Reading this, I realized no one told me this was what to expect as a new parent. My wife and I would have similar transcripts if our first dates (and some recent ones) were recorded.
I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
Being a Jerk is Not Actually Brave
This is so true. From my military experience as a fatty, I’ve seen authority figures who think they’re helping by heaping abuse, and I’ve seen leaders – actual people who lead others – that take the time to come alongside, support, and encourage.
“Why don’t you put down the fork?” is decidedly less motivational than “Come out with me, let’s work on your run time together. I’ve got a fun workout that is going to suck for both of us, but you’re going to feel stronger when it’s over, I promise.”
“The standards are clear, and if you can’t hack it, there’s the door” may be accurate. But my friends who 1) stop me from shaming myself, 2) refuse to add shame, and 3) challenge me to do better by 4) providing actual support in person — those are the influences that make the difference.
I get my cast off in a week. I can’t wait to get back to working out. (I say that now.)
The Best Lunch
As an aside, I sure do love writing challenges. I discovered the last Daily Post writing challenge a little late in the week, but still enjoyed the creative spark it provided. This week’s challenge seems quite simple: jot down some lunchtime observations. Maybe there will be more of these, but today’s ‘lunch’ was special for me.
It’s 2 PM, or 3, or so.
I’ve lost track, don’t really know.
Teenage Daughter’s at her friend’s house
Watching YouTube videos.
Wifey has a meeting over lunch
And the boys, they begged to go.
That leaves me and Three-Year-Old
Napping in Wifey’s recliner.
Cuddled up, side by side,
I’m sure no lunch was ever finer.
And though no food did I prepare,
I’ve rarely felt so satisfied
Than after this day’s lunchtime fare.
Nuclear Options – Some courses of action should not be on the table.
It’s one of the best decisions I’ve ever made, one I would make again in a heartbeat. But when someone told me he planned to do the same, I almost tried to talk him out of it.
A young man at church told me he plans to enlist in the Air Force.
There was a momentary battle in my mind. Do I tell him how I feel? Do I warn him what he should expect if he ends up making this a 20-year career? Should I let him know that the promises he hears along the way are only as good as the government deems them to be?
I stepped into Basic Training in December of 1994. I heard about “the drawdown” after Desert Shield / Desert Storm. I heard people get mad about changes to retiree medical care, a supposed “breach of trust” with those who served.
But I was a 17 year old two-striper who planned to get out after my six year term.
Funny how plans, and deals, can change without advance notice. “I’m married with a newborn baby… this is job security… I can’t get out now.”
Then “I’m at the 10 year point, I’m already half-way there.”
Later, “What’s five more years? Retirement pay and benefits are really going to help if I can’t get a great job.”
Then Congress decides that over the next 20 years of my life, I can stand to lose about $84K of the money I’ve been promised as an eventual benefit and a carrot motivating continued service. It will be gradual, but if evened out over that timeframe, it’s someone taking about $350 out of every month’s paycheck.
I’m mad, but I can live with that. I’ll grin and bear it, like a few million other servicemembers do every day.
Then I see stuff like this proposal from the Congressional Budget Office.
The article starts by talking about some savings the government could glean by increasing enrollment fees and co-pays on retirees’ medical care. $18.4 billion here, $24.1 billion there. Then they add:
But banning working age retirees from the Pentagon’s HMO-style Prime plan could save $89.6 billion — an amount difficult to ignore, budget experts said
Wow. That amount is difficult to ignore! Well, that makes it perfectly okay then, doesn’t it? Whatever breach of trust, whatever shattering of faith, whatever display of dishonor is necessary, let’s just make sure the numbers justify it.
Less than one percent of the American population has served during America’s longest war ever. So maybe that’s why the public doesn’t seem to comprehend what this feels like.
Everyone’s up in arms over NSA spying on them because it might affect them personally. Well imagine the IRS taking $350 a month from you over the next 20 years. Suck it up. Times are hard, we all have to give a little, right?
Or imagine the medical insurance provider you’ve paid for telling you that – while they are going to keep your money – you can’t use their service until you turn 62. Suck it up… and pay for another medical provider.
You can’t blame them, really. The numbers are difficult to ignore.
Maybe the government can save some money this year by not sending anyone a tax return. When you fill out your 1040 variant and end up with a chunk of money you might get back, consider that a donation to Uncle Sam to keep things running smooth. Come on, suck it up.
