I’ve spent a good bit of each morning during the past two weeks re-reading Hunter S. Thompson’s Songs of the Doomed. It’s an interesting read, consisting of essays and snippets from throughout the good doctor’s career, beginning in the Fifties and leading through his arrest, prosecution, and successful defense against a variety of drug and other charges in 1990.
I’ve always liked Thompson’s work, especially his books Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and Hell’s Angels. But for me, reading Thompson is almost always certainly a Dangerous Thing – mainly because it puts me in a Cynical and Angry Mood and makes me want to write about the absurdity of both politics and American society in general.
In and of itself, such a temper isn’t necessarily a bad thing to have – I believe I write pretty well when I’m being snarky – but unfortunately, such a mood is in direct opposition to my one of my major goals for 2010. I’m trying to live a More Mindful Life, including taking steps to become a Kinder and Gentler Richard. So far, my attempts are becoming more fruitful each and every day, and getting myself all cranked up over the ravings of my most-admired madman don’t sit well with that aim.
On the other hand, Thompson inspires me to write, and that is most definitely a Good Thing, especially with November looming ahead. As you may or may not be aware, November is home to the annual month-long madness known as National Novel Writing Month (or NaNoWriMo for short). It is a time filled with sleepless nights, plot holes, and massive amounts of caffeine as thousands of writers across the world each attempt to write a 50,000 word novel in thirty days.
I participated last year, cranking out a first draft of a novel called Snakebit (coming in at just over 50 thousand words, and just under the wire), and I was thinking about ideas for this year’s event. I’ve got a decent idea for a story, a supernatural detective comedy set in a small coal-mining town in central Alabama during the Great Depression. But as I sat on the deck last week, telling Jean about my idea and what kind of research I want to do, she looked at me with incredible intent, and said:
“Really? You’re going to start a new project when you’ve got two-thirds of not one, but two books written?”
“Uh… well,” I stammered, knowing full well that both Snakebit and my episodic science-fiction comedy Committed are both crying out for attention and have been for months on end. “It’s – it’s a great idea for a new story, right?”
She sighed. “I don’t know what it is about you and finishing things,” she said quietly. “Something – it may be self-sabotage, maybe it’s something else – but something is keeping you from getting done what you want to get done.”
It’s a fair cop.
I don’t know if it is fear of success, laziness, or something else entirely which has kept me from finishing these projects. In general, I use the excuse that “life got in the way”; it constantly seems as if something more important than my writing requires my attention.
But no matter the cause, it is time to actually complete one of these projects. So, in the spirit of NaNoWriMo and the balls-out attitude of Hunter, I am undertaking a new venture this autumn: Call it FiYoNoAlMo – Finish Your Novel Already Month.
Instead of taking part in NaNoWriMo and beginning a new project (and I really, really want to start something new and pretty and shiny), I am using this inspiration to finish Snakebit. My goal is to have a submission-ready manuscript by December 1. It’s no small matter, but I think I can do this. I mean, I wrote that first draft in a month; surely I can come up with a rewrite in 45 days.
What makes this time different is that I’ve learned a lot in the past year, about how to manage my time, how I trip myself, and what’s really important to me.
This is important. Now is the time. And I have a novel to finish.
18 October 2010
05 October 2010
Fingers Burned, Lessons Learned
My hands tell the story better than words ever could.
They ache, but it’s a good ache, the kind that comes from hard work and not some arthritic disease that makes the fingers twist and bend like old branches, all gnarled and knobby. 
No, sir; these hands worked this week, by God, and worked hard. There are nicks and scratches aplenty, on both hands and on both sides, all of them scabbed over by now, a couple still flaring slightly red, others healing nicely. The marks are evidence of the aforesaid work, whether it was outdoorsy-manly work such as sawing dead rhododendron trunks into firewood, or knuckle-busting under the hot hood of the Mazda wagon, or just moving branches away from the trail while Jean and I were hiking.
Looking at the backs of both hands, they’re tan, the veins with their bluish tinge standing out in relief against the brown and red skin. There’s black there, too; despite hours of intense scrubbing, what seems like a day’s worth of OPEC production is embedded in my cuticles and under every single fingernail. When I turn my hands over, it’s no better; the blackness is sunk deep into the swirls and whorls of my fingertips, making it look like a bailiff should be handing me a towel before he leads me off for a mug shot. Add the patches of super glue decorating various fingernails, and it may be weeks before I rid myself of this grunge. Last but not least, the remains of three thin blisters cross the pads of my thumb, forefinger and the middle finger of my right hand, the result of grabbing a pot handle from the camp stove. I think the middle finger might have a permanent scar.
When I look at my hands, I can see an encapsulated version of my vacation, the good, the bad, and the ugly. To be honest, it may well have been my best vacation ever. In any case, it was one hell of a good time.
On the Monday following Labor Day, Jean and I took off for the hills of Transylvania County, North Carolina, for a week of car camping at Cascade Lake. The drive was uneventful yet pleasant, with Americana and Bluegrass playlists from the iPod scoring the trip. We sang along with Lucinda, Loretta, Emmylou and Steve Earle as we drove, stopped every couple of hours for some light yoga stretches or a sandwich, and by twilight we were established at camp with tilapia kabobs sizzling on the campfire.
The next day began our vacation proper. We filled our days that week with all kinds of outdoor activities: Floating down the Davidson River on innertubes, hiking mountain trails along the Blue Ridge Parkway, visiting waterfalls and taking photographs. We drove along twisting mountain roads just to enjoy the scenery. And the nights! They were wonderful: Cooking over a campfire, playing music (Jean on guitar, myself on the washtub bass) to an audience of crickets and owls, gazing at the canopy of the Carolina night sky filled to bursting with stars, and cozying up together in our double sleeping bag in the tent. Life, as they say, was good.
And then came Friday.
We slept in that morning, packed leisurely, and finally got on the road toward home sometime around noon. We stopped for a soda and a snack on the outskirts of Brevard, just before we started into the twisty-road mountain proper, and I said something then that would cause Jean to tell me later, “You know, you really should listen to your instincts.”
What I said was this: “Maybe we should just go back the way we came.”
We didn’t.
U.S. Highway 64 wends it way through the mountains of western North Carolina, twisting this way and that before eventually making its way to Chattanooga. It is a beautiful passage through national forest land, and I wanted to drive the winding mountain roads, see the vistas around the crest of every ridge, and enjoy the scenery along our way home. And we did, for the most part.
