Having recently completed finalizing a Mission, Vision, and Value statement for my company, I’m pretty sensitive to how these things work.  And I can safely say that the ones for the Transportation Security Administration pretty much suck:

Really?  Innovation, Integrity, Intensity, and Imagination?

I’m okay with Integrity. But don’t the rest of these pretty much scare the hell out of you?

Innovation: “The x-ray machine is broken. Rather than have all of us wait around until it’s fixed, can you please come over here and dump out your bag and also take off all your clothes?  Don’t worry, it’s completely okay to do this--one of the TSAs values is ‘Innovation.’”

Intensity: “Sir, can you please open your bag for me? And do it RIGHT NOW?  BEFORE I FRICKIN’ RAM YOUR HEAD OPEN WITH THIS STEEL BAR?”

Imagination: Just to provide some more color around this one, the actual value statement reads: ‘I am the frontline of defense, drawing on my imagination to creatively protect America from harm.’ So how would this work, exactly? “Don’t worry as you go through the x-ray, my friends--I stand at the ready with Neal, my trusty unicorn, to protect us from terrorists!”

Remind me to take the bus.

25 things about me:

1. In junior high I sent a fan letter to Missy Gold, the child star of the sit-com Benson. It was heartfelt and sincere. In return, I received an 8x10 glossy from her publicist.  I considered this a pretty good deal.

2. I like the word “apoplexy,” but I am not very fond of “uvula.”

3. I have a really good beginning and ending for a novel, and I wish someone would write the middle for me.

4. I feel very at peace with the fact that Tony Danza has finally fallen off the pop culture radar.

5. I am terrible dancer for someone who loves music so much.

6. I think that garbanzo beans are criminally underrated in terms of their overall contribution to salad excellence.

7. I sealed my record at age 18.  It contained two crimes.  The first: a speeding ticket.  The second: being arrested at age 16 for getting drunk in public with two friends.

8. It wasn’t really in public; it was behind a supermarket. But the cops apparently patrolled there.  It was a small town and they had nothing better to do.  Ingrates.

9. I am almost guaranteed to like any song in a minor key.  It’s not that I’m a sad person; I just think minor key music sounds more beautiful.

10. I type around 120 words a minute, mostly because I learned on a computer when I was around 11.

11. If I had to choose, I’d rather be a zombie than a vampire, because vampires are all with the faux aura of sophistication and lame accents, whereas zombies are more straightforward and direct about their needs.

12. I don’t care whether the medium is a novel, a movie, a comic book, or a company brochure--I love great stories in any form.

13. I like spending time with my niece, although when she crawls on top of me for several hours, I end up with “niecehead"--a condition that resembles hathead.

14. My friend Meredith told me to say in this list that I furrow my eyebrows a lot.

15. I probably wouldn’t do this if the world would wise up and agree with me a lot more than it does.

16. I picked up my love of science-fiction from my father, my appreciation of a good bowl of oatmeal topped with raisins and nuts from my mother, and my fondness for The Doors from my brother. They are all great people.

17. However, I also picked up their habit of going to bed relatively early, which has annoyed various friends of mine for years.

18. I average three cups of coffee a day.  Any fewer makes me sluggish; any more makes me as a hair-trigger as an rookie cop in Oakland.

19. I usually listen to Talking Heads’s “Stop Making Sense” CD on or around my birthday every year.

20. If I wasn’t doing what I’m doing for a living, I’d like to be the guy who names all those paint colors, like “Crimson Millennium” and “Custard Magnificence.”

21. I have a real weakness for hot dogs.

22. In fact, I’ve eaten so many that they won’t need to embalm me when I die.  My loved ones will peer into my open casket and say “Yeah, that’s pretty much what he looked like.”

23. I am prepared to watch an episode or two of Buffy with you so you can understand why it is the apex of quality television.

24. I’m trying to be a better listener.

25. What did you say again?

18:

“I like the color blue.”

“That’s a good color.  I like pizza.”

“Pizza is good.  Sometimes I eat pizza for breakfast.”

“That is interesting and good.”

“I like to think about the future.  Like, what am I going to be doing next week?”

“That is very interesting as well.”

“And I think about things.”

“Like what?”

“Well, I think the Beastie Boys were right.  It is necessary to fight...”

“...for your right to party.  I think about that too.”

“We both think about things deeply.”

38:

“Delineate your precise your timeline for procreation, preferably in increments of months rather than years.”

“It depends whether I’d be able to fund their private school education from current liquidity or if I’d require a reverse mortgage.”

“If we were hypothetically married, would you foresee joint checking accounts or individual ones?”

