I’m pretty deep into one of my whiny “what am I doing with my life” wallows right now. I usually get this way when I feel like I’m spinning my wheels…wasting my rapidly diminishing days away. I’m not a fun guy to be around when I’m like this. It’s probably good that I’m sitting alone in a hotel watching the cold wind blow snow around outside, otherwise I’d be bringing other people down with me, and who needs that kind of guilt?
Of course, some would say that it’s because I’m sitting in a lonely hotel room watching the cold wind blow snow around that I’m a bit depressed, and I appreciate their optimism. I just don’t agree with it. I’m used to sitting in hotel rooms alone. It’s kind of sad, but true. “Loner” is my middle name, so I really don’t think that’s the problem.
I think my problem is that I haven’t been writing. I did a lot of writing in 2009, and many of you humored me by reading and making the occasional comment. I felt productive, which is something I don’t often feel as an employee of the U.S. Government.
For the last couple of weeks, I’ve started and deleted several blog pieces, none of which got very far. Any ideas I had seemed cursed as “too bitter,” “too pointless” or “too bizarre.” (I know what you’re thinking…”how is that different from any other blog pieces you’ve written?”) Writing is a process. My process is highly flawed.
Most of my recent ideas have been about triggered by current events, usually something stupid a politician said or did. Those are always fun to write, but since my last post was about politics, I didn’t want to repeat myself. Although I care about such things, I wonder if you would even notice? Most of my ideas have been about triggered by current events, usually something stupid a politician said or did. Those are always fun to write, but since my last post was about politics, I didn’t want to repeat myself. Although I care about such things, I wonder if you would even notice?
I’ve been tempted to start a separate blog, one that is completely political and can be easily ignored by those who either don’t like politics or don’t agree with anything I have to say on the subject. I wouldn’t take it personally. I ignore people I don’t agree with, like Rush Limbaugh, Glenn Beck and that crazy, drunk homeless guy who sits on bench number four in Washington’s Dupont Circle. Writing a separate blog would be easier than having some poor, unsuspecting soul start to read one of my blog posts, expecting that it’s one of my whimsical walks down memory lane, or a description of my latest humiliation, and then learning, too late, that instead it dares to question the integrity of Sarah Palin, or argues the logic of not banning assault weapons.
The good thing (for me, at least), is that I can always find something to rant about in the political arena. It’s a rare week when someone in office doesn’t say or do something totally stupid which either ticks me off or makes me shake my head. Hypocrisy seems to be the one quality that most politicians have in common.
So…that is why I’ve decided to start another blog. I will not be linking it to Facebook Notes, so if you want to read it, you’ll have to sign up as a follower at the blog site. That way, I can write (which seems to keep me somewhat sane), and you can ignore (which might allow me to keep at least a few friends, as well as continued membership in both mine and my wife’s respective families).
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Politically Incorrect
Who would have thought just one year ago, as we watched the triumphant, history-making inauguration of Barack Obama that his dreams (and many of ours) of a re-energized, united and thoughtful nation would be mired in the same old political muck today that we have been for years? Who could have imagined that our economy would not have been transformed, and that all our soldiers would not be at home safe with their families? In our wildest dreams, could we have foreseen that the battle over Health Care Reform would linger long enough to likely be destroyed by a man who once posed naked in Cosmopolitan magazine? It truly boggles the mind.
The Democrats should buy a box of tissues and prepare for a disappointing year, as the election last night of Republican Scott Brown to the Massachusetts seat of Senator Edward Kennedy proves that the tide is turning away from the promises of “hope” and “change” and back toward the balance of “nothing will ever get done.” Barring a miracle, the mid-term elections in the fall will no doubt shatter the majority standing that the Dems have held and wasted for barely a year now. As usual, when we have the opportunity of a lifetime (and fail miserably), they have no one to blame but themselves.
Proof of how far off track they have gone since the sweeping wins of 2008 is evident in the victory of Mr. Brown in a state that has voted Democrat for decades. Although certainly qualified (with a 30 year tenure in the National Guard and several terms in the Mass. House of Representatives and Senate), Brown is the polar opposite of Kennedy in his agenda, meaning that the majority of voters don’t mind that many of Kennedy’s personal goals (like health care reform), will probably be defeated under Brown’s vote.
What does all this mean? Does it mean that the voters in Massachusetts don’t care about health care? I don’t think so. I think most American’s, even Republicans, care about health care (although the Republicans probably care more about keeping their guns, stopping abortions and preventing gay marriage. After those things, I’m pretty sure that “health care reform” is pretty high on the list). But truth be told, Americans want results. We’re a result oriented nation.
The Democrats made the same mistakes that the Republicans have made in the past, and both will surely make again in the future (sadly, politicians seem immune to the lessons of history). They fell victim to their own individual egos.
It does take a certain bit of arrogance to run for office in the first place. You have to be able to look in the mirror and see a person who not only believes in themselves, but also believes that masses of others should also believe in them. Once the results of that election prove that to be true, their arrogance is totally affirmed. By the time they actually take office, their actions and opinions are less about the people they are supposed to serve than their own self interests, self promotion and adherence to the narrow party line.
The thing that upsets most of us, at least those who don’t get so caught up in the political bravado of one side or the other being absolutely right, is that while all this posturing and finger pointing is going on, serious issues needed addressing:
Health Care Reform: Health care is a basic human right. I’m sorry, but if you can look at a sick child and say “sorry kid, your Daddy doesn’t have a good job with health care benefits, you’re gonna have to just suck it up,” then you’re lacking the one quality that is required to participate in this discussion, “humanity.”
I believe these are some Health Care issues that most people agree upon (regardless of party):
• Children and Seniors should have unlimited access to medical services and medicine, regardless of cost
• Medicare should be protected and senior coverage expanded with better drug affordability
• People should not lose their homes or go bankrupt trying to pay medical bills.
• “Pre-existing condition” rules should be outlawed.
• There should be a reasonable, low-cost insurance option for all Americans (but this does not mean it should be illegal not to have it).
That’s five things that would make a big difference in our current heath care environment. I’d have been happy if two of those things had been implemented this year (heck, I would have been pleasantly surprised with one). These could have been done incrementally. I have no problem with “baby steps.” That’s how I learned to walk, and it’s worked for me for a long, long time. I didn’t need them to torch everything all at once and start from scratch. I’d have been happy with progress…any kind of progress.