Except for one thing: The car started acting up somewhat once we got into the mountains. Nothing major, just some engine hesitation which we thought was due to a temporary repair to an air intake. But the farther we drove, the worse the problem became, and the demanding terrain did not help the situation. I finally pulled over in the small town of Cashiers, where I got to work under the hood. Fifteen minutes later we were back on the road, and it seemed like I might have made things better for a little while. But it wasn’t long before the car was herking and jerking again, so I made another stop in Ducktown, Tennessee, with the intention of making a proper repair before we began the last leg home.
So I got to work. When I removed the air intake, intending to fix it, I failed to notice that three water lines were connected beneath it. Removing the air intake caused me to break a small t-shaped plastic valve. Take it from me: Under the hood at a convenience store in the mountains of east Tennessee on a hot afternoon in late summer is the last place you want to hear a loud popping noise followed by hissing and the smell of antifreeze.
I quickly made a brief review of the situation: It is late on Friday afternoon in bumpus Tennessee; there is no Mazda dealer within at least a hundred miles, and probably not even a wrecker service in town; and Jean is on the verge of either tears or cussing me like a road dog. I cannot accurately convey the emotion I felt at that moment of realization. I might have looked like Ralphie in “A Christmas Story” when he dropped the lug nuts into the snow, or perhaps Napoleon on the first day of winter in Russia, or even the Huns on running into the Great Wall of China for the first time. Sort of an “oh-shit-what-now-what-did-I-do-dear-god-what-next-we’re-screwed” look.
Of course, I couldn’t let that happen. With a set jaw and a mind full of determination, I went into the convenience store and returned minutes later with a screwdriver with interchangeable heads, one tube of super glue, a roll of hose wrap, and a gallon of coolant. Twenty sweat-and-grease-stained minutes later, we were back on the road and headed for Atlanta.
For, oh, just about an hour.
To be honest, I thought things were looking pretty good. We were back on four-lane roads and I was babying the car, driving the speed limit and trying not to do anything taxing to the engine or the cooling system. After about 45 minutes, I finally began to relax just the tiniest bit, thinking that we might actually make it home, when I both: a) noticed the temperature gauge swing violently to the hot end of the scale; and b) heard Jean say in my ear, “Oh no… there it goes.”
I pulled over to the side of the road and popped the hood, greeted by a puff of steam. I tried to make the same repair I’d made an hour before, but to no avail. I spent thirty minutes sweating and cussing over the engine before I finally decided to throw in the towel and call a tow truck.
By now it was dark, and a sense of panic was descending on Jean, and with good reason. Our trip home took place on Friday because Jean was scheduled to teach a new kid’s yoga class on Saturday morning in Homewood. Here, sitting in our car in the dark on the side of the road in north Georgia, it began to look like we wouldn’t make it. It was a quiet wait for the two of us.
After about 30 minutes, our tow truck showed up and Jeremy, the driver, had the car on the back of the flatbed in no time. Jean and I piled into the front of the truck with Jeremy and began reviewing our options. Our first choice was to replace the part and get back on the road, so we asked Jeremy to drive us to an AutoZone, which he did. Unfortunately, they didn’t have the part. Neither did O’Reilly’s. Or Advance, the last auto parts store in Jasper, Georgia which stayed open ten minutes late to see if they could help us out.
We brainstormed for a minute, and got the idea that a U-Haul might be in order. If we could get a truck and a tow dolly, we could lug the station wagon home. I know it is hard to understand, but can you believe that there are no U-Haul locations open at 10 o’clock on a Friday night in Jasper, Georgia?
It looked bad. Real bad. So I did what any man would do in such a spot: I called my mom.
As it turned out, we were not far from my Aunt Betty, whom my mom called for us (I know, I’m a bad nephew. I didn’t have her number in my cell phone. I do now). After several back-and-forth calls from the cab of the tow truck, we worked it out so that Betty would pick us up at seven in the morning, then let us use her car for the day. It looked like we might have an answer.
Jeremy dropped us off in the town of Canton, where he deposited us at a Microtel for the night and we tried to get some sleep. I didn’t sleep much, for I couldn’t help worrying about what would happen on Saturday morning.
Turns out I shouldn’t have worried so much. Betty arrived as scheduled, and after we dropped her off at her place in Woodstock (about a 20-minute drive) we were soon on the interstate and headed for Birmingham.
We got home that morning about 10:30, giving Jean just about an hour to shower and leave for class. I also had important work to do. I immediately set about finding the part I needed, locating one at the local Mazda dealership. After a quick bite to eat, I was back on the road to Canton, listening to football and old country music on the radio. It was an uneventful drive, and following a stop at a Wal-Mart for a couple of tools, I was back under the hood of the station wagon in the parking lot of the Microtel.
I was being a good deal more mindful this time while I was working on the car; the thought that I might break the new part I’d just purchased haunted me. I was doing well, however, when I got stuck. A bolt was holding the battery platform in place, keeping me from getting to what I needed to get to, and I didn’t have a socket wrench with which to remove it.
I was just about to walk back across the enormous parking lot to Wal-Mart again, when a man walked out of the hotel exit towards the car.
“I don’t mean to be nosy,” he said, “but could you use some help?”
I looked the man over. I saw “Deliverance”; normally, I’m wary of strangers in small mountain towns. He was burly, with a white bandana on his head, and worn jeans. He looked like a biker; as it turned out, he was a biker. But at that point, with sweat running from every pore and my frustration near the boiling point, I didn’t care.
We swapped introductions; he told me his name was Mike, he was from Texas, and he and his wife were here for a bike rally. I explained my situation, and he motioned for me to follow him over to his bike, where he unlocked a trailer and pulled out a box of tools.
“I don’t know if what you need is in there,” he said, “but you’re welcome to use them.” His wife had come out of the hotel by this point, walking to her own bike parked next to Mike’s. “He’s having car trouble,” he told her as he motioned towards me, then he turned back to me.
“We’re heading out for dinner,” he said. “Can I trust you?”
I nodded dumbly.
“All right then,” he said, and mounted his bike. He called out “good luck!”, and with a rumble, he and his wife were gone.
Turns out there was a socket set in the toolbox, and I was able to quickly get the new valve in place. Once I got some new coolant poured into the system, I tentatively cranked the car and crossed my fingers.
It worked. And it didn’t leak. I literally let out a holler.
I wrote a quick note of thanks to Mike and placed it in his toolbox, which I left for him at the front desk of the Microtel. Then I drove my car back to my aunt’s, turned back around for her to return me to Canton and the station wagon, and finally headed home around six o’clock.
The drive home was tense; I was constantly worried that my repairs would not hold, and I could not get the Auburn – Clemson game on the radio until I was almost back to Oxford. But I persevered and got home just in time to see fourth quarter of the game, and Jean had a cold beer and dinner waiting for me. Not the perfect end to a week of vacation, but definitely a good one.
