Half Time Show

The interesting thing about having a 50/50 child custody time share is this not only means I see my kids half the time, but for the first time in about 15 years I am alone half the time. That alone time carries almost the same responsibility of child rearing. It’s all about time and opportunity.

So, what to do with my free half time? I wrote a list. I penned these ideas in a very quiet moment. With each idea comes the realization that I may meet people and be faced with yet another decision; Do I want to get friends in this process or steep in my aloneness. The latter is so much easier to maintain. My list resembles a cross between a camp itinerary and a bucket list.

1. Take classes – I am not artistic. I can’t recognize my own signature so art class is out. I would take a home improvement class at Home Depot but since being ousted from my house and now in a rental, what’s the point. Dog training school may work except for my obsessive pre-occupation with the fact that owners resemble their pets except me, of course, because I have a black Labrador and I am clearly not Labradorean. I have considered higher education, but the classes are on line and spending all of my half time in front of a computer has a weird Ted Kaczynski ring to it and you saw how that turned out. Classes are out.

2. Dating - Well, maybe. And maybe not yet. But, if I did, I have options. There are singles groups. I remember going to these when I was single many years ago. My feelings back then were they should sell pre-noosed ropes at the door and a floor plan highlighting strong over head pipes that will hold my body weight. It was rare to see such a gaggle of miserable people and a collection of vintage prom dresses at the same time. A singles dance should be a paid theme park attraction to view. Put in Disney world in the new attraction called Loser World. It is a mess. Online dating is good, but even that gets unusual. Apparently there is a “lifestyle” out there that accepts bondage in the same way I accept pasta. For this group, it is just normal and I really don’t fit in to that …yet. For every hour of online chatting, it is equal to 6 months of dating. The relationship on line moves at lightning speed and inevitably turns to sex or innuendo. The only thing missing from online dating service subscription is a supply of hand lotion and a box of tissues. There are specialty online dating sites like J-Date or Plenty of Fish. The Fish site is loaded with very open minded experimenters who, based on their self made profiles, have no intention of ever running for public office. The J-Date is a site for Jewish singles. I look at the ladies’ profiles and I can only imagine exactly how long it would take for them to become whiney and insulting toward me. It probably would not happen…but it might.

3. Get out in public – I like people watching. I am not quiet at the age where I can go unnoticed so I need to pick my perches carefully. For example, sitting in a park alone means I am a pedophile, homeless or a Middle Eastern pilot. The library is passable, but who the hell goes to the library anymore? Join an exercise club might be good but even typing “e-x-e-r-c-i-s-e c-l-u-b” is exhausting. I did try the mall. I always hated going to the mall, and in many ways I still do. A recent trip to the mall proved uncomfortable. I took a break from people watching to use the restroom. The stench was staggering. Out of one of the stalls came a middle aged man. He not only was the cause of the odor, but he also did not wash his hands. I was appalled. When I returned to my bench, this filthy man must have walked past me with his family at least 5 times in the course of an hour. Each time he was holding the hand of one of his many trophies of fertility. It was a child’s little hand held by the viral hand of their trusted dad. Disgusting, and completely distracting. The pigman ruined this day for me.

4. Work – There should be a program offered by your employer to increase your pay if you decide to throw yourself at your job with your free half time. Work is a safe place. All of your things are there. You understand it. You can talk to people if you choose. Working extra hours may fill your time void, but it is not very productive, personally. I don’t see the immediate value, so I don’t do it.

5. Do nothing – This is certainly the easiest, but it is probably the most damning and dangerous. In my neighborhood, I don’t want to be known as the guy that only leaves his house to go to work, or beat his rugs. When I say “beat his rugs” I truly mean beating rugs. I don’t want to live out my last 30 or so years as the old man in the house that if a baseball goes into the yard, the kids leave it there out of fear that the “old man” will come out, capture them and bake them into a quiche. It works well in a fairy tale, but the realty would be bad. Doing nothing also leads to bad things like drinking, gambling and internet porn…and I really don’t want to drink.

