Bullying and righteousness.

I was thinking about bullying. No, I wasn’t planning on becoming a bully, I was contemplating bullying as a practice and how it has affected me. I was struck with the concept that, perhaps, bullying may have made me a stronger person. I bounced back and forth over the idea a few times, and came to the conclusion that although I believe the lessons learned from standing UP to bullies is one I prize, I could have done without the ridicule, self-esteem-crushing ostracization, and the lingering fear of laughter. Yes, I have a fear of laughter.
Let me explain.
Imagine you are in a cafeteria, say at a hospital, workplace, or anywhere that there are groups of people sitting together. You walk with your tray to sit alone at a table, simply because you don’t really know anyone who is already seated. Just as you pass a table of those whom you are only passably familiar, their whispering erupts into giggles and guffaws.
If you’re me, you naturally assume that they are talking and laughing about you. Who else could they have been talking about? “Hey, look at that fat, bald guy!” This insecurity is quickly overcome, but the ability to squash it only came after years of training myself that laughter is a GOOD thing, even if I’m not a part of it. (I still prefer to be the cause of it, even if I have to put on women’s clothing: “Hey, look at that fat, bald chick!”)
When I was a kid, I was bullied without mercy. I like to think that it was because I was such a free spirit and kids just didn’t understand me. Nope, I was just a fat kid. At the time, I would have done anything to avoid feeling so lost and alone. Everything, that is, except stand up for myself. In the moment, I was terrified. I remember that feeling, that moment where I am no longer a person but an object, subject to the whims of someone who just happens to be bigger, meaner, and, well, thinner. I spent a lot of time in that moment. It’s an experience I can look back on and make sure that it never, EVER happens again. I wish someone had taken me aside and told me that the reason I was being abused was so that I had the opportunity to stand up for myself. Or, barring that, told me it was OK to fight. Or, barring that, that it was OK to pound a bully until he screamed for his mommy. I never got that. Instead, I had a mom that screamed: “I hear of you fighting in school, I’ll blister your behind!”
Today, I know how to take the power away from a bully. I know how to win in the unwinnable situations. Like I said, I really, REALLY wish there had been another way, but that lesson was driven so deep into my personality that I’m actually thankful for it. The most important lesson I learned was mercy. When I see someone who is weak or in pain, I immediately want to help, even if it is someone who deserved the pain they brought upon themselves, even if that person is a bully. Yeah, I said it.
Gandhi said: “The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.” I heard (or, perhaps, thought I heard) a different version of this: “Mercy is the penchant of the strong.” It’s true. The weak do not have the opportunity to show mercy. Only the strong have that option. When I go back to that moment when I was surrounded by kids who were poking, prodding, slapping, punching, flicking, and laughing, I know that I would never want to make someone feel that way. Some may feel that the act of not pressing the advantage is letting someone off easy. I disagree. Only by showing someone that you have complete control, not only control over the situation but also control over yourself, can you show them a better way. Only in this manner can you be BETTER than the bully. To succumb to your baser desires is to become what you despise. When I see those faces surrounding me (and, yes, I can still see them), I could not imagine mine being one of them. I do think about revenge, sometimes. Like knocking on doors and saying, “Remember me? Gym class? Seventh Grade? Fuck you!” Well, you may think that turning the tables would make me feel better. It doesn’t. (It’s a long story that involves knocking on a door and going home sick to my stomach over what I’d done.)
I deal with people all the time who feel the need to mock or knock others down in order for themselves to feel better. I pity them. It’s like having a ladder in front of you, reaching all the way to heaven, and choosing to climb just high enough to look down on others. That’s just petty. Keep climbing. The higher one climbs, the less the petty slings and arrows of the weak and small-minded can hurt. Everyone is deserving of mercy, including the irredeemable.
That’s not to say that we, as a society, should let rapists and dog-fighting-gangsters off the hook. But, that’s society’s call, not mine. As an individual, I will not be the one dispensing punishment or going any farther than I have to in order to protect myself or my loved ones. (I’ll still shoot AT them, though.)
How could one possibly learn this lesson without having been in the situations I was in? Is it just arrogance that makes me believe that I am a product of what I’ve endured? Anyone can look back at things that they have gotten through and claim it as an accomplishment. “I puked for four days!” There is a danger in declaring that one’s life can be compared to another’s.
I’ve heard people say things like, “Nobody ever gave me a handout!” Typically, 99% of the time, this is untrue. Were you born into poverty, or did your family have an income? Did you have at least one parent? If so, then you received many a “handout” from your loving family. Also, did you pay to go to school? Or, were you born in the US where education is free and it was “handed” to you? Well, let’s assume that it’s true that nobody ever gave you a handout. Be that as it may, can you find it in your heart to have mercy upon one who may need it? Can you be strong enough to let an injustice be done so that somebody can have it “better” than you did? Or, are you so selfish and immature that you would prefer to bully the weak?
All I have to do to keep someone from comparing his life with another’s is to ask if he/she wants to trade lives with that person. Most people are pretty quick to say, “Hell, no!” Why not? If you’re so much better at it, it won’t be long before you’re on top and that person is back on the bottom, right? “I don’t want to lose everything I’ve worked for!” Yeah, the things you gained because you had a mind that could think, two hands to work with, and good enough health to go to work every day. Which one of those could I take away from you at, say, age 7? But, now I’m getting off topic . . .
What I’m trying to say is that I’m a product of bullying. But, is it something I should be proud of? Should I lament it? Should I look at the bullied kids, today, and say, “I had to put up with it, so should you? Now get your head back in that toilet!”
I say, “no.”
Instead, I will be merciful. I will not suffer those who would ridicule and belittle my fellow man, regardless of whether or not the lessons I learned at the hands of vicious children can be learned without them. I will keep climbing the ladder. I will try hard to give others the self esteem to stand up for themselves. I will also kick a bully square in the ass, uh, metaphorically, and then help him to find the self esteem to accept others.
Keep climbing.