So what did I take away from all of this? Here are five things:
1) The sense of place has power
At the beginning of our trip, when we left Interstate 20 just outside Greenville, South Carolina on Monday and turned onto highway 25 four the drive into North Carolina, I began grinning like a four-year-old on Christmas morning at the first glimpse of the mountains to the north of us. My grin wasn’t caused only by the knowledge that we would soon be reaching our vacation destination after a long day of driving (which made me quite happy indeed), but also because it almost felt to me like going home after a long visit to a foreign land.
It could be my fondness for rolling green mountains; perhaps it is the little bit of Cherokee blood in me that recognizes these hills and hollows as home; or it could be something else entirely. Whatever the reason (and I don’t think the reason is as important as the feeling), I absolutely love the mountains of western North Carolina. Being there feels right to me. It’s odd, somehow. I’ve never lived in the area, and my family doesn’t come from there (with the exception of my grandparents who lived in northwestern Georgia, but that area is not quite the same), and unless you count infrequent visits to the region for camping trips, I’ve not spent much time in the Blue Ridge. But the place is powerful to me. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to find myself living there within the next decade.
2) Sometimes you just have to unplug
One of the major reasons I enjoy camping is the ability to truly get away from it all. For a full work week, I didn’t touch a computer, I was out of cell phone range unless we drove into Brevard for groceries or on our way somewhere else, and I didn’t even think about turning on a television.
It was wonderful.
I’m no luddite; I like having the internet and cable and constant access to information. It’s necessary in today’s society. But for a week, I didn’t worry about updating my facebook status or checking on a gazillion tweets or any of the other electronic distractions that normally fill my days.
As a result, I’ve returned recharged (as it were) with a re-discovered creative energy and determination that I’ve been missing for months now. It feels great. Getting away from it all made me realize how to better use the tools at my disposal.
3) Teddy Roosevelt was the man
Thank goodness for the foresight Teddy Roosevelt had in creating national parks and national forests. We spent hours in Pisgah National Forest and on the Blue Ridge Parkway, enjoying the pristine beauty of the area.
However, not far from where we camped, there was a mining operation on a small mountain. Where the surrounding mountains were green and beautiful, this one was scarred and ugly. I had to think that if it had not been for President Roosevelt, so much more of the area would look like that mining operation. So I am grateful for his foresight in protecting the natural wonders of our country. I believe that if the stewardship of the land had been left to private hands, the hills would be stripped bare in the name of commerce. As it is, our government has protected these lands for the enjoyment of all Americans and for the preservation of true natural wonders. Thanks, Teddy. A grateful nation enjoys your legacy.
4) Mindfulness doesn’t stay at home
While our vacation was in whole an absolutely wonderful experience, I could have made things even better had I been more mindful at times. For one, I wouldn’t have blisters on three of my fingers from grabbing a hot pot handle off the camp stove. For another, we might have avoided the car trouble that led to our misadventures on the way home.
Peace and relaxation are delightful, but you’ve got to keep being mindful about what you do. Otherwise, you end up with burned fingers and a hefty towing bill. Trust me on this one.
5) There are still good people in the world
When we were having our car troubles at the end of the trip, I learned that not everyone in the world is selfish and out for themselves. Jeremy, the tow truck driver, went above and beyond the call of duty in helping us search for a part for the car and a place to stay for the night. Mike the biker showed more faith in a stranger than many people have in their own families, trusting me enough so that he went on his merry way with nothing more than my word and a handshake that I wouldn’t steal his tools. And of course, there was my Aunt Betty who let us use her car while I worked on getting our vehicle back together. With so much animosity in the world today, it’s nice to see human beings actually acting human.
25 June 2010
I've got a fever - and the
cure is more World Cup
I suppose you could call me one of the great unwashed when it comes to soccer. Although I know the game (I played on Homewood High School's club team in 1980 during my freshman year, back when the game was more of an oddity than a varsity sport in Alabama), and I know about some of the more famous names and clubs, but that's about it. I rarely watch games on television (actually, I never watch games on television, because I so rarely watch TV anyway), I don't much care how Manchester United fared this past season, and I can't name a single MLS team other than the Los Angeles Galaxy.
But for the past two weeks, I've watched more soccer than I have during the rest of my life. The 2010 World Cup has caught my fancy, and I've found myself at least checking into the games from South Africa several times a day. And not just the U.S. games, either; I've been watching Uruguay, Mexico, Switzerland, and lots and lots of other teams. But why? I think I've found some answers.
And I have to admit, ESPN has done a great job thus far. ESPN brought in play-by-play announcers and commentators from across the world of soccer to help with the coverage. I'm especially enjoying Ally McCoist, a Scotsman whose brogue has entertained me every time he has called a game. Can't understand half of what he says, but I'm sure it's quite on point.
As an aside, the ads during pregame and at halftime (none are shown during the playing of the game since there is no stoppage) from Nike and Adidas have been also enjoyable.
The fans attending the matches have had a great deal to do with the spectacle as well. I've seen all kinds of costumes, including a few Elvises at U.S. matches. It certainly appears that everyone is having a very good time.
Hand me my vuvuzela, wrap me in a flag and hand me a beer. Kickoff is coming, and this non-believer just might end up being one of the converted before it's all said and done.
But for the past two weeks, I've watched more soccer than I have during the rest of my life. The 2010 World Cup has caught my fancy, and I've found myself at least checking into the games from South Africa several times a day. And not just the U.S. games, either; I've been watching Uruguay, Mexico, Switzerland, and lots and lots of other teams. But why? I think I've found some answers.
1. The ESPN full-pitch blitz
If you've turned on ESPN any time during the past two weeks, you've seen the World Cup. Lots and lots of the World Cup, in fact, every single game played so far. I doubt any of the previous tournaments have received this kind of coverage in the U.S.And I have to admit, ESPN has done a great job thus far. ESPN brought in play-by-play announcers and commentators from across the world of soccer to help with the coverage. I'm especially enjoying Ally McCoist, a Scotsman whose brogue has entertained me every time he has called a game. Can't understand half of what he says, but I'm sure it's quite on point.
As an aside, the ads during pregame and at halftime (none are shown during the playing of the game since there is no stoppage) from Nike and Adidas have been also enjoyable.
