Month: August 2005

  • ONE BRIEF DEFINING MOMENT


     


    I had meetings in Louisville and Nashville today which means I spent about two hours doing actual work and about seven hours driving back and forth between the two cities.  The seven hours were not wasted, however, because my rental car had Sirius satellite radio.


     


    I’ve heard a great deal about Sirius, but this is the first time I’ve ever had the opportunity to experience it. I spent the first hour on the road scrolling through the 184 available channels. About an hour into the drive I settled in on a channel that played nothing but Top 40 hits from the 70’s. For the next six hours, I was back in High School. That’s right; for six hours I was no longer a pudgy, middle aged traveling salesman. Instead I was a 120 lb kid with shoulder length oily hair and a bad complexion who was wearing plaid bell bottoms, a print polyester shirt, and a pair of white platform shoes with a belt to match.


     


    I heard songs I hadn’t heard in years. Songs like “Fire and Rain”, “One Toke over the Line”, “I’ve Never been to Spain”, and “Only Lonely.”


     


    It’s amazing how specific songs can take you back to very specific times and places. One song I heard (Clapton’s “I Shot the Sheriff”) took me back to a moment that ended up being one of the defining moments of my life. (Note: the song has nothing to do with the moment other than the fact that it was very popular at the time.)


     


    I’ve heard it ask of adults; “knowing what you know now, would you go back and relive high school?” My answer to that is the same as it is for most adults; not only no, but HELL no! This one particular moment, however, I would live again; not because I would change it, but because I’d simply love the opportunity to experience it again and bask in the impact it had on my life.


     


    The story I’m about to tell sounds like a scene from a cheesy John Hughes movie, but I swear it happened.


     


    The year was 1974, and I was a nerd. Not just an ordinary nerd; I was a choir/drama club nerd which, in my high school, was about six levels below a regular nerd. I not only was not climbing the proverbial social ladder, I was down in the basement looking up at it. 


     


    The choir and drama club was doing the musical “Oklahoma” that year and I had the part of Ali Hakim, the Persian Peddler. If you are familiar with the musical you will remember the scene in which Ali Hakim gives Ado Annie a “Persian Goodbye.” The Persian Goodbye is a kiss that starts on the back of the hand and works its way up the arm and shoulder until it lands firmly on the lips. Ado Annie was being played by Sandy. Sandy was beautiful. Sandy was popular. Sandy was dating the quarterback of the football team (yes…really).  To say I was nervous about this scene would be one of life’s greatest understatements. The first rehearsal we tried it, I fumbled through it horribly. To make matters worse, after rehearsal I stepped outside and was met by her boyfriend. He backed me up against the wall and explained to me that, under threat of bodily harm, I was not to kiss his girlfriend regardless of what the script called for. He walked away without me being able to utter a word from my trembling mouth.


     


    At the time I really thought I only had a couple of close friends. I had lot’s of acquaintances in the choir and drama club but no one I thought would stand up for me in such a situation. I told my close friends what had happened with Sandy’s boyfriend. Unbeknownst to me, they told others, and apparently the story got around.


     


    The next evening, I was walking toward the rehearsal hall and saw Sandy’s boyfriend waiting for me at the door. As I nervously stepped up to him, about 50 of my “acquaintances” from the choir and drama club came out of the shadows and formed a very tight little circle around the two of us. I don’t know what it was about that show of support, but I suddenly was no longer afraid. I told Mr. Quarterback that I was, indeed, going to kiss his girlfriend, and when that point came in the rehearsal that evening, I laid one on her. He never said another word to me.


     


    From that point forward, I can honestly say that I have never felt intimidated by another human being. A big group of fellow nerds gave me an incredible gift that night and that moment helped define who I have become in the years since then.


     


    It was fun to let the music take me back to that moment today. I’m curious. What moments from your youth would be your defining moments? I’d love to hear about them.


     


    Postscript: I ran into Sandy a couple of years ago and we laughed together about that moment. She broke up with the quarterback right after that because she thought he was a jerk, and she confessed to me that she was just as terrified about that kiss as I was. Ain’t life funny.

  • DEATH BY FIXATION


     


    My son, Jordan, wrote a very thought provoking post about how dramatically his perception of campus-life has changed now that he’s seeing it through the eyes of a married graduate student.


     


    As usual, he really has me thinking.


     


    The last several years of my life have been intensely focused on reaching what seemed like a distant point; a point that always seemed to retreat as I closed in on it like the proverbial oasis in the desert. I’ve been working diligently, almost feverishly, to establish my career, create a happy marriage, get my son and step daughter through high school and college and see them happily married and prospering in their new homes and careers. Everything has been focused on reaching a point just past the completion of all these goals.


