Baffle them with BS!

Everything has a private language and specific nomenclature. It can be a business, a hobby or a field of study; it doesn’t matter. The more we are interested, the more we want to familiarize ourselves with the terms; knowing the correct terminology makes us think we know more about the subject. You were taught dog in the first grade, but now that you love dogs you understand that Spot is actually a Cocker Spaniel. He is a specific type of dog that has a specific name.

Actually a Cocker Spaniel is a Canis Lupus Familiaris, but exactly who is going to say that? Not me! I don’t pretend to know very many scientific names, but I love dogs and I swear I knew that one. But if I did choose to use this term I would probably be ignored. I would be thought of as a smart ass for one, but I would also limit my audience; nobody would know what I was talking about. So unless I was either trying to impress someone or alienate myself why would I ever use this term? How about because I was trying to sell you something?

A couple of weeks ago my wife and I received an invitation for a free meal at a nice local restaurant. Of course we would have to agree to listen to a short sales pitch during (and after) the meal, but she wanted to go and honestly I couldn’t think of a good reason to tell her no. My wife was nice enough not to mention that it really wouldn’t be much different for her since she was accustomed to listening to my crap during meals anyway, so I agreed to go. She didn’t tell me until a few days before we were supposed to go exactly what the sales pitch was about; “New and cutting edge products that will slash your energy bills”. Somebody in the reservation department is not asking the correct questions!

I don’t pretend to know everything there is about saving energy, but over the last two years I have had some pretty intense training on the subject. I have learned quite a bit about what works and what does not; what makes financial sense and what does not. I could only imagine what this company was going to try to sell us, but I agreed to be good during the sales presentation and to consider myself (as my wife described me) a spy! “You’re mission, should you choose to accept it…” Sounds like fun.

Well the products offered were not exactly new, and the only edges they cut had happened years ago. Several of the items would probably save you a little money, but they would save even more if they were installed correctly and not the way the salesman was describing. His numbers were inflated and his pleas for saving the planet were a little over the top, but the food was very good and I was behaving. I had decided that everything would be okay... and then he told a big lie. He used some very specific nomenclature to try to quiet my concerns, and when I responded with a battery of equally specific terms questioning his statements, he quickly changed the subject and moved on to another topic.

I let him off the hook and managed (for the most part) to keep my mouth shut. But what I could not manage to do was see him in any other light than for what he really was; he was a criminal. He lied to every person in the room to make a dollar. When he got caught he tried to baffle the room with technical bullshit! The part that angered me most was that if he had simply told the truth about the products he was trying to sell they would have (at some price) been worth purchasing! The products will never perform to the levels he professed, and by making these exaggerated and inflated statements he did the buyers and the real world of energy conservation harm. I can’t speak for the rest of the room, but let’s just say that I seriously doubt that anyone sitting at my table bought anything from him!

Respect

I typically enjoy listening to a talk radio show most mornings after dropping my daughter off at school. This morning they were discussing the Martin/Zimmerman case and fielding calls from the public with opinions on both sides of the fence. The host of the show (who happens to be black) told a personal story detailing his treatment by law enforcement during a time in which he owned a new and expensive Porsche automobile. He went on to say that he basically expected to be stopped by the police at least once a week if for no other reason than to provide an explanation for why he was driving such a nice car. I think this was more than a few years ago, but I’m sure it still happens to some extent today.

But in the middle of his story he touched on a point that brought back memories very personal to me. I won’t pretend to tell you that I know what it is like to be black, but I can tell you what it feels like to be visibly different. I know what it feels like to walk in a store with your family and have the conversation stop. What it feels like to see the father of a girl your own age take his daughter’s hand and quietly lead her away from you. What it feels like when a store owner chooses to follow you through the store while you shop. What it feels like to be stopped by the police because the car you are driving or the length of your hair makes them suspicious and uncomfortable. Being judged never feels good.

I grew up in the late sixties and early seventies. My parents drove a Volkswagen van and we all had long hair. We rented a house close to the college and had friends of every color and nationality. Let’s just say that we didn’t visibly fit the profile of the average resident of a small middle Georgia town. But the only time I felt different was when others made me feel that way; I was just a normal little boy that wanted to play football and ride his bicycle. “Those are some pretty little girls you’ve got there…is number 24 a little girl? Look at that hair coming out the back of her helmet”. These weren’t serious statements; these were statements meant to harm; these were statements meant to divide.