2. The drama! The intrigue!
The first two weeks of the World Cup provided plenty of drama and intrigue, and that doesn't even count what happened on the field. France kicked a player off their team, and the side responded by completely falling apart at the seams and going home early, as did reigning champion Italy. The English side, full of global soccer stars, can't seem to play together as a team and endured the wrath of every media outlet in the U.K. And you can't forget about the secretive North Korean team -- their inclusion in the tournament certainly adds a new twist to the term "Group of Death".3. History and spectacle
It used to be said that "there's nothing like a Grateful Dead show" (with which I heartily agree), but I have to say that there has been nothing like this 2010 World Cup. It is the first Cup to be played on African soil, and the South African hosts have pulled out all the stops to impress the world. Heck, I even like the constant droning of the trumpet-like vuvuzelas!The fans attending the matches have had a great deal to do with the spectacle as well. I've seen all kinds of costumes, including a few Elvises at U.S. matches. It certainly appears that everyone is having a very good time.
4. Healthy nationalism
It may be only at the Olympics that you see this many people from around the world having such a good time together. Everyone seems to be supporting their own teams while respecting the others. It's almost heartwarming, really. Perhaps, when it comes to soccer, it really is a small world after all.5. U.S. success
Knowing the history of U.S. soccer in international competition, I'm somewhat surprised that the team made it out of the first round into the knockout stages. But they did, in dramatic fashion. The team has shown tons of heart, a never-say-die attitude, and what the side may lack in talent it makes up for in determination. The team doesn't quit, even when it appears that all hope is lost -- and it certainly looked that way last week when the U.S. went down by two goals to Slovenia, and then again when time was running out against Algeria. Yet here they are, looking to move forward -- and with the way the bracket turned out, there is hope that the team could make some noise deep into the Cup. We'll see starting today with the game against Ghana.Hand me my vuvuzela, wrap me in a flag and hand me a beer. Kickoff is coming, and this non-believer just might end up being one of the converted before it's all said and done.
17 February 2010
Words to Ponder: Feb. 17, 2010
“We are always getting ready to live, but never living.”
Last week while working at the Pork Palace, I gashed my thumb open when a wine stem I was carrying broke in my hand. I was rushing to fill a drink order, and the next thing I knew I was hurriedly searching from something to stem the flow of blood and a broom to sweep up the broken glass. It was a messy cut, and I'm still not quite sure how it happened.
Although I may not know how the glass broke, I know for certain why. I was rushing to finish one task so I could get to another one, and not paying attention to what was right in front of me. A little more mindfulness, and I wouldn't be out twenty bucks for bandages, gauze, and topical antibiotic, and the Pork Palace would have one more wine glass in inventory.
Of course, the incident with my thumb is just one example of how attention and focus would have made my life a little easier. I'm guilty of not being mindful all the time, especially when I'm doing something that doesn't interest me or is in some ways a "mindless" task. I'll be washing the dishes, and my mind will wander off in all kinds of directions. I might start thinking of what I have to do next, or an old college friend, or who knows what else. In general, if I don't focus my attention, I'll think of anything and everything except what is right in front of me.
The funny thing is that when I'm actually focused on the task in front of me, whatever it is becomes more enjoyable and I do a better job. It is simply a matter of paying attention.
I think Emerson is saying much of the same. As humans, we're always looking for what's next instead of what's now, thinking of what else we have to do instead of being attentive to what's in front of us.
That kind of thinking keeps us from embracing the moment and living to the fullest. When we point our effort at the now, we actually start living. Being in the here and now is what it's all about.
So if I can offer any advice, it is this: Start paying attention and start living. Now. It's a great feeling.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Last week while working at the Pork Palace, I gashed my thumb open when a wine stem I was carrying broke in my hand. I was rushing to fill a drink order, and the next thing I knew I was hurriedly searching from something to stem the flow of blood and a broom to sweep up the broken glass. It was a messy cut, and I'm still not quite sure how it happened.
Although I may not know how the glass broke, I know for certain why. I was rushing to finish one task so I could get to another one, and not paying attention to what was right in front of me. A little more mindfulness, and I wouldn't be out twenty bucks for bandages, gauze, and topical antibiotic, and the Pork Palace would have one more wine glass in inventory.
Of course, the incident with my thumb is just one example of how attention and focus would have made my life a little easier. I'm guilty of not being mindful all the time, especially when I'm doing something that doesn't interest me or is in some ways a "mindless" task. I'll be washing the dishes, and my mind will wander off in all kinds of directions. I might start thinking of what I have to do next, or an old college friend, or who knows what else. In general, if I don't focus my attention, I'll think of anything and everything except what is right in front of me.
The funny thing is that when I'm actually focused on the task in front of me, whatever it is becomes more enjoyable and I do a better job. It is simply a matter of paying attention.
I think Emerson is saying much of the same. As humans, we're always looking for what's next instead of what's now, thinking of what else we have to do instead of being attentive to what's in front of us.
That kind of thinking keeps us from embracing the moment and living to the fullest. When we point our effort at the now, we actually start living. Being in the here and now is what it's all about.
So if I can offer any advice, it is this: Start paying attention and start living. Now. It's a great feeling.
15 February 2010
Turning the FM dial yet again
Anyone from the Birmingham area reading this likely knows that Live 100.5 FM is going off the air. Citadel Communications, in a business move, is changing the station's format from adult alternative music to talk radio in an attempt to gain more listeners.
When news of the change hit facebook, a semi-uprising took place online and I am certain the powers that be at Citadel dread opening their e-mail inboxes these days. It was an impressive display, but despite the best efforts of the station's fans, I'm fairly certain I heard the last human being on the station yesterday when Scott register signed off from his "Reg's Coffeehouse" show.
It's a shame, plain and simple.
My favorite station from the past, K-99, went off the air when I was a teenager, and since then I've paid little attention to the Birmingham airwaves. Until Live 100.5 came on the air. That one station came the closest to bringing back the spirit of that old station, taking chances with music and exposing listeners to new music. It was a breath of fresh air in an atmosphere dominated by Bubbas and raving sports call-in hosts.
Of course, there are the obvious reasons why I'll miss the station. Live 100.5 broadcast good music for grown-ups. Scott Register is a fantastic on-air personality. The station brought bands to Birmingham that normally wouldn't give the town a second glance.
But losing the station reaches me on a deeper level as well. In a world that is so busy all the time, and with so much that people have to do, we all need a little joy and peace in our lives. Good music can help with that, like any other art. The derisiveness and hyperbole of talk radio (right wing radio, at that) doesn't fill that need. It's just more blather. We've got plenty of that already. But Citadel sees a chance to make a better return, so a city that needs all the joy it can get is losing it in favor of Sean Hannity. Sigh.
So, thanks, Live 100.5. You were a good station, and you'll be missed. I hope someone else will pick up your standard. We need it.