     


    Well, I’m here…and it happened in an instant.


     


    Now what?


     


    I’m one month away from my 47th birthday. I know this only because my wife told me. I’ve reached the point that I can no longer remember how old I am and have to rely on her to keep track.  This means I’m just three years away from AARP membership and the prospect of becoming a grandfather is not unthinkable in the reasonably near future.


     


    As I read through my son’s post it dawned on me that, without even realizing it, my gaze has shifted and I’ve started fixating on another distant oasis.


     


    I recently refinanced my house because I wanted to make certain that it would be paid for by retirement. I had an intense conversation with the Vice President of my company the other day about when he thought our owners might retire and consider selling the company. I had this conversation because I realized I was truly frightened that they might sell before I reached retirement. I’m scared to death because I can’t imagine losing my job or doing anything else for a living. My wife and I have been looking at making some investments in our home, but I find I’m paralyzed by how that might affect how much I can put in my 401K over the next 18 years.


     


    I just realized I’m 47, but I’m already living like I’m 65.


     


    So…it’s time to break out of this mind set. I still need to be financially responsible when it comes to the future, but I need to see a bigger world than the one that revolves around the size of my future social security check.


     


    I have a degree in music theory and composition and I’m even published. I used to write voraciously but I haven’t written anything in years. It’s time to sit back down at the piano. I’ve always dreamed about writing a book about what it was like to leave the ministry. It’s time to pull out the paper and pencil. If I want to take a great vacation with my wife, damn it, I should just do it.


     


    I make lots of jokes about getting older; ear hair, an expanding waist line, and having to set my newspaper across the room in order to be able to read it. But I’m only 47. I’m not old, I just need to stop thinking I am.


     



    EDIT: I may be 47, but I can still cut a rug with a cute redhead.


  • POLITICAL-SPEAK 101


     


    Yesterday, during a broadcast of the “700”Club, Evangelist/Politician Pat Robertson suggested that American agents should assassinate Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez. Robertson stated, “We have the ability to take him out, and I think the time has come that we exercise that ability.”


     


    If you’re anything like me, you greeted this statement with drop-jawed, dumbfounded, WTF, amazement.


     


    Let me begin by saying that Robertson has always reminded me of the quintessential “creepy uncle” that nobody in the family talks about. Every time I see him on TV doing his kindly grandfather routine, I think; “someone should go dig up his backyard to see if he has any bodies buried there.”


     


    Pat, who at one point was actually a presidential candidate, violated the first rule of “political-speak: you might think something, but that doesn’t mean you have to say it out-loud.


     


    This rule is applicable whether the politics in question are national politics, office politics, or even sexual politics. Allow me to provide a couple of examples:


     


    If someone in your office were to say to you, “do you think that Bob should be given responsibility for the big new account we just landed?”  You might think; “Bob is a slobbering, mouth-breathing, Neanderthal who can’t find his ass with both hands. I don’t think Bob has the I.Q. necessary to open an aspirin bottle, so hell no, I don’t think he should be given responsibility for our new account.”  It might not be politically prudent to say that out-loud, however, so instead, you might reply with; “I think that the specific demands created by this account don’t play directly into Bob’s unique strengths. Perhaps Bob would be more suited to undertaking some tasks in our mail-sorting division.”


     


    The rule applies to sexual politics as well.  If a woman says “will you respect me in the morning?” the man might be thinking; “respect you in the morning!?! I don’t respect you right now. In fact, I don’t even remember your name. And what I will or will not do in the morning is a moot point, because I don’t plan to be here. My motto is get off then get out.” but he would NEVER say that out-loud. (Disclaimer to female readers: the thought process related above has never run through my mind, I am simply reporting the crude, narcissistic behavior I have heard reported in other males.)


     


    Is Robertson really stupid enough to believe that making a comment like that on national television will have no political repercussions? We already appear to be a blood-thirsty nation to most of the remainder of the world. Pat is not helping our image.


     


    Don’t get me wrong, I’m a “first amendment” liberal all the way. If Pat wants to make asinine comments, I will certainly be the first to defend his right to do so. I just thank God that Pat is still his evangelist and not our President.

  • THE ROAD TO THE WHITE HOUSE


     


    I am honored by everyone’s support of my decision to run for president. I have already selected a running mate and my staff graphics designer has put together our official bumper sticker. T-shirts, coffee mugs, and souvenir key chains will be available soon.  If you’d like a cabinet position once I’m in office, please let me know.


