Market Muscle

The deluge of black Friday marketing washes over us all, drenching us in a numbing torrent of sensory attacks. Everywhere one turns, there's no relief from the onslaught of advertising. Though I write this on Sunday, tomorrow looms like bastion of hope: cyber Monday. More on what Monday represents later.

Having worked in retail for the last 18 years, black Friday still continues to amaze me.
Q: What does it cost to get up early, to fight crowds, to suffer anxiety and to complain endlessly about the whole ordeal?
A: Apparently very little. For the opportunity to save a few dollars, people across the country subject themselves to physical, emotional and mental punishment, true torture. There's no other way to describe it. Some boast about getting up at 2 am to rush to wait in line and then fight the crowds to seize their prizes. But what do you really win? 20% off an item that is already marked up 150%? Maybe 250%? I'll gladly pay more to shop when I want to. It's the least I can offer to the child who made the product in an Asian sweat shop.

My brother made a comment that he would rather pay 20% more to shop his own terms. Bravo, bro. I like to save money like anyone else, but this black Friday madness is more like a staged reality show than real savings. It's more about the publicity a store stands to receive than offering consumers value. Camera crews and photographers wait amidst the shoppers, preparing to capture the misery for the upcoming newscast. People recently camped out in front of a Wal-Mart for a week to be first in line. Wal-Mart? Really?

I could see if the Mercedes dealership, Tiffany or the Louvre was having a midnight madness sale. But Kohl's, Target and JCPenney? I don't get it. All these holiday observations including the advertising, the fervor, the anxiety, the spending, the dread of seeing relatives you'd never think of calling any other time of the year. It all adds up to something. The sum is bollocks. That's bullshit for you colonists.

The spirit of hope and salvation promised by Christ's birth is mocked by the pagan ritual that has replaced the church's original intentions.

Religion disclaimer: I am by no means endorsing Christianity nor do I attend church on a regular basis. I think any objective observer would concur that the holiday has become about rewarding children for being children despite their often atrocious behavior. It's become a time for families to reunite and not always peaceably. It's become more about the best presents than the remembrance of His presence among us. You may or may not believe that the son of God came to live among humankind for the salvation of our souls.

But does any belief, insert your choice here, merit the insanity that Christmas is today? I admit to writing this in the most hypocritical fashion. You see, today I got on a ladder and strung lights across the front of my house and did some online holiday shopping. I'm no different than anyone else. I'm fully immersed in the lunacy. I just haven't figured out a way to present my arguements to my 4 and 6 year old.

Cyber Monday. No crowds. Me and a computer. Free shipping. This is the wise man's black Friday. Thank you web gods. When is your holiday?

Holiday Speed Trap

I just can't find a reputable study that can affirm my theory on time and the holidays. After refining my data over the last several years, it's time to go public with my findings. My hope is that people of science, theology, mathematics or anyone else dedicated to the high art of discovery will join me on my quest to validate the Holiday Speed Trap.

When Thanksgiving Day passes, the rest of the year just slips through your fingers. Days snap by like cards shuffled by an expert dealer. We are constantly reminded how many shopping days remain until Christmas. We step out of the protective shells of our homes into the holiday rush, swept out to a merry sea on currents of the loudest advertising campaigns imaginable. Adrift and rudderless, we are buffeted this way and that by tv, internet, radio and print ads. Each medium sprouting tentacles, sticky with mucous, greedily searching for your credit cards and cash.

Our senses, stunned by this psychic attack, expose our vulnerabilities. The lures dangle before us, spinning and flashy and made with a rainbow of color. Barbed hooks expertly masked, designed to painlessly separate us from our money. This super-bait impacts millions of people every year resulting in perhaps, one of the oddest of phenomena known to man.
People buy the most incredibly, nonsensical items when all their good sense at any other time of the year would send them laughing in the opposite direction. Need proof?

Examine the wardrobe dysfunction. A holiday sweater observed at any other time of year could easily be confused with a Jackson Pollock experiment that used only red, green and white paints.