When news of the change hit facebook, a semi-uprising took place online and I am certain the powers that be at Citadel dread opening their e-mail inboxes these days. It was an impressive display, but despite the best efforts of the station's fans, I'm fairly certain I heard the last human being on the station yesterday when Scott register signed off from his "Reg's Coffeehouse" show.
It's a shame, plain and simple.
My favorite station from the past, K-99, went off the air when I was a teenager, and since then I've paid little attention to the Birmingham airwaves. Until Live 100.5 came on the air. That one station came the closest to bringing back the spirit of that old station, taking chances with music and exposing listeners to new music. It was a breath of fresh air in an atmosphere dominated by Bubbas and raving sports call-in hosts.
Of course, there are the obvious reasons why I'll miss the station. Live 100.5 broadcast good music for grown-ups. Scott Register is a fantastic on-air personality. The station brought bands to Birmingham that normally wouldn't give the town a second glance.
But losing the station reaches me on a deeper level as well. In a world that is so busy all the time, and with so much that people have to do, we all need a little joy and peace in our lives. Good music can help with that, like any other art. The derisiveness and hyperbole of talk radio (right wing radio, at that) doesn't fill that need. It's just more blather. We've got plenty of that already. But Citadel sees a chance to make a better return, so a city that needs all the joy it can get is losing it in favor of Sean Hannity. Sigh.
So, thanks, Live 100.5. You were a good station, and you'll be missed. I hope someone else will pick up your standard. We need it.
10 February 2010
Five sites I can't live without
(other than the obvious ones)
There are a lot of websites out there, but I wanted to list a few I can't live without (not counting e-mail, facebook, Twitter or Google -- those are given). Some of these are related to my creative endeavors, some are just for fun. But you will always find these in my bookmarks file.
It seems like everybody is working with Pandora these days, but for now -- at least until I find time to let Pandora figure out my musical tastes -- last.fm is the internet radio station for me. Type in an artist, and bam! You get an entire radio station built around that artist. You can also create stations built around more than one artist. As far as internet radio goes, I'm first for last.
I know, I know, there's nothing like a giant-sized hardbound volume of the Oxford English Dictionary sitting on the shelf to impress people with your reference book collection. But when I'm working on the computer, dictionary.com does the job just fine. I use the thesaurus feature more often than the dictionary, and I find that it serves me well.
When I first got onto twitter, I sent a direct message to one of my friends asking what all the "bit.ly" links went to. There's nothing quite like showing your ignorance when you're first starting out. I quickly learned that if you're going to share your life in 140 characters, you need something to shorten your hyperlinks. Bit.ly is it. I love this link shortener, especially they way it tracks clicks on your links. It gives me a thrill to see people actually clicking on the link to this blog moments after I upload a new post.
Last year, when the healthcare debate started heating up, many of my conservative friends started spewing out all kinds of figures and rhetoric, much of it gleaned from talk radio and Fox News. Media Matters, headed by eminent journalist David Broder, takes conservative media to task for distortions and outright lies. I love this site. Keep callin' 'em out, lefties!
I haven't used this site in a while (thanks to the ongoing-and-unannounced hiatus for "Committed"), but it is an incredibly effective tool for me when I'm posting episodes on my website. Thanks to scribd, I can output a PDF file directly from InDesign, upload it, and then get code for embedding in my site. I'm sure there are better ways to do this, but for a (mostly) non-technical guy like me, Scribd fits the bill.
1. last.fm
It seems like everybody is working with Pandora these days, but for now -- at least until I find time to let Pandora figure out my musical tastes -- last.fm is the internet radio station for me. Type in an artist, and bam! You get an entire radio station built around that artist. You can also create stations built around more than one artist. As far as internet radio goes, I'm first for last.2. Dictionary.com
I know, I know, there's nothing like a giant-sized hardbound volume of the Oxford English Dictionary sitting on the shelf to impress people with your reference book collection. But when I'm working on the computer, dictionary.com does the job just fine. I use the thesaurus feature more often than the dictionary, and I find that it serves me well.3. bit.ly
When I first got onto twitter, I sent a direct message to one of my friends asking what all the "bit.ly" links went to. There's nothing quite like showing your ignorance when you're first starting out. I quickly learned that if you're going to share your life in 140 characters, you need something to shorten your hyperlinks. Bit.ly is it. I love this link shortener, especially they way it tracks clicks on your links. It gives me a thrill to see people actually clicking on the link to this blog moments after I upload a new post.4. Media Matters for America
Last year, when the healthcare debate started heating up, many of my conservative friends started spewing out all kinds of figures and rhetoric, much of it gleaned from talk radio and Fox News. Media Matters, headed by eminent journalist David Broder, takes conservative media to task for distortions and outright lies. I love this site. Keep callin' 'em out, lefties!5. Scribd
I haven't used this site in a while (thanks to the ongoing-and-unannounced hiatus for "Committed"), but it is an incredibly effective tool for me when I'm posting episodes on my website. Thanks to scribd, I can output a PDF file directly from InDesign, upload it, and then get code for embedding in my site. I'm sure there are better ways to do this, but for a (mostly) non-technical guy like me, Scribd fits the bill.
09 February 2010
Daily Quote for Feb. 9, 2010
Smiles give others hope, joy and strength. Don't forget to use yours today.
I am often responsible for answering the telephone as part of my duties at the Pork Palace, and I've been told that my telephone manner is very -- how to say this -- distinctive. Some have said my voice is like an answering machine recording, and I do my best to sound both professional and helpful.
Sometimes, I am professional and helpful. Other times, it only sounds like it to the person on the other end of the line.
I'll admit it here and now: I occasionally get very frustrated at my job. For me, it's difficult to be mindful when there are three customers in line at the register, a server wants change for a twenty-dollar-bill, two phone lines are ringing, and the couple at the end of the bar wants another round margaritas and more cheese biscuits. In fact, it's quite easy -- trust me, I've proven it -- at those times to become stressed, rushed and irritable.
The funny thing here is this: When things are at their most chaotic, when I am the most aggravated, that is when my telephone voice is at its most effective and friendliest. I am Mister Chipper Dipper on the phone, bright and professional and the model employee every employer dreams about and every customer wants to be served by. This state lasts until the exact moment when the receiver slams back down onto the cradle and I turn back to the seventy-five other items screaming for my attention.
My coworkers give me a hard time about this. "That's just so fake," they say when they hear me on the phone, and -- sometimes -- they're right. But I subscribe to the theory of "fake it until you make it". If I can act happy in the midst of chaos, that's one step closer to actually being happy in the midst of chaos -- and the rest of the time as well. And if my acting happy spreads a smile to someone else, all the better. Happiness is never diminished by sharing it. Even if I am having to grunt through it.