     



     

  • I’M PLEASED TO ANNOUNCE…


     


    I’ve been watching with interest the manner in which the media has attempted to dig up any dirt possible on Cindy Sheenan, the mother of a soldier killed in Iraq. Cindy has has taken up vigil outside the President’s compound in Crawford, TX. in hopes of expressing her views on the war in person to President Bush. The media has been attempting to vilify Ms. Sheenan by linking her to various left-wing organizations. Any person who knowingly places themselves in the public eye these days has to face a level of scrutiny that is not unlike a colonoscopy. Political candidates are certainly the biggest targets. With literally hundreds of media outlets vying for some exclusive fact or tidbit, any candidate campaigning for virtually any public office can be certain that no closeted skeleton will go uncovered.


     


    It is with this fact firmly in mind that I wish to announce my candidacy for President in 2008. Knowing that virtually no rock will be left unturned as CNN, FOX, and Rush Limbaugh go looking for dirt on me; I have chosen to take the high road and simply list all of the sordid details of my past. I’m going to lay every one of my grievous sins on the altar of public debate so that I can rise above negative partisan politics and be ready to discuss real issues without a dark cloud of rumor and innuendo hanging over my candidacy. Let the confession begin…


     



    • Even though I denied it at the time, it was me who stole a kiss from Beth Kingsolver on the merry-go-round during recess in third grade. Just like Arnold Schwarzenegger, I regret this incident of sexual harassment, and proclaim that since that time I have truly changed.
    • It is also true that in eighth grade I punched Greg Jones in the nose after football practice for calling me a pussy because I threw up during two-a-days. I pledge to introduce legislation concerning calling people “pussies” and I plan to write an after school special about the trauma of being a Jr. High School wuss.
    • I wore a leisure suit to my Jr. Prom. I have no defense for this heinous act of bad taste.
    • Any story that is told by Becky Lynn Wilson about what happened after the Jr. Prom is an unsubstantiated lie.
    • I once snuck seven people into a drive in theater in the trunk of my 1967 Ford Ltd. I will be glad to make reparations to the theater owner if he is still alive.
    • The deduction I listed under “business expenses” on my 1994 tax return did include money I spent on three-day bender in Tijuana. I realize now that tequila is not, technically, business related.
    • I have never, knowingly, padded my expense reports to my current employer. However, Leprechauns have been known to sneak into my office late at night and submit erroneous paperwork to my corporate office.
    • I have no memory of any alleged incident involving three midgets and a sheep named Molly.

    There…now that I have exonerated myself in the court of public opinion, I’m sure my policies and platform will be the focus of examination during my campaign rather than rumors about my past and my personal character.


     


    I was actually thinking earlier that it might be refreshing if the public curbed it voracious appetite for character assassination and instead focused on actual issues, but then I realized…what fun would that be?


  • THE STRAIGHT AND NARROW


     


    The year was 1988. A long series of events had led me to a precipice in life; a veritable point of no return. I stood looking across an abyss so vast that I could hardly fathom attempting to cross it. But after much soul searching, wailing, and gnashing of teeth I did what many thought was impossible; I changed my political affiliation from Republican to Democrat.


     


    What’s the big deal you ask? The big deal is that at the time, I was still in the ministry. I was a Bible College and Seminary graduate and was a Music Minister in a Southern Baptist Church. Counting Democrats among Southern Baptists is like counting teeth in Arkansas; there are some, but they are few and far between.


     


    I didn’t make this decision public. I was attempting to stay safely hidden in the closet, but I told a close friend who told others and the word eventually got back to my pastor. In my case, my pastor was also my boss.


     


    I was called into his office and he made the following statement: “Mark, surely you must realize that it is completely impossible to be a Democrat and be a Christian.” Well, I certainly don’t believe that it is impossible to be a Democrat and be a Christian, but this statement does prove that it’s not impossible to be clinically brain dead and still pastor a church.


     


    Welcome, Mark, to the other side of intolerance. I was no longer on the straight and narrow, and boy did I hear about it.


     


    I think that what finally dawned on me seventeen years ago is that there is a difference between faith and religion. I still wanted to be a person of faith, but I no longer wanted to be religious. Faith embraces tolerance. Religion abhors it. Faith can acknowledge theological differences. Religion labels people as heretics and infidels. Faith embraces life, while throughout history; more people have been killed in the name of religion than for any other reason.


     


    Don’t misunderstand. I’m not saying that it is impossible to be a Republican and be a person of faith. If I believed that, I’d be an awful lot like a particular pastor I so fondly remember.


     


    I’ve been thinking about this today because I saw a bumper sticker earlier that read “I’m straight, but I’m not narrow.”  All I can say to that is; Amen.

  • HOW HOT IS IT?