PS - Gandhi also said: “I believe in equality for everyone, except reporters and photographers.” What a card, that Gandhi!

Sam's Club woman

The following story is true. It happened yesterday morning.

We have a snack locker at work. I buy stuff at Sam’s Club to supply the locker. Every week I change the combination on the lock and charge people $5 for the combination. So, employees buy a week’s access to the snack locker for five dollars. This keeps my costs down, but I’m still losing money. Yesterday was the first opportunity I had to swing by Sam’s and buy more supplies.

I was in line at Sam’s club at 9:45. I know this, because I looked at my watch when a little red-headed lady got out of line, left her things with the cashier, and headed to the back of the store. I stood there for about five minutes with the cashier and the lady in line behind me. I didn’t have to be at work until 10:30, so I wasn’t in a hurry. The lady returned, apologized to the cashier, and left. There was no confrontation, no real embarrassment, and nobody even so much as sighed impatiently.

It took all of about thirty seconds for me to check out, so I was just-about on the heals of the red-headed lady as I approached my vehicle. Let me paint a picture. Her pickup was parked head-in the same as my Ford Escape, and they were side-by-side. She had opened the back door on her truck, then got her cart, and started pulling it from the front between the two vehicles. There was not enough room. The cart was squeezed from both sides, her fender on one, and mine on the other. She continued to yank on the cart, despite the fact that it was scraping down the side of my car. Before you gasp too hard, I have plastic fenders on my Escape, so it wasn’t doing much harm. However, there would have been no backing out of the spot once she got the cart jammed in there. Also, even though they’re plastic, they’re still MINE and she was scraping them.

Me: You’re scraping my fender.
Her: Well, I’m trying to get to my car.
Me: But, you’re scraping my fender.
Her: Well, you parked too close!
Me: No, ma’am, I did not. I am well within my lines and I’m farther away from the line than you are.
Her: FINE! You go ahead, I’ll wait for you! Go!
Me: Ok. You know, even if I’d parked too close, that doesn’t give you the right to damage someone else’s property.
Her: (unintelligible) Too big for this stuff (unintelligible) need to change (unintelligible).
Me: I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Her: I don’t give a fuck!

At this point, I’m wondering what I’ve done to piss this woman off. I ran the events through my mind and the only thing was objecting to her scraping my car. I decided that she should not be allowed to think that this was OK. I stepped over to her, looked at my fender, then at her.

Me: Should I go ahead and call the police?
Her: (Look of shock)
Me: you’ve scratched my car, I think you should pay for the damages. You owe me a new fender. So, should I call the cops?
Her: (fear and worry) No. I’m sorry. OK? I’m sorry. Please do not do that. I’m sorry. Just . . . I’m sorry.

At this point, I wondered if I should press the advantage. I had her on the ropes. Whether she had a real reason to fear or not, the fact was she was visibly afraid that I would call the cops and that the result would be unpleasant. I had won, technically, but how to proceed from here? I stepped closer and looked her in the eye . . .

Me: Anger is a hot rock you hold in your hand to throw at someone else. You are the only one who gets burned. You’re having a bad day, and you almost ruined mine.
Her: I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
Me: When you do something like this, it’s like ripples spreading out, making a bad day for everyone. I want you to have a good day. Now, you go have a good day, today, Ok?
Her: I’m sorry.

At this point, I opened my arms. She went right in for a hug.

I got in my car and left.

Catching me off guard.

I like to think I’m a nice guy. Well, regardless of what other people think, I’m as nice as I can be. Unlike characters in a book, we have to do a constant balancing act with our emotions. Someone pushes us one way, sometimes we just have to roll with it. Because, simply put, there can be long-lasting damages if we over-react. The balancing act can get really tricky when dealing with either touchy subjects or self doubt.

I was in a fiction workshop. Workshop is when we students examine each other’s story’s and give feedback. Well, I stepped out of the room for one-on-one meeting with the instructor that was mandatory. Once that was over, I went back in. The rest of my group had started discussing a story written by Ben (real name changed). Well, I’d missed stuff. When it came to what I thought was my turn to give input, I asked a question. Ben looked at me and said, “I just went through all of that with Zuma (not her real name).