So use your smile today, even if you don't necessarily mean it. You never know what good might come from it. And it's good practice for when you do mean it.
Sasha Azevedo
I am often responsible for answering the telephone as part of my duties at the Pork Palace, and I've been told that my telephone manner is very -- how to say this -- distinctive. Some have said my voice is like an answering machine recording, and I do my best to sound both professional and helpful.
Sometimes, I am professional and helpful. Other times, it only sounds like it to the person on the other end of the line.
I'll admit it here and now: I occasionally get very frustrated at my job. For me, it's difficult to be mindful when there are three customers in line at the register, a server wants change for a twenty-dollar-bill, two phone lines are ringing, and the couple at the end of the bar wants another round margaritas and more cheese biscuits. In fact, it's quite easy -- trust me, I've proven it -- at those times to become stressed, rushed and irritable.
The funny thing here is this: When things are at their most chaotic, when I am the most aggravated, that is when my telephone voice is at its most effective and friendliest. I am Mister Chipper Dipper on the phone, bright and professional and the model employee every employer dreams about and every customer wants to be served by. This state lasts until the exact moment when the receiver slams back down onto the cradle and I turn back to the seventy-five other items screaming for my attention.
My coworkers give me a hard time about this. "That's just so fake," they say when they hear me on the phone, and -- sometimes -- they're right. But I subscribe to the theory of "fake it until you make it". If I can act happy in the midst of chaos, that's one step closer to actually being happy in the midst of chaos -- and the rest of the time as well. And if my acting happy spreads a smile to someone else, all the better. Happiness is never diminished by sharing it. Even if I am having to grunt through it.
So use your smile today, even if you don't necessarily mean it. You never know what good might come from it. And it's good practice for when you do mean it.
08 February 2010
Daily Quote for Feb. 8, 2010
“When walking, walk. When eating, eat."
I consider myself a good driver. I've not had an accident since 2001, and that was the first one in years. I can't remember the last time I received a moving violation. Driving is, essentially, second nature to me.
Up until eighteen months ago, I had a habit of multi-tasking while driving. I would often be on my cell phone while simultaneously seat dancing to an old Grateful Dead song and smoking a cigarette. My thoughts were rarely on the driving itself.
All that changed when I purchased an old Mercedes-Benz with the intent of restoring it to its former glory. I have the car to the point where it starts, runs and stops, but the Benz is quirky. It's a 1987 model, which means it has lots of worn parts that like to break at the most inopportune times. I have to let it warm up for a good five minutes or so before pulling out of the driveway, or otherwise it will stall the first time I hit the accelerator. I constantly monitor the oil pressure, engine temperature and the tachometer for any readings that would indicate a problem, and I strain my ears for any sounds that are out of the ordinary.
In short, I must be attentive -- not only to the road and the traffic around me, but also to my vehicle -- if I want to get where I am going. When I am driving this car, I am focused on nothing else but driving.
It is difficult to maintain that kind of focus in daily life, but it is one of my goals. I want to be mindful of my tasks and how I do them; I want to be focused on the task at hand. When I'm writing, I need to write. When I'm making the bed, I need to the thinking about making the bed.
I think that kind of focus is the key to productivity and a mindful life. Be here in the present. Embrace the moment and experience it fully, no matter what you may be doing at the time.
And when you're driving, drive.
Zen proverb
I consider myself a good driver. I've not had an accident since 2001, and that was the first one in years. I can't remember the last time I received a moving violation. Driving is, essentially, second nature to me.
Up until eighteen months ago, I had a habit of multi-tasking while driving. I would often be on my cell phone while simultaneously seat dancing to an old Grateful Dead song and smoking a cigarette. My thoughts were rarely on the driving itself.
All that changed when I purchased an old Mercedes-Benz with the intent of restoring it to its former glory. I have the car to the point where it starts, runs and stops, but the Benz is quirky. It's a 1987 model, which means it has lots of worn parts that like to break at the most inopportune times. I have to let it warm up for a good five minutes or so before pulling out of the driveway, or otherwise it will stall the first time I hit the accelerator. I constantly monitor the oil pressure, engine temperature and the tachometer for any readings that would indicate a problem, and I strain my ears for any sounds that are out of the ordinary.
In short, I must be attentive -- not only to the road and the traffic around me, but also to my vehicle -- if I want to get where I am going. When I am driving this car, I am focused on nothing else but driving.
It is difficult to maintain that kind of focus in daily life, but it is one of my goals. I want to be mindful of my tasks and how I do them; I want to be focused on the task at hand. When I'm writing, I need to write. When I'm making the bed, I need to the thinking about making the bed.
I think that kind of focus is the key to productivity and a mindful life. Be here in the present. Embrace the moment and experience it fully, no matter what you may be doing at the time.
And when you're driving, drive.
06 February 2010
Daily Quote for Feb. 6, 2010
“Each morning we are born again. What we do today is what matters most.”
I think this is a most excellent quote, full of truth. Each new day brings new opportunity. All we have is now, and we should make the most of it.
As part of my effort to live a more mindful life, I've been trying to focus on the "now" by paying attention to the moment. It's not always easy, for my mind likes to wander all over the place. I'll be washing the dishes when I start thinking about what kind of shift I might have at work, or I will be working on a writing piece and my brain will meander over to the concert I attended last week.
Of course, I can't know what might happen at work, and what happened last week is of little consequence to what's going on now. Worrying about the future is a gamble at best, and beating yourself up over the past is a useless exercise. You have to be here now.
In short, yesterday is gone. It's a new day. Embrace the moment in which you are living right now, and make the most of it. You'll be happy you did.
Buddha
I think this is a most excellent quote, full of truth. Each new day brings new opportunity. All we have is now, and we should make the most of it.
As part of my effort to live a more mindful life, I've been trying to focus on the "now" by paying attention to the moment. It's not always easy, for my mind likes to wander all over the place. I'll be washing the dishes when I start thinking about what kind of shift I might have at work, or I will be working on a writing piece and my brain will meander over to the concert I attended last week.
Of course, I can't know what might happen at work, and what happened last week is of little consequence to what's going on now. Worrying about the future is a gamble at best, and beating yourself up over the past is a useless exercise. You have to be here now.
In short, yesterday is gone. It's a new day. Embrace the moment in which you are living right now, and make the most of it. You'll be happy you did.
05 February 2010
Daily Quote for Feb. 5, 2010
“You can't cross the sea merely by standing and staring at the water.”