But the arrogance of our elected officials would not let that happen. On the contrary, they had a “mandate” from the American people! Nothing short of a complete and total overhaul would suffice. Even if that were possible, it would take much smarter folks than those who just don’t get that the words “universal health care” are about as friendly to the ears of the average American as the phrase “you have rectal warts.”
“All or nothing,” was apparently the mantra of some congressional democrats, and “nothing” just might be the final outcome. A year of time wasted and the hopes of possible change cast aside in the shadow of hubris.
But that's just one issue that is still spinning around unresolved and presumably going nowhere. Congress didn't have substantial time to waste on serious disagreements over the environment, education and the stabilization of our economy.
For those who are laughing at this and saying, “I told you so,” I wouldn’t be so quick to brag. Republicans lost miserably in the last election for the same kind of political posturing and failure of service, so why should you expect anything different from this batch of eggs born from the same disease riddled hen?
We’re in big trouble folks. America’s wheels are spinning on slippery ice, and no one is making an attempt to find traction. Until we kind find some common ground and put aside all the posturing and differences, it doesn’t matter how many back and forth elections we have, we’re not going anywhere.
The Democrats should buy a box of tissues and prepare for a disappointing year, as the election last night of Republican Scott Brown to the Massachusetts seat of Senator Edward Kennedy proves that the tide is turning away from the promises of “hope” and “change” and back toward the balance of “nothing will ever get done.” Barring a miracle, the mid-term elections in the fall will no doubt shatter the majority standing that the Dems have held and wasted for barely a year now. As usual, when we have the opportunity of a lifetime (and fail miserably), they have no one to blame but themselves.
Proof of how far off track they have gone since the sweeping wins of 2008 is evident in the victory of Mr. Brown in a state that has voted Democrat for decades. Although certainly qualified (with a 30 year tenure in the National Guard and several terms in the Mass. House of Representatives and Senate), Brown is the polar opposite of Kennedy in his agenda, meaning that the majority of voters don’t mind that many of Kennedy’s personal goals (like health care reform), will probably be defeated under Brown’s vote.
What does all this mean? Does it mean that the voters in Massachusetts don’t care about health care? I don’t think so. I think most American’s, even Republicans, care about health care (although the Republicans probably care more about keeping their guns, stopping abortions and preventing gay marriage. After those things, I’m pretty sure that “health care reform” is pretty high on the list). But truth be told, Americans want results. We’re a result oriented nation.
The Democrats made the same mistakes that the Republicans have made in the past, and both will surely make again in the future (sadly, politicians seem immune to the lessons of history). They fell victim to their own individual egos.
It does take a certain bit of arrogance to run for office in the first place. You have to be able to look in the mirror and see a person who not only believes in themselves, but also believes that masses of others should also believe in them. Once the results of that election prove that to be true, their arrogance is totally affirmed. By the time they actually take office, their actions and opinions are less about the people they are supposed to serve than their own self interests, self promotion and adherence to the narrow party line.
The thing that upsets most of us, at least those who don’t get so caught up in the political bravado of one side or the other being absolutely right, is that while all this posturing and finger pointing is going on, serious issues needed addressing:
Health Care Reform: Health care is a basic human right. I’m sorry, but if you can look at a sick child and say “sorry kid, your Daddy doesn’t have a good job with health care benefits, you’re gonna have to just suck it up,” then you’re lacking the one quality that is required to participate in this discussion, “humanity.”
I believe these are some Health Care issues that most people agree upon (regardless of party):
• Children and Seniors should have unlimited access to medical services and medicine, regardless of cost
• Medicare should be protected and senior coverage expanded with better drug affordability
• People should not lose their homes or go bankrupt trying to pay medical bills.
• “Pre-existing condition” rules should be outlawed.
• There should be a reasonable, low-cost insurance option for all Americans (but this does not mean it should be illegal not to have it).
That’s five things that would make a big difference in our current heath care environment. I’d have been happy if two of those things had been implemented this year (heck, I would have been pleasantly surprised with one). These could have been done incrementally. I have no problem with “baby steps.” That’s how I learned to walk, and it’s worked for me for a long, long time. I didn’t need them to torch everything all at once and start from scratch. I’d have been happy with progress…any kind of progress.
But the arrogance of our elected officials would not let that happen. On the contrary, they had a “mandate” from the American people! Nothing short of a complete and total overhaul would suffice. Even if that were possible, it would take much smarter folks than those who just don’t get that the words “universal health care” are about as friendly to the ears of the average American as the phrase “you have rectal warts.”
“All or nothing,” was apparently the mantra of some congressional democrats, and “nothing” just might be the final outcome. A year of time wasted and the hopes of possible change cast aside in the shadow of hubris.
But that's just one issue that is still spinning around unresolved and presumably going nowhere. Congress didn't have substantial time to waste on serious disagreements over the environment, education and the stabilization of our economy.
For those who are laughing at this and saying, “I told you so,” I wouldn’t be so quick to brag. Republicans lost miserably in the last election for the same kind of political posturing and failure of service, so why should you expect anything different from this batch of eggs born from the same disease riddled hen?
We’re in big trouble folks. America’s wheels are spinning on slippery ice, and no one is making an attempt to find traction. Until we kind find some common ground and put aside all the posturing and differences, it doesn’t matter how many back and forth elections we have, we’re not going anywhere.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Good Sports
I started writing a blog entry a few days ago about college athletes and the scholarships they receive. I didn’t get very far. A few paragraphs in and I hit a mental block. (I know what you are thinking, “But Bruce, you don’t know anything about college sports or college athletes, and probably even less about college athletic scholarships!” That is pretty much true, but that’s the great thing about my blog, I don’t have to know what I’m talking about, I just have to pretend to know what I’m talking about. Sorry to burst your bubble).
Like a lot of my blog ideas I started with the greatest of intentions and a focused idea, only to find myself wandering off on a strange tangent. A few paragraphs of inspiration and frenzied typing followed by a lot of blank staring. Those “lost” blogs end up sitting unfinished in a folder on my computer I call “brain-dead.” Unlike many of those incomplete documents, I’ll probably return to my scholarship blog at some point because I didn’t necessarily lose my inspiration for the idea, but instead got sidetracked by a shocking turn of events this week in Tennessee sports.