Food. I may be in the minority but when I see cranberry sauce on a white plate the ridges of the aluminum can are embossed into its jiggly flesh, I can't equate that to something yummy. It reminds of something one would be forced to eat in space or at the front during war. Fruitcake. No explanation needed.
Decorative items. Animated Santa's singing and shaking their butts. Again, no explanation necessary. Lights splayed in distasteful strands of holiday mockery. Millions of living trees butchered, transported, decorated with humiliating baubles and then thrown aside like yesterday's garbage.

I listen to the Harvard Business Review's podcasts. Yes, I'm in the car approximately 4-6 hours per day. You can find them at hbr.org or on iTunes. i heard that when Michelle Obama appears on the Today show or makes similar high-profile appearances, the companies who produce her clothing experience a 2% - 3% lift in their stock price. J Crew and DSW went up 2% after a recent appearance where she mentions where she shops. The First Lady creates 5x the value of endorser Tom Brady. Pretty amazing. Mrs. Obama has a wide scope of appeal and her wardrobe is more casual than some former first ladies.

Imagine if you could influence the people you come in contact with each day to do something 2% better just because you said they should. Then imagine if you visited those same people a couple time a month. Maybe once a week. That thing they're doing would get a hell of a lot better, right?

Ok. So ask your self this: who visits you every couple weeks to make you better? No one? Really? Well if that's really your answer then you better do something about it. When you cease growth you begin death. It's the creeping down-escalator to oblivion.

Back to the holiday speed thing. There's no doubt that the Earth's axis tilts in a such a way that we slide into Christmas and New Year's faster than we ought to. Then we hit February, the shortest and most boring month of the year. Beware of the speed trap. It will suck you in, sap your strength and then strand you in February.

The Introspection Assumption

Think of a time when you came up short on a promise. It doesn't matter if it was a project at work or a promise to a friend. The result which you agreed to deliver didn't happen.

The inevitable questions of "Why?" and "How come?"get lobbed into your court like a slowly spinning tennis ball. Choice time. Overwhelmingly, the popular preference is to blame someone or something else. Blame falls to a cast of usual suspects: the weather, someone took ill, traffic, lack of resources, lack of time, miscommunication and, my personal favorite "I did the best I could with what I had".

The excuses (let's call them what they really are) beg that you acknowledge the fact that although the work was accepted, with or without complaint, it couldn't get done as expected because of the context of the situation. I’ll admit that acts of God and other people letting you down are things beyond our control. But did you even spend a minute of your pre-event time asking “What if?”

The 'unexpected' lays in the shadows waiting to leap in our path while we're busy fulfilling our obligations. In fact, this happens so frequently it's probably more common for events to get crazy than to run smoothly. There's always a fire drill popping up when something is due or someone is depending on your help.

Fast forward to the aftermath. You failed to do what was expected. Worse yet, you laid blame on something you couldn't control in the first place. So what could have happened differently? Planning for one. Contingency plans are part and parcel of being effective. You just can't get rattled by a couple curve balls.

 As that realization sinks in and its time to face the music, can one look inward for the answer? That's where it is, you know. I call it the introspection assumption. I assume that you will ask yourself some hard questions about your failure. And there, in your heart and mind you will find that there was something you could have done better or prepared for in advance.

There's a natural revulsion about visiting that dark place within us where truth hides waiting for discovery. When sharing what we find there means an admission of failure, we muster even greater resistance. When pride, ego and honor are threatened, we react by going on the defensive.

The required conscious step, disassembling those walls and embracing humility is a mighty task. Assuming responsibility and taking ownership make us vulnerable to scrutiny and punishment. But there’s a benefit, often an unintended consequence of embarking on the introspection assumption. Sincerity and right intention arrive. Those modifiers begin the arduous task of “placing credibility back on your side of the ledger”. A friend of mine used that line when asking for an explanation of inexplicable behavior. The person had been introspective to the point of becoming mute. The person met us halfway, but never really came clean for his error.