“I think we’d pool basic necessities such as groceries and Netflix but maintain individual lifestyle accounts.  Split the difference on couples therapy.”

“Would this be an opportune time to review the details of our pre-nuptial contracts?”

“Fine, but the copy in my purse is laminated.  You’ll be able to sign it after our third date--that’s when I’ll be comfortable enough to introduce you to my lawyer.”

“Your reading comprehension is improving, but you need to use a dictionary if you’re not sure how to spell a word like ‘comprehensiveness.’”
-- Mrs. Van Dusen, Fifth Grade Teacher

“Strong thesis statement, but I think you’ve misunderstood the primary motivation behind Dickens’s use of the first-person narrator in regards to the key themes in chapters 47 and 48.”
-- Professor Byrd, UC Davis

“Dear Mr. Howard: We appreciate the chance to review your manuscript.  We found it very interesting.  Unfortunately, it does not meet our needs at the present time.”
-- Editor

”I like your site.  If I link to you, will you link to me?
-- Private email sent in regards to GeeseAplenty.com

“Great press release. But you need to use a dictionary if you’re not sure how to spell a word like ‘comprehensiveness.’”
-- Former Boss

1. Interviewing badly in a bad economy. So I finish interviewing this person for my department, and I ask if he has any questions for me.  He says, “Well, where were you before you joined the company...”

[assesses my still-boyish features as well as long tenure at my current job]

“...grade school?”

Survey says BZZZT.  I absolutely will recommend this candidate receive a job offer on the spot...to sling fries, that is. Still, I guess it was a backhanded compliment of a sort, and I did go ahead and cancel my weekly botox appointment.

2. Excessive display of Obama fervor.  Look, I like the guy too, and I’m particularly fond of his ability to speak in complete sentences as well as the fact that he used to collect Spider-Man comics. But he is not going to single-handedly save our economy, bring peace to the Middle East, defeat the terrorists, and invent flying cars. At best, he’ll get around to one of them. And I know the one I’m betting on, and will continue to watch the skies until I see it brought to fruition.

3. People who send me an email at work and then come over and ask me if I’ve read the email.  Couldn’t you have just come talk to me in the first place if you were so motivated to gaze upon my beatific features? Why send the email and give me the spanish inquisition?  Here’s a surefire way to know that I’ve read an email (that you just sent five minutes ago): you get a reply.  The Interwebs, is there nothing they can’t do?

4. People who say ‘you know’ like it’s going out of style. There’s nothing wrong with verbal tics; I personally begin every sentence with “Listen up, bozo.” But if you can’t get through three words without saying “you know,” I’m happy to go make some chamomile tea while you relax and collect your thoughts. And then if you start up again and keep doing it, I can dump the tea on your head.

5. People who nominated Benjamin Button for Best Picture.  That movie definitely gave me the sense of a someone’s complete lifetime...mine.  Slipping away hour after hour after hour.  I didn’t even like it the first time it swept the awards.

6. People who allowed sub-prime mortgages to go on for years. These guys totally messed it up for all of us, and have you noticed that we haven’t even heard an apology?  They’re all just trying to blend in, saying “Gosh, times are sure tough” like they had nothing to do with it. Let’s all gang up and, say, not invite them to any parties this year.  That’ll send a stern message.

7. People who find a two-hour window in the weekend to do their taxes insanely early so they can use the refund for beer money. Oh wait, that’s me.

ME: Yeah, lately I’ve been feeling my age.

HE: Oh, you’re starting to get some aches and pains?

ME: Nah, physically I feel great.  Best I’ve ever been.

HE: Then you’re starting to forget things?

ME: I’ve always forgotten things.  Now is no different.

HE: Then why do you feel your age?

ME: Because I realized that in a few years, if you were to travel back in time and attend the world premiere of Back to the Future, you’d be traversing the same span of years that Marty McFly did when he visited his parents in the ‘50s.

HE: ...

ME: My ‘80s is like the ‘50s to the kids of today, see.

HE: ....

ME: ....

HE: ...maybe you should be very selective about the people you make that analogy to.

ME: I know!  I don’t want to just randomly depress people.

My parents both joined Facebook recently. It was kind of a strange experience being “friended” by them. I thought, hey, my parents could be my friends, that could work.

But in attempting to work the system, my mother ended up de-friending me, and I suddenly recognized a whole world of untapped trauma facing today’s millenials and pre-teens:

PSYCHOLOGIST: “What seems to be the problem, young lady?”

YOUNG GIRL: “My Mom de-friended me on Facebook.  I feel that I am worthless in this world.”

PSYCHOLOGIST: “You can’t place your sense of self worth in whether your mother is part of your Facebook network. You must self-actualize.”