Now, those of you who know me (or at least think you know me) are laughing right now at the thought that I could possibly get worked up over even one sports story, let alone two. I am not a rabid fan who has plastered my car with blue, red or orange bumper stickers. I don’t paint my face and attend games, screaming until my voice is gone, and if I watch Sports Center twice a year, it’s a miracle.
My interest in sports is more in the area of communal pride. When I was growing up in Kentucky, it was all about basketball. Living halfway between the University of Louisville and the University of Kentucky, I was surrounded by sports fans that were obsessive in their undying love for their chosen team. Most in my town were adamant UK fans. They had the hats, the shirts, the jackets, the bumper stickers, the flags that hung outside their homes, and most importantly, the attitude. The mantra was, “I am for U of K and whoever is playing against U of L!”
I never particularly understood that way of thinking. My feeling was and still is that we had two great ball teams in Kentucky, and if either did well, it made us all look good. I’ve tried to explain that idea to rabid fans and I just get blank stares, but that’s okay. I appreciate the loyalty they have to their chosen team, and as long as the rivalry doesn’t get too ugly or personal, I figure it’s not that big a deal.
Many of these UK fans were family members, so when I chose to attend the University of Louisville based on my personal educational needs and not basketball…I was a bit of an outcast. I still remember the awkward silences and cold stares I received at get-togethers. Blue blood runs deep. They took the game and their team much more seriously than I did.
After marrying Connie and moving to Tennessee, I was introduced to a new sports culture. Basketball was an afterthought. Football was the game, and EVERYONE is a UT fan.
With no choice but to either join in or be a social pariah, I started watching the games and learning a bit about college football. Since there are far fewer college football games than there are basketball games, those ten or eleven Saturdays in the fall became events. Plans were made amongst family and friends to gather at whomever’s house had the biggest television. The chosen menu was chili, and I learned that Tennessee chili did not have spaghetti noodles in it like Kentucky chili, but instead required Frito’s, shredded cheddar cheese and sour cream. I realized that I had a lot to learn about Tennessee and their game of football.
My Cardinal red blood began to take on a blazing tinge of orange and I watched the Tennessee Volunteers through the end of the Johnny Majors coaching era and throughout the Phil Fulmer reign. I rooted for Quarterback Peyton Manning and cheered his replacement Tee Martin and the 1998 team as they won the National Championship. By 2008 I was invested enough to agree that after 16 seasons at UT, Fulmer needed to step aside and let someone else lead. It was time.
Lane Kiffin was announced as the new head coach of the University of Tennessee Volunteers on December 1, 2008. Young and enthusiastic, he seemed like the perfect person to jumpstart the stalling team. In interviews he was brash, cocky and seemingly excited to be here. He brought with him an experienced group of coaches, including his NFL defensive legend father, Monte.
Despite a tough start to the 2009 season and a painful loss in the Chick-Fil-A Bowl game on New Year’s Eve, the team played well overall and he somehow performed a miracle and turned our quarterback Jonathan Crompton from a hit and (primarily) miss wannabe into a real offensive threat. It was an exciting, although sometimes frustrating, season to watch, but one that gave us great promise for the future.
Then…Lane Kiffin abandoned us.
Tuesday night, January 12, 2010 at approximately 8:40pm, as we are innocently sitting in our homes watching television, local channels cut into their regularly scheduled programming with the breaking news that Kiffin was apparently taking an offer to be head coach at the University of Southern California. First reactions seemed to be, “this has to be a mistake.” Then, as it became more obvious that it was not a mistake, shock, dismay and anger set in.
Some folks over-reacted. Many students on campus that night for the start of the spring semester the next day took to the streets and surrounded the athletic building where the announcement was being made. A mattress was burned and a big rock was spray painted with a multitude of profane threats toward Kiffin. Overall, the behavior was an embarrassment to the community, but not all that different than the reaction would have been at any other good sized college town. No arrests were made, no major property damaged (“no animals were harmed in the making of this protest”). College students don’t need much of an excuse to act crazy.
Kiffin’s justification for leaving was simple. Being head coach at USC was his dream job. He had been an assistant coach there for six years and this was the opportunity to go back and be the big man on campus. He explained that the Los Angeles area was home to him and his family. His children were born there. It was the only job that would make him leave Tennessee.
Pardon me while I wipe away a few tears. I love a happy ending.
So, those are the facts, give or take a few details. Kiffin came to Knoxville, signed a contract for multiple years for a TON of money (reported as two million annually, plus bonuses), assured the fans that this was the place he wanted to be and was appreciative of the opportunity. (Oh, did I forget to mention that just two months before he was hired at UT he had been fired as head coach of the NFL’s Oakland Raiders after a disastrously short run of only 5 wins and 15 losses? He was not the “Belle of the Ball” in any sense of the word. He was lucky to get the offer at the University of Tennessee, which he has since said is one of the top ten college football programs in the nation).
Now, I’ll be honest, after having some time to think about it, I can understand his decision. It was his dream job. We all have a dream job. (In my case it would be “not to have to work anymore and have plenty of money”). I’m sure that when he took the head coaching job at University of Tennessee he did not know that this new job would be coming available. Dreams are like that. We dream about them, but we don’t really expect them to come true.
Most of the frustration seems to be with the timing of his decision. One year is very short period in college football. It seemed like he had barely started. The image of his intoductory press conference was still fresh in our minds. I doubt that all the boxes moved into his new West Knox mansion had even been unpacked.
Worse than that, the stars aligned for him at an inopportune period for the Tennessee football program. New recruits were expected to start school the next day, and even more potential recruits are scheduled to visit UT over the next week or two. As news spread about the departure of Kiffin and the other coaches who will go to USC with him, many talented and sought after players are quickly reconsidering their decision to be a Volunteer. Fans who dreamed of a new start are now afraid that our team has been severely damaged.