So what’s to be gained from traveling the inner pathways behind the veil of ego? Truth? Embarrassment? Character? Shame? Integrity? Suffering? For some, it is the Eightfold Path.

Lock-In and Locked-In

Locked-in syndrome is a terrifying prospect. It's is a condition in which you are aware and awake but cannot move or communicate verbally due to complete paralysis of nearly all voluntary muscles in the body except for the eyes. In the completely locked-in state, even your eyes are paralyzed. At first thought, locked-in syndrome sounds like something out of a Hitchcock movie. The protagonist drinks an elixir that renders him/her paralyzed while the villain buries them alive or prepares them for dinner or, you get the picture.
Seriously, it's an unimaginable state to comprehend. I get a cold and I can't function. Imagine not being able to function at all, except to move your eyes? This line of thought serves to remind you how fragile your brain, nervous system and oh yes, your psyche is.

Cognitive lock-in is something very different from the horror described above. I follow a blog about leadership, http://www.leadershipnow.com/leadingblog/ and this morning's edition got me thinking about familiarity. The blog described that when we do something out of habit, we behave automatically instead of intentionally.

Imagine that you're trying not to use foul language at work and you spill coffee on something important. You're probably going to blurt out an expletive or three until you begin to calm down and get rational. You start to think and part of the realization is, "I'm at work, surrounded by people and I'm cursing, again." If you've been counseled for your behavior in the past, I'd think you would get a break for this one. Spilling hot liquid anywhere usually results in people reacting impulsively, instinctively.

So back to the reacting intentionally part of this thought line. I admit that I spend a ton of energy on intentional action. I plan most things in my head before I proceed. Visualizing the moment, literally rehearsing how it will happen, I prepare mentally. When afforded the chance it works like a charm. I do a lot of interviews and public speaking.

This behavior comes in handy. I can't remember the last time my knees knocked in fear when speaking to a group of 250 people or engaging someone in a confrontational conversation. In my line of work that often means life-changing consequences for that individual. And I am not without empathy. Far from it, actually. It's an emotion I have to out-think on a regular basis in order to perform at my most efficient level.

Sadly, life doesn't have a "slow" button like my DVR remote that allows me to prepare my retort to a false accusation, racist or sexist comment or completely ignorant statement. So like most everybody I blurt out the first thing that appears in my mind. Whether I regret the choice, or lack of making a choice, it doesn't really matter. At least the response was honest. You can deal with the clean-up later, right? I think part of the problem, the real glitch with communication is that we over-think what might happen.

"If I say X, she's gonna ask "what about Y?" and I won't know what to say without her thinking that I'm hiding something and don't want her to know about Z." Ugh. The human brain and its complexities. If the brain is so damn complex and amazing, how come we're not any smarter? If we really only use 10% of our brain's capacity, wouldn't someone have invented a chip to cram in there and tap the remaining 90%? Maybe I'll put the blog aside until my sketches of the "Buddha chip" are complete? Where's my sketch pad?

Whistler's Wish

In 1992 David Strathairn played a character named Whistler in the movie "Sneakers". Whistler is blind and has a criminal record resulting from some disagreements with the phone company. In the movie's final scene, Whistler and his friends (Robert Redford, Sidney Poitier, Dan Aykroyd, and sadly, the last role for River Phoenix) are bargaining with a director from the NSA, James Earl Jones. They NSA covets a code-breaking device Whistler and Co. have stolen so badly, Jones promises anything they want in exchange.
Each has a very unique request. What does Whistler ask for? "I'd like peace on earth and good will toward men". Jones indignantly answers, "We're the United States government. We don't do that sort of thing!"