YOUNG GIRL: “But she not only did she friend my brother--they also exchange Superpokes on a daily basis.”

PSYCHOLOGIST: “Oh. Then you’re completely f@#*(&.”

However, my mother figured it out the system and friended me again, which I found very empowering.

Then she put up a photo:

Whoa!

My father, impressed with her choice of photo, offered this background to me and my brother:

“Your mom was cleaning the refrigerator. It was just before we were married or just after. She was 22 or 23. She was hot, tired and annoyed I was taking pictures. She was wearing old cut-off jeans, so far as I recall, that don’t show in this picture. I thought she was the prettiest and sexiest thing I had ever seen at that moment, so I got the camera, a plastic box brownie as I recall that used 120 film, and took several pictures.  It is still my favorite picture of her.”

I’m glad that it’s my father’s favorite picture of her.  I, however, am a bit more ambivalent.  Because, frankly, I’m forced to admit she’s a stone fox (by way of Elvis Costello’s eyewear), and admitting that aligns me a lot more to backwater Kentucky families than I’d care to admit.

Confound societal expectations; wear both boxers and briefs.

Slap hard anyone who utters the phrases “at the end of the day,” “it is what it is,” or “chillaxes.”

Never ever give you up, let you down, or run around.  And definitely don’t desert you.

Keep eating vegetables; it’s not impossible that I could have another growth spurt before I turn 40.

It’s against California law to talk on a blackberry or send texts while driving--so restrict driving activities to web surfing, downloading ringtones, and playing “Brickbreaker.”

For karaoke? It’s either The Cheetah Girls or stay home.

Spend more time with George W. now that his schedule has finally cleared up; suggest going back to frequent Paintball & Cocaine weekends.

Pedicures, pedicures, pedicures.

The joke is getting old, so stop referring to my penis as my “land line.”

This year, finally and categorically, once and for all--no parking on the dance floor.

I’ve received some nice gifts from my colleagues this holiday season, but my favorite was a Bratz doll from two 20something girls in the office:

Their note--"Merry Christmas, Office Pimp!!!  Love, the Hoes"--is in reference to the fact that one of the girls, who is new to the company, apparently saw me talking to women and only women.  The fact is, I talk to many genders.  Well, at least two of them. But she told her boss, who is a good friend of mine, that she considered me to be the Office Pimp.  When I heard this, I sent her an email regarding some other subject and replaced my job title with “Office Pimp” in my email signature.  And so a nickname was born.

She and an ally of hers subsequently joined forces to bequeath me with Yasmin, a highly fashionable Bratz doll.  I wrote a carefully considered thank-you note to the both of them:

“Thanks for helping me find my new best friend.  We had a great time over the weekend putting glitter on ourselves and shopping.  And it’s great having someone else just like myself who understands the need for ‘High-Fashion STYLE!’ As office pimp, of course, she is available for general use.  Please contact me for rates (special seasonal discounts now in effect).”

Now that all the banter has died down, though, I’m wondering if this is really all just a joke. After all, the economy isn’t doing so well and we all need to be considering ancillary revenue streams.  10% of the gross doesn’t seem like such a bad deal to me--and besides, I think I’d really rock a leopard skin hat.

In my day, we went to a music show and we listened to the music.  Okay, sure, you could often see flashbulbs popping around the club or stadium as people attempted to capture a visual souvenir.  But it’s become completely out of control these days with people’s digital cameras and blackberries, clicking away during the show at all times as they try to snag an image or a video clip.  I’ve seen people practically watch the show through the lens of their mobile devices, recording away instead of losing themselves to the music.

Why do they do this? Is it so necessary that your YouTube page get tons of hits?  Are you bragging to your friends that you’re at a show, when they, in fact, probably had something better to do--like see a band and actually listen to the music? 

Don’t you understand that the few weeks have been terrible, like a brick bat slamming against the back of your head?  And that next week could very well be like a wheelbarrow of granite rocks being dumped on your face? And that this is potentially your only chance to escape it all as LoveFoxx, lead singer of Brazilian indie dance outfit CSS, launches into an awesome version of “Let’s Make Love (And Listen to Death From Above)”?  And that you really need to detach yourselves from your material objects and dance? And that if you don’t, there’s a very good chance that I’m going to punch you in the back of the head?

And that I’m not just saying all this because I failed to catch a single good shot of LoveFoxx?

I like cover songs because I often feel as though most of what we do is like enacting a cover song.  You think you’re raising your child the way you want? You’re just doing a version of a song that your parents taught you. You think you’re handling your various challenges on your own terms, using your best instincts and judgment?  You’re just rearranging an old tune.  Even you decide to go in the direction of zydeco and eschew death metal, everything you’re doing is still completely recognizable--all you can do is switch up the rhythm, the pacing, and the syncopation.