In the big scheme of things, I don’t want to imply that this is a vitally important issue, particularly since on the same day Kiffin resigned from his little head coach job at UT the tragic earthquake in Haiti killed thousands and has left many thousands more injured and homeless. It’s just football, after all. It’s a game. Like almost everything else we usually worry about, it pales in comparison to the serious problems many people deal with day after day.
Still, I can’t shake the notion that there’s a bigger ethical dilemma lingering in this situation. How much do we owe to those to whom we’ve made a commitment? Can we simply walk away for our own selfish reasons? It’s a question that has plagued mankind throughout history: “How can I look out for Number One without causing a world of Number Two for others?”
Kiffin is not the first and certainly won’t be the last person to drop out of a commitment for personal reasons. It happens daily in marriages, jobs, and friendships; always with a “good reason” and usually followed by a half-hearted apology. It doesn’t take much for us to believe it will all work out for everyone as long as it appears to be working out for ourselves.
In an odd convergence on this theme, this week seems full of stories of commitment and honor (or lack of those things). NBC, Jay Leno and Conan O’Brien are battling over contracts and what was implied or promised (I’m team Conan, by the way). Sarah Palin began her tenure at Fox News after quitting her elected position as Governor of Alaska last July (a move that upset many Alaskans, especially those who supported her). I guess when she said "I love my job, and I love Alaska. It hurts to make this choice, but I am doing what's best for Alaska," she meant that by earning millions on a book deal and countless more being on television, it would somehow help the working class of her state. It will be interesting to see how that works out.
At some point we are all faced with decisions that put our own self interests in conflict with others feelings or needs. How we deal with those decisions say a lot about our character.
As for Lane Kiffin, he’s made his bed and he’s gotta lie in it. He may have forgotten, as most of us do when we don’t consider the impact of our decisions on others, that in order to live the dream, we have to be able to sleep at night.
Like a lot of my blog ideas I started with the greatest of intentions and a focused idea, only to find myself wandering off on a strange tangent. A few paragraphs of inspiration and frenzied typing followed by a lot of blank staring. Those “lost” blogs end up sitting unfinished in a folder on my computer I call “brain-dead.” Unlike many of those incomplete documents, I’ll probably return to my scholarship blog at some point because I didn’t necessarily lose my inspiration for the idea, but instead got sidetracked by a shocking turn of events this week in Tennessee sports.
Now, those of you who know me (or at least think you know me) are laughing right now at the thought that I could possibly get worked up over even one sports story, let alone two. I am not a rabid fan who has plastered my car with blue, red or orange bumper stickers. I don’t paint my face and attend games, screaming until my voice is gone, and if I watch Sports Center twice a year, it’s a miracle.
My interest in sports is more in the area of communal pride. When I was growing up in Kentucky, it was all about basketball. Living halfway between the University of Louisville and the University of Kentucky, I was surrounded by sports fans that were obsessive in their undying love for their chosen team. Most in my town were adamant UK fans. They had the hats, the shirts, the jackets, the bumper stickers, the flags that hung outside their homes, and most importantly, the attitude. The mantra was, “I am for U of K and whoever is playing against U of L!”
I never particularly understood that way of thinking. My feeling was and still is that we had two great ball teams in Kentucky, and if either did well, it made us all look good. I’ve tried to explain that idea to rabid fans and I just get blank stares, but that’s okay. I appreciate the loyalty they have to their chosen team, and as long as the rivalry doesn’t get too ugly or personal, I figure it’s not that big a deal.
Many of these UK fans were family members, so when I chose to attend the University of Louisville based on my personal educational needs and not basketball…I was a bit of an outcast. I still remember the awkward silences and cold stares I received at get-togethers. Blue blood runs deep. They took the game and their team much more seriously than I did.
After marrying Connie and moving to Tennessee, I was introduced to a new sports culture. Basketball was an afterthought. Football was the game, and EVERYONE is a UT fan.
With no choice but to either join in or be a social pariah, I started watching the games and learning a bit about college football. Since there are far fewer college football games than there are basketball games, those ten or eleven Saturdays in the fall became events. Plans were made amongst family and friends to gather at whomever’s house had the biggest television. The chosen menu was chili, and I learned that Tennessee chili did not have spaghetti noodles in it like Kentucky chili, but instead required Frito’s, shredded cheddar cheese and sour cream. I realized that I had a lot to learn about Tennessee and their game of football.
My Cardinal red blood began to take on a blazing tinge of orange and I watched the Tennessee Volunteers through the end of the Johnny Majors coaching era and throughout the Phil Fulmer reign. I rooted for Quarterback Peyton Manning and cheered his replacement Tee Martin and the 1998 team as they won the National Championship. By 2008 I was invested enough to agree that after 16 seasons at UT, Fulmer needed to step aside and let someone else lead. It was time.
Lane Kiffin was announced as the new head coach of the University of Tennessee Volunteers on December 1, 2008. Young and enthusiastic, he seemed like the perfect person to jumpstart the stalling team. In interviews he was brash, cocky and seemingly excited to be here. He brought with him an experienced group of coaches, including his NFL defensive legend father, Monte.
Despite a tough start to the 2009 season and a painful loss in the Chick-Fil-A Bowl game on New Year’s Eve, the team played well overall and he somehow performed a miracle and turned our quarterback Jonathan Crompton from a hit and (primarily) miss wannabe into a real offensive threat. It was an exciting, although sometimes frustrating, season to watch, but one that gave us great promise for the future.
Then…Lane Kiffin abandoned us.
Tuesday night, January 12, 2010 at approximately 8:40pm, as we are innocently sitting in our homes watching television, local channels cut into their regularly scheduled programming with the breaking news that Kiffin was apparently taking an offer to be head coach at the University of Southern California. First reactions seemed to be, “this has to be a mistake.” Then, as it became more obvious that it was not a mistake, shock, dismay and anger set in.
Some folks over-reacted. Many students on campus that night for the start of the spring semester the next day took to the streets and surrounded the athletic building where the announcement was being made. A mattress was burned and a big rock was spray painted with a multitude of profane threats toward Kiffin. Overall, the behavior was an embarrassment to the community, but not all that different than the reaction would have been at any other good sized college town. No arrests were made, no major property damaged (“no animals were harmed in the making of this protest”). College students don’t need much of an excuse to act crazy.