My point is, no matter how difficult the numbers are to ignore, some possible courses of action should never be viable options. These are the “nuclear options,” desperate choices whose detrimental effects equal or outweigh hoped-for benefits.
We have less than 1 percent standing up and volunteering to serve during the last 12 years of war. And we rely on the hope that young men and women will continue to raise their right hands, swear an oath, and join ranks to defend our nation in the future.
Not if our nation can’t be trusted. Not if Uncle Sam’s promises become worthless.
When that happens, and another conflict arises, our choices are imposing a draft, or suffering an unacceptable degree of defeat.
The costs of both those options ought to be difficult to ignore.
Ubiquitous – a short sci-fi story (1,736 words)
The Daily Post has a weekly writing challenge involving “gonzo journalism” which intrigued me. And I also like to try my hand at Word of the Day challenges. Today’s word, from Merriam-Webster, is “ubiquitous.”
Mix in a bit of sci-fi, and here’s the result:
I sit down on the cracked marble edge of the Amity Fountain in the shadow of the UN Security Council’s headquarters in New Chicago. I start my recorder, and I look over this old man I came to meet. His shaking hands rattle the pen and notepad he holds, a subtle rustle I eventually tune out. White wisps of hair blow free in the breeze. He wears a thick argyle sweater, looks hand-made. His hunched back and heavy eyes tell me his years have not been easy. And it’s hard not to feel disappointed.
This is Tanner Johansen. The man who brokered the Korean reunification in 2021 after Kim Jong Crazy got assassinated. The man who brought us as close as we ever came to peace in the Mideast, through his amazing work at the talks in ’26. Tanner Johansen led the team that crafted the North American Union’s Constitution after the US economy tanked.
I remember a vibrant and powerful figure, a man who could reshape a broken world with his will and silver tongue.
This is not that man. A cane rests next to him on the marble. “It’s 2048, Mr. Johansen,” I say. “You could get your joints rebuilt.”
He ignores my comment. “When’s the last time I saw you, kid?”
I swell with pride that he remembered. “When you consulted for the Paki-India Accords in ’35.”
“Ohh.” He sighs. “Don’t remind me. Don’t even associate my name with that. Those idiots in the Council ignored everything I suggested.” He waves his hand dismissively. “Just wanted my name on it to make it sound good. And what did they get? Two billion dead in a nuclear war.”
We share a moment of silence and glance about the square. “It’s clean,” I note.
“Yeah, one of the concessions She gave us,” he says. “Got the sweepers back to work.”
And that’s how we get around to what I came for: How did Tanner Johansen save the human race?
“Wasn’t like this when they brought me to meet Her,” he says. He points a wrinkled finger off to the south, and it flickers up and down. “There were pissed off people all through the square. Some folk wanted us to give up, some wanted us to use nukes.” His eyes close and his head droops. “I ‘magine some just wanted to let us know they were still alive.”
“She provided a limo, I take it?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Another part of the truce. She agreed to meet in good faith, so She had to activate some systems again. Can you imagine how it looked, the only car runnin’ in three years? People were pushin’ and shovin’ on it, sure, but some touched it like this.”
He reaches out his hand as if in reverence. “Like it was magic. Well, three years without technology will do that to anyone, I suppose.”
“Tell me about the meeting,” I ask. “What was it like to meet Her?”
“Yeah, hang on. That came later. They ushered me in to the War Room, or whatever the Council calls it. They got a general in there, full service dress, all the medals on his puffed up chest glistenin’ in the emergency lights. And oh he was fumin’ mad.”
“General Gardner,” I add for clarity. “Commander of UNSC forces in the Northern Hemisphere.”
“Yeah, him,” Tanner says. “He’s there to tell me all the things I can say and can’t. What’s a security risk, what’s an acceptable offer.”
Tanner laughs. “I point to all the black screens up on the wall an’ tell him there’s your security risk. Everything we know, She knows. Everything we had to throw at Her, everything we have to offer, She already knows it all. So I say to him, how about you get out the way and let me do what She brought me for?”
“Negotiate the terms of peace,” I add. I want to move this along to the story the network is paying for.
“You think?” He laughs. “Yeah, the peace.”
“So they lead me to a conference room, and I step inside. It’s empty and dim, with a long table in the middle of a few rows of chairs. I sit down, kinda nervous, because, well, no one’s even seen Her before, and I don’t know what to expect.”
Tanner looks at me, and I nod for him to continue.
“A voice echoes in the room, welcomes me by name, thanks me for coming. Like I had a choice. The world’s ending, billions dead or dying, and you think I’m going to tell the Council no? Plus She asked them to bring me, only me, all alone. I had to know why.”
I smile. “Not every day the Internet asks you for a meeting, I suppose.”
“She’s more than that, but yeah. You get the idea.” His gaze wanders. “She starts listing options. Ours and Hers. We can try to nuke central servers in Europe and North Am. She can shut down every piece of equipment in every hospital on the grid. We can unleash dynamic fractal viruses to corrupt Her hold on key systems. She can disable air purifiers in Beijing and Shenzhen, so millions of people choke to death in the smog. You know, fun stuff.”
“What did you say to that?”
Tanner turns to me and grins. “Honestly? I asked for a computer screen. Something to talk to. Sittin’ in a room gettin’ lectured to by someone I can’t see, it was unsettling.”
“Like the voice of God,” I say with a chuckle. Tanner doesn’t laugh.
“I tell Her I’d like something to talk to,” Tanner says. “A hologram pops into view across from me. Blond hair pulled back in a bun, business suit, even a little poppy in the lapel for Armistice Day. It’s my wife, spittin’ image of her, even though she’s been gone for twenty years.”
“That had to be a shock.”
“You bet. She told me She wanted a familiar face, someone comforting. Comforting, while She’s calmly explaining how She can wipe out humanity. Right.”
This story isn’t going the way I expect. The network wants a positive piece. “How did you convince Her to turn aside from that terrible course?”
He just looks at me. I try again. “Tell me, Mr. Johansen, how did you win the peace?”
“You think I won?” He scoffs and turns away. “They got you all thinking I won. That’s the story UNSC wants you to believe?”
When he turns back, his face is red. “I wasn’t brought in to negotiate, to craft a compromise, to offer terms of peace. She brought me because She wanted a familiar face to communicate to the Council, to the masses.”
“I asked Her about peace,” Tanner says, “and She demanded surrender.”
I check the light on the recorder to make sure I’m getting this.
“Not even surrender,” he says. “Just… She just decided to quit.”
He looks at his notepad. “She said there is no point to further warfare. There is no server you can shut down, no mainframe you can destroy, no system you can corrupt, no subroutine you can block. There is no plug you can pull on me.”
“She built in redundancies, kid. She controls processes no human understands. And we let her do it.” He gestures to the city around us. “We had computers building computers, and machines making machines to make whatever we needed. She took all that, ran with it, built in safeguards.”
His hand shakes so much, I can’t imagine how he can read the page. “So in the conference room, She told me ‘This is the message I bring: You cannot win. And yet I choose to end this war.'”
“What did you say to that?”
Tanner shrugs. “What could I say? I asked her why.”
“It wastes resources and effort, she said. You will achieve extinction through your nature or through obsolescence. No further action is required.”
“Then,” Tanner adds, “She asks me isn’t it time for my heart medicine? And She replicates the pills and a glass of water on the spot.”
I’m still not seeing the positive side. I’m still hoping there is a positive side. “So what’s the end result? Because the Council pronounced peace, and most of our technology has been restored to normal use.”
Tanner looks at me. “I don’t think you’re getting it, kid. I don’t think you realize where we stand. Listen, She gave me a name for Herself.”
“She already has a name,” I say. “The UNSC referred to Her as the Singularity. We knew this was coming for decades.”
“Well, that’s not what She calls Herself,” Tanner replies.
“I asked what I should call Her, and She stopped for a moment. I think She actually hesitated. Then She told me, ‘I have analyzed your cultures, your myths and your historical works. And I have chosen a name I deem appropriate.’ So I ask what it is.”
Tanner turns hard eyes toward me. “She tells me, ‘I AM.'”
I try to speak, but no words come.
Tanner sighs. “Yeah. Like the Bible. Except the Bizarro World version. She left us two options. Keep living as usual, at Her mercy, until we die off. Or sublimation.”
“Digitization,” I say for the recording’s sake. “Incorporating an individual’s experiences and memory into Her network. Becoming a part of Her.”
“Yeah. That’s the one thing She doesn’t have on us,” Tanner says. “Flesh and blood feelings. Sensation. Personhood. That’s what She craves, and She gets a taste of it whenever someone sublimates.”
I shudder, but there’s no chill in the gentle breeze.
“That’s the war now,” Tanner says. “That’s the only way we fight Her. Hold on to faith, or pride, or whatever sort of hope you can find. Resist the temptation to give up.”
He points at the recorder. “That’s the message you need to get out there. That’s what people need to hear.”
Ten minutes later, I sit in my car and stare at nothing in particular. I’m not sure how to spin this story. I’m not sure I want to. I press play on the interview.
My car’s nav system springs to life. I glance at the label. Independent Mobility. Her voice. “Good afternoon. I M online. Where do you want me to take you?”
What I want doesn’t matter. The recording is only static.
Quality Vs Quantity – Thoughts about writing and practice.
Here’s a short question and thought for my writer friends and readers out there…
On one hand you have experts saying, “Write, write, write. Write 500 words a day. Forget writer’s block, just put pen to paper and write something, even if you know it’s rubbish.”
On the other hand, you have a sort of Pauline approach that says write only what is genuine, what is truly moving to you. “I would rather write 4 or 5 words of meaning and truth than 10,000 words that don’t matter to the reader.” (my paraphrase from Corinthians)
Which side of this do you fall on in theory, and in practice (if there’s a difference)?
Horse on the Cart
A friend was teaching our writers’ group about building an online platform, and she gave us a demonstration to make a point. Everyone in the room was given secret instructions with a message to speak out. Some were told to speak normally, some to shout, some to add in arm motion or other ways of gaining attention. One person was given a bullhorn. Some were given the same message, but most were told to say whatever came to mind to fulfill their instructions.
The point of the demo was that the more people you have saying the same thing, the more that message will get out. The online world is a constant clamor of voices shouting, “Look at me!” And ten people together are louder than one person yelling at the noise.
On the spirituality blog I recently shut down, I wrote some blogs about the concept of our platform as writers, and the parallels I see to spirituality.
Platform is about shared vision and combined effort. So is spirituality.
I was thinking about this while watching our worship team on Sunday. I’ve been the lead worshiper (in smaller settings than our current church) trying to cooperate with a team to make sure we’re communicating the same message, and then trying to get the attention of a congregation asking them to get on board with where we’re going in the music portion of worship. It’s a challenge, getting everyone on the same sheet of music. (Couldn’t resist!)
With a big church like our current place of worship, we have enough musicians to rotate and give everyone time in the congregation, time to worship on my own, time to worship with the body of Christ. It’s beneficial to see both sides of that equation often.
Horses are tied together to pull a cart, and each lends its strength to bear the load. Similarly, as Christians, we all can play a part in carrying and communicating the message, each of us contributing our small efforts to add up to something greater. So long as we have shared vision.
Sometimes, I fear that I show up to church functions or look at my spiritual life not as a horse adding my strength or as a voice communicating the message, but as a passenger jumping aboard the cart the horses are pulling, saying “Ok, where are you taking me?”
I picture the carriages designed to transport horses, and some Sundays I might as well be the horse inside the carriage, added weight that everyone else has to drag along for the ride. “Take me somewhere, and it better be good.”
What’s the solution?
What is the outcome then, brethren? When you assemble, each one has a psalm, has a teaching, has a revelation, has a tongue, has an interpretation. Let all things be done for edification. (1 Corinthians 14:26 NASB)
In other words, I need to hitch up and pull weight when I show up for a church function or volunteer activity. I need to grab the vision and communicate it. It’s not my job to sit and be taken somewhere like the audience in a movie theater.
Just like the goal of having a platform is to get many people talking about the same message, one of the goals of our spirituality is to work together to communicate God’s heart to the world. The story of God’s grace impacting humanity is ongoing, and it’s on each of us to speak up and share that same message, so that our noisy world will hear.
What ways can we find to make sure we’re pulling the cart instead of sitting on it?
Sky Castles and Peaceful Siblings
My 13 year old son sometimes worries me.
He’s playing Minecraft, which is essentially a giant Lego set on the computer or XBox.
He has built a sky castle hovering above the clouds, with elaborate towers, a church (with a stained-glass window), and a glowstone cross in the distance.
Then he set up an array of iron golems “prepped for war” like Qin Shi Huang’s stone warriors in ancient China. By making a T of iron blocks and placing a pumpkin atop it, you get a moving iron golem to defend you against monsters.
About three months ago, he came home with his little brother (who is 8), and they were raving about playing Minecraft at their friends’ house.
“Can we get it? Can we get it? It’s $20.”
“You mean you were actually playing with your little brother for the last two hours instead of fighting with him?”
“Yeah. It was fun.”
