"

Mr Ego yelled, "I have TiVo so I don't HAVE to check the TV guide!"

Mr Anger yelled back, "Why are you so goddamn certain that TiVo is right? Maybe somebody forgot to check the dates over at TiVo town? Could be the TV station forgot to mention the series was ending since they show repeats in the same time slot, a-hole?"

Mr Ego shot back, "Whadda you know? All you watch is ESPN! You wouldn't know a decent TV show if it came up and shook your hand, you big-browed lummox!"

I watched, dumbfounded at how quickly these two engaged in a shouting free-for-all. I went through my anger management notes mentally to see if I could come up with something that would quash this pointless argument. Time out? Doesn't apply. Listening for understanding? Too late for that, I'm afraid. Positive self-talk? Not gonna work.

Then I had an insight. I am a father, after all, and these two were fighting like children. And how do we stop kids from fighting? Say it with me, everybody...

DISTRACTION!

I reached between them for the remote control. It was a dangerous  move, I know-- anything in their field of vision would become a target at this moment. I turned the TV on, found the right channel, and said...

"Look! Boobs!"

The shouting stopped mid-sentence as their eyes were drawn, as if magnetically charged, to the big flat screen in the front of the room. Angry expressions melted and were replaced with sublime awe.

Mr Ego said, "Wow."

Mr Angry said, "Yup!"

I said, "They look friendly..." and I swear, my words trailed off as I was sucked into the vortex of friendly, bouncing, naked boobs. Long moments passed. Finally, one of us sighed and murmured, "I love the TNA network."

Problem solved.

My Own Personal Savior

Hello again world. I've managed to make it through another week without an event.  You know... an EVENT.  In this busy and frazzling world there are all too many people who are wavering on the edge of a dangerous drop-off, ready to take the first person with them who passes by. And in my precarious legal situation, I'm not ready to be that sacrificial lamb. Knowing as I do that the courts are not living up to its original design, and that  formerly wise decisions have been reduced to following a rote set of by-the-numbers procedures, I'm certainly not interested in standing before it again. 

To prevent that very occurrence, I did some studying, some soul-searching and some old-fashioned legwork to produce a go-to concept that would keep me calm in almost any situation. Sound good? It works for me, anyway.

Method One: 

Use empathy. For me, it's like a reverse of the golden rule (Do unto others as you would have others do unto you). When somebody yells (or otherwise displays anger) at you, they are breaking that rule (unless they want to be yelled at, which is why they are yelling at you). My response: I could yell back, or I could cower, or I could evoke empathy for the other person. I am ignoring their anger and doing to others how I would like to be done.  

For example:

Say I'm walking past a house, on the sidewalk. There's a person on the porch. They shout "Get the hell offa my lawn!" Ignoring the potential that they're just lonely with limited social skills, I only know that I was NOT on their lawn. I could respond several ways:

"I wasn't on your lawn!" -- correcting them. It takes a big person to admit they've made a mistake, and they've already shown poor grace by yelling at a stranger, so they're not likely to finish up with "Oops! My mistake! Have a nice day!"

"I'm sorry!" -- cowering.   I am apologizing for something I did not do. Ends the conflict, but makes me feel like a doormat, and I may yell at someone later because of it.

"Fuck you, asshole!" -- yelling back. Often produces more yelling, and maybe violent confrontation. Something I probably want to avoid.

My solution? Be empathetic. I try to figure out why someone would yell at a stranger who didn't do what they are accusing them of. Usually I end up with the thought, "Something must be bothering them. Maybe they were a doormat earlier, and I am the person they yell at because of it." 

Whatever the reason, it's pretty obvious that the problem is completely in their court. Since I will be out of their life in a moment or two, I might smile and wave, and continue on my way. It's benign. It doesn't say 'I did it', or 'I'm sorry', or 'bite me'. It's just a friendly greeting. 

I know it may not make the yeller happy, but it doesn't provoke or egg them on. And I feel good knowing I avoided a 'situation'.

Method Two:

Use Humor. In the right moment (and picking the right moment for humor is critical), humor stops the anger cold, and may even create a friendship. I wouldn't say it except through personal observation-- it actually happened to me. I was at a new job, on a jobsite working for a large construction company. I walked into a room and surprised the crap out of another employee, a burly plasterer with a cig hanging from his lip and a metal flask in his pocket. With voice like a wood rasp he shouted, "Scare me, willya? I'll kick your ass, faggot!" (his words, not mine).

In a flash I adopted the persona of a swishy queen, prancing around and wiggling my butt and said in a squeaky voice, "You want my ass, big fella? Get in line behind the plumber!"

I swear he froze like I told him he just stepped on a land mine. Then he started to laugh, and shouted "Good one! What's your name, kid?" Cut to now-- we still hang out sometimes.

That's what I call my own personal savior-- the list.  The list of methods for keeping me out of trouble, out of fights, out of court, out of jail. There are more, and I'll get to them as I remember them, but that's it for now.

New Year's Eve With Dick Clark

Dick Clark has added immeasurable panache to the field of young people's music, and has done so for 4 decades. The "world's oldest teenager" has kept the country entertained with his big smile and easy way. That's how I remember him.

Remember him? Why do I have to do that? Apparently, he's still going! I happened to notice Ryan Seacrest showing his frostbitten face to us as I was flipping through the New Year's Eve zero-hour choices, and figured it was worth a laugh-- he's a guy who doesn't have a problem with self-deprecating humor. But no sooner did he finish his sentence than we were exposed to what used to be Dick Clark. I have great sympathy for the trials and effects of old age, and the stroke may be the cruelest trick of all-- leaving a mind hale, but a body stricken. But there comes a time to retire, to let the world remember you at your last, best moment. I'm saddened Dick chose to shatter that memory with the jarring truth that old teenagers become old men. Gone was the flashing smile I knew and loved. It had been replaced with a mask of hard and hollow effort, and though his thoughts were as sharp and his words were as uplifting as I remembered, they were delivered by the voice of a man 50 years older than Dick.

Then, to make matters worse, Ryan walked onscreen with Dick to share a New Year's moment. The contrast was stark and apparent, and to me it painted a cruel picture-- it looked as though the new year's baby and the past year's old coot had met and were passing at the crux of midnight.

Were it only true. I fear that, if it's in the cards, we will be seeing Dick Clark again. I only hope his countenance will not be so devastating next year.

PS

I don't know why I'm picking on poor Dick Clark. My real problem is with a society that glorifies and exploits the poster boy and girl until the flower is long off the vine (Betty White? Really?). Which means my bigger problem is with the selfish, greedy and power mad-- they have taken money, which was designed as a way to turn both product and labor into an easy, exchangeable thing, and turned it into a tool for manipulation and exploitation. Disgusting.

Why, that gives me an idea for another blog-- it'll be about how to fix the world and everyone in it. Look for it.