How simple and obvious the above seems, and how hard it is sometimes to achieve. If you want to cross the sea, you can't do it by looking at the ocean. Steps and action must be taken. Dreaming of crossing the sea won't get you from New York to Southampton, no matter how hard you visualize it. You actually have to cross!
In my personal life, I've often been the "victim" (can one truly be a victim if the victimization is self-inflicted?) of fantastic planning followed by piss-poor execution. Of course, to reach a goal one needs a plan, but if you don't follow the plan and do the work, you get nowhere.
For years, I had a dream of writing a novel. But until I sat down at the keyboard and actually typed the words, the dream was just that: a fantasy, a pleasant diversion, a "someday" thought. But then I got to work, and in a month, I had a first draft.
I don't know exactly what kept me from doing the work. I assume it was a number of things, including some fear, as well as laziness and a lack of self-discipline. But the truth has been knocked into me lately: If I want to reach the goals, I have to do the work -- even the hard, distasteful stuff that I sometimes dread.
As the old saying goes, "a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step." If we take that first step, then follow it with another, then another after that, and so on, pretty soon we can look back in amazement at the progress we've made -- and that goal, that dream, that "someday" will be closer than we ever imagined.
Rabindranath Tagore
How simple and obvious the above seems, and how hard it is sometimes to achieve. If you want to cross the sea, you can't do it by looking at the ocean. Steps and action must be taken. Dreaming of crossing the sea won't get you from New York to Southampton, no matter how hard you visualize it. You actually have to cross!
In my personal life, I've often been the "victim" (can one truly be a victim if the victimization is self-inflicted?) of fantastic planning followed by piss-poor execution. Of course, to reach a goal one needs a plan, but if you don't follow the plan and do the work, you get nowhere.
For years, I had a dream of writing a novel. But until I sat down at the keyboard and actually typed the words, the dream was just that: a fantasy, a pleasant diversion, a "someday" thought. But then I got to work, and in a month, I had a first draft.
I don't know exactly what kept me from doing the work. I assume it was a number of things, including some fear, as well as laziness and a lack of self-discipline. But the truth has been knocked into me lately: If I want to reach the goals, I have to do the work -- even the hard, distasteful stuff that I sometimes dread.
As the old saying goes, "a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step." If we take that first step, then follow it with another, then another after that, and so on, pretty soon we can look back in amazement at the progress we've made -- and that goal, that dream, that "someday" will be closer than we ever imagined.
04 February 2010
The traveling Scot and Alabama's Glasgow
I wait on a lot of out-of-towners at the Pork Place. I suppose that shouldn't be surprising; the restaurant is near the interstate and a cluster of motels. On any given night one can find a business traveler from Ohio sipping on a cocktail at the bar while he reviews a proposal for a meeting the next morning, or perhaps a frustrated truck driver knocking back cheap beers while he waits for the shop next door to finish the repairs on his rig. Late fall and early spring bring snowbirds from the upper midwest who stop in for a bite to eat along their migratory route, and the races at Talledega draw people in from all over the country.
Foreign visitors, while not unheard of, are much more rare. Occasionally the snowbirds will include a couple from Ontario in an RV, and I've served wheelchair rugby teams from Canada and Australia who were in town for an event at the Lakeshore Foundation. But until now, I'd never served a Scot. And certainly not one on a quest.
That changed this week with the arrival of one Michael Slavin.
For the past three nights, I've had the pleasant duty of waiting on Mr. Slavin and introducing him to some of the finer craft beers the Deep South has to offer, while enjoying his tales of his journey (he likes Good People's IPA and Sweetwater 420). He has been in the states since April of 2009, on a quite particular mission: He is here to visit each and every locale in the United States that bears the name of his hometown of Glasgow.
At each stop, he does some historical research and writes about his travels in his blog. He's been from New York to California and back during his time here. Birmingham is his eighteenth stop, for there is a small hamlet near Adamsville named Glasgow. From here, he has two more Glasgows to visit before he heads back across the pond in April.
Mr. Slavin has been a pleasant addition to the bar lineup at the Pork Palace. His brogue charms each and every patron at the bar he's spoken with, and with his longish hair and full beard, he looks more the part of an anthropology professor than a retired software programmer. He always has a story, and is more than willing to share it to whomever will listen.
It has been an interesting week with Mr. Slavin holding court at the Pork Palace. I need more regulars like him; it would make the bar a much more intriguing place to work. I wish him well on the rest of his journey, and the bar will be a bit lessened when he heads back home.
Michael, may you successfully complete your quest, and may there always be a willing ear and a strong pint waiting for you at the bar at the end of the day. Come back again, y'hear?
Foreign visitors, while not unheard of, are much more rare. Occasionally the snowbirds will include a couple from Ontario in an RV, and I've served wheelchair rugby teams from Canada and Australia who were in town for an event at the Lakeshore Foundation. But until now, I'd never served a Scot. And certainly not one on a quest.
That changed this week with the arrival of one Michael Slavin.
For the past three nights, I've had the pleasant duty of waiting on Mr. Slavin and introducing him to some of the finer craft beers the Deep South has to offer, while enjoying his tales of his journey (he likes Good People's IPA and Sweetwater 420). He has been in the states since April of 2009, on a quite particular mission: He is here to visit each and every locale in the United States that bears the name of his hometown of Glasgow.
At each stop, he does some historical research and writes about his travels in his blog. He's been from New York to California and back during his time here. Birmingham is his eighteenth stop, for there is a small hamlet near Adamsville named Glasgow. From here, he has two more Glasgows to visit before he heads back across the pond in April.
Mr. Slavin has been a pleasant addition to the bar lineup at the Pork Palace. His brogue charms each and every patron at the bar he's spoken with, and with his longish hair and full beard, he looks more the part of an anthropology professor than a retired software programmer. He always has a story, and is more than willing to share it to whomever will listen.
It has been an interesting week with Mr. Slavin holding court at the Pork Palace. I need more regulars like him; it would make the bar a much more intriguing place to work. I wish him well on the rest of his journey, and the bar will be a bit lessened when he heads back home.
Michael, may you successfully complete your quest, and may there always be a willing ear and a strong pint waiting for you at the bar at the end of the day. Come back again, y'hear?
13 January 2010
A moment for Haiti
I was planning on writing something witty and clever today. I didn't. This is more important than whatever drivel I might have placed here.
The earthquake in Haiti is an almost unimaginable catastrophe. Supplies and resources will be desperately needed in the days ahead.
I am urging my friends and readers who can help financially to do so. Personally, I like the American Red Cross effort (also linked from the White House web site): from your cell phone, text "HAITI" to 90999. It's simple, your donation is needed, and just about everyone I know can afford an extra ten bucks on their cell phone bill next month.