Of course these statements hurt my feelings, but we were taught from an early age not to take the bait. We were taught to be respectful even when we were not treated with respect. We were taught that if there was going to be a problem to be sure that we were not the cause. To say “yes sir and no sir” to a person who was giving you a hard time simply because they had the authority to do so was merely the best way to diffuse the situation and not a conformation of their sensibility. It wasn’t “kill them with kindness”; it was more that it just wasn’t worth it to let them drag you in. You have to know who and what you are or you will end up being what other’s suspect you are. Admittedly this is easier said than done, but it is a lesson that all parents must teach their children. Being respected is wonderful; staying alive is priceless.

Good News

Anybody that knows me at all has probably heard some of my rants about how our news is delivered. I’m drawn to it and hate it at the same time, and while I don’t believe that all of it is bad, I have come to see it as merely a big sales pitch. We are so global now that sometimes you forget the bad news is happening 3000 miles away and has no effect on you at all. You forget that the only thing new about this news is the fact that you can now witness it from the comfort of your microfiber sectional.

How many nights in a row can you watch terrible things happening to people from across the globe without thinking that this is all that happens? Yeah they put a little human interest/feel good story at the end to try and make up for all of the crime and disaster you have been bombarded with for the first 99% of the show, but isn’t this kind of like eating a great dessert when dinner was a shit sandwich? Try as they may, this just doesn’t seem to take the taste out of my mouth…it only fuels paranoia, division and hate.

This past weekend, my family and I took a short weekend trip for a “tune-up” and a few days off. Four hours of driving doesn’t typically require a stop for gas, but when you consume water like my family does at least one pit stop is usually required. I could almost drive the route we take to this location with my eyes closed because I’ve taken it so many times and I already know where I plan to stop. But when we do stop I choose busy, well lighted places and check the parking lot for “suspicious” looking characters before getting out; I try not to be paranoid, but I am a parent. On the trip home I chose a crowded gas station near the interstate in Dublin Georgia.

The first thing I noticed after parking the car was a lady about my age chasing a small dog around the gas pumps. I assumed it was hers, so I jumped out and blocked the dog’s path to the busy highway in front of the store. This little guy was quick and we chased him in circles for quite a while! After going in the same circle two or three times I asked the lady what the dog’s name was; I thought a personal touch might help with the capture. She informed me (and the small crowd of fellow pursuers that had joined the chase) that this was not her dog; she was simply trying to keep him from getting hit by a car.

Well we finally snagged the five pound Houdini; actually he jumped in the car with a family that was pumping gas; a little girl in the backseat had him in a bear hug. It was then that I heard a small cheer from the crowd that had joined in the chase; about a dozen people representing every color and age group this country has to offer. The little girl reluctantly handed the dog over to the lady that began the chase and the crowd dispersed. After much discussion of what to do with the little guy, we decided that I would take him with me. The lady was traveling back to Atlanta and mentioned that all she could offer was to take the dog to a shelter, so I left the store clerk my phone number and headed home.

Luckily only a few minutes after we returned home the dog’s despondent owner called and we made arrangements to meet later in the day; she would have to drive an hour and a half to retrieve him. Of course there was a part of me that wished I had not left my phone number at the store; the little guy was really cute…but he was not mine. But what we witnessed in the parking lot of this South Georgia convenience store is what I think the true face of my country is really like. The episode was happening very quickly and everyone’s initial reaction was to jump in and lend a hand; cars stopped and drivers jumped out. The entire parking lot was nice to each other and willing to help a stranger in need. I guess stories like this don’t make a good news story.

Lucky Day?

I’m sure I’m not the only person that wakes up some mornings only to realize that something is just not quite right with the day. If you are anything like me, once you discover this you try to be extra careful; you try not to undertake any task that has lasting attributes. I basically try to be humble and not get mortally wounded. This past Saturday was a case in point, and even though I discovered it early in the day, I never got around it.

My family and headed to the Georgia coast last Friday morning for a short weekend getaway. Even though we tell ourselves that we go to hunt shark’s teeth, soak up some beach sun and fish in a semi-private spot, it is probably just a thinly disguised plot to go on a shrimp run. If you’ve never eaten fresh Georgia shrimp you might just suggest Kroger, but if you have you might agree that this would be worth the three and a half hour drive by itself! The other activities are just a bonus.

After a good night’s sleep and an uneventful Saturday morning breakfast we headed to the seafood market to buy some shrimp. We could hardly contain our excitement when we discovered that they were larger than we expected and the price was right! After draining the water and rearranging the contents of my very large cooler, I carefully packed the shrimp inside and headed back to the hotel; time to pack for a day in the marsh!