Kiffin’s justification for leaving was simple. Being head coach at USC was his dream job. He had been an assistant coach there for six years and this was the opportunity to go back and be the big man on campus. He explained that the Los Angeles area was home to him and his family. His children were born there. It was the only job that would make him leave Tennessee.
Pardon me while I wipe away a few tears. I love a happy ending.
So, those are the facts, give or take a few details. Kiffin came to Knoxville, signed a contract for multiple years for a TON of money (reported as two million annually, plus bonuses), assured the fans that this was the place he wanted to be and was appreciative of the opportunity. (Oh, did I forget to mention that just two months before he was hired at UT he had been fired as head coach of the NFL’s Oakland Raiders after a disastrously short run of only 5 wins and 15 losses? He was not the “Belle of the Ball” in any sense of the word. He was lucky to get the offer at the University of Tennessee, which he has since said is one of the top ten college football programs in the nation).
Now, I’ll be honest, after having some time to think about it, I can understand his decision. It was his dream job. We all have a dream job. (In my case it would be “not to have to work anymore and have plenty of money”). I’m sure that when he took the head coaching job at University of Tennessee he did not know that this new job would be coming available. Dreams are like that. We dream about them, but we don’t really expect them to come true.
Most of the frustration seems to be with the timing of his decision. One year is very short period in college football. It seemed like he had barely started. The image of his intoductory press conference was still fresh in our minds. I doubt that all the boxes moved into his new West Knox mansion had even been unpacked.
Worse than that, the stars aligned for him at an inopportune period for the Tennessee football program. New recruits were expected to start school the next day, and even more potential recruits are scheduled to visit UT over the next week or two. As news spread about the departure of Kiffin and the other coaches who will go to USC with him, many talented and sought after players are quickly reconsidering their decision to be a Volunteer. Fans who dreamed of a new start are now afraid that our team has been severely damaged.
In the big scheme of things, I don’t want to imply that this is a vitally important issue, particularly since on the same day Kiffin resigned from his little head coach job at UT the tragic earthquake in Haiti killed thousands and has left many thousands more injured and homeless. It’s just football, after all. It’s a game. Like almost everything else we usually worry about, it pales in comparison to the serious problems many people deal with day after day.
Still, I can’t shake the notion that there’s a bigger ethical dilemma lingering in this situation. How much do we owe to those to whom we’ve made a commitment? Can we simply walk away for our own selfish reasons? It’s a question that has plagued mankind throughout history: “How can I look out for Number One without causing a world of Number Two for others?”
Kiffin is not the first and certainly won’t be the last person to drop out of a commitment for personal reasons. It happens daily in marriages, jobs, and friendships; always with a “good reason” and usually followed by a half-hearted apology. It doesn’t take much for us to believe it will all work out for everyone as long as it appears to be working out for ourselves.
In an odd convergence on this theme, this week seems full of stories of commitment and honor (or lack of those things). NBC, Jay Leno and Conan O’Brien are battling over contracts and what was implied or promised (I’m team Conan, by the way). Sarah Palin began her tenure at Fox News after quitting her elected position as Governor of Alaska last July (a move that upset many Alaskans, especially those who supported her). I guess when she said "I love my job, and I love Alaska. It hurts to make this choice, but I am doing what's best for Alaska," she meant that by earning millions on a book deal and countless more being on television, it would somehow help the working class of her state. It will be interesting to see how that works out.
At some point we are all faced with decisions that put our own self interests in conflict with others feelings or needs. How we deal with those decisions say a lot about our character.
As for Lane Kiffin, he’s made his bed and he’s gotta lie in it. He may have forgotten, as most of us do when we don’t consider the impact of our decisions on others, that in order to live the dream, we have to be able to sleep at night.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
The Obligatory New Years "Self-improvement" Blog
The New Year always brings the promise of new beginnings and the hope of discarding bad habits. For most of us that wave of optimism lasts until about January 10 (maybe the 15th if we’re really dedicated…or the 4th if we have to start back to work too soon after the holidays).
I did not make a list of resolutions this year. It’s far too depressing to start the year off with failure. Instead, I have chosen to relax and try to simply enjoy the year and the life I have been blessed with. That’s an entirely new concept for me.
I’m a world class worrier. I get that from my Mom, who worries about people she’s never met. Her current worry obsession is for that little kid in the bank commercial who doesn’t get a real pony. She’s sure that the child will be scarred for life. I’m not that bad, but I’m close.
I can’t recall the last time that I stopped to smell the roses. If it had even crossed my mind to do it, I’m sure I would have talked myself out of it for fear of getting stung by a bee.
Too often, I've let life grab me by the collar and drag me past the spectacular creations that surround us. Who knows how many rainbows I've missed? Or how many dew covered spider webs I've walked by without noticing? How many times have I looked through one of daughters beautiful smiles or tuned out the glorious melody of their laughter? All of these things, and more, are gifts. To ignore them is a crime against myself.
I need to learn to say "no" to the things that don't really matter, and "yes" to the questions that never get asked. I need to take a nap when I have the opportunity so that I can be refreshed and awake when those wonderful surprises of life fall into my lap.
It’s not going to be easy. I’m barely half way through the first week and I’ve already had some work stress and a restless, sleep deprived night…but that’s okay. Change isn’t easy and it is almost never quick.
I need to be more like the tortoise; patient and wise. I’ve already got the round shape, and I’m prone to retreat into my shell, so now I just need to get my short legs moving and stay steady on course.
I did not make a list of resolutions this year. It’s far too depressing to start the year off with failure. Instead, I have chosen to relax and try to simply enjoy the year and the life I have been blessed with. That’s an entirely new concept for me.
I’m a world class worrier. I get that from my Mom, who worries about people she’s never met. Her current worry obsession is for that little kid in the bank commercial who doesn’t get a real pony. She’s sure that the child will be scarred for life. I’m not that bad, but I’m close.
I can’t recall the last time that I stopped to smell the roses. If it had even crossed my mind to do it, I’m sure I would have talked myself out of it for fear of getting stung by a bee.
Too often, I've let life grab me by the collar and drag me past the spectacular creations that surround us. Who knows how many rainbows I've missed? Or how many dew covered spider webs I've walked by without noticing? How many times have I looked through one of daughters beautiful smiles or tuned out the glorious melody of their laughter? All of these things, and more, are gifts. To ignore them is a crime against myself.