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807 - 1882) wrote a poem in 1863, during the Civil War titled "Christmas Bells". In the 1870's the verse became the basis for a song, made famous over the years by performers such as Elvis Presley, Sarah McLachlan, Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, Harry Belafonte, The Carpenters and Johnny Cash.
I respect the power of holiday music. I am by no means a sentimental sort who anxiously awaits Thanksgiving to pass so I can plaster my home with holiday decor.  But the music of the season is different. The combination of the encroaching holiday, the onset of winter and the joy of children transform my psyche. Christmas Bells, when set to music went by a different label, "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day". This imagery in the song coupled with the historical period when the poem was originally composed offer a deeper meaning. Here's the poem in it's original form:

Christmas Bells

    I heard the bells on Christmas Day
    Their old, familiar carols play,
        And wild and sweet
        The words repeat
    Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
   
And thought how, as the day had come,
    The belfries of all Christendom
        Had rolled along
        The unbroken song
    Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
   
Till ringing, singing on its way,
    The world revolved from night to day,
        A voice, a chime,
        A chant sublime
    Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
   
Then from each black, accursed mouth
    The cannon thundered in the South,
        And with the sound
        The carols drowned
    Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
   
It was as if an earthquake rent
    The hearth-stones of a continent,
        And made forlorn
        The households born
    Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
   
And in despair I bowed my head;
    "There is no peace on earth," I said;
        "For hate is strong,
        And mocks the song
    Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"
   
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
    "God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
        The Wrong shall fail,
        The Right prevail,
    With peace on earth, good-will to men."

Raised in the Roman Catholic faith, the last verse has power over me. I don't portend to be a religious person, succumbing to the exercises prescribed by the church. Religious in a "how I live my life and treat others" way, well then I could be considered a devout man. That verse holds greater power than that of an anxious child waiting in line to see department store Santa Claus and a host of other holiday scenes we see repeated every year.

"The Wrong shall fail, The Right prevail, With peace on earth, good-will to men." In 21st century America, it's difficult to imagine the strain of the Civil War on the country. Especially during times of expected celebration. How many babies birthed, weddings and holidays passed under that shadow of war? War pitting American versus American in the cities and fields of the country still stained with the blood of the Revolution. 

I think of my own contribution toward peace on earth and good will to men. What does that mean for me? Do I "mock the song"? When I hear the bells tolling from the churches I pass, I'll be asking that question of myself.

  

Charging...

The ebb and flow of things. I study this act of motion in all things. Often I slow myself down long enough to capture that ebb and flow. People walking on a crowded street. It looks all random and haphazard at first glance. But if you study it, there's a rhythm, a pattern to it all. Have you ever seen the movie August Rush? A young prodigy hears music in all things. The sounds of the city are a symphony to him. For me, visually, the movements of the city are the same. But not just cities. Dear no.

Trees. Water. Clouds. Especially clouds. I could stare at clouds all day watching for the patterns, the trends. Shapes morphing from one fantastic sketch to the next. I have spent a few, though not enough afternoons sitting on the grass with my children staring up at the clouds. We pick out shapes we see. We comment on the jet stream of airplanes. We wonder who's in those planes and where are they flying. My daughter thinks every plane is headed to Disney and my son thinks they're all headed to the north pole.
They don't have the patience for the patterns, though. I do. I watch them always. I look for the patterns on the highway. Shopping. In meetings. Meetings are great places for patterns. Wait for someone to yawn in a meeting. Or check a phone for messages. A chain reaction hops like a frog around the room, working outward from the initiating behavior like the epicenter of a disturbance in a calm body of water. Ripples of reaction occur in an ever-widening ring from that point of creation.

Speech. Patterns abound here. People altering their mode of talking to adapt to the group. Volume. Pitch. Tone. Vocabulary. All trends and patterns. Motion. All these changes and adaptations suggest motion. So while I may sit completely still saying nothing, my environment is a riot of motion. A hurricane of activity, though all anyone else may see is a slow moving stream, smoke from a chimney, a flight of birds, eggs on a griddle or rain on the car roof.  Ebb and flow.

Brand Recognition

There are moments in time that flash into existence, burning a permanent brand upon the brain. These moments, these bursts of action, speech, emotion or thought shape us. They may not be visited often but when a trigger causes us to brush past, the brand glows anew. Bright and pulsing, as fresh as the day it was thrust upon you, they shout down the corridors of your mind, "Feel!"

