Countdown to 11/29/11

The local TV news stations ran a story about a visiting Korean man who walked the snowy Philly street wearing a hat, shorts and boots only. When asked, he said he was inspired by the movie, “Bucket List”. Apparently walking in freezing weather as if it were July has worked its way onto his special list of things to do before he dies. Go figure people.

Most people are too young to be bothered with making such a list. Those of us who are long in the tooth and are hearing angel feathers may not have enough umph to pull it off. This leaves a small window to harvest the notches on our lives’ belts. I’d better get going.

Not in order of importance:

1. be interviewed by a faux news show host, e.g., Stephen Colbert, Jon Steward. I’d love to expose a slow news day in this manner.
2. finish my half-finished novel. I don’t care much if it’s published, but if it could be, that would make it
3.  
4. be the healthiest man at my 50th high school class reunion in 2013. (trophy husbands don’t count)
5. play a game of HORSE basketball with my grandchildren.
6. take a ride in the Cash Cab. Alternative: be someone’s mobile shout out.
7. have an award named after me.
8. greet the troops coming from or going to Iraq & Afghanistan at the Bangor International Airport.
9. dance with my wife, Lyn on our 50th wedding anniversary.
10. reconcile with everyone who dislikes me for the wrong reasons.

 The great thing about bucket lists is even when they’re wrong they’re not. Each of us have things they’d like to do before their big dirt nap. I hope we all take some time out to work on them.

* “Stopping by the woods on a snowy day”.  Robert Frost

I work with a woman who buys and sells craft items. She also interprets dreams.

Last week, a large number of boxes filled with products arrived for her. After sorting through these boxes, she had one not listed on the bill of laden. I know because she asked me to help her find it.

Later she removed the item from its box and brought it to me. It was a gray colored vase with the biblical verse, “I will be with you always.” Matthew, 28, 20. Seeing this verse brought to mind my cousin’s son, Matthew who died last year from ALL leukemia. It’s a good and comforting thought about those who have gone to their reward.

The shipping company admitted their mistake and told her to keep it gratis. She, in turn, offered the vase to me. She spoke about a dream she had where she had a vase she didn’t own. In the dream, she filled it with fake roses and gave to a woman she didn’t know. She asked me to do the rose thing and give it to my wife to fulfill her dream.

When she finished her dream narrative, I told her I’d rather give it to my cousin who had suffered a profound loss and told her about her son. I then told her, “My cousin’s name is Rose. Her son was named Matthew.” We both said, “Whoa.” in unison.

It took a while for me to hookup with my cousin to give her the rose-filled vase. She was pleased with the gift and the aptly inscribed vase. She especially liked the story about the improbable manner it found its way to her. She told me when she sees it she will be reminded of her Matthew.

What happened could easily be explained this way: we interpret events to match our preconceptions. Okay, but I prefer to see God’s hand in all this. 

As I aged, I started seeing divine guidance in my life and others. It brings me a level of comfort.

It was on a consumer show hosted by someone like John Stossel where I learned how companies use mail-in rebates to manipulate the buying process. A soft, reassuring voice lulled me into the world we buyers think exists. Then the same voice brought down the hammer about what really happens.

It seems the marketing world counts on most people not doing the work needed to return the rebate. Those that do usually wait six weeks. It’s all calculate to maximize their sales and minimize their costs. Just plain good, smart business. There’s nothing illegal about what they do.

I pride myself on always filling out the two foot long forms and returning all the required portions of the package. It all gets sent off within 24 hours.

When the check arrives, I usually have forgotten about it. I often wonder if any companies  just don’t bother to send them out. No, that would be wrong.

This brings me to the $1.00 rebate I received from the nice folks at Rite Aid. Actually it came from some Young America, Minnesota based rebate giant. The check was a study in minimalistic packaging. The envelope was the check. Pretty cool stuff.

I bundled the check with a few other ones and mailed them to my bank. A call came two days later: “Mr. Morris, a check you sent can’t be deposited. If you want it back, stop by.”

As I waited in the bank. I realized it had been years since I had been inside this bank or any other one. Such is our new world with the advent of ATMs.

The customer service guy retrieved my check from the storage bins. He said he saw no reason why the check couldn’t be cashed. He offered to do so, but I feared being late to work. I took the check in order to deposit it later.

Now keep in mind, this is a $1.00 check; hardly worth any real labor. I had set my heels; I won’t give in to the Rite Aid’s crafty plans for me to fail.

On my return trip to the bank, I deposited it and got stonewalled by the cashier. She said the check wasn’t worth anything unless I use it at a Rite Aid. She was familiar with two types of rebate checks and I didn’t have the one you can cash. I went to the Rite Aid and finally brought the saga to an end.

Why would Rite Aid make checks to be cashed and another where they can’t? I guess it all part of their crafty – yet legal – plans to honor the smallest number of checks. 

How many consumers would take this dance to its conclusion? Rite Aid plans it so there will not be many.

The owner of an upscale formal wear store wanted to donate his older items for a tax exemption. He settled on donating the clothes to an intercity thrift shop.