I need to learn to say "no" to the things that don't really matter, and "yes" to the questions that never get asked. I need to take a nap when I have the opportunity so that I can be refreshed and awake when those wonderful surprises of life fall into my lap.
It’s not going to be easy. I’m barely half way through the first week and I’ve already had some work stress and a restless, sleep deprived night…but that’s okay. Change isn’t easy and it is almost never quick.
I need to be more like the tortoise; patient and wise. I’ve already got the round shape, and I’m prone to retreat into my shell, so now I just need to get my short legs moving and stay steady on course.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Christmas Memories (part two)
An added benefit of the Christmas season was the fact that we got out of school for two weeks. This was such a momentous occasion that the school threw a party to celebrate. For the days leading up the party, even the teachers were excited. I didn’t realize it then, but I’m pretty sure the prospect of not seeing their classroom full of snotty, sneezing, smelly kids for two solid weeks was the best gift they could imagine.
Those were the days when it was still called a “Christmas party,” and we were able to sing songs about the Nativity in school without fear of offending anyone. Sure, we might sometimes say “Happy Holidays,” but it wasn’t because we were trying to avoid the word “Christmas.” We knew what it was all about, and we weren’t ashamed of it.
For some reason, the teachers thought it was a good idea to draw names in class and exchange gifts. In a perfect world, this might be a joyous sharing of absolutely equitable Christmas treasures. Unfortunately, there was always at least one kid who got burned during gift exchange, and it was usually me.
While other kids got Yo-Yo’s or Slinky’s, I got the incredibly exciting “book of Lifesavers.” By the time the school day was over, most of the good lifesavers were gone, shared with friends who didn’t get enough chocolate, cupcakes and corn chips at the party. I went home with a partial box of butterscotch, some of which I was pretty sure had been tried and rejected back into the package.
Fortunately, I had other things to think about. Each December my little church presented an epic production of the nativity story, and as one of the young Shepherds, my dramatic responsibility weighed heavily upon me. Despite the fact that my wardrobe consisted of a flannel robe and a towel on my head, I took our play seriously. Not only did I have to convey the sense of duty required to watch over my flock of sheep by night, I also had to express the awe of suddenly seeing an angel (which was usually my cousin wearing a white sheet and homemade wire halo).
We did basically the same play every year, and I appreciate that now. I never got tired of the story. I never got bored. Even at a young age, I learned and understood what the true meaning of Christmas was all about. It was a wonderful gift.
I recall the excitement of practicing and then watching my Dad and other men of the church building the sets and running the wire for curtains. Like the angel costumes, the curtains were also white sheets, hung by safety pins, which made a metallic whirring noise as they opened and closed across the stage. I can remember that sound as clearly today as it made back then.
Instead of theatrical lights, we had a round, plastic wheel of colors which rotated over a single 75 watt light bulb, bathing the stage in an alternating blue, red and yellow glow. It may have been low tech, but the effect was dramatic. If that’s hard for you to imagine, you’ll just have to take my word for it.
I’m not exactly sure how our tiny church was able to present the play each year. By the time we cast Mary, Joseph, Elizabeth, the Angels, the shepherds, the wise men and the Inn-keeper, I don’t really know who was left to watch the play except my mother (who was not the theatrical type). Word must have gotten out about our thespian skills however, because when the lights went down on those cold Sunday nights in December, we always had pretty decent crowd.
Today we get a bit fancy in our Christmas productions. We have to put a modern spin on it, as if the old story isn’t good enough. Even in church, it’s rare to hear an old fashioned Christmas Carol anymore. Like all things these days, we’re sure we can do it better, even telling a story that needs no editing, revision or sequel.
Those were the days when it was still called a “Christmas party,” and we were able to sing songs about the Nativity in school without fear of offending anyone. Sure, we might sometimes say “Happy Holidays,” but it wasn’t because we were trying to avoid the word “Christmas.” We knew what it was all about, and we weren’t ashamed of it.
For some reason, the teachers thought it was a good idea to draw names in class and exchange gifts. In a perfect world, this might be a joyous sharing of absolutely equitable Christmas treasures. Unfortunately, there was always at least one kid who got burned during gift exchange, and it was usually me.
While other kids got Yo-Yo’s or Slinky’s, I got the incredibly exciting “book of Lifesavers.” By the time the school day was over, most of the good lifesavers were gone, shared with friends who didn’t get enough chocolate, cupcakes and corn chips at the party. I went home with a partial box of butterscotch, some of which I was pretty sure had been tried and rejected back into the package.
Fortunately, I had other things to think about. Each December my little church presented an epic production of the nativity story, and as one of the young Shepherds, my dramatic responsibility weighed heavily upon me. Despite the fact that my wardrobe consisted of a flannel robe and a towel on my head, I took our play seriously. Not only did I have to convey the sense of duty required to watch over my flock of sheep by night, I also had to express the awe of suddenly seeing an angel (which was usually my cousin wearing a white sheet and homemade wire halo).
We did basically the same play every year, and I appreciate that now. I never got tired of the story. I never got bored. Even at a young age, I learned and understood what the true meaning of Christmas was all about. It was a wonderful gift.
I recall the excitement of practicing and then watching my Dad and other men of the church building the sets and running the wire for curtains. Like the angel costumes, the curtains were also white sheets, hung by safety pins, which made a metallic whirring noise as they opened and closed across the stage. I can remember that sound as clearly today as it made back then.
Instead of theatrical lights, we had a round, plastic wheel of colors which rotated over a single 75 watt light bulb, bathing the stage in an alternating blue, red and yellow glow. It may have been low tech, but the effect was dramatic. If that’s hard for you to imagine, you’ll just have to take my word for it.
I’m not exactly sure how our tiny church was able to present the play each year. By the time we cast Mary, Joseph, Elizabeth, the Angels, the shepherds, the wise men and the Inn-keeper, I don’t really know who was left to watch the play except my mother (who was not the theatrical type). Word must have gotten out about our thespian skills however, because when the lights went down on those cold Sunday nights in December, we always had pretty decent crowd.