Hurtling back in time, you cease to exist in the present moment. Instead the memory plays itself over again. Engaged in the sensations of the event there's a tangible, authentic texture to it all.
And then it ceases to be. You are back in real time. The present. Static clicks briefly in your ears. Pins-and-needles numbness freezes your fingertips momentarily until hot blood pumps back into the cold digits.

The usual questions spill forth. Why? How could it feel so real? Contemplation on answers to these wonderings is wasteful. But, you ask, what ought I be thinking? Reflecting upon?
Consider the context of your present situation. How is it similar to the branded recall event? What parallels can be drawn connecting two strands of time along the web of conscious thought.

Close your eyes and creep the halls of your sub-conscious mind. Run your hand along the smooth walls of memory feeling for the brands. You caress the raised edges of that splinter of time, that grain of sand on the beach of infinity and electricity sparks in the cerebral cortex. Neurotransmitters fire blasts of memory-laden beams of energy and lo, you re-live your memories.

Today a glowing brand pressed into the clean walls of my brain, there for me to recall at opportune moments or, involuntarily. The sigil steams as the hot iron pulls away, hanging in the air as if to admire its handiwork. Satisfied with the product of its craft, the branding iron is gone.

All that remains is a man running, firing two shots from his pistol at the pursuing police. Those shouting law officers, moving in a line shoulder to uniformed shoulder, pistols drawn. Commands left disobeyed, the officers fire systemically ten to twelve times.  The fool goes down, dropping his handgun. Outclassed, outwitted and in pain, he begs. Sympathy flees. Mercy turns its back.  Justice rolls up its sleeves and applies the wrist restraints. Onlookers gasp, hands to mouth. Squad cars continue to respond until the area is swarming with paramilitary presence enough to overwhelm any odds.

I remember to start breathing again and drive on. The brand falls into shadow, its alcove in the halls of memory sealed with webs of time. Webs that only can be removed by the sub-conscious spiders of recollection.

Upper Respiratory Death Match

As usual, when the winter months draw close, I am beset by upper respiratory woe. Sinus draining, post nasal drip caustically scoring my throat, ears ache, glands swell. It all makes for fun times. What could be more fun than a sore throat, mucus pooling in your face and no sleep? Not much, you say?

Well you're wrong! To the rescue come two titans of the over-the-counter remedy kingdom. These two heavy-weights bring an impressive record to the arena.

First up is hydrogen peroxide. Gargling with hydrogen peroxide not only sounds dangerous, but it tastes dangerous, too! Ever lick the tops of a 9 volt battery as a kid? Can you close your eyes and remember the taste? This is nothing like that, but it's so different than anything you regularly slurp, you'll really be alive with panic! Anyway, it's supposed to disinfect the bacteria loitering at the top of your throat where the viscous post nasal drip splash-lands. The neat thing about gargling this stuff is the foaming, pasty residue left behind on your tongue! You can use a half-mouthwash/half hydrogen peroxide mix, but that's for pansies.

HP's partner is equally fearsome: the neti pot. Filled with steaming hot saline, this charming blue pot has a curved spout you insert in your nose. Just tip your head to one side, and scalding saline fills your sinus cavity creating the sensation of drowning. Once the hot liquid fights past the blockage, it exits from your opposite nostril! No, really! You don't have to abuse cocaine or anything. It just comes right out the other side.
Now here's the best part. You'll want to alternate from side to side, but when you remove the spout to switch all hell breaks loose - literally. I'll spare you the details, but I'll say this: there's some nasty organisms residing in your sinuses. But they're no match for mighty neti pot and it's saline spout of destruction!

You're probably wondering, "How could I pick a favorite amongst these two masters of bacterial liquidation?" You're right, it isn't an easy choice. If I was stranded on a desert island and could only have one, the choice is clear - neti pot carries the day. Not only is it effective in its work, but the whole novelty of pouring liquid in one nostril and exiting the other just never gets old.