     


    It’s been hot here in Oklahoma, the heartland of America (State motto: An Indian casino for every resident!). It’s been at or over the century mark every day for a month and last night we got our first rain in over three weeks. My wife and I have been passing our evenings by sitting on the front porch watching buzzards circle over dead livestock and counting the stage coaches as they go by loaded with people headed to California to make better lives for themselves. (Strangely, this all happens in black & white)


     


    Last weekend we were invited to two pool parties. We rubbed on the SPF 4000 sun screen and had a great time in the water.  Later, we stood on our back deck looking out over our dead lawn and almost simultaneously said, “We gotta get a pool.”


     


    Our next door neighbor has a very nice above ground pool which he has accented with a beautiful deck and attractive landscaping. We’re thinking “in-ground” because we aren’t just about keeping up with the Joneses; we are all about crushing them like the vermin they are.


     


    So…we’ve been researching pools. I had no friggin idea that there was so much to choose from. Concrete, Concrete with a vinyl liner, Steel with a vinyl liner, Gunite, Fiberglass; it’s completely mystifying.


     


    Later this afternoon we are going to go to two or three pool places here in Tulsa and chat with them. This means that I’m going to have deal with salesmen. I HATE salesmen. “Don’t you make your living in sales?” I hear you ask. Yes, so I know what kind of vile, lying filth they are.


     


    I’ve also done enough research now to know that this will plunge us into a level of debt that we will never escape from. We’ve been trying to justify the expenditure by talking about what great exercise we can get and how we will be able to endlessly entertain. We also talked about the fact, that at some point, when they actually exist; our grandchildren will be able to come and swim in it.  I did point out to my wife that the two pool parties we went too represent the only actual friends we have and they already have pools, and that our children both live over 10 hours away, but we haven’t let this dissuade us.


     


    At this point we are leaning toward fiberglass. From my research, it appears to be the least expensive in-ground possibility, and it appears to need the least amount of maintenance over the long haul. Since I’m incredibly lazy, that’s a big selling point for me.


     


    I’m going to hear all of the sales hype on different types later today, but that will all be bullshit, so I’d really like to hear from those of you who have pools. I’d like to know what kind you have, what you would recommend, and why I’m completely insane for even considering this.


     


    Your help would be most appreciated.

  • I NEED MY GERITOL


     


    I’ve been feeling a little over-committed the last few days and can see the signs of burn-out looming on the horizon. At work, I have seven projects installing in seven different cities (this month), and at church, I volunteered to be our interim music director and have taken over all the choirs and ensembles. I can’t remember the last time I spent an evening at home and I barely get to see my wife. I came in the other evening to an empty house. She rushed in a few minutes later with a flushed face and told me she had been outside chatting with the pool boy. We don’t have a pool, so I’m taking this as a bad sign.


     


    I can hear the gears spinning in all your heads right now. You’re thinking; “You think YOU’RE busy! I’m the CEO of a multi-national conglomerate, I prepare 200 meals a week for homeless people, I have 17 children still at home, I volunteer at the Veteran’s Hospital, and I spend three hours each day standing outside the United Nations building so I can boo John Bolton as he comes to work.”


     


    My advice to you is to forget the homeless people, but keep up the good work at the U.N.!


     


    Why do we do this to ourselves? Why has the average American become so obsessed with being busy? Why do we continue to cram more and more items into our itineraries until our PDA’s explode?


     


    I think there are several reasons:


     


    1. We never learned to say “NO” – As children, we were taught to say our names, to say mommy and daddy, and to use at least one of about a thousand incredibly silly names for various anatomical parts; but we were never taught to say no. In fact, saying no was terribly frowned upon. The inability to say no might be a good thing for someone in their terrible-two’s, but it’s a major inconvenience for those of us in our 40’s.


     


    2. We are afraid to be quiet. – I think that many of us are afraid that if we stop long enough and are simply quiet, we will be overrun by the voices in our heads. If the voices in your head are ones of introspection and self-evaluation, then perhaps you should listen. However, if the voice in your head is telling you that the alien master Zog from the planet Nebo wants you to cover your head in tin foil and purchase an automatic weapon, then please, please stay busy, and stay on your medication.



     


    3. We allow too much of our self-esteem to be determined by how much we accomplish – I’ll admit that I like being the “hero” who steps up to plate, puts on the yoke of responsibility, and totes the barge and lifts the bail of a job well done (how’s that for mixed metaphors!).  However, if all that responsibility just makes you a crabby bastard, then you really haven’t accomplished anything, have you?


     


    So…I’ve become determined to slow down, to learn to say no, to allow time for introspection, and to realize that I’m not a bad guy if I can’t take care of everything that everyone wants me to do. After all, even God rested on the seventh day.