Today we get a bit fancy in our Christmas productions. We have to put a modern spin on it, as if the old story isn’t good enough. Even in church, it’s rare to hear an old fashioned Christmas Carol anymore. Like all things these days, we’re sure we can do it better, even telling a story that needs no editing, revision or sequel.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Christmas Memories (part one)
We didn’t have a lot of fancy material possessions when I was a kid, and I think that was a wonderful thing. We didn’t get allowances every week or money just because we asked for it. I can only imagine the look on my parents faces if I had made plans to go hang out with my friends and then said, casually, as I walked out the door, “Oh, I need twenty dollars…for food and stuff.” Instead of cash, Mom would have probably packed me a sandwich. Dad would have ignored me entirely.
That was the way it was, and I am much better for it.
We had what we needed; food, clothes and a warm and loving home. We shared our toys and we took care of them. If our bicycle broke, we repaired it. We didn’t demand another. We learned to tape and solder, so that when the little wires running to the battery on our transistor radio twisted and broke (which they always did), we could fix it ourselves. We knew that we would not be getting another radio any time soon.
Christmas was special though, because we could make a list and get things we never would have requested throughout the year. Mom would get the JCPenney and Sears Christmas catalogs in the mail in early November, and I can remember spending hours looking through the expansive toy section, which was like a magical view into Santa’s Workshop.
We had to choose carefully, however. With four kids, budgets were still limited. We could not ask for anything too expensive, and we understood that. It didn’t really matter though, because when you don’t have a lot, you appreciate anything you get so much more. Besides, there was lot more to Christmas than the presents.
Before we bought our fake scotch pine, the men of the family used to go to my Uncle Jack and Aunt Christine’s farm to cut a live tree. It wasn’t a Christmas tree farm, like I’ve taken my kids to. It was just a farm that had some trees here and there amongst the acreage.
I don’t remember much about the trees, but I remember the excitement of the hunt. We’d trudge through the fields and up and down steep hills, hop over streams and climb over rocks, determined to find that perfect evergreen; not too tall…not too skinny. Standing there with Dad and my brothers in the cold, early December wind, we’d look at each candidate and imagine it strung with lights, ornaments and tinsel.
Once found, Dad would chop it down with the ax he was carrying and we would drag it out, probably losing half the branches and needles on one side as we journeyed back to the truck. That didn’t matter much to us though, because we knew that we only needed one good side to any Christmas tree. The bad side went toward the wall.
Once it was in its stand and perched in the corner of our living room, we’d put on the lights. It was very different than today. This year I put around two hundred and eighteen strands of lights on our tree at home, or so it seemed. Every time I’d think I was done, Connie would pull out another set and say, “it needs more on that side.” In our Christmas pictures, you will notice that I’m wearing sunglasses.
My childhood tree had one, maybe two strands of lights, but they used bulbs the size of my fist, not the tiny bulbs we use today. After the lights were draped around the tree, we’d hang the fragile, shiny glass ornaments. These always made me nervous. The limbs of the tree never seemed sturdy enough to hold them, and I imagined them all dropping to our hardwood floor at once, shattering in a million pieces. I let the others hang those.
Next came the tinsel, distributed carefully from top to bottom, and not too close to the melting heat of the colored bulbs. Again, I was cautious, as each bump against the limbs seemed possible to dislodge an ornament and send it crashing. When, at last, the star was placed on the top (usually with some difficulty), we’d stand back and look at our delicate, beautiful tree. In my mind, it was always a masterpiece.
After the tree went up in early December, presents would mysteriously begin appearing while we were at school or asleep. Each day, I would do a quick count; both the total number of gifts and those which were specifically for me. Those with my name always received a gentle shake, with my ear close to the package for tell-tale signs of its contents. Anything that rattled was a good thing. Clothes did not rattle.
Back then we didn’t compare numbers or box size with our siblings. I don’t think it ever crossed my mind to wonder if David or Wayne or Tracy got bigger, better or more than me. That doesn’t mean I was or am a spectacularly generous and all around wonderful person. It was just the way things were back then.
Many nights I would slip into the living room and turn off all the lights except for those on the tree, then lie on the floor and get lost in the bright colors. My mind would be full of thoughts and wide awake in ways that my tired, adult mind can’t even comprehend anymore. It wasn’t just the dreams of gifts and what might await me on Christmas morning, although that was certainly a part of it, it was the sweet promise of all things Christmas. It was always the best time of year.
That was the way it was, and I am much better for it.
We had what we needed; food, clothes and a warm and loving home. We shared our toys and we took care of them. If our bicycle broke, we repaired it. We didn’t demand another. We learned to tape and solder, so that when the little wires running to the battery on our transistor radio twisted and broke (which they always did), we could fix it ourselves. We knew that we would not be getting another radio any time soon.
Christmas was special though, because we could make a list and get things we never would have requested throughout the year. Mom would get the JCPenney and Sears Christmas catalogs in the mail in early November, and I can remember spending hours looking through the expansive toy section, which was like a magical view into Santa’s Workshop.
We had to choose carefully, however. With four kids, budgets were still limited. We could not ask for anything too expensive, and we understood that. It didn’t really matter though, because when you don’t have a lot, you appreciate anything you get so much more. Besides, there was lot more to Christmas than the presents.
Before we bought our fake scotch pine, the men of the family used to go to my Uncle Jack and Aunt Christine’s farm to cut a live tree. It wasn’t a Christmas tree farm, like I’ve taken my kids to. It was just a farm that had some trees here and there amongst the acreage.
I don’t remember much about the trees, but I remember the excitement of the hunt. We’d trudge through the fields and up and down steep hills, hop over streams and climb over rocks, determined to find that perfect evergreen; not too tall…not too skinny. Standing there with Dad and my brothers in the cold, early December wind, we’d look at each candidate and imagine it strung with lights, ornaments and tinsel.
Once found, Dad would chop it down with the ax he was carrying and we would drag it out, probably losing half the branches and needles on one side as we journeyed back to the truck. That didn’t matter much to us though, because we knew that we only needed one good side to any Christmas tree. The bad side went toward the wall.