6. The book store – If I want to validate my reality I can work on my flexibility so that I can sit cross legged on the floor between the self-help and psychology racks at a Barns and Noble. To solidify the stereotype, I can sip a five dollar Carmel Macchiato as I thumb through the pages of a Tony Robbins diatribe on “what the f&*k is wrong with you” books. If I build up the nerve, I can strike up a conversation with the frizzy haired red headed girl who doesn’t own any makeup and her pimples read like a brail copy of a Susan Grafton novel. Perhaps in the rows and rows of books, I will find myself.

7. Movies – Going to a movie alone is strange. Research Paul Reubens (Pee-Wee Herman) for further explanation.

I am new to this free time. I will figure it out eventually. I know there are good things in this somewhere and when I find it, and it will be great. Maybe I will travel, volunteer, write, run, and act. I will live. I will commit to being a whole heck of lot happier and active than I have been but I just don’t know where to start. These are one half of some very exciting days.

Golden Slumbers

Once there was a way, To get back homeward. Once there was a way, To get back home. Sleep pretty darling, Do not cry. And I will sing a lullabye.

Those John Lennon lyrics ring so true and the following describes our journey.

I took the kids to the beach yesterday. It was the first time I had since leaving their mother. Observing them in this environment and under the current set of circumstances is an amazing experience. The lesson I learned is really not so deep and not so introspective; I forgot how interesting it is to be a kid.

Let’s start with my son. Sure, we bought the five dollar spongy football. What fascinated him more than its aerodynamics was the amount of water it can absorb and hold. Also, his discovery that the tide will bring it back to shore if it is dropped in the waves. My gift from this was his statement saying, “I see how the water moves this football, and it must have been horrible watching the waves move houses in Japan.” It was at this moment that I knew that he gets it. Maybe not all of it, but he gets it. As an adult, I forget the magic in realizing the moment when the dots connect and the world jigsaw puzzle pieces begin to fit together.

After the football play, he embarked on a shell hunt. There were not many shells washing up that day. But, for an hour he watched the waterline, carefully seeing what the white retreating foam would uncover. He would see the wave recede and run to the spot of imperfection in the wet sand to discover its cause. The innocent process of shell collection is a fascinating one to watch through the eyes of an engaged 9 year old boy.

What made this especially interesting was when he returned to our spot on the beach with his treasure. I was surprised to see that of the twenty or so shells in his cup, none of them were complete or especially beautiful or interesting. I asked him why he wanted to keep them. His response was a lesson in tolerance. He said he wanted these because “nobody else would want them and they would never be collected.”

I have to believe this depth of reasoning is being fueled by the dynamics of my divorce. I can interpret his display as both compassion as well as fear. However, the message is clear that he needs trust and protection right now. I am convinced that what happens in the next few months will shape his entire life. I need to respect my role in this.

My daughter brings a completely different set of beach going behaviors. Unlike my son, she never wants to be alone. Her ability to meet and make new friends in literally minutes is outstanding. I think what I especially love about this is that she never, and I mean never either knows or remembers their name. I watched her play for two hours with a little girl and boy whom will forever be remembered as those “two kids on the beach.” What I learned is that you really don’t need all of the details to know that you like someone.

An odd behavior, again a divorce byproduct, is that she constantly asks two questions. The first, “Is that person homeless?” She is so worried about people and I am sure that she is really mostly worried about herself. Her world is so unstable right now. Her sure footing comes from comparing herself to others.

The second question she asks often is “Is this a true story?” She asks this all of the time. She had come across the horrific images of the recent earthquake and asked if it were true. She will see a dead animal on the side of the road and ask if they are really dead. I believe she is testing the permanency of her broken family and simply wondering if this too shall pass. As a dad, I need to make sure she understands that this is a true story.

So, I do tend to gush a bit much over these kids, but you know what? Too bad! I know that we three are in this together and we are starting to smile a lot more lately. It is not always paradise, but it is always fascinating.