After he delivered them to the other side of the city, he and the store manager loaded them into the back of the thrift store. The store’s manager looked at the donated clothes and said to the other man, “People around here don’t go to too many formal affairs.” The formal wear merchant replied, “Now they can”.

I see an analogy here to Apple’s latest, “amazing thingee”, the iPad. Die hard Applephiles, including my son, Adam are touting this groundbreaking toy as the answer to what’s wrong with the net books made by others. He talks about it in terms that make me ask two questions: “What did he say?” and “How will any of this affect my life?” Answer for number one is he and a selected few others exists – and talk – on a higher technical level than mere mortals do. How will it affect my life? Probably not much. I really am not worthy to own such an advanced e-weapon. I would not use it as the creators’ intended. Adam would laugh at my under-utilization of an iPad.

I think the masses who don’t use their net books now will also not use their iPads later. 

Much like the denizens of the poorer side of town will not use ballgowns and tuxedoes from the thrift store. All dressed up and no place to go.

* Ron White, redneck humorist.

Walking is a fairly boring way to exercise, but I tolerate it. Being able to walk to everywhere frees me to not own a car which saves a whopping amount of money every year.

As I walked to work on Friday, I waited for the light to change at Lancaster Avenue. To my right, was a Police cruiser also waiting. Since he was there, I would not cross until I had the light. I know he wouldn’t pull me over but why flaunt it.

I saw a Honda sedan driving from the west with a strange configuration: a large carpet was sticking out by four feet on both sides.

The Honda had the light and cleared the intersection. I turned toward the Police car and saw a look in his face best described as “Can you believe that?” I’m sure I had the same flummoxed looked in my face too.

In a half a beat, the cruiser’s popcorn lights flamed on, and he sirened his way behind the Honda.

I crossed the street and caught up with the Honda/cop interaction. As I approached, I saw there was no way for the Honda driver to see in any of the three rear view mirrors. I also saw there would be little chance this car could have made much distance without clipping something on the roadside. This would have done more damage to the Honda than the object hit unless it was a human.

I resisted taking a picture of the car; a decision I regret. As I passed them, I also decided not to look at the driver. I reasoned I could no more hide my look of disapproval at him as I could earlier hide my bewildered look with the cop.

The Honda driver probably figured he’d – it was a man – would save the delivery fee in the reckless way he chose to get his carpet home. Probably, he was compelled by the Policeman to wait for a friend with a truck. He also would get nailed for a driving violation which would approach $200.

I sure the Honda driver did not think himself to be a stupid, but I’m also sure he regretted getting caught driving while stupid.

The author of the Sherlock Holmes mysteries, Arthur Conan Doyle misled us. So have the writers of House, MD; Lie to  me, Psyche and the Mentalist. What do they have in common? Okay, first point is a gimme; I enjoy these shows.

The other point is a bit more subtle. As an audience, we bought the idea some one’s slightest actions can be spun off to tell volumes about them. I forgot these shows have writers working full time to spin a story line around these connections. I also forgot how really bad human communications are even when they’re really good. Misunderstanding is the rule not the exception.

We can be forgiven if we think  someone can be accurately understood after barely meeting them. A familiar drama story line has been pumping this nonsense into our brains since 1887.

Human understanding would be better if we knew someone for a time before judging them. Like the old Native American saying, “Do not judge someone until you’ve walked a mile in their moccasins.”

My wife, Lyn and I will be married 40 years this August, and I’m always learning something new about her. She is my standard for knowing another person. If I don’t know her after all this time, I don’t know anyone. 

The real learning will takes decades more.

One moment frozen in my mind goes back to when Yasser Arafat and his followers were surrounded by Israeli forces. They found themselves without any means to escape. The Israelis could have finished them easily off but gave them the chance to pack it in and go to exile in Tunis. What they did with this deal was memorable.

As the trucks wheeled them away protected by our forces, the defeated Palestinians acted as though they were the victors: smiling, cheering, and pumping their arms. While it was clear to the world they had lost their war and had been spared,  they turned it into their own victory parade. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yasser_Arafat

Year later, I learned about Victor Frankel’s famous research with Holocaust survivors. He reasoned the last freedom a man has is the right to control his state of mind under any circumstance. It proved itself to be true as illustrated by Arafat, et al.

Tonight, I watched Scott Brown do the seemingly unlikely. As a Republican, he won a US Senate seat in the hotbed of liberal Democratic Massachusetts. Brown has a right to celebrate. He has no need to control his state of mind; he can just let it all hang out.

But what about the folks who lost a lot with this race: the beltway Democrats. They’ve lost their magic sixty automatic votes in the US Senate for what ever they want.

On the cable new shows, they’re saying nice things about the victor. I know all this is window dressing. Tomorrow they’ll savage the poor schlub for the conservative he is.

I couldn’t believe the one statement Howard Dean made though. He said this is a welcomed moment in that now they can revamp the health care bill in a way to get it passed.

I think Dr. Dean studied Professor Frankel’s writings.

It takes a lot to upset me. Unfortunately, I’ll stay that way for far too long when it does  happens.

Here’s an example.

My wife, Lyn and I were invited to visit our daughter, Beth at her newly adopted home town of New York City. We wanted to see her in her new life. She wanted to show how well adjusted she had become away from the comfort of Downingtown, PA. It would be a benchmark moment in our family.

She had two absolutes: dinner at the Grand Central Station restaurant, and her treat. Okay by us.

Lyn and I were impressed by her skills at navigating the bustling city streets and eventually the massive station itself.

We were seated in a middle section of the cavernous eating stadium. Over-sized, art deco concrete carvings lined the distant walls. Everything about the restaurant promised an elegant dining experience.

Our server this night was a severe looking woman of German descent. She was efficient at the verbal exchange of our choices for food and drink. I did have trouble following her on the daily specials due to my lack of food knowledge.

We were so the urbanites sitting in this landmark eatery having successfully not done anything to draw disapproving looks.

The food arrived and our panzer-frau place the three huge platters down. As I looked at the l’object d’art in front of me, I knew it wasn’t my selection. I asked what this meal was and was told it was a chicken something. It was not the fish something I ordered, and I said so. I also said I’d eat it anyway.

The Bavariana scooted over to me and literally snatched the plate from my hands and said, “I’ll get what you ordered.” I yelled, “I’LL EAT IT”, but it didn’t cause her to return.

I suggested Beth and Lyn start their meals to avoid cooling. I ate a bit more bread than normal for me during my wait. They shared samples of their selections which were really good.

The corrected meal took over 15 minutes to return. The waitress place my meal down and spun around with no hint of remorse.

I’m sure we were the one thousand out-of-towners to dine at her station this month,and she probably held a low opinion of our type. Maybe she just hated that she had to serve others to make a living. I really didn’t care. She had interjected her woes into what was a lovely evening and damn near destroyed its good mood. It didn’t because we didn’t let it.

Beth paid the bill and made her disapproval known with the tip.

Here my point: NYC wait staff are renown for their rudeness. This I expected. I’ll be only temporarily miffed if ignored since I know how easy it is to miss signals from others. What bothers me to this day is how determined this woman was to not let me have my way. She screwed up the order and felt it necessary to punish me for it even after I offered to settle for the wrong meal. Either that or she just wanted to give the meal to somebody else, and that’s not any better.

Okay, you’ve read this and have thought, “I would have complained to the manager.” Good point and maybe I should have but this outing was to be all about quality family time. I reasoned why aggravate the situation further. Maybe I’m just not the kind of guy who complains to the manager. Ever 

Yes, it’s true, I am the Good Humor man and will usually take more abuse than guys like you.

And with all that, this sorry excuse for a waitress was able to piss me off. So you’re right, I should have complained to the manager.

There is a sub-story in the Christmas attack on America by one  – count them, one – terrorist. In the moment of truth when a terrorist with flaming pants was trying to ignite a bomb, it was not someone from our government who rescued the day. It was a fellow traveler. Someone who had no idea he would be called on to save his life and the lives of all the other passengers. With no security assigned to the flight,  it was left up to whomever could provide it. The passengers and crew were left to their own devices. Thank God, someone stepped up, and a true tragedy was avoided.

I now believe our government and its far reaching systems can not guarantee our complete safety*. Oh, they’ll do all they can do and most of it is done correctly. But in the end, they can’t keep every crazed zealot who wants to kill us out of the arena to do so*. There are too many of them. They have the luxury of learning from their failures.

I’d agree to a full body scan prior to boarding a plane as part of everyone else getting one. Sure for now, we’ll all submit sheepishly to this scrutiny. After a period of no more attacks, we’ll want things to lighten up. That’s when the terrorist will attack again.

In The Art of War, there is this passage, “When your enemy attacks, retreat. When he stops, stop. When he rests, attack.”

Sound familiar? This is what the Viet Cong did to keep the greatest military force in the world chasing their tails. Oh yeah, it’s also what our early Minutemen did against King George’s finest troops. And why not, this works when we are few, and they are many.

During my Army training, our platoon Sergeant told us when we’re in combat, the only people we can count on are the ones we can see. While not everyone we see can be counted on, there is nobody else to ride to our rescue.

He was right then, and he’s right now. Let the government do what it can but at crunch time, we are all in this together. We need to act this way.

* President Obama agrees

Mel Blanc was a voice artist known as the man of a thousand voices. If this is not exactly accurate, he came close. Some of the legendary voices he created were cartoon characters we all grew up with: Bugs Bunny, Tweetie Pie, Sylvester the cat and hundreds more.

Mel Blanc was involved in a nearly fatal car accident that left him in a coma for three months. The prevailing opinions were Blanc would never recover. The entertainment world would probably lose a giant talent.

The attending Doctor took a creative approach to dealing with Blanc’s condition. He would not talk to Mel Blanc but to his famous alter-ego, Bugs Bunny. In time, Blanc started talking to the Doctor in this cartoon voice.

Surprisingly enough, Blanc started to improve and eventually recover completely.

Mel Blanc often said Bugs Bunny saved his life. I think Bugs Bunny returned the gift of life to the man who gave him his.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mel_Blanc