If you'd like to see it done without making a committment, take a look at this fellow.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aQm7YpxgOnA

In the battle for sinus congestion supremacy, nasal irrigation is the champion. But every hero has a side kick, right? Sorry hydrogen peroxide. I love you, but you'll always be Robin to me. Never Batman.

Gathering Gigawatts

That first post brought out a lot of negative energy. Though fun to write, I don’t think I could publish a rant for very long. How about once in a while?

The thing that’s propelled me to blog is my need to practice. You see, I’ve been writing for a very long time and always wanted to publish my fiction. I listen to a podcast called “Writing Excuses”. How ironic that I listen to the cast, even take notes on their wisdom, yet continue to cling to my own excuses about why I’m not writing.

It all comes down to time and value. The guys at WE summed it up saying that if you say you don’t have time to do something, you’re making a value statement. You simply value x over y. In my case, I’ve put together a list of things higher in priority than writing. Pretty simple to fix, right?

Sir Isaac Newton said a body in motion tends to stay in motion and a body at rest tends to stay at rest. I’m in motion again. This is similar to stopping smoking. It’s more a head game than anyone will admit to. Why? Because you sound weak if you say “I know I should quit smoking since I know it will kill me. But the nicotine is too powerful!” I heard an elderly woman in a grocery store say to her even more elderly mother, “Put that back, Mom. You know you shouldn’t eat that. You do have control over what you put in your mouth, you know.”

Genius. I truly admired that woman in the moment. Not for standing up to her mummified-looking, dusty mother, but for the naked truth in her statement. It’s all about choices and will.

I have these characters I’ve been living with for years. They appeared when I was a teenager and over the years have grown. Their unique personalities became deep and intriguing. I really like them. I’ve never been pleased with the plots I’ve stirred them into. I made these terrible tasting omelets despite using quality ingredients. Then I realized one ingredient that was consistently outdated. My writing. So, I’ll hone my chops here and eventually deliver the plots, storylines and conflict my characters deserve! You heard it here first.

Numero Uno

Holy moly! My first blog post. Ok. Got that out of my system. The truth is, I've always felt constrained by the character limits of FB status updates. And when I write a note, no one ever reads them. So I'll give blogging a shot.
First order of business are my ground rules. There shall be no editing aside from a quick glance for grammar and spelling f-ups. I'm going for a stream-of-consciousness style here. And that's it for ground rules.
Today's topic. Hmmm. I'm still searching for what I'll call these. I'm too young to call it "Rob's Wisdom". I'm not that savvy to label anything "advice". How about mixing an old nickname with a dash of humility?
Buddha's Counsel: Today's counsel pokes a finger at complaining. I knew it wouldn't be long before I tried to pin this unenviable character flaw to the ground. Iam subjected to a large amount of complaining each day. This is not to be confused with hearing complaints. There are many whiny people I tune out because I don't know them, don't want to know them or don't want to get sucked into their trivial problems at that moment. So the counsel? Two choices.
Choice A is ignore the complainer and shove off as fast as your legs can carry you. Don't look back either. That's like falling down when the horror movie killer is following you. Doom.
Choice B is tell them to give it up. Find a solution. Complaining does not fix problems, it induces ear aches, promotes upset stomachs and chases away all humans in a thirty foot radius. I know because when I slip up and complain I can visually see the other person tuning me out. There's actual pain arcing across their face as I lay out my gripes. If I'm sharp enough to catch it, I'll quickly change the subject. But sometimes I just keep venting and suddenly, people are making excuses to get the hell away from me.
How come I can spot other people complaining, even preparing to complain as proficiently as a sleeping dog hears its master jingle car keys, and suddenly is up sprinting to the door? It's because its uncomfortable, down right agonizing to have someone else drop their annoyances on you like one of those fishing nets that have the weights tied all around the outer edge. You have to fight for your very sanity, maybe even your life just to stop hearing that blathering.
Did I mention that I can be somewhat facetious and even just a little sarcastic at times? I'm outta fuel. Enough for the first leg.