Our journey has only just begun.

a not so Hallmark Thank you

There have been way too many times in my life that I have fallen back on the irreverent words of the Grateful Dead, “What a long strange trip it’s been.” The mere recanting of these words not only demonstrates a moment of personal inventory, but also acknowledges one’s own faults and mortality. The process of divorce begs for validation of life’s journey and the rationalization that it is truly a long and strange trip.

I am mostly happy and sometimes sad to be coming to the end of this section of my trip. Eleven years of marriage produced many handfuls of incidental smiles but even the broadest, most ear to ear grin will eventually relax to an unassuming expression. What does not fade are the byproducts of such years, namely my children. So, that by itself makes it ok.

Another odd result of this life’s difficult section is the fateful blessings of friendships formed and reformed. I have amassed more love in 4 months from virtual ghosts of my past than the eleven years of the marriage which I thought was worth the troubles. I hear the paraphrased words of Anne Frank resonating when I confidently say that in spite of everything, people are basically good.
What would compel someone to fly 1100 miles just to be there while the dust settled during the starting days of the vicious post nuptial process? Why would someone, in spite of their own health and personal issues constantly seek conversation and support at all hours of the night? And why am I constantly reminded to not shut down, become reclusive and reach out with no fear of judgment, just nurturing chat?
I am not sure of any of those answers. What I am sure of is it all came when I needed it most and I am pretty damn fortunate. Someone once told me that I cannot count on people, especially those who live far away and have not been close to me throughout my life. That person was very wrong. Maybe I am naïve, but it has been those people that has given me the will and reminded me of the personal power I hold and for that I am thankful.

I am bad at asking for help and worse at saying thank you. I am an incurable cynic that has been humbled in the most profound way. So, I say to my FRIENDS, thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Whether we continue our bonds in the years to come I do not know, but the mark you have left on me is deeper and brighter than a new tattoo.

Thank you and know that you are loved the way that you have loved.

Lean

For 20 years I rose early every day
Dressed for success, made my mark in any way
Came troubled times and the job, it let me go
Out of work, family to feed, give me a wall to lean on

The man said it is something I can easily do
My house will be my future
But the payments were higher than I can afford
Out of my house, the bank took it, and there was nothing I could do.
Give me a wall to lean on.

On main street, on your street in my town and yours
You see me, as I disappear into the bricks and the paint
I’m the guy with my knees bent, a blanket around me to stay warm
My day is a search for a wall to lean on.

What matters most is different for all
For some it is a coat, gloves or what’s left of your lunch
Shelter is just a memory from a life once had
Today, a goal to live is all I have.
Give me a wall to lean on.

Some dreams you wake up from
You wonder how you got here
It could never happen to me
Said the man who has the wall to lean on.

-unknown

I quit

I recently needed a quotation so I did what any new millennium resourcer and researcher would do, I googled it. “Quit Quotations” I typed. I received back many pages of examples of “not giving up”. There were a few on “persistence”. One even started out with “Don’t ever, ever, ever quit”.

That is not what I wanted. I wanted a quote on quitting. Webster defines quitting as: “released from obligation, charge, or penalty”. Yes! That's what I want..."release from Obligation".

I wanted some famous person somewhere to profoundly make a memorable statement saying “quitting” is ok. Someone like JFK; “Ask not what your country can do for you, quit asking us any questions.” Someone like Martin Luther King; “I had a dream, and I will quit telling hoards of people what it was”. There was nothing.

What a shame that even google is programmed into believing that quitting is unquotable when there are in fact many great reasons to quit. We just don’t seem to want to be quoted about the human condition of quitting. Maybe there is fear that we may appear weak.

After further digging I found other words that kind of mean the same thing. Words like concede, withdraw, forfeit and a few others. But I wanted “Quit”.
I have quit a few things in life. I quit four jobs that I can remember, but we call that “resign”. I quit the cross country running team in 8th grade in favor a cigarette smoking. I quit my first marriage for all of the wrong reasons, but that was called “divorce”. I quit smoking, and while I called that “quitting smoking”, it is now called “smoking cessation”. The stigma attached to quitting is really apparent everywhere. There must be a time where it is best to just quit…no fancy words, just quit.

I am faced with one of those times. My situation, it involved a lot of opportunities for quitting at various check points along the way. None of those opportunities were acted upon. She could have gotten help the first time she realized that drugs were a problem. But she didn’t. She could have quit the second time she realized that drugs were even a bigger problem. But she didn’t. She could have quit the third time that she realized the drugs were a problem. She claims she will, but I doubt it.

I could have quit at any of these times on her. But I didn’t. Instead, I stuck with it, persevered, forged ahead, just like google told me to do.

Since I didn’t quit, I am now reaping what I have sowed. Sinced she didn't quit I am now reaping what she has sowed. The kids had no choice, but counted on me to make it for them.

Quitting has a very special power when used at the right time. Quitting is the acceptance of a situation and simply letting go. It is acknowledging the power of personal choice. It is the ability to decide to continue, or not to continue. Quitting is ownership.

I admire with awe of the quitters of the world. Those who ended their bad marriage, well done. If you quit a job you despised without having another lined up, sweet! If you quit anything to protect your ethics and morals, cool.

I am going to quit. It is the right thing to do. I am ok with it.

Google needs to know that they need a new search result.

A piece of me

I heard a song today that I hadn’t heard in a long time. Maybe you know it. It is called “Father and Son” by Cat Stevens. And, like many songs that form the soundtrack of my life, it got me to thinking mostly about my newly discovered old friends from the Facebook world of social networking.

It is so interesting to me how many of my friends update constantly about their children. I am no exception. I love to read the updates. I know when they win or lose a sporting event, when they are ill, when they achieve educational greatness and when they are just smiling for the camera in one of the many posted pictures.
We flash their victories on the pages of statuses as if to validate ourselves. That is not a bad thing, as it is a validation in its purest form. After all, who would have known what a night of passion years prior would produce. The results, all too often, are breath taking.

We can now so easily create a virtual scrapbook in a way like we never have been able before, and it is wonderful. The doting and fawning is so politely tolerated by the throngs of friends we choose to involve in our daily updates. As mundane as these moments are, they are received and then responded with clicks of the “like” voting button at rates that would impress even the most seasoned politicians.

Now we have created a world where we celebrate even the smallest victories by our smallest citizens. I like it. I know when there is a baseball game, first tooth, hospital visit, good report card, school performance, accident, and the many other reasons to inform. The awesome force of social networking replaces the Hallmark card with a real time account of daily happenings.

The pictures are also great. I find myself too often staring at a child’s photo and wonder how such a beautiful child could come from the amazingly plain individuals I have known all of these years. I also admit I have fallen victim to the conspiracy theory that it is not possible for such a beautiful child to be the genetic makeup of his alleged parents and look for clues as to whom the father actually must be.
What is ominously absent from these pages is the spouses. Sure, they get the obligatory picture from the last family vacation, but they do not make the editors cut of daily inclusion. It is all about the kids.

So, I am listening to the “Father and Son” song and I get it. Stevens wrote,

“It's not time to make a change,
Just relax, take it easy.
You're still young, that's your fault,
There's so much you have to know.
Find a girl, settle down,
If you want you can marry.
Look at me, I am old, but I'm happy.”

And it is all about the children. Those who chose the path of no kids, update me on your pet, plants, house, whatever. “Look at me, I am old, but I’m happy”.

Swine

I am thankful I am a blogger because I believe I have just unlocked a huge worldwide mystery and am so fortunate to have a place to share my amazing discovery. Here is how it happened.

I was having a quiet night at home after a hard day’s work. I settled into a little “So you think you can Dance” and thought, why I am watching “So you think you can Dance?” This is when it happened. As if divine intervention, A chick fil-a commercial came on. You know the commercial…there is cow with poor spelling skills messaging the viewer to “Eat more Chicken”. I thought, there must have been some form of advertising back in the day of the authoring of the Bible.

I suspect the advertisement was “Eat more Mutton”. And, do you know who was behind this advertisement? It was the pigs.

It is my contention that the pigs, somewhere around year 23 AD launched a huge Middle Eastern advertisement campaign that effectively would remove them from most future menus. Here is how it must have happened.

They formed a union to disseminate information across the pig community. They knew that to successfully change the worlds eating habits, they would need to alter their perceived image. The orders came down to roll their bodies in any available filth and mud if the gaze of a human were doth upon them. (This is how even pigs had spoken back then). They were building a reputation of being dirty. People laughed at the pigs. One young girl was once heard to say, “Dirty pig funny, me laugh at pig”. The folks new that all they needed to do was wash the pig before cooking up their sweet succulent meat. This angered the pigs.

Next, through the swine network, they were told to eat anything. Literally, to eat anything. And they did. It was this that was the start of the curly tailed fellas fall from culinary biblical grace. This shift in reputation pleased the pigs greatly. For the first time, the pigs had hope for a brighter future.

Next, they emphasized their split hoof appendage. Even the pigs were not sure why this would be seen a bad thing, but they held out their footed hoof like a badge of honor is if it were the most grotesque abnormality. It worked.

It started slowly. First, the town’s folk addressed the pigs differently. People would be heard saying to the children “Isaac and Esther, stay away from that filthy split hoofed pig!” They were now referred to as “swine”. One could dine on a pig, but whom, I ask you, would dine on swine? The Swine farmers never saw it coming. It was nearly immediate that the pig buyers stopped coming around. Why didn’t Joe, Pete, Paul, Luke and their other 7 friends with that Mary girl come around a buy their weekly pig? Where was Moses? He was always good for a pig or two a week. What about the Pilot’s? They love pig.

They all stopped coming. They realized what was happening. The era of piglet propaganda had taken hold. Pigs were now swine and swine was now bad. The Pigs had achieved their goal. But still, the pigs were not satisfied. They needed more protection. They needed to be published.

There were no paparazzi back in the day. There weren’t any cameras. The cave drawing clan was long gone. Sure there were artists. But how do you draw a persuasion. They needed to be mentioned.

The pigs had heard of a book that was being written. This book was a record of all of the things that had been going on during this time. They knew of a fella, Jesus that was saying all kinds of stuff that was being quoted and written into this book. They knew the Moses family and they were saying some great stuff too that was being written into the competitions book. They needed to do the unthinkable. They needed to get into the book, all books.

One day, it happened. The culmination of one of the best animal born campaigns ever attempted. The Pigs code word for this covert operation was “D14:8”. Only the pigs knew what it was. It turned out that a female pig, living amongst the people, imbedded, acting like one of them, worked her way all the way to the guy writing the book.

And there it was. D14:8 was actually Deuteronomy 14:8. They got their mention. Years later it would be compared to the time Jerry Seinfeld appeared on Johnny Carson….a game changing, career making event. Deuteronomy 14:8 said…and I quote…”And the swine, because it divideth the hoof, yet cheweth not the cud, it is unclean unto you: ye shall not eat of their flesh, nor touch their dead carcass.”
Success! It was a huge victory. Everyone was reading this book. And there it was. Plain as, almost, English. Even the dumbest pigs figured it out. The most important rule book ever written said…no more eating pig. Well, it really said swine, but most pigs giggled when they referred to themselves as swine, so they normally say pig.

So goes the story of the greatest food based propaganda ever perpetrated by a split hoof species. More than 2000 years later it still works. And now the Chick-fil-a cows are ripping a page write out of history. If they succeed, what will the fish think? Could they be next? What if tomatoes, cucumbers, asparagus get organized…what then?

We need to break this pattern. Jew… go eat a ham sandwich. Muslims have some bacon. We have been fooled. And a word of warning to you potatoes, before you get any cute ideas….in the immortal words of George W. Bush…”Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, and we won’t get fooled again”…and I mean it.

Where should I look?

I accept the fact we live in an imperfect world. For so many things we have a model how they should be. I think we all do. It can be little things like… which side the hinges are on a refrigerator door, the fact that a car window, for supposed safety reasons, does not roll all the way down, or a myriad of other things that are imperfect.

But, I am not talking about what we build, but the things that catch your eye on a person. I admit that I am not perfect, in fact far from it. I don’t know anyone who is, although there are those who come close. As my closest friends would tell you, I am unjustly and too quick to form an opinion about somebody based on their teeth. This is the direction I am going here. I, all too often, am not able to isolate the obvious physical imperfections of people during an encounter.

Typically, when I have a conversation with someone I maintain eye contact. It is not possible to look at both eyes without staring at the bridge of their nose, so I usually pick their left eye. I know a guy whose eyes seem to work independently. His left eye wonders around like an iguana. I am drawn to this eye expecting it to settle in a direction which, if I follow the line, will provide me information like an Ouija board. I find that I am so focused on his eye that I have very poor listening skills when he speaks to me. It has even gotten to the point where I have caught myself drawn to his all-knowing eye that I lose track of time.

There was another guy I knew that when you got into a conversation with him, his nose would slowly turn red. It became almost a mission to keep the chat going far longer than it should just to see what crimson hue it would take. It was an incredible nose. Although I have spoken with this individual many times, I cannot tell you one topic we discussed, but I can tell you the date and the weather of his most red day.

In elementary school I had a teacher who had an odd odor wafting from her. However, that was not the most distracting thing about her. What consumed my attention was that her ill-fitting bra created, according to the mind of a 5th grader, a seemingly third breast. This woman tried to teach me math skills, but I could not absorb her lesson and contemplate her tri-mammary at the same time.

Regarding teeth, I become hypnotized by people with a large gap between their two upper front teeth..the Laura Hutton Look. They could be giving me the winning lottery numbers for tomorrows drawing, but I can only wonder: 1) what type and size of food would get caught in such a large gap and 2) How far can they squirt water.
I am not noticing of scars unless they alter the normal growth of facial hair. For example, I know a woman whose horizontal scar has caused her to have an upper and lower line of eyebrow hair on her right side. I wonder if it in anyway confuses the person who does the waxing or her plucking pattern. Bald men have a spray to cover a bald spots, would this work on her brow? I do not know.

If I see someone missing a front tooth in adulthood, I blame their parents for not instilling good dental hygiene habits. People with excessive nose or ear hair should be fined. Any man or woman who purposely grows a renegade mole hair must come from a lower social class.

Being so fast to conclusively judge is a neurosis unto itself. I accept that. I do not expect anything written here to have a great impact of change, but for Pete’s sake, pluck that mole hair.

Give James Madison an Asterisk.

James Madison, the 4th President of the United States was a very important guy. Before being elected to the task of running this country, he did something, one could argue, that was even more incredible. James was the author of the Bill of Rights.

The Bill of Rights was the document which spelled out the first 10 amendments that would later be expanded to 27 numbered amendments over the next 200 or so years. I wonder what those 10 amendments may have looked like if they were written today. The list could be the same list. I kind of like the list. It does the job of broadly covering a lot of things. But….what if James had an asterisk * at his disposal.

You know the asterisk. It’s the one that looks like *. I also know that if James were here today, he would surely ask me for a little help because of my ability to constructively use the *. Yes James, I will re-write your Bill of Rights and add the *’s.

Amendment 1 – Freedom of religion, speech, the press, assembly, and petition*

*Freedom of religion is permitted except in the instance of needing to drop to your knees and face east. Freedom of Speech is fine, just don’t talk badly about the President in Rolling Stone Magazine, Freedom of the Press is okay, unless an accidental photo is taken of Miley Cyrus inability to dress for success, Freedom of Assembly is accepted but don’t get caught as the oldest guy at the Justin Beiber concert without a kid wearing a trench coat and Freedom of Petition is always allowed because no one pays attention to petitions.

Amendment 2 – Enumerates the right to keep and bear arms*

*Unless you intend to use one to protect yourself, at that point you will be arrested, need bail, have a trial, found not guilty but be forced to pay thousands in legal fees to defend yourself.

Amendment 3 – Bans forced quartering of soldiers in private houses during peacetime; in a time of war, Congress is allowed to pass a law that mandates quartering*

*After the foreclosure opportunities dry up, expect a Cuban Conflict. The homes in The Keys are gorgeous this time of year.

Amendment 4 – Interdiction of unreasonable searches and seizures; a search warrant is required to search persons of property*

*unless you live in Arizona and have a tan and dark hair and roll your “R”’s or have piñata’s at your son, Jose’s birthday.

Amendment 5 – Indictments, due process; self incrimination; double jeopardy; rules of eminent domain*

*Unless you have made money working for a bank. If this is the case, tell everyone how you did it.

Amendment 6 – Rights to a fair and speedy trial, to a notice of accusations, to confront the accuser, to subpoenas, and to counsel*

*Unless your Dick Cheney and George W. Bush. They do not have to worry because we will pardon your war crimes anyway.

Amendment 7 – Provides for the right to trial by jury in civil cases*

*even you “the coffee was to hot from McDonalds and burned my legs” lady from Wisconsin.

Amendment 8 – Bans cruel and unusual punishment, and excessive fines and bails*

*Sitting though Kristin Stewart interviews and all of the other Twilight actors as well as Kevin Costner do not qualify as cruel and unusual punishment.

Amendment 9 – Unenumerated Rights*

*don’t worry, no one knows!

Amendment 10 – Limits the powers of the federal government to only those specifically granted by the constitution*

*Yes Barack, you get the keys to the money room and can give it all to the Palestinians whenever you want to.

There are 17 more numbered amendments. Add your own Asterisks. If James were here, he would say it’s okay.

I work on a floor with 480 people. The ratio is approximately even, half men and half woman. We have two men’s and two lady’s rooms. While I have not had any observation time in the lady’s bathroom, I have spent a fair amount of time in the men’s.
There is an unspoken protocol in the men’s room which essentially forms the basis of a primitive governmental structure. While there is no Roberts Rules of Order, there is a noticeable hierarchy.

The first person in the men’s room assumes his role as a leader. He chooses his location and essentially sets the tone for the room. Depending on his activity, he can alter the surroundings on both a sensory and dynamic front. If he chooses the stall to, say, urinate, it almost always is not only an exercise for the purpose of comfort, but there is a tendency to mark this territory either purposely or simply by poor flow or aim. Too often this area remains unusable until help arrives in the form of housekeeping.

On the other hand, l if he chooses a urinal, here is where things get tricky. In our restroom, there are three urinals. Both the center and left one are the same height. The one furthest right is a good 6 inches lower than the other two. If he should choose the center, I see this as a territorial move rendering the other two urinals nearly unusable until he vacates.
A set of simple rules apply at the urinal: 1) never use the urinal next to someone who has established position. 2) Never talk to an individual if they are actively using a urinal. 3) Absolutely never look over the wall no matter how low it is or how tall you are. 4) When you are finished urinating, put yourself back together before turning around. This may be an issue with the common button fly 501 Levi brand jean, but take the time and complete this before rotating.
The lower urinal is an interesting fixture. For far too many years I considered this urinal reserved for children, short people or those with exceptionally, and I mean exceptionally long penises. But, as I got older, and started wearing the khaki colored Levi Docker, I have come to respect the simple notion of physics. By using the lower urinal, the splash back effect is nearly eliminated. If either a man or woman has ever splashed themselves on their khaki’s, they have seen the impact. The moisture spreads faster than a BP oil spill.