I don't normally shill for causes, but this tragedy has reminded me of both how interconnected we all are as human beings, as well as how fleeting life can be.
Lives and dreams will be rebuilt with our help. Please help if you can, and keep the people of Haiti in your thoughts and prayers. Thank you.
The earthquake in Haiti is an almost unimaginable catastrophe. Supplies and resources will be desperately needed in the days ahead.
I am urging my friends and readers who can help financially to do so. Personally, I like the American Red Cross effort (also linked from the White House web site): from your cell phone, text "HAITI" to 90999. It's simple, your donation is needed, and just about everyone I know can afford an extra ten bucks on their cell phone bill next month.
I don't normally shill for causes, but this tragedy has reminded me of both how interconnected we all are as human beings, as well as how fleeting life can be.
Lives and dreams will be rebuilt with our help. Please help if you can, and keep the people of Haiti in your thoughts and prayers. Thank you.
11 January 2010
Resolutions are for suckers
"New Year's Day - Now is the accepted time to make your annual good resolutions. Next week you can begin paving hell with them as usual."
It's the second full week of 2010, and I'm feeling pity for the salad makers at the Pork Palace. This time of year, ticket after ticket cascades from the printer in the kitchen, running nonstop like a faucet which can't be turned off. Chilled bowls are lined up, waiting to be filled with vegetable goodness to fulfill the high-minded intentions of the customers in the dining room. Lettuce flies, tomatoes roll, and the company makes a killing on a very low-cost product. It's a busy, busy time for the salad makers.
Of course, this bit of stress and extra work is only temporary. By February, the salad maker's workload will ease, slowly at first, but eventually returning to a normal pace as only the people who eat salads the rest of the year continue to order them. All those extra salads being made at present go away, as all the "I'm going to lose weight this year" resolutions devolve into a heaping basket of crispy, battered onion rings.
Why does this happen? The problem lies in the whole idea of resolutions themselves.
Think about it: Once a year, we look at our lives and decide to change something about it. "I'm going to lose weight." "I'm going to stop smoking." "I'm going to quit whatever."
Bleah. That's no fun.
I think the best resolution I saw this year came from a comment on facebook: "I want to drink more and put on weight." At least make your resolution attainable, right?
I think the issue is that people generally make resolutions that are restrictive and chock-full of ways to deny oneself. Of course, the intent is always noble, but the practice... well, the practice just seems to say "don't" over and over again until the resolver is doomed to fail.
So I made no resolutions this year. Nor did Jean. Nor have we for the past several years.
It's not that we don't want to better ourselves; we most definitely do. In fact, we work on it just about every day. But rather than making a list of near-impossible achievements and denying ourselves, we're making plans. Turning negatives into positives. Setting goals and then determining the actions we need to achieve those goals.
I have a fairly extensive and far-reaching list of goals I want to achieve this year. They include living a more mindful life; becoming a non-smoker; becoming a published author; and enhancing my relationships with Jean, my daughters and step-daughters, my aging mother, and the rest of my extended family. There are others, many of which are lofty, but all of which are, to me, attainable.
In addition to my goals, I'm thinking through the actions I will need to undertake in order to achieve them. Thoughtful consideration of what needs to be done is the hard part, but I am doing my best to be thorough with my plans. I'm consciously phrasing the plan in a positive manner (you will find neither the word "don't" nor "stop" anywhere in the plan), I'm plotting out baby steps and attainable plateaus, and as I work I am finding that many of these actions (even more than I first thought) intertwine to reach multiple goals.
So, there it is. Resolutions are out (again), and planning is in. There is much work to be done, and I am eagerly anticipating not only the results but the work itself.
If I have one word of advice, it is this: Punt the resolutions in favor of a plan, and then follow through with it. Make 2010 your best year yet. And eat the onion rings. They're delicious.
Mark Twain
It's the second full week of 2010, and I'm feeling pity for the salad makers at the Pork Palace. This time of year, ticket after ticket cascades from the printer in the kitchen, running nonstop like a faucet which can't be turned off. Chilled bowls are lined up, waiting to be filled with vegetable goodness to fulfill the high-minded intentions of the customers in the dining room. Lettuce flies, tomatoes roll, and the company makes a killing on a very low-cost product. It's a busy, busy time for the salad makers.
Of course, this bit of stress and extra work is only temporary. By February, the salad maker's workload will ease, slowly at first, but eventually returning to a normal pace as only the people who eat salads the rest of the year continue to order them. All those extra salads being made at present go away, as all the "I'm going to lose weight this year" resolutions devolve into a heaping basket of crispy, battered onion rings.
Why does this happen? The problem lies in the whole idea of resolutions themselves.
Think about it: Once a year, we look at our lives and decide to change something about it. "I'm going to lose weight." "I'm going to stop smoking." "I'm going to quit whatever."
Bleah. That's no fun.
I think the best resolution I saw this year came from a comment on facebook: "I want to drink more and put on weight." At least make your resolution attainable, right?
I think the issue is that people generally make resolutions that are restrictive and chock-full of ways to deny oneself. Of course, the intent is always noble, but the practice... well, the practice just seems to say "don't" over and over again until the resolver is doomed to fail.
So I made no resolutions this year. Nor did Jean. Nor have we for the past several years.
It's not that we don't want to better ourselves; we most definitely do. In fact, we work on it just about every day. But rather than making a list of near-impossible achievements and denying ourselves, we're making plans. Turning negatives into positives. Setting goals and then determining the actions we need to achieve those goals.
I have a fairly extensive and far-reaching list of goals I want to achieve this year. They include living a more mindful life; becoming a non-smoker; becoming a published author; and enhancing my relationships with Jean, my daughters and step-daughters, my aging mother, and the rest of my extended family. There are others, many of which are lofty, but all of which are, to me, attainable.
In addition to my goals, I'm thinking through the actions I will need to undertake in order to achieve them. Thoughtful consideration of what needs to be done is the hard part, but I am doing my best to be thorough with my plans. I'm consciously phrasing the plan in a positive manner (you will find neither the word "don't" nor "stop" anywhere in the plan), I'm plotting out baby steps and attainable plateaus, and as I work I am finding that many of these actions (even more than I first thought) intertwine to reach multiple goals.
So, there it is. Resolutions are out (again), and planning is in. There is much work to be done, and I am eagerly anticipating not only the results but the work itself.
If I have one word of advice, it is this: Punt the resolutions in favor of a plan, and then follow through with it. Make 2010 your best year yet. And eat the onion rings. They're delicious.
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