Once it was in its stand and perched in the corner of our living room, we’d put on the lights. It was very different than today. This year I put around two hundred and eighteen strands of lights on our tree at home, or so it seemed. Every time I’d think I was done, Connie would pull out another set and say, “it needs more on that side.” In our Christmas pictures, you will notice that I’m wearing sunglasses.
My childhood tree had one, maybe two strands of lights, but they used bulbs the size of my fist, not the tiny bulbs we use today. After the lights were draped around the tree, we’d hang the fragile, shiny glass ornaments. These always made me nervous. The limbs of the tree never seemed sturdy enough to hold them, and I imagined them all dropping to our hardwood floor at once, shattering in a million pieces. I let the others hang those.
Next came the tinsel, distributed carefully from top to bottom, and not too close to the melting heat of the colored bulbs. Again, I was cautious, as each bump against the limbs seemed possible to dislodge an ornament and send it crashing. When, at last, the star was placed on the top (usually with some difficulty), we’d stand back and look at our delicate, beautiful tree. In my mind, it was always a masterpiece.
After the tree went up in early December, presents would mysteriously begin appearing while we were at school or asleep. Each day, I would do a quick count; both the total number of gifts and those which were specifically for me. Those with my name always received a gentle shake, with my ear close to the package for tell-tale signs of its contents. Anything that rattled was a good thing. Clothes did not rattle.
Back then we didn’t compare numbers or box size with our siblings. I don’t think it ever crossed my mind to wonder if David or Wayne or Tracy got bigger, better or more than me. That doesn’t mean I was or am a spectacularly generous and all around wonderful person. It was just the way things were back then.
Many nights I would slip into the living room and turn off all the lights except for those on the tree, then lie on the floor and get lost in the bright colors. My mind would be full of thoughts and wide awake in ways that my tired, adult mind can’t even comprehend anymore. It wasn’t just the dreams of gifts and what might await me on Christmas morning, although that was certainly a part of it, it was the sweet promise of all things Christmas. It was always the best time of year.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Awkward
You have to worry about how your day is going to turn out when you make a little girl you don’t even know cry before it's even 5:00am. Even if your words or actions are completely unintentional, that has to be a bad sign.
At 5am this morning I am standing outside the Baltimore Washington Airport Marriott, waiting for the shuttle to take me to the airport. Just as it arrives, a family comes out behind me, Mom and Dad staggering into the early morning air much as I had done, but their daughter was bouncing with enthusiasm.
She looked to be about four years old, and her chattering, nervous energy reminded me of my own daughters at that age. She pulled a little pink, furry suitcase that no doubt carried her most prized possessions and hugged a white teddy bear tightly with her other arm.
I’ve seen families like this at airports many times; slipping away for a weekend getaway on an early Friday morning, or getting a head start on a week’s vacation. The girl seemed excited to be going on a flight. I wondered if it was her first time flying. I made some quick assumptions, which, as we all know, is not a good thing.
We get on the shuttle and the little girl and her mother sit across from me. The Dad sits behind them. The girl continues to chatter, asking her Mom one question and then another, all in that random, seemingly pointless way that kids do. The Mom was still half asleep, so she answered with the least effort possible. “Yes,” “no,” and nodding.
Although I have a general policy of being somewhat “anti-social” in public when it comes to adults, I can’t resist smiling at a little kid. At one point in her reverie, she happened to glance my way and I couldn’t help but grin. She smiled back and seemed to realize that I was somewhat more responsive to her charms than her parents that morning.
I decided to engage in a bit of conversation, since I knew the shuttle ride would be short and we’d soon be separated in the crowd of travelers and multitude of flights. Imagining her excitement in sharing details of her trip to the beach or maybe Disney World, I leaned toward her and asked, “So, are you flying somewhere fun today?”
The smile instantly faded from her face and she looked at her Mom, who was looking out the window and didn’t hear what I asked over the drone of the shuttle bus engine. The girl turned back to me, lower lip trembling and eyes welling up with tears, and said, “My granny died.”
It was a much longer ride to the airport than I thought it would be, and not nearly as crowded once we got there as I had hoped. As I sit her now, near my gate in terminal D, I can see them…Mom, Dad and now somber child, sitting quietly in the corner. With my luck, they will not only be on my flight, but probably share my row of seats.
At 5am this morning I am standing outside the Baltimore Washington Airport Marriott, waiting for the shuttle to take me to the airport. Just as it arrives, a family comes out behind me, Mom and Dad staggering into the early morning air much as I had done, but their daughter was bouncing with enthusiasm.
She looked to be about four years old, and her chattering, nervous energy reminded me of my own daughters at that age. She pulled a little pink, furry suitcase that no doubt carried her most prized possessions and hugged a white teddy bear tightly with her other arm.
I’ve seen families like this at airports many times; slipping away for a weekend getaway on an early Friday morning, or getting a head start on a week’s vacation. The girl seemed excited to be going on a flight. I wondered if it was her first time flying. I made some quick assumptions, which, as we all know, is not a good thing.
We get on the shuttle and the little girl and her mother sit across from me. The Dad sits behind them. The girl continues to chatter, asking her Mom one question and then another, all in that random, seemingly pointless way that kids do. The Mom was still half asleep, so she answered with the least effort possible. “Yes,” “no,” and nodding.
Although I have a general policy of being somewhat “anti-social” in public when it comes to adults, I can’t resist smiling at a little kid. At one point in her reverie, she happened to glance my way and I couldn’t help but grin. She smiled back and seemed to realize that I was somewhat more responsive to her charms than her parents that morning.
I decided to engage in a bit of conversation, since I knew the shuttle ride would be short and we’d soon be separated in the crowd of travelers and multitude of flights. Imagining her excitement in sharing details of her trip to the beach or maybe Disney World, I leaned toward her and asked, “So, are you flying somewhere fun today?”
The smile instantly faded from her face and she looked at her Mom, who was looking out the window and didn’t hear what I asked over the drone of the shuttle bus engine. The girl turned back to me, lower lip trembling and eyes welling up with tears, and said, “My granny died.”
It was a much longer ride to the airport than I thought it would be, and not nearly as crowded once we got there as I had hoped. As I sit her now, near my gate in terminal D, I can see them…Mom, Dad and now somber child, sitting quietly in the corner. With my luck, they will not only be on my flight, but probably share my row of seats.
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