We reached the hotel and the girls were about to go inside when my daughter pointed at the truck and said “Look at the cooler dad”. It had almost fallen out of the truck; I had forgotten to close the tailgate of my truck for the five mile drive back to the hotel. How I had managed not to scatter the contents of the cooler all over downtown Brunswick was nothing less than a miracle; a near miss. Looks like it’s going to be one of those days, I’d better be careful.

We are just about ready to head out when we discovered that the safe in the room was not working. We don’t usually travel with large quantities of diamonds and rubies, but we did have three laptops that I was hoping to lock up in the room while we were out. After several failed attempts by the manager to repair the safe we decided to just lock them up in the truck. It wasn’t going to be very hot that day, so we decided to just take our chances and place them in the floorboard covered with a jacket; you can’t be too careful these days!

The hike in to our favorite marsh spot is a long one so we packed food and water for the whole day. My daughter wanted to fish as well, so I took two rods and a small bag of tackle out of my truck tool box. There is really no good place to park here and it always makes me nervous that I can barely get my vehicle out of the road. After a check (and double check) we head for our favorite spot on this beautiful spring morning.

Well the day could not have been any better, we found quite a few sharks’ teeth and my daughter even managed to fight a large fish for a few minutes. Our lunch was great and the weather was perfect; what a great day! We were even patient when the hike back was made longer as my wife stopped every few minutes to photograph several of the hundreds of butterflies we encountered along the way. When we finally reached the road we noticed that there were several other vehicles parked along the road; our private spot was not so private anymore. I let the tailgate of the truck down for a place to rest while we removed our muddy shoes; we were now exhausted. Of course I checked to be sure that the contents of my truck bed were not disturbed, but I almost had heart failure when I my looked at the lock on my toolbox! We had been away from the truck for six hours…

Baseball Season

Years ago my younger brother went through a nasty break-up that unfortunately led to divorce. Having to declare a side that pits brother against an ex-spouse in law is bad enough, but when kids are involved it’s even worse. Throw in the fact that this happened right in the middle of his helping coach the step son’s little league baseball team and you have the workings of a nightmare! My wife and I were childless at the time and had attended every game; sometimes they even let me be the bat boy! So what were we to do now?

You have probably already guessed that I chose to fill in for my brother as an assistant coach for the second half of the season. He was no longer present at any of the games, but I really think he liked the fact that I stepped in and took over his spot. Sadly he was actually divorcing two people at once, and while he played it cool, I know it bothered him. As sad as all of this sounds, my wife and I had a blast! The coach was great and the kids all loved him. We already knew the team members and they welcomed us in as though we had been there the entire time; you have to love the resilience of seven and eight year olds!

The season was right out of an episode of the Bad News Bears; worst to first with all of the drama of a made-for-TV movie. I watched several boys go from standing in the outfield with their glove on their head pretending to shoot down a low flying airplane to becoming competent baseball players, and I had really started to love them all. When the season drew to a close, the coach bought tickets for the entire team to attend an Atlanta Braves game. The tickets were for a Saturday afternoon game so we decided to go early, eat lunch, and watch batting practice. I was probably as excited as any of the kids and was up early that morning ready to go.

I was delighted to see that most of the boys had brought there baseball glove and a ball; we were very early and I felt good about our chances of getting some autographs during batting practice. We made our way down to the last rail at the edge of the field and I could hardly contain my excitement at just how close we were to some of my favorite players and coaches. Andres Gallaraga, John Smoltz and David Justice were standing around casually talking to each other and with members of the new Colorado Rockies in their flashy purple uniforms. I whistled and waved at the players, but it was a big wave and a “hey mister” from one chubby little freckled face boy on my team that brought one of the players over to the rail. Bingo! We got a bite.

I didn’t know much about the player that was headed our way, but he was definitely coming for autographs; he already had his Sharpie in his hand! The man played second base for the Rockies and I think his name was Eric Young, but he was very young and new to the big leagues. Eric had a confident swagger and was all smiles as he approached the rail filled with screaming men and boys. My heart did a back flip as he went straight for the excited little player standing next to me; the boy that had managed to call him over in the first place. He reached for the ball the boy was waving in his outstretched arm and was just about to ask his name when the boy yelled “Hey mister, can you take this ball over to Dave Justice and have him sign it?”

I guess I don’t have to tell you what happened next, but let’s just say we didn’t get a single autograph. I will add that Eric Young did manage to be civil; it was me that did all of the swearing and my fingers remained in the “choke position” for the rest of the day! But I think we all learned a valuable lesson that day; never look a gift horse in the mouth. A gift is a gift and even if it is not perfect, the least you can do is be grateful.

Hay Fever

We spend more than a little time at my house enjoying word play. I say we enjoy it, I do and my family seems to, but it could easily be just the time in grade they have spent with me. Tolerance, adaptation; maybe they are just humoring me, but words have always fascinated me. Just pick any random word and assign it a new meaning in a sentence and it’s funny; “The doctor said he wanted to check my pilaf.” I don’t care who you are, that’s funny.

A few mornings ago my daughter and I were discussing the possibility of her taking the allergy medicine she did at this time last year. She hasn’t needed it since last summer, but she was beginning to get the same nagging cough that sent us for the prescription last spring. I was glad that she had been able to stop taking it and I even suggested that since the weather was warming she might need it again for her “hay fever”. I didn’t think much about using the term hay fever, but from the look on her face I knew that I may as well have said “After school let’s dance around the Victrola”! Come to find out hay fever is not a word used commonly in modern vocabularies.

But the more times I said the word, the funnier it became. What a tragic sounding term for a rather mild affliction! “My father was never the same after his lengthy bought with hay fever” or “The great hay fever outbreak of 1916 dealt one of deadliest blows ever to our troops abroad”. Sounds so much worse than “I have allergies to pollen”; pollen really sounds like some kind of tasty fruit anyway! “I love honey and pollen yogurt”. Maybe I’m crazy, but I think we all assign our own images to words that often have no bearing on what they actually mean.

So why not rename a few items ourselves? Give them new names and make them sound a little nicer; kids do this all the time. When my daughter was in preschool she told me one evening that a kid in her class had “cometed”. I was picturing a falling star or flaming meteorite and was very disappointed when I discovered that was she really meant was that he had vomited! Since this day I’ve been convinced that comet is a much nicer way to describe the act of throwing up and I use it often. We probably wouldn’t survive as a species if each family had a private language, but it sure is fun to entertain the thought sometimes!

Don't try this at home

Remember that feeling of anticipation for the next issue of your favorite monthly magazine? It would be getting close to the first of the month and I could hardly wait for that next issue of Georgia Outdoor News, Fine Woodworking or Wood magazine; the old ones being so dog-eared and worn after only thirty days of use that they would almost fall open to my favorite picture or article if I barely even touched them. I would stack these treasures on a bookshelf or in a basket in the bathroom and only agree to part with them when I was threatened with divorce court! It seemed like as soon as I gave them away I would discover a need for one of the articles from last June; I knew I should have kept them.

Really this was not that long ago, but I have slowly become such an internet junkie that I no longer subscribe to any magazines. For me it is not a decision to save paper (though this is not a bad idea) it is more of an “I want it now” decision. I can find more information about my likes and hobbies in thirty minutes than I could in that entire magazine that came every thirty days! If I want pictures and articles I simply pin them on my Pinterest boards or save them to my favorites; my custom online magazine! Too easy? Well it does require an expensive machine and an internet connection…

But one of the parts that I find uniquely interesting about blogs and web boards, as opposed to printed magazines, is that you now know for sure the “letters to the editor” are being read…by all. I always found it interesting which letters that critiqued the previous month’s publication the editors chose to publish and I often saw it used as free advertising for the magazine. Given the amount of sometimes brutal and offensive responses I see on online articles I now know that I was right to suspect this. These comments often make me think that the world is inundated with certified nutcases, but I also think it has made people think twice about what they choose to publish. I’ve always thought that magazines spoke to me in a condescending tone; they have the “don’t try this at home” feel to them. Now I think they have to be a little more careful with that approach.

I remember a particular article in one of my favorite hunting magazines more than a few years back about turkey hunting. The author went in to great detail about another hunter he could hear from his blind that was attempting his hand at calling turkeys. He described the new hunter’s weak attempts and basically stated that if this was the best this guy could do, he should just go home; leave it to the professionals…the real hunters. I wrote my first letter to the editor. Of course it never made the magazine and as it turns out the editor had actually written the article. Surprise!

But this writer does not understand what a disservice he did to the sport of hunting by writing an article such as this. The future of any sport or business is in the people that are new to it; they should be encouraged. They are the energy that fuels it and keeps it alive; without them it will go away. If you are told that you don’t know what you are doing you will never know what you are doing. I know that we are all proud of the skills we have learned over time, but we will truly never master them until they are shared with others.