There was a politician who once had an issue in an airport. Apparently he attempted to communicate with foot signals under the stall. While hand signals are fair game in baseball, or Helen Keller stories, never is a foot signal permitted in a public restroom as an under-stall form of communication. I have been a witness to conversations stall to stall, but even this is unusual and rare and even uncomfortable.

Having been brought up in a family with two sisters and no brothers, I was taught early on to use the camping rule when using the bathroom. Leave the surroundings better than it was when you arrived. I have been known to wipe a seat down post use because it is the right thing to do. What I was not taught, but happily now employ is the correct use and timing of the courtesy flush. This activity is best used to quickly discard of offensive waste or to mask sounds which are best not broadcasted in the amplified surroundings of a tiled restroom cave. Sadly, this is not a typically taught skill, but those with sons, and maybe even daughters may want to include this is the life lessons.

The last observation is the placement of the garbage can. I am fortunate to work for a company who understands this and has conveniently positioned a sturdy basket close to the door. The purpose is to open the exit door with a paper towel in hand to prevent the handle to hand germ transfer (HHGT) and in a single motion discard the paper towel. While the intention is good, due to Al Gore, we no longer have paper towels in our restroom. As a result, we now have to use the wax paper seat covers as a mitt to open the door. Seems like a poor use of wax paper.
All of the above bathroom etiquette only apply to the men’s room and never apply to the men’s room at a gym. There they run by a completely different set of rules.

In the future we will review the proper length of time to thoroughly wash your hands (the birthday song) and optimal toilet paper length while remaining environmentally conscious.

My first Blog!

This is my first blog. Others have been blogging a long time. I am not sure when the first person blogged, or even why they chose to call it blogging. But, I get it. It's a blog. I chose to blog at the request of Friends who felt i should. I am a bit concerned about writing my thoughts as it is almost certain it will appear as an excerpt on the news in response to something I will eventually do. If I were to commit a crime, they would pull my blogs...if I were to win the power ball, they would pull my blog...if i were to thwart an attack, they would pull my blog.

That's ok.

My concerns these days focus around the use of social networking. I confess, my name is Jeff and I am a social networker. What a powerful tool. I read recently something someone wrote of things they wanted to do before they died...their answer was, they wanted to enter a time portal. I started thinking...really? Then join Facebook.

I have been a "member" for about 2 years. From nearly the first day I was "friended" by someone who I once knew. By "once" i mean like 30 years ago. In no time at all my friend base grew and was made up almost exclusively of people I once knew. I was transported back to a day before their were CD's, MP3's cell phones, and almost everything else I use nearly daily. Of course, by the very fact that I am well into my 40's I automatically qualified for the wayback machine version of Facebook. I suppose those in the current younger generation are using it for entirely different purposes. Me? I use it to look back lovingly. In the two years of membership the only thing missing from my experience was my 1976 Datsun 210. Facebook gives the opportunity to whine, cry, cheer torment and skip back and forth between teenage angst and the 40 something crowd. How fun!

I have shared moments of others loss, others gains and every emotion that comes with it. I became employed on Facebook, and watched others become unemployed. I have watched birth as well as death. And I have partied. Twice. With real people in a real place in New Jersey whom I once knew and now know in a way I have never known.

I have learned some things very interesting about people all of a result of Facebook: We tend to value our past more than we care to admit. Age is a great equalizer in both attitude and body image. It turns out we were better at picking Friends than our parents gave us credit for. It turns out we should not have been so conservative in those that we considered our friend. We know now that even the guy sitting next to you getting stoned with shoulder length hair in 1977 could grow up to be a Republican. It is sad to know that someone you know has died and you know this because of someone you now know again.

Like everything else, one moves on. I moved on from this group a long time ago. I don't really want to move on again for an even longer time.

Facebook is fun, and this is my first blog.