Here’s a song that’s generally considered to be ‘80s camp, but this fantastic cover teases out its power and makes you hear it for the first time.  I won’t even tell you the title just in case you’re old enough to be familiar with the song; it’ll be more interesting when it creeps up on you and you suddenly recognize it.  Good work, Harvey Girls.

The Harvey Girls mp3

The call came last week on Sunday morning.  My sister-in-law had gone into labor, and my brother asked me to babysit my 4 1/2 year old niece, Cameron, while newcomer Emerson was ushered into the world.

The challenges began almost immediately. As I took Cam to the park in order to spend a few hours while her mother gave birth, she immediately asked me why she couldn’t stay and watch the c-section.  And then she kept asking me about it.

What had her father told her? I didn’t know, so I just decided to give her a different answer every time.

“Why can’t I watch the c-section?”
“Because it’s boring.”

“Why can’t I watch the c-section?”
“Because it already happened.”

“Why can’t I watch the c-section?”
“Because your father only wants you exposed to As and Bs, in anticipation of your pending academic career.”

After the park and lunch, we went back to the hospital, waited a bit more, and eventually Cameron met Emerson:

My guess is that she is going to be a fantastic big sister.

This was the sweet and sentimental part of the day. Cold reality set in when I prepared to take Cam back to my brother’s house for a few days, as Geoff was planning to stay at the hospital with Emerson while his wife recovered. Geoff wrote out an schedule for me to follow. It was literally broken out into thirty and fifteen minute increments, such as:

7:00-7:30 Bath time. Use shampoo and conditioner then blow dry her hair.
7:15-30 Brush and floss her teeth.
7:30-45 Sing and read to her. Only three books.

I said, “You realize that if I can’t follow this, I’m just going to hunt wild game for dinner and then we’ll sleep on your roof.”

He said, “Just keep her entertained.”

Mostly it went okay, although there were many unforeseen problems. For example, she had issues with my lullabies.  Something as simple as “Are You Sleeping” met with protest because I would know it just a bit differently than Geoff did.  ("It’s din din DONG not DING DING dong,” she protested.  I said, “Look, I’ve heard your father sing before. Your problem isn’t that the words are wrong--it’s just that this is is the first time you’ve ever heard these songs sung in the correct key.")

And then there were the problems of her having trouble sleeping, not wanting to eat, and of course bouts of child rebellion:

“Cam, put your pants back on. It’s time to go to school.”
“NO.  HAHAHAHAHA!”
“Do you want to go to school without pants?”
“I’M STAYING AT HOME AND NOT WEARING PANTS!”

And then that evening, she snuggled up into my arm and said “I’m really glad you’re here, Uncle Greg.” And I felt bliss wash over me and I hugged her.  But then later:

“HAHAHA!  NO PANTS!”

I really hope she gets out of that phase by the time she turns sixteen.

It was an exhausting couple of days, but there was much that was learned.  For example, she learned that I take big bites when I eat ("That is half your head!") and I learned...well, I learned a lot of things.

Grouse.

Do the Conga.

Do the Locomotion.

Do the Crazy Frog.

Vamonos.

Rack up exes.

Enjoy lifetime usage of my current TIVO player.

Hypothesize.

Moralize.

Teetotal (never used).

Doodle.

Snooze.

My cousin Anne is visiting this weekend. At one point, she asked about the longevity of this blog, and I admitted to her that my posting schedule has continued to dwindle as I’ve both lost interest and been sucked further into work and my personal life.  However, I also told her that I intended to keep the site open indefinitely, even if there’s not a single person reading, just to have an electronic “post-it” note upon which to scrawl whatever thoughts I feel like putting somewhere.

For example, Anne is currently sleeping on my couch while I sit across from her and catch up on work and email.  It is no surprise that she’s taking a snooze at 1:10 pm; yesterday we did a walking tour of San Francisco that started on Market Street and ended at the very end of the Wharf, and punctuated with a ride in a cable car that was so overcrowded that we dangled off the sides while we went speeding down hills.  “PLEASE PULL INTO THE CAR” the conductor shouted whenever another cable car came at us from the opposite direction, and we pressed up against a sitting British couple and tried to avoid being grazed, nicked, or squashed by the oncoming traffic.  All of this was topped off by watching The Faint at the Warfield (as well as their very perky opening act, Natalie Portman’s Shaved Head).

Anyway, the point is, Anne is now taking a nap over a copy of Junot Diaz’s The Brief, Wonderful Life of Oscar Wao that I let her borrow, and I notice a few things: