On Professional Athletes: A Response

"Sports don't build character...they reveal it."

                                        John Wooden

My last post didn’t offer much in the way of charity towards professional athletes, particularly professional basketball players and the Boston Red Sox.  So in the interest of fair play I would like to present a response of sorts to my recent pro bashing.  No this isn’t a post written by some outraged reader demanding equal time on behalf of maligned ballers nor is it a nod to someone who took me to task.  I rather wish someone would take me to task.  At least it would be an indication of an engaged readership.  Hell it would be an indication of a readership.  Hello! Is there anybody out there?  Read me. Pass me on.  Pardon the groveling.

So, you say, he’s rebutting his own post.  The writer is certifiable or wishy-washy at best.  No, no, this isn’t a rebuttal per se.  I stand by what I wrote about the seeming cluelessness and greed that professional athletes exhibit.  And I haven’t changed my opinion that behavior of that sort offends and angers a good many Americans.  But I do recognize that professional athletes represent a particular segment of society and that no segment of society is perfect; they all have their blemishes, good citizens, bad citizens and those that just want to do their job and get through life.  Athletes that seem to be slow on the uptake or detached from the reality of the everyday plebeian have either forgotten that their lives are subject to the scrutiny of the microscope that is the electronic media or they realize it and just don’t care.  Is that scrutiny fair?  Maybe not, but it’s a fact of their famous lives.  They opted for pro sports, worked for it and coveted it, in many cases since they were in their early teens.  And so with the fame, the riches and the ability to make a living playing a game that they love they’re forced to either be circumspect or deal with a media and public opinion that can bite and bite hard; those teeth leave marks.  Just ask any other public figure who fell from grace and landed badly because he thought he was immune to public scrutiny.  Ask a guy named Weiner who had his wiener published.  Ask Tiger Woods who let his own wiener make bad decisions for him and then watched just about every aspect of his life auger in; professional, personal, popular and financial. 

But enough of the negative.  This is supposed to be about the positive.  It’s popular to say that it’s easy to find negative stories about athletes but the good stories just get buried.  Not true.  It took no time at all to find some of these stories.

My favorite might just be Warrick Dunn and The Warrick Dunn Family Foundation and Homes for the Holidays.  I heard about this story some years back and it’s stuck with me.  Dunn’s charity helps single parents to achieve the American Dream of home ownership.  From the foundation website, The Warrick Dunn Family Foundation is dedicated to providing opportunities for economically disadvantaged single parents and children who have demonstrated a commitment to achieve financial independence and stability.  Dunn’s foundation has helped more than 100 single parents become homeowners and provide a more stable life for their children.  In 2007, he founded Athletes for Hope an organization that guides athletes in becoming involved in charitable causes.  Dunn, a running back with the Atlanta Falcons and Tampa Bay Bucs is out of football now but during his career was given awards for his charity work, including The Walter Payton Man of the Year Award.

Say what you will about Lance Armstrong but the man’s work in raising funds and awareness about cancer might just be without peer.  The Lance Armstrong Foundation has raised hundreds of millions of dollars for cancer research and the awareness campaign has been a resounding success.  If you doubt that, think about how often you see one of those little yellow bracelets.  A few years ago I rode in one of Armstrong’s Livestrong charity bike rides.  During the ride I was literally brought to tears when I saw people along the route, people who had been touched by cancer in some way, waving and hollering “thank you” as we rode along the 60 mile route.  Sometime later while walking through a parking lot I was stopped by a fire fighter who noted the T-shirt that I was wearing, the one I got from the ride, and thanked me.  Seems his father had died young of cancer.  And really all I did was to go on a bike ride.  I’m struggling with Lance.  I’m something of a bike rider and I was a fan of the sport until the doping got too pervasive to ignore.

Derek Jeter’s Turn 2 Foundation has awarded more than 8 million dollars in grants to afterschool programs and abuse prevention programs as well as providing money for college scholarships.  From the Turn 2 website, the foundation’s mission statement; To create and support signature programs and activities that motivate young people to turn away from drugs and alcohol and "TURN 2" healthy lifestyles. Through these ventures, the Foundation strives to create outlets that promote and reward academic excellence, leadership development and positive behavior. Turn 2's goal is to see the children of these programs grow safely and successfully into adulthood and become the leaders of tomorrow.  Turn 2 provided 500 thousand dollars to the Phoenix House in Tampa.  Phoenix House is an outpatient program helping teens and their families overcome problems associated with substance abuse.

Former NASCAR driver Kyle Petty’s mission is to help special needs children.  Petty organizes the Charity Ride Across America, a motorcycle ride that raises funds for children’s charities including Petty’s Victory Junction Camp for chronically and terminally ill children.  Victory Junction serves children who wouldn’t normally be able to have a camp experience; children with bleeding disorders, spina bifida, sickle cell disease, burn survivors, kidney disease, lung disease and heart disease among many more.

In the San Francisco Bay Area where I live pitcher Barry Zito’s struggles on the mound haven’t much endeared him to Giants fans.  But whatever they think about Zito’s pitching woes, his Strikeouts For Troops foundation has earned him praise and respect from both media and fans.  Zito and a number of major league ballplayers started the charity to raise funds for troops returning home from Iraq and Afghanistan.  From Strikeout’s website; Strikeouts For Troops provides comforts of home and lifts the spirits and morale of wounded troops during treatment at military hospitals nationwide. Since its inception, Strikeouts For Troops has raised nearly 2 million dollars through contributions made by more than 60 professional baseball players, fundraising events, fan donations and corporate partnerships.

These charities are just a smattering.  Athletes have stepped up and used their fame and their fortune to promote charities that benefit numerous causes for children, the poor, the disadvantaged, education, the sick, the elderly and many of the marginalized who these days are ignored by politicians and their corporate cronies.  As out of touch as athletes seem to be they can always be outdone in that department by politicians.  So here I’ve gone and dispensed a measure of the fairness doctrine to professional athletes.  Don’t expect the same when it comes to politicians. 

This post has links to all of the charities mentioned.  I would encourage a visit to their websites and if you can bring yourself to skip a few lattes or that 12 pack of Bud you might consider making a donation to one that strikes your fancy.  

A Separate Reality; Of Hoops and Sox

"Every professional athlete owes a debt of gratitude to the fans and management, and pays an installment every time he plays.  He should never miss a payment."  Bobby Hull

Two sports related stories got me to thinking lately about how professional athletes just don’t get it.  Bear in mind, this isn’t a revelation.  I didn’t put down an article, slap myself in the forehead and exclaim, “Gee, these guys are really clueless.”  Let’s just say that these stories served as a reminder that pro athletes seem to exist in their own separate reality.

First, is the story of the National Basketball Association, “work stoppage.”  Who comes up with the phraseology that makes it sound like these guys are coal miners or plant workers just trying to get a square deal?  The NBA, errr, “work stoppage” had been brewing for some time; at least a year I suppose.  I couldn’t say for sure how long it’s been percolating since I don’t particularly like professional basketball to the point that I simply accept a hiatus during that short sports Dark Age between the end of football and the day pitchers and catchers report.  What I’ve gleaned is that the owners and players can’t agree on how to split the basketball related income (BRI).  According to an article in Forbes; “The players have come down from 57% they were making under the old agreement to 53%; the owners have moved from 47% up to 50%.”  The BRI for the 2010-2011 season was 3.817 billion dollars.  And so loyal fans and the disinterested yet disgusted among the rest of us sit back and watch millionaires haggle with millionaires over 3% of nearly 4 billion in coin of the realm.

If the Forbes article is to be believed, the two sides, owners and players, are simply engaging in the proverbial “pissing contest” in which the real object is to not be the side that “capitulates.”  Meanwhile players are crying the “woe is me,” and blaming ownership for the impasse.  Derrick Rose, average salary 5.6 million dollars, said recently, "It's very sad, but everybody knows it's not our fault,"  Kevin Durant of The Thunder, who averages 17.2 million dollars a year complains that the owners are at fault and the players have “sacrificed a lot.”  For their part, the owners are crying poverty saying that 17 of 30 teams have been losing money.  It all seems so simple to me; owners run your business better and players maybe you aren’t entitled to a salary that rivals the GNP of a small nation.  Lost among all of this are the “little people."  You know, those behind the scenes folk who work for the teams in ordinary jobs for ordinary pay trying to just keep up and the arena workers who’s part time paycheck might be keeping the wolves at bay; all of whom are probably having a hard time relating to millionaires just out their teens who are wondering where the next Bentley payment is coming from.  Do you suppose that Kobe or Lebron are frequenting the watering holes around their home arenas that are going dry for lack of a basketball season?  Are Chris Bosh and Dwayne Wade checking in on that guy who would normally be hawking programs at the arena to see if maybe they can help with the food bill?

The other story, published in The Boston Globe came out of the ruins of the Boston Red Sox season ending collapse.  The article describes more than a few distractions during the course of the season; the manager’s separation from his wife, his alleged problem with pain meds and players taking it easy on their conditioning regimens.  But it was two other distractions in particular that caught my attention.

                According to the story in the Globe, “As Hurricane Irene barreled toward Boston in late August, management proposed moving up the Sunday finale of a weekend series against Oakland so the teams could play a day-night doubleheader either Friday, Aug. 26, or Saturday, Aug. 27. The reasoning seemed sound: the teams would avoid a Sunday rainout and the dilemma of finding a mutual makeup date for teams separated by 2,700 miles.  But numerous Sox players angrily protested. They returned early that Friday from Texas after a demanding stretch in which they had played 14 of 17 games on the road, with additional stops in Minneapolis, Seattle, and Kansas City.  The players accused management of caring more about making money than winning, which marked the first time the team’s top executives sensed serious trouble brewing in the clubhouse.  After sweeping the A’s, the Sox commenced their death spiral “and owners soon suspected the team’s poor play was related to lingering resentment over the scheduling dispute, sources said. The owners responded by giving all the players $300 headphones and inviting them to enjoy a players-only night on principal owner John W. Henry’s yacht after they returned from a road trip Sept. 11.”

                Through September, the Sox were in contention but fighting for their post-season lives but a trio of frontline pitchers, Josh Beckett, Jon Lester, and John Lackey, decided that game time was better spent buried in the man cave that is the club house; “Boston’s three elite starters went soft, their pitching as anemic as their work ethic. The indifference of Beckett, Lester, and Lackey in a time of crisis can be seen in what team sources say became their habit of drinking beer, eating fast-food fried chicken, and playing video games in the clubhouse during games while their teammates tried to salvage a once-promising season.” “For Beckett, Lester, and Lackey, the consequences were apparent as their body fat appeared to increase and pitching skills eroded. When the team needed them in September, they posted a combined 2-7 record with a 6.45 earned run average, the Sox losing 11 of their 15 starts.”

                 For the record, in 2011 Beckett’s salary was 17 million, Lackey’s 15.9 million and Lester, poor destitute guy, a paltry 5.75 million.  Yes that would be U.S. dollars; these boys aren't living paycheck to paycheck. 

And so what, you ask, do these stories have in common and why are they, to coin a popular baseball phrase, giving me a case of the red ass?

Part of the answer can be found in a CBS News story from June of last year which reports that only 45 percent of Americans are happy in their jobs.  Sure it’s a dated story but let’s go out on a limb and figure that with an economy that’s remained stagnant the rate of satisfaction hasn’t appreciably increased. In fact I’ll go further out on that limb and venture to say that if this survey were taken today, the percentage of dissatisfied workers would be even higher.  Chief among the reasons cited are; jobs are uninteresting, incomes haven’t kept up with inflation and health care costs are eroding take home pay.  About 64 percent of workers under 25, around the age of your NBA millionaire, are unhappy in their jobs.  What a lot of this likely comes down to is that in an economy with an unemployment rate stubbornly hovering just a smidge below 10 percent people are taking whatever work they can find; like it or not.

What NBA players, Red Sox and just about any professional athlete you can name all have in common is that they just don’t know how good they have it and their self-centered, entitled antics are a slap to the face of the working stiff who can only dream of what it would be like to be able to do what you love to do and get paid six, seven and eight figures to do it.

American workers today are being overworked as companies understaff either because they can’t afford to hire or they’ve discovered that employees don’t have so much mobility within the job marked so they can work them like so many oxen and make a tidy profit.  The day that my employer offers me a set of 300 dollar headphones because he senses that I feel ill used over having to work on  weekends is the day that I’ll have, as Fred Sanford used to call it, “the big one."  But I wouldn't expect headphones, a bottle of scotch or any other perk because as a salaried worker I expect that there are times I'll be putting in 12 hour days or logging in on weekends from home.  I can’t imagine that there are very many American worker bees feeling sorry for the Sox players who had to “tough out” a double header.  And while we’re on the subject of that double header let’s consider the accusation by the players that management was more interested in making money.  I guess those boys never took Business 1A where you learn that making money is the chief interest of management.  Baseball is a business.  I know that because players stress that fact all the time to justify holding out for another few million dollars or for breaking the hearts of loyal fans by jumping to another team for a better deal. 

One worker who was questioned in the CBS survey lamented that, "There is no sense of teamwork in most places anymore."  Well friend, if you’re looking for teamwork don’t look to the Red Sox, where part of the team takes the field, another part watches from the dugout steps in support and the front line pitchers sequester themselves to eat chicken and knock down a few brews. New allegations in the Red Sox story now include tales of drinking in the dugout itself, something the players vehemently deny.  The story has grown legs, hit sports talk and generated angry reactions. 

This is the kind of story that puts folks off whether they’re sports fans or not.  It violates that traditional notion that American success is a product of teamwork.  It’s a notion that may be more romance than substance but it’s one that Americans hold dear nonetheless.  Be it 18^th century barn raisings or its 21^st century descendent, The Habitat for Humanity, church or school fundraising activities, ordinary people pulling together to help out in disaster relief or simply getting together to help a neighbor move or paint the house, Americans cherish teamwork.  They teach it to kids in sports and they try to instill it in executives through activities that range from classrooms to whitewater rafting to wilderness trips.

These stories repulse Americans because try as they might, many can never seem to grasp that illusive American Dream and these days many who thought that they had finally grabbed a piece of that dream are seeing it slip away.  How, they ask, can young men who have achieved an American Dream beyond wildest dreams so take it for granted?  How can those who make so much money playing games never seem to be satisfied with the riches they have?

And so when we’re presented with images and stories of professional athletes holding out for yet more money, whining about a double header or treating the notion of teamwork with seeming disdain, Americans get angry and offended.  Or course these stories are nothing new.  Cluelessness among pro athletes and their kin in other entertainment industries seems to be a cherished tradition. It could be Latrell Sprewell spurning a 7 million dollar a year salary because, as he put it so diplomatically, “I have a family to feed,” Barry Bonds absenting himself from his team when he just didn’t seem to be in the mood to be at the ball yard, Randy Moss telling a reporter that he plays when he wants to play, or any of the many incidents involving strip clubs, fire arms or getting in trouble in the wee hours at places that most thinking people avoid.  The NBA, errr, work stoppage and Red Sox-gate are the 2011 versions of athletes existing in a separate reality. We’ll see what drama 2012 holds.  Meanwhile I’m still waiting for that set of headphones that I’m certain my boss is going to give me for all those Sundays when I’m logged into the office trying to keep up with the workload.

Interviewing the American Dream; The Thirty Something V.P.

This interview is with a mid-thirties HR, Vice President.  At the time of the interview, she lived in Oakland California.  The interview was done at The Public Market in Emeryville California in the summer of 2010.  As we know the economic situation has changed little since that summer.       

What does The American Dream mean to you?

Well for me the American Dream, you know growing up I’ve always heard of you know the house, with the 2.5 kids and the white picket fence. And of course, but in order to get that you always need an education make sure you go through the process of graduating high school, going to college, getting a degree, being the good person, living and being the model citizen to get to a really good and stable job. All of that would get you to the American Dream which was the house, the kids, being married. That was always the concept that I learned growing up. And even for my parents who don’t speak English and they never actually took the time to learn the language, somehow that particular concept was drilled into them as they were raising me. So that’s the only thing that I know of growing up, that’s the American Dream to me.

It’s not about being filthy rich, it’s not about trying to make the millions, but it’s more about having a stable median income life. That’s the American Dream that I know of. 

So that’s what you more or less grew up with?

Yes. 

Your parents are immigrants

Yes. 

When they came to this country what do you think might have been their original American Dream?

Their dream was to make sure that we had a better life. 

They came from?

Vietnam. In ’75. I don’t know much of my parent’s history and what they went through because they don’t talk about it. But whatever it was that they went through and in particular my dad, he was in the army during the Vietnam War. Going into ’75 my understanding from him was that he actually stole a boat and got us on it just to get us out. He was also in prison for awhile. So whatever it is that he went through in Vietnam, whatever it is America has got to be better. So whatever concept that they had in their mind it was more about our safety, our being able to grow up and just be able to offer us a life. He went through a lot of hardship. I heard references of torture, so that being in America was 100 times better than being in Vietnam. So that was the only thing that they hoped for, giving us the opportunity to live. 

You talked about the notion of a house, kids and being married. Where did that come from? What inspired that?

I’d have to say probably the group that I hung out with in school. A lot of what I learned and a lot of the behavior, a lot of my mannerisms, a lot of my etiquette, it’s actually in a school environment and in particular I feel, the friends that I had. They had the same notion about the American Dream. And so being around this group literally from junior high to high school to college we all reinforced the idea of however the idea came to us about the American Dream, (whether it was) from school from other people. But within our group we reinforced it upon one and other about getting your degree, getting married, having a career. So, so for me it’s really about, for lack of a better term, peer pressure. It’s the group that I hung out with that reinforced the idea. You know we did it year after year. We talked about getting married, having children, having that career. And it just so happens that I’m going to a reunion in August and still people are talking about homes and kids and, when are you going to have a kid and so, I don’t know where it came from, probably just the people I hung out with.

I’d say (our group) was median to high median income. (I grew up) in Southern California in Orange County. Suburbs. 

Does media or pop culture drive the concept of The American Dream that you just described?

Absolutely. Because to the best of my recollection we would sit around and we would talk about the stars back then, you know, Tom Cruise, Val Kilmer, the kind of life that they had. They had shows like Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous and we’d all sit around and watch it. So media and pop culture definitely, I strongly feel played a part in what I grew up seeing what you could accomplish. The group I hung out with; we were very into magazines of all the stars, we watched the same shows. During the summer we were watching soap operas and the college campuses had televisions and so in between classes you could watch television. Even those shows influenced our way of thought. While we know it’s a show, there’s a certain concept that was in the shows. We were all like, “Oh it would be really great to work hard and become a psychiatrist and then to have that house and the kids. We were heavily into watching television.

I’m 35. I’m an HR director, actually VP. Not that I work for a company that I hate. I am married to a woman. I’ve been with her for eleven years, been married for two.

In terms of the American Dream that I had growing up, its vastly different from what I imagined my life to be. Growing up I thought somewhere along the line I’d want children and I think because I bought into the American Dream of having kids.  But as I got older and started developing an opinion and a mind of my own, I’m okay with not having children. I don’t have what society would call the traditional married life. So in many ways a lot of the concepts that I believed growing up, it’s not the life I’m living now. It’s not that it’s bad, it’s just completely different. My 2.5 kids are my two Rots and my cat. I don’t own a home. You know everything else is the same, you still work, you still strive for stability. And of course my concept has changed too in terms of doing the 1-2-3 and getting the house and stuff like that. Now as I’m getting older I realize, that what’s important is being happy, having a roof over your head, having food on the table and having the friends that are near and dear to you around you. So I think that a lot of things that were superficial growing up have changed into what I just stated, for me anyway. Because along the way the house was more representative of status. Being married and the kids I think now is just representative of just status or what society believes is the right thing to do. And so I’m more accepting of that not necessarily being the right American Dream. At least for me. The little bit more would be just to make sure, while we’re not striving to be filthy rich we’re striving to have a decent savings account for rainy days because you never know what the economy is going to be like. We’re not after rich, we’re just after being secure. 

The American Dream that you talked about growing up with occurred around the late 80’s . In general has the concept changed?

You know, in general probably not. I think specifically yes but in general  people still strive for the same things. Because for me I think it’s a process of life which I think is very general to say. But people are going in one direction. And I don’t think life should be linear, but I think the majority of people go in one direction you know, whatever that process is. So in general no the concept hasn’t changed. Which is interesting that you asked that question because I had an opportunity to talk to a college friend of mine, the one who I’m seeing in about three or four weeks. She, in her mind, feels that she got the American Dream. Because she got married, they, she and her husband, own a home. She’s a dentist and she has three kids. You know for her, she did all the right things to achieve her American Dream and for her any deviation from that is wrong. And wrong not necessarily that there’s a right or wrong but for her it is wrong not to achieve that. And I recall asking her, the life that she has, is that something that she’s always wanted or is that something that her parents drilled into her. And she said in part, being a dentist is all she knew to strive for because her parents wanted her to be a dentist. Getting married and being in a happy relationship, that’s all she knew because her parents represented that for her. Having kids, she said she has family and cousins so that’s all she knew was to get married and have kids. So it just goes back to what reinforces any concept is the people around you. But hers is more specific, but I think in general everybody moves in that direction. You strive to have money, you strive to have a good job that you like. While my wanting to be rich has turned into wanting to be secure.  My wanting to have a home has turned into not necessarily a house but whomever I’m with, whatever it is I do, that becomes my home. So a lot of the generalizations have become specific for me. While they’re the same, they’re a little bit different. My home isn’t a house, my home is where, that old cliché, my heart is. Being filthy rich is more about security and being able to provide for your family. The kids, I think that’s a choice that everybody makes on their own. 

Early on, in high school, college, was there a pressure to achieve?

Oh yeah. I can only speak for the group that I was in but we were all honor students. In high school we took AP classes, which stands for advanced placement. So within that group there was pressure to achieve all of the American Dream. You know get the good grades, find the right person, get married, have kids. So, the peer pressure, the competition actually spurred a lot of us to continue to strive towards that goal. At least for me I remember thinking after high school if I don’t go to college and get my degree I’m not going to make that American Dream because getting a college degree will get me that job and if I don’t get that job and continue to climb the corporate ladder, I’m not going be important or I’m not going to have that status. So in many ways it was also about, well it was about achievement and goals, accomplishments, it was also about, I guess status. What kind of car do you drive? Are you covered in gold and diamonds? Because that was status.

Is there still pressure?

No. I don’t really care what other people think. I value my friend’s opinion but the pressure I don’t feel so much anymore because I’m more comfortable in my life. I don’t feel I have to prove myself. And I’m at a point where my friends accept me or they don’t. So, that’s where there’s no pressure. 

Has our recession affected your life or your concept of the American Dream?

Yes and no. No in the sense that my economic situation hasn’t changed. Yes in the sense that as a household it has because my partner went to school to get her 3D animation degree and when the economy was booming she had every hope of starting her career as a 3D animator in the entertainment industry or gaming industry. But since the economy tanked all these companies that are trying to survive aren’t really hiring graduates or entry level people. Now they’re looking for people with a number of years of experience just to get the production going. So that has affected us somewhat in the sense that her dream has been put on hold. After she finished school her loans became due, and so she had to do something to help pay for those loans and so she ended up getting a part time job at a company that she is just miserable at. But you do what you gotta do at this point is her mindset. So in some ways it has affected us because one of our dreams is not being accomplished or is not being achieved. Because there are restrictions based on the economy, based on the number of jobs available. She’s tried for a good while and we had to make a choice between do you continue to pursue the dream or do you become realistic and start paying your bills. And we had to start being realistic and pay our bills.

In general terms I think the filthy rich are just greedy. Whether they’re politicians or business people, their decisions, their greediness, I feel drives certain outcomes. And they’re all selfish, you know. There’s selfishness behind that because we always want more. As Americans we always want more. Bigger is always better. And in some sense I feel America as a whole is very self centered. We want more, we want bigger and we’re very greedy and we’re not selfless. So I think those concepts or for lack of a better word, those traits in America probably led us to where we are today. I believe that greed and the desire to want more doesn’t always equate to making the right decisions. 

When I was discussing the American Dream with a colleague, his question to me was, “Isn’t that what got us into this mess?” Do you think that the drive for securing the American Dream got us to where we are now?

You know that’s interesting. I’m going to say yes. Because I’ll draw from my brother’s experience. He believes in this American Dream. He got married, he has two kids. He bought two homes. The second one was just idiocy, but the first one that he bought was because he wanted to provide for the children. He was at a point where (he thought), I should buy a home because I got married and I have these two kids and these kids need a house, a backyard, a front yard. But he was not in a position, nor did he have the money to buy and not get into a situation where he was paying interest only. And so he’s one of the people who went and bought homes that ended up needing to do a short sale just to get out of being upside down. So actually yes, now that I’m thinking about it, I think that a lot of people had these ideas about what they must do for their family, for status amongst their friends. Because at the point when he bought the home he was the only one in his wife’s side of the family who didn’t have a home yet. So I think when he bought a home he felt somewhat complete. But at the same time, he was never happy because the home was out in Vallejo. He and his wife worked in San Francisco. They had to be up at 5:00 in the morning just to get the kids ready to drop them at daycare over in Oakland. And then they’d have to hop on BART to go to San Francisco. All this for the American Dream of having a home. When the economy tanked they had to do a short sale on both their homes. While that was stressful, they’re renting now; in some ways I think he’s happier now than when he was pursuing the American Dream because that responsibility of achieving that American Dream; he’s lived it, he’s felt it, he knows what it’s like. For him it’s back to as long as he has a roof over his head, food on the table, family and friends around him everything else just doesn’t matter. But I think for people like him, for people like me it depends on what your thought process was and what your experiences were that brings you back to the point of what is secure for us now. So it’s about experiences. All that you go through and definitely, to circle back you your question, oh yeah, people striving to get all this stuff? Sure, they’re living beyond they’re means. I know a lot of people who are living on credit cards. While they have a job, it’s not paying enough or whatever the reason is they’re living beyond they’re means. They have this car that they probably can’t afford but they have it anyway just to keep up with the Joneses. And so all this debt that people incur just to keep up, yeah I believe the American Dream in part, tanked our economy. (Laughs). In some part. I can’t say the rich didn’t play a big part..and the politicians.

She reads James Truslow Adams' description of the American Dream. "That dream of a land in which life should be better and richer and fuller for everyone, with opportunity for each according to ability or achievement. It is a difficult dream for the European upper classes to interpret adequately, and too many of us ourselves have grown weary and mistrustful of it. It is not a dream of motor cars and high wages merely, but a dream of social order in which each man and each woman shall be able to attain to the fullest stature of which they are innately capable, and be recognized by others for what they are, regardless of the fortuitous circumstances of birth or position."

You know it’s interesting, now that I’m reading this (James Truslow Adams description of the American Dream), that what I believed the American Dream would be growing up was about what it says that it really isn’t. It’s not about cars or the high wages. I don’t know if it’s because over time if people read it or loosely expand the definition to fit they’re own because of societal pressures. Based on this American Dream, each man or woman living to their own capabilities, I’d say in some ways…I’m kind of there? So if it’s not about the cars it’s not about the wages but it’s about my own stature, where I am, and my own happiness in some ways I’d say that American Dream; I’m kind of living it. So I’d never read this, obviously (laughs). In some ways, I find that a really powerful paragraph. And in other ways, I’m like, wow, because I actually had this one idea of what the American Dream is, which if I were to have one word to describe it, it was always about money. And money equates to status. This is more of, each person’s personal ability or capabilities to achieve the best that they can in whatever situation that they’re in. So, I’m glad I read it actually (laughs). 

So I’ve lived my life where I went from wanting the house, being married, having kids. Being married to a man, now I’m married to a woman; wanting to have kids to not wanting to have kids; having been at a point where I did make a lot of money to the point where I’m making a living just to be secure. So I’ve gone through this whole cycle of ups and downs. And the only thing that’s remained constant for me as I’ve learned to be more comfortable with who I am and being older and hopefully a little bit wiser is that it really is just about being secure; doing the best that you can in any situation that you’re in; giving the best that you can and putting the best foot forward. And that whole original concept of the American Dream of the house and the kids and the white picket fence; it’s just not real, it’s just not reality. And I think that concept puts so much of a burden on America as a whole that I don’t think that it gives people the opportunity to grow, to learn about themselves or what they want because they’re constantly chasing this dream that doesn’t fit everyone.

Adams talks about a social order in which each man and each woman shall be able to attain to the fullest stature in which they are innately capable. Is there such a social order? Is that part of the statement relevant?

We don’t have a social order. Is it relevant? It should be relevant. But it’s not true because we don’t have that social order. I believe that we have a system that actually breeds laziness. So I don’t think that each individual in America is actually living to their fullest potential; what they’re capability is. Because there is always going to be some reason or external factors that will be thrown in there and people think they’ve been thrown a curve ball in life. And so there are a bunch of people I think who are trying to find the easy way out. Those people aren’t living to their fullest potential. So, no, there is no social order. I think it should be relevant because I think people should strive for that. Be responsible for yourself, be responsible for the people around you, be responsible for society. I think those three things combined would make, not the perfect life, but it would sure make life easier for everybody else. If I don’t have to go to work and worry about one person trying to take it easy and not doing their job. Or I hear stories about people who are part of the union who are messing up, five, six times, yet they feel that they are owed a certain something just because they paid they’re dues.

Is there a level playing field?

No. No there isn’t one. There isn’t one because greed and laziness will bring two things. Greed will bring people who try to do whatever it takes to keep whatever it is that they have. And some will do the unthinkable just to keep it. And then you have people who are trying to cheat the government, people on welfare, people who will take advantage of being part of the union who will do less than they can because they feel that they are protected under the union. So that’s not fair because then what they do affects the middle class.

With the rich and the greed, what they do I feel affects the middle class in. And the middle class that I feel are the ones, not necessarily everybody in the middle class are honest, I’m just saying it seems like what the lower income people are doing whatever they’re trying to do just to get past, just to get enough, just to have a better life 

In the year since this interview was done this young woman's life went through a number of dramatic changes.  The company she was working for was on the verge of shutting down; plans were in place for liquidation of the office equipment when the company got a new life.  Personally, she had a brush with death, her relationship of more than eleven years ended and one of the rottweilers that was so dear to her died.  She is living with friends now, putting the pieces of her life back together and still working for the same company.  For a period of time her outlook on life was dark and grim, marked by periods of deep depression.  Recently she's found a determination to forge a new life and she is progressing towards a renewed happiness and contentment.  In her interview she often mentions the greed of the rich and big business. I'm finally publishing this at a time when many are fed up with that type of greed as, a little over a year after the interview, there are nationwide demonstrations protesting just that greed.  

Sunday Decaf; You Gotta Have Heart and a Cool and Hot Doc

I asked my doctor how many more years I have left and he said, 'You're too ornery to die.'

Jimmy Piersall (Baseball player)

Can I call these Sunday offerings, Sunday Coffee anymore?  Is decaf. really coffee?  The cardiologist that I recently hired told me to ease off caffeine.  That I have to forego real coffee is the proverbial downer.  That I required the services of a cardiologist when I’m on the cusp of 58 is a big downer.

It started a couple of weeks ago when I felt my heart skip a beat.  Whoa.  Nah, I imagined that.  Again.  Catch my breath.  I remember an elementary school teacher of mine described heartbeats as, lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub.  Well mine was suddenly, lub-dub, lub-dub, lub……dub.  To be certain that my hypochondriac mind wasn’t playing tricks on me I put my fingers to my wrist; lub-dub, lub-dub, lub……dub.  Dammit!  In some respect heartbeats are kind of like the wife you take for granted.  You never really knew she was around doing all those great things for you until the old woman got fed up and left.  You mean I have to get my own dinner now?  It’s pretty much the same with heartbeats.  They don’t cross your mind at all until a few of them turn up missing.  We never really notice the heart except for that brief time lying in bed when its reassuring rhythm lulls us to sleep.  Well there are those other times like before you’re going to ask that special, she is so gorgeous girl out.  That’s when you feel your heart pounding like a pile driver and you almost think she must be hearing it as well.  At times like this it’s usually accompanied by that impending fart that forms about the time you begin talking to her.  It grows exponentially in your gut until you’ve reached the safety and solitude of your car where you can unleash the roaring monster.    

I gutted out the skipped beats for a few days before deciding that it was time to give my doctor a call.  I'd waited because the episodes were intermittent and of pretty short duration and I was hoping it would all go away.  There was that and the fear we all carry with us to such appointments that the doc is going to dispense a dose of really bad news.  Actually my doctor called me.  I’ve been on blood thinner lately to help dissolve the blood clot in my lung that developed after I broke my ankle the day before Mother’s Day.  Yeah, I know, I’ve kind of had this black cloud over my head for the last few months.  I often mull over what I did to kick start this bad karma.  The doctor wanted to discuss getting off the blood thinner.  “When can you come in?”

“As soon as possible please.”

“This afternoon?”

“Book it.”

Here’s what I like about doctors.  They walk into the exam room and the first thing that they say is, “How are you?”  What the hell.  Isn’t the purpose of this visit for you to tell me how I am?  Even when I’ve gone to emergency for a broken bone; “How are you?”  Well aside from the fact that my ankle is a deep purple and rivaling my thigh in terms of size I’m just great; moron.  I don’t actually say those things.  One philosophy that I subscribe to is, don’t piss off the doctor or dentist; at least until the procedure is done and they're safely beyond arm's distance.

My doctor walked into the exam room, “How are you?” Grrrr.  We discussed the blood thinner and then she asked if I had any questions.  “Well there is this little matter of skipped heartbeats.”  We discussed that for a while and she took a listen.  Nothing; no I don’t mean no heartbeat at all, just no skipped beats.  Of course; one truth about doctor’s visits is that the symptom goes away as soon as the doctor looks for it.  “Well I think you’re a head case.”  Doctor P. isn’t like that.  She suggested that I have PVC and would need to wear a “halter monitor” to determine just what was going on in there.  That’s another thing I like about doctors.  They talk doc speak.  They’re like Jaworski and Gruden on Monday Night Football who talk football speak.  I think they all do it to show us lay folk how ignorant we are.  Okay, PVC, polyvinyl chloride; something that they make sprinkler pipes out of.  Halter monitor suggested to me that I was going to wear something resembling equestrian gear.  When she was done speaking in tongues she translated the medical mumbo jumbo to English and cut to the chase.  I needed to see a cardiologist. 

Doc P. is cool.  She’s worked the labyrinth that is the Kaiser system to get me quick referrals without the usual wait, got me an MRI for my Achilles tendon when I was previously denied and she believes in non-traditional medicine.  She encouraged acupuncture for a shoulder injury contradicting an orthopedist with an itchy finger who wanted to pull the cortisone trigger. The acupuncture took care of the shoulder within a month thank you.  Doc P. answers emails evenings and weekends.  She puts tests that I need in the system and leaves them there for a year, nagging me every couple of months to go in and get them done.  She even called me once on a Friday evening after I was in the ER for a short stint to see how I was doing.  All of that and she is, to use my dad’s vernacular, hotter than a two dollar pistol.  No really, she is.  I had no idea when I hired her.  She walked into the exam room the first time and I thought she was a hot nurse fresh out of nursing school; do your mom and dad know you’re here pretending to be a doctor, I thought.  She wears the shortest of skirts that would never pass the appropriate test in most work places forcing me to look her straight in the eye during the visit.  Elevator eyes might piss her off and you know that rule about pissing off the doc.

The day after my visit with Doctor P. the symptoms were scaring the hell out of me so I carted myself to emergency.  Mention the words "chest," "pain" or "heart" to the ER receptionist and you get into the express lane to be seen.  I wonder what the penalty would be for telling the ER receptionist that I'm having chest pains when all I have is a sore throat.  You know, just to skip to the front of the line.  I imagine that would really piss off the doctor and I've mentioned a rule about pissing off doctors.  I'm on a bed wearing that ridiculous open in the back gown, an IV connection already in my arm and wired up to a monitor when the ER doctor walked in, a fellow named Moses.  Sizing me up a bit, Doctor Moses said, “How are you doing?”  A snappy answer rose up my craw but I choked it back down; “Don’t piss off…”  It was an encouraging sign that my doctor was Moses.  I suppose you can get higher up the Biblical hierarchy than Moses; you know Holy Ghost, Mary and Joseph but Moses must be there in upper management.  The plan was to keep me on the monitor to see what story it told and to run some blood tests; Vampira had already taken some vials and I suppose Igor was in the lab running the tests.  Three hours later I was discharged after the blood tests turned up negative and the monitor had no story to tell; head case.  An hour after I got home I had an email from Doctor P who had found out I was in the ER while I was still  in the ER and she was already busy lining up a cardiologist for me.  The next business day I was at the cardiologist.  I told you my doctor is cool.  And did I mention she’s hot too?  Yeah, yeah I’m a pig but point out a single person who doesn’t make note of beauty.

When Doctor D. walked into the exam room I noted that he is not hot.  But he is young, professional, courteous and seems to know his trade (this last is very important).  "How are you?”  Once again I admonished myself, “Don’t piss off the….”  He listened to my heart and noted the skipped beats removing that head case yoke I was starting to put on myself.  Well not entirely.  He noted that I’m a “type A.”  I reasoned from that conclusion that he’s been talking to my wife.  One of his first suggestions was to prescribe what he called “anti-anxiety” medications; doc. speak for tranks.  I had flashbacks to Brett Farve who developed a dependency to pain killers and my mom who had a similar dependency to “anti-anxiety” medications and so I demurred.  The doctor noted that an echocardiogram taken a few months back and all other indications were indicative of a strong, healthy heart.  He noted that the skipped beats were probably not a serious condition but a better idea of what was going on could be revealed by a “halter” monitor.  Once again I imagined equestrian gear.  Doc. D. dispatched me down the hall for a monitor.

The EKG lab wasn’t expecting me but a quick call to the cardiology department got me into the exam room where I was fitted for the monitor; five leads pasted to my chest connected to a little device similar to a pager and worn on the belt.  I was handed an instruction sheet for the Holter (Hole-Ter) monitor; okay, it’s a name not a description.  Twenty four hours later I turned in the monitor and the next day I received an email from Doctor D.  It said that my heart was skipping beats; no shit.  I knew that a week and a half ago and I didn’t need to be strapped to an infernal machine to find that out.

Doctor D. and I had a phone consultation the next day.  As things turned out the episodes of skipped beats were lessening as days passed, a story that the Holter monitor had verified.  The doc. noted that overnight there were 100 beats and the next morning about 50 beats.  I asked my allotted stupid question; “Is that skipped beats?”  As the words came from my mouth my mind was telling me, stupid question and I imagined the snappy comeback forming in the doctor’s mind. “No, you had one hundred beats all night long.”  He didn’t say that of course.  As it turns out he isn’t sure what is causing the skipped beats, is not concerned about it both short term and long and prescribed a beta blocker to take if I want when I’m symptomatic.  At this writing it's been a more than a couple of days since I've skipped a beat.  I think I'll stick to decaf and if I keep naming my Sunday posts "Sunday Coffee" you can call me a fraud. 

A Retiring American Dream

Retirement at sixty-five is ridiculous. When I was sixty-five I still had pimples. George Burns                                                                                    

 If you’re old enough to remember Georgie you’re probably old enough to retire. A foundation of my blog, a mission statement if you will, is to tackle the American Dream; including mine.  I suppose I’m doing it backwards in discussing the last chapter of the American Dream.  Maybe it makes the most sense to start here since I’m at the stage of life when retirement should be gaining clarity. Or maybe it isn’t.

Lately I’ve been ruminating on retirement.  It’s one of those American Dream scenes in which you’ve put in your time and then you relax and enjoy life, or you do something you really want to do instead of have to do; you travel, spoil the grandkids while pissing off their parents, play golf if that’s your thing, do volunteer work, work for a dear to your heart cause or just sit on the front porch, drink beer, crush the cans, watch the world and be lovably crusty like Clint Eastwood in Gran Torino (less the gang bangers and gun play).

There was a time, not too long ago when I gave retirement only a passing consideration.  Thought I would get bored and drive my wife nuts at which point she would be pushing me to get a job of some sort leading me to becoming a greeter at Wal-Mart; “Here’s your *&%$# cart, have a %$@^% day”  I don’t suppose that would work.  Or maybe I would be one of those seniors working at McDonalds; “What the hell kind of parent are you bringing your already overweight kid in here and buying him a Big Mac. Get the hell outta here and feed him an apple.”  Talk about back to the future; you begin your work career at a fat vat and end it there.  So no, I hadn’t figured on retiring.  Just sit at my desk until I did a face plant right into my keyboard. Finis.

That’s changed and more or less suddenly.  Like a marathoner at mile 21 I’ve hit the working wall.  At 57 I’m not so much tired of work itself.  I enjoy my work and find it stimulating and challenging.  I interact with interesting people all over the United States, Italy and China and I enjoy dealing with them all.  What I’m tired of is the workplace.  I’m worn down and wrung out by office politics, the meanness, the constant ASAPness that every task big, small or insignificant requires, even if it really can wait but can’t because somewhere up the chain some self-important boob decided that his need is greater than all others.  And I’m tired of the penchant that corporate America has developed for squeezing every last drop of blood, sweat, tears and energy from the workforce because, “You know what; if you don’t like it, there’s a big potential workforce out there looking for work and I can always find someone to get it done.”  The middle class worker is stuck in neutral, getting a pittance for a raise if there even is one and he’s sucking it up and working scared because the boss is right; there is a big field of potential replacements out there.  Meanwhile much of corporate America and the upper class are doing quite well thank you.  I mentioned back to the future awhile back and here’s another version of it.  We’ve gone back to the days of robber barons who view their workers with utter contempt.  And so there’s going to come a time when I’m going to skip out of the office on that final day singing Bob Dylan’s words, “I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s Farm no more.”

Over the years, my wife and I have mulled over where to retire.  I’ve always longed for small town America, maybe in the foothills of the Sierra.  I guess I saw myself learning fly fishing, planting myself in some scene from “A River Runs Through It.”  My wife has steadfastly resisted rural retiring and I know there’s no changing her mind.  I thought I could dig in my heels and convince her by threatening to make the move on my own but she’s called my bluff; “Fine, go. Move up there.”  She’s even upped the ante with, “Find yourself a young woman to live with.”  Talk about sweetening the pot.  I don’t know, I’ve forgotten how to find a young woman and even if I did I would be like the dog that chases cars and finally catches one;  “well now that I’ve caught this thing one in hell do I do with it.”  I’ve considered the Reno area where housing and the standard of living are much more affordable.  Don’t know how my wife would view that one; dimly I think.  I’ve mulled over the Napa Valley but I don’t think we have the financial horsepower for that.  Strangely enough I’ve considered retiring to the city of San Francisco which is of course the polar opposite of small town America.  I’ve lived in San Francisco for a few years and I enjoy it.  One of the best cities in the world; a diverse, progressive, multi-cultural and vibrant place.  For a short time we talked about Mexico.  Trouble is it’s a violent place these days and I don’t fancy waking up some morning with my head in the bathroom sink and my body still lying in bed.  In my dreams I’ve considered a little village in Tuscany; if the wife doesn’t want rural America what makes me think she’d go for rural Italy.  And what in the hell would I do as a retiree?  Since my wife has put the kibosh on stepping out the back door for some fly fishing I’ve thought that maybe I could go into coaching again (that was fun when I did it), or be a docent at a museum or maybe a ball dude at Giants games. Of late though we’ve put some serious consideration into retiring to my wife’s native Philippines.

"Why The P.I,?" you ask.  Well part of it goes back to my reasons for wanting to leave the workforce.  Something’s happened here.  That meanness, the growing dearth of humanity and the overall social Darwinism that’s infected the workplace is metastasizing into American society as a whole.  We’ve seen the meanness in folks who don’t give a second thought about denying their fellow citizens health insurance because, "I've got mine, sucks for you."  We’ve seen it at a presidential debate in an audience booing a soldier because he’s gay; a soldier defending the rights of those catcallers to be crass and bigoted.  And we see the selfishness every day; the folks who park in the handicapped spot because they’re lazy and don’t need to be inconvenienced, the line cutters, the cell phone gabbers who’s conversation is more important than the rest of the world that doesn’t want to hear their yammering, the smokers who smoke where they want, rules or not and the foster parents in it for the money who celebrate their children’s 18^th birthday by kicking them to the curb because the last government check is in the mail.  The recent chic of coldness brings to mind a scene from Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol” in which Scrooge encounters two men collecting money for the poor.  Scrooge who by no means wishes to donate any of his means asks the men if the prisons and workhouses are still in operation.  The men respond that those institutions are indeed still in operation and offer that many of the poor “would rather die” than go there.  To that Scrooge responds, “If they would rather die they had better do it and decrease the surplus population."  Are we becoming a Dickensian society? If you listened closely to some of the recent political debates you might think so.  And if we aren’t there yet would we get there if one of those candidates was elected and could have his or her way? 

Despite what you might think I love my country.  And it’s because I do love my country that I feel such a deep disappointment in what we’re becoming.  My growing disappointment boiled to the surface in recent months leading me to suggest to my wife that we retire to her country.  It wasn’t met with the same resistance that retiring to the foothills did; so I guess it’s plausible.  I know what you’re saying; “You think The P.I. is some kind of Eden?  You think they don’t have problems there?  You think there’s a big middle class there?  No gun play?  No crime?  You think they don’t have a corrupt government?”  Truth is I don’t think any of those things.  I do know that they don’t get embroiled in the business of other countries and as a result don’t get tangled in endless, costly and divisive wars. That in itself might be refreshing.  It’s taken my 57 years to reach this downer.  If it takes me half that long to get disenchanted with The Philippines I’ll be so doddering it won’t really matter will it.

Another truth is that I’ve never been to the Philippines.  What if I don’t like the heat (I hear that you can’t blow if off there with the old saying, “But it’s a dry heat.”)?  What if I don’t like living on an island?  What if I get sick of lumpia?  And let’s face it, traveling across the Pacific to catch a Giants game is tougher than gutting out Bay Bridge traffic.  After a year or so would I pine for a crisp, chilly Christmas, football in the fall, pitchers and catchers reporting, the pumpkin festival in Half Moon Bay and yes even the gridlock of Bay Area traffic and California politics?  So I guess an overriding concern is what if I just don’t like the lifestyle and the culture?

I know that my wife and I could be comfortable there.  I’ve a co-worker who assures me that I can have a maid for fifty dollars a month; wait on me hand and foot, cook my meals, clean my house and load my pipe, that is if I smoked a pipe.  I assured him back that I’m not interested in a domestic since I prefer doing things for myself.  And hell, I can’t pay someone a pittance for an honest day’s work.  I would have to pay a decent wage and that would just piss off my maid employing neighbors for raising the domestic’s standard of living.

And then there is the overriding concern that I would have to pull myself away from my children and grandchildren.  Could I pull myself away?  I can’t imagine that a white sand beach with warm inviting waters and a lifestyle where I have no doubt about my financial security trumps a raucous Sunday afternoon with my son and daughter exchanging good natured barbs and the grandchildren screaming about ouwies.

My wife’s retirement is impending; January of 2013.  Mine is a few years behind that unless I opt for the keyboard face plant.  That we sunk over ten grand in getting the joint painted inside and out means we’re in it for the pretty foreseeable future; that and the crummy housing market.

Even as I write this I’m writing off that notion of retiring to The P.I.  Hell, all I’ve known is the Bay Area and what makes me think I could turn my back on Thanksgiving with the family, the Dallas Cowboys, the Detroit Lions and the blathering sportscasters.

It’s funny how the American Dream goes through metamorphosis (even as I craft a blog post).  Twenty five years ago we wanted a big house.  Now we’re looking for a bungalow.  Thirty years ago we wanted high paying challenging jobs.  Meh, now I could stand something simple and less stressful; without being a damn greeter.  I could easily be a volunteer docent at a historical site or volunteer at the animal shelter or the local library.  I should even if it's not easy, do something like help the deacon of my church with her street ministry.  She doesn't so much bring God to the streets as she does the more tangible help of food, clothing, a helping hand and lending an ear.  If I do nothing else in retirement I need to put in some time doing something meaningful.  I've spent most of my life working for "the man," I need to spend some of my life working for man.  Forty years ago and just getting out of college the American Dream of a a career was shrouded in an uncertain fog and now at career's end the next chapter of the American Dream is just as shrouded and uncertain.  As recently as five years ago the idea of retirement seemed financially impossible; and I’m still on the fence on that.  As far back as thirty five years ago I did have a vague retirement sight set on the rural River Runs Through It, wettin' a line on a crisp daybreak to the sound of waking birds and a rifling stream.  Do you suppose that if I get the wife fly fishing lessons for Christmas she’ll change her mind? 

If you have an opinion on this or any post or would like to share your own experience you are welcome to leave a comment in the section below the post. If you like what you're reading you are encouraged to share on Facebook or Twitter using the buttons below.  Or you can simply signify that you like the post by hitting the + button. Note: I don't get any money from this.  Call it a hobby that keeps me out of the taverns.

You've Got Mail!

"Diamonds are forever.  Email comes close.”

                                 June Kronholz; journalist.

This year I took the day before the Labor Day holiday weekend off; ostensibly a slow day.  When I got back to work the following Tuesday I opened my mailbox to find 73 emails.  Seventy three!!  Would that I could be so popular at Christmastime with an equally bulging snail mail box of cards; or maybe not.  Like most I’ve found email to be both help and hindrance and no this isn’t the Luddite in me speaking. 

The boons are obvious.  Email is a great way to transmit a binding document, a quick message, directions of all sorts and the summary of a conversation or meeting.  Some of the disadvantages are equally clear but just for fun, let’s talk about them.

        Of the 73 emails I received on that particular Tuesday, I would guess that more than 20 percent were unnecessary misplaced etiquette messages.  I know, I know, our moms tried to teach us manners when we were kids but do all five correspondents in a multi-message laden thread have to close out the thread with “thank you?”  I’ll give you an etiquette pass if you’ll spare me the extra messages. Thank you. 

      There are the “I’m telling on you” emails.  Ever forget to do something or complete something late or make a mistake and have a co-worker send you a friendly reminder?  I’m not perfect and appreciate a reminder or notification of an impending problem.  I’m not quite sure that I appreciate it so much when just about every manager in the company is copied.  Sometimes that initial email includes only one manager.  A response is sent and in reprisal another manager is copied.  Then the managers start to get involved and they copy other managers.  By the fifth or so email it’s become a finger pointing fest and a simple thread has turned into a big ugly tangle.  What could have been accomplished between the two original parties has become a corporate controversy. 

     “I’m telling on you” emails often have offspring called “dredging history” emails.  These are usually sent by a high mucky-muck who decides he needs to know the minutiae of the just unfolded drama and so a half day or so is taken up scouring archives and collecting numerous emails which become an “I’ve got to cover my ass” file (see below for more on this).  The “I’m telling on you emails” have a couple of close cousins; the “I’m going to get you fired” emails and the “I’ve got to cover my ass so I don’t get fired” emails.  These relations usually are more in the form of email files than just single emails.  I don’t get involved in the former but unfortunately I keep massive files of the latter in the event that I have a vindictive colleague who does keep “I’m going to get you fired” files.  It’s a sad state of affairs when we find ourselves wasting time and productivity to keep files of evidence to counter files of evidence.
      The "dredging history" email has another parent.  It's called the "I'm your boss and I'm so lazy I can impulsively launch an order for you to do busy work" email.  I wish I had a penny for every email requesting some tidbit of information or file from a shared drive that he or she could easily find if it wasn't for sheer laziness; or stupidity. It doesn't take long to realize that often times the "I'm your boss etc." email is related in some way to your supervisor's own "covering my ass" file.

     “We’re not talking.”  There’s nothing like Outlook for stifling good old fashioned communication and chilling an already cold relationship.  I once worked in an office where two co-workers didn’t much like each other.  Much of the communication between the two was by email.  I suppose that’s fine as far as it goes but it didn’t go much beyond two feet which was about the distance that separated the two.  They literally worked back to back with no partition separating them save hard feelings.
      One message I've often used is the "toss the grenade and run like hell" email.  Ever receive that bit of bad news that's going to really piss someone off or ignite a corporate firestorm once its been relayed?  I have and many are the times that I've held that news until it's time to close up shop for the day.  My last task of the day, after closing every window in my computer except Outlook is to launch that fateful email that will most certainly spawn a series of emails and phone calls, then log off, ignore the ringing phone and get the hell out of Dodge. The hope is that overnight I'll either win the lottery or by morning cooler heads will prevail.

     There’s the “shoot first and aim later” email.  It’s Friday afternoon at the end of a long, hard week and your boss has been riding you like an Army mule.  You email your wife, “Let’s go out for a few drinks tonight and then we’ll go home and you can put on that sheer nighty and those thigh high boots.  Hell maybe we can get the neighbor’s to join us.  I’ve always wanted to try that group stuff.  I just need to forget that butt head boss of mine.”  You quickly go to your contacts list, land the mouse pointer on a name and launch the email.  Oh but your wife and boss are one below the other in the address window and in your haste you aren’t quite sure who you emailed.  You take a big gulp, go to the send list and you find that yes, you just invited your boss out for drinks and group sex, not to mention that little butt head remark.  Far fetched you say?  A former, and let me stress FORMER, Golden State Warriors executive would disagree.  A few years back he fired off an email called, “Ghetto Prom” to the team’s entire media distribution list.  Yep, there’s no reason why you should send a racially charged "joke" email to only one person who might forward it to the press when you can do what this fellow did; just cut out the middle man by sending it directly to every reporter, columnist, editor, TV and radio station that has a relationship with the team.  The ultimate irony is the fired executive was the public relations manager.      

     And then there are the “I guess I thought it was a good idea at the time” emails.  The most famous are sent by politicians like Anthony Weiner and Louis Magazzu.  You know the one where a middle aged fellow has attached a photo of himself wearing only a smile?  That email along with the incriminating picture of the big belly hovering over a little, uhhh, you know, often becomes part of an “I’m going to get you fired” file.  This is just the kind of correspondence that begs for snail mail.  It gives the sender those extra moments of pause to consider that photo while sealing the envelope, applying the stamp and walking it to the mailbox; “Hmm, maybe I don’t look like those guys in the Roman statues,” or “Gee, what would happen to my career if this got lost and fell into the wrong hands.”

But with all the negativity there are the emails from those nice people in faraway countries like Nigeria or Taiwan who’ve found themselves faced with hard times.  Usually these emails come from an exiled prince or a businessman who was betrayed by a colleague (maybe he was a victim of an “I’m going to get you fired” file) and they have big bank accounts that for some unjust reason have been frozen.  These generous folks will find it in their hearts to award you a big percentage of their fortunes if only you’ll help them unfreeze those assets.  Usually they only ask for a small payment to help grease the bureaucratic skids and a dozen or so forms of your I.D.  I’m still waiting for the couple mil that big-hearted Nigerian prince owes me.  Only thing is I’ll have to open a new bank account as the one I sent him that check from has somehow been drained.