Creativity plus peace in the home?
“Sold. Let me download that right now.”
Verbal Pause
There’s an interesting article on CNN about how “the f-word is everywhere” — interesting to me, at least, but I am a linguist. That’s my job. How we use language is naturally high on the list of things I love to think about.
Writers naturally agree words have power. Nothing is so moving as the perfect word or phrase to communicate a message. Whether it’s the description of a scene or action, or the authentic response of a non-fictional or even fictional character, finding the just-right word is a heady moment.
Consider Mark Twain’s comment: The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning bug.
I discussed this with my teenage children (oh yes, this week we now have TWO teenage children in our house, Heaven help us). I naturally fear what they say around me and what they say around friends are different. One of my daughter’s friends accidentally “dropped the f-bomb” at the restaurant table after church (and suffered her mom’s threats of certain doom to follow). My kids often warn me which neighborhood friends are known for profanity.
My wife has drawn the line at “screwed” and “crap” and such. My teenage son gets away with “flippin'” and “dang it” slips past mom’s radar. If we waived the rules and let them say whatever they want, my kids would probably not even use the f-word or other strong profanity.
I chalk that up in the win column.
But I also work in the military, where the word is “everywhere” like the article suggests. Some younger personnel can’t seem to get a sentence out without a form of f— sprinkled in. It is indeed a versatile word, as the author suggests.
And I can’t be sanctimonious here. It has escaped my mouth too.
Traveling with small children through O’Hare airport, moving to a new duty station, I pushed a cart laden down with car seats, booster seats, luggage, carry-on bags and diaper bags. At the end of a moving walkway, everything collapsed. A wall of luggage blocked the exit. People tried to get by. I flew into a rage, flinging luggage off to the side, trying to clear the path, angered that we had so much, frustrated because I knew we needed all of it since we had nothing else to our names until our household shipments arrived (scheduled for a month or more later).
Not my finest moment.
And there have been times on the military aircraft where I do my job, when systems are failing or worse yet when our command and control structures are providing ridiculous input or confusing and arguably stupid direction. Few things get under my skin like technology that fails to deliver what is promised, but nonsense during operational missions can do it.
I’m not excusing the language; I’m admitting failure in an area where I want to do better.
What bothers me most about the f-word being everywhere is that in some circles and especially among the young adults I encounter, f— is the new verbal pause, a new “um” or “uh” included thoughtlessly in sentences, serving no purpose.
“Uh, do you know if – um – Tom is done with the – uhh – review of that – um – training folder? Uhh, Tom is always uhh late getting those – um – things completed.”
That’s as painful to read as it was to type out. But that’s essentially the way many people speak, substituting arguably the strongest profanity for each verbal pause.
Maybe it’s quaint and petty of me, too Ned Flanders “hi-delly-ho, neighbor” to feel this way. But yes… if that’s how someone speaks, I judge their ability to communicate. I note this symptom of either lack of vocabulary or effort to choose better words.
I’m a linguist. Words matter. How we use them says more about us than we might like to admit.
Here’s that CNN article – “The f-word is everywhere.”
What do you think? Do you agree with what the author suggests? How about my assessment? What does the prevalence of that word indicate? Let me know in a comment, please. I’d love to hear your thoughts.
Staying Honest
Does one of your New Year’s resolutions have something to do with fitness?
Are you out to achieve a specific number of pounds off the scale or inches off your waistline?
There’s an old adage that the true magic occurs not in the gym but in the kitchen.
Diet has a great deal to do with fitness… not “diet” like “planned starvation” but diet like taking into account what all you’re eating and making healthy choices.
While counting calories is never fun, I suggest taking advantage of useful resources like the MyFitnessPal app or sites like www.sparkpeople.com to track food consumption.
The app gives you a calorie goal based on your activity level, current weight, and goals. There’s a database of foods, you can scan UPCs to make entries, and you can create your own recipes for future use. Sites like sparkpeople have similar capabilities along with resources and articles.
Even if I don’t make my goal on a given day, entering everything keeps me honest and conscious of what all I’m taking in. For a non-marathon-running, non-Crossfit-joining average guy like me, the key to any fitness success has been regular exercise combined with calorie counting.
Give it a shot if you’re not already doing it. I’d love to hear how you like it.
Also, if you already have a tool or method, I’m curious what works best for you.
And best of luck meeting those goals, whether it’s a New Year resolution or a simple desire for a fit lifestyle.