Oh. Ok. My bad, well, in that case, there’s something else I’d like to talk about with this story.
And Zuma talked right over me. Now, keep in mind that they’d had a good 5-8 minutes without me in the room to talk, and it really looked like Zuma was dominating the conversation.

Ok. Whatever. No big deal.

I waited for another chance. When it came I tried to open up what I thought was a really important discussion topic. When I started talking, well, it was met with resistance and everyone thought I was wrong. Ok, I’m good with that. Just my opinion after all. To each his own. But, I was going to move on to a related topic, dropping the first, when Zuma changed the subject and talked over me again. Filled with self doubt because of the reaction I’d received, I shut up.

Ok, I get it. She must have thought I was belaboring the point. I was moving on to something else, but whatever, no big deal.

I waited while this chick, who had dominated the conversation throughout, continued to go on and on. Eventually, I brought up what I thought was a point that should not be overlooked. I only got three words out before: “Eagle, we have two more stories to do, so we need to move on.”

Thinking back, now, I’m curious as to why it was specifically when I started talking that we suddenly had to move on. Let’s recap the events: I was out of the room. I came back in the room and I was talked over. Then, I talked for about 1.5 minutes before I was shut down, then talked over again. Finally, I started to talk about the ONE thing I wanted to bring up about the very story we were discussing at that time, and I’m basically told, “shut up, nobody is listening to you.” Keep in mind she wasn’t nice at all when she said “We have to move on.” It was the tone of voice that said, “we’re tired of putting up with you, so shut up.”


The purpose of a workshop, ultimately, is to give feedback in order to help other writers. This is not easy to do while maintaining that emotional balancing act. It’s a careful manipulation of words when you’re telling someone something that they may not want to hear about writing that could be very precious to them. It’s takes tact. It takes finesse and, sometimes, some serious dancing around. Because of this, I had prepared to carefully structure what I wanted to say to Ben; NOT because he has thin skin and would be hurt, but because what I wanted to explain was complicated and required time and consideration in order to be taken seriously. Come on too hard, and it sounds hateful and therefore should be ignored. To only let me get three words out was doing both Ben and me a disservice. And for what?

If I can be brushed aside while doing what I thought we were in that room to do, then why should anyone else at this table be allowed to talk? Why don’t we just throw our edits at each other and call it a day? If I’m not allowed to speak, why are you?

All of this is in hindsight, however. At the time, I was caught off guard. None of the thoughts in my head were coherent. They were just a jumble of thoughts like “Oh, no she didn’t!” Looking back, I’m glad I didn’t go off. I would have sounded like an idiot. The pieces were all jumbled in my head and I was upset without a foundation to land upon.

Well, we moved on. I looked down at my papers and realized that I, truly, had nothing more to say. As a matter of fact, without the important thing that I wanted to bring up to Ben, I didn’t even feel the need to be there, anymore.

But, there I sat. Pissed.

I was angry. Now, in my emotional balancing act, I really, really try not to over-react. My hands were shaking, I could feel myself getting flushed, I was sick to my stomach and (worst of all) I was filled with self doubt. The more I thought about it, the madder I got. I went to the bathroom. I took a leak, washed my hands, splashed water on my face, but it was too late. I was in serious fight-or-flight mode and I couldn’t calm down.

But why? Why did I get so mad? Why did I let that incident get to me so badly?The short answer is that I had been dismissed. Disregarded. Pointedly ignored. Treated like just another noise. In short, disrespected. I didn’t do anything to earn it. I tried like hell to figure out what I could have done to deserve being treated like that. I thought maybe I was coming off the wrong way. We were discussing was Ben’s story, not Zuma’s!

To add injury to insult, we talked for another thirty minutes about the last two stories. Zuma went on and on and on. Hmm. Funny. The same time we didn’t have for me to talk we now had in spades for her to run her mouth.

I just sat there. I had no input unless somebody asked me point-blank, which they did. (I resisted the urge to respond with “I don’t know a fucking thing, obviously.”) In short, even though I was seething, I handled it. Anger management has taught us that we should always hold back; that if we go off in the moment, we will handle the situation poorly. Once that happens, it’s all damage control. Anger is weakness. I was feeling mighty weak.

After class, either she figured out (or somebody whispered in her ear) that she should make amends. Zuma said, “I didn’t mean to cut you off. She (the instructor) had just came into the room and said that we had five minutes to get done.”

My response: “Well, I took that hard. I’ll be honest. I was ready to chew nails when you did that to me and I had to go to the bathroom to calm down.”

Her response: “Well, She had just came into the room and said that we had five minutes to get done.”

That’s a reason, not an apology. Also it’s straight-up bullshit. Let’s think back, shall we? I was in a meeting WITH the instructor. We came back at the SAME TIME!

If I’d been ready, I could have stood up for myself. Hell, I’m good at it. At the time I could have said, “I’m going to say this because I think it’s important.” But, I was pushed off-balance. I was too busy catching my equilibrium, making sure I didn’t do something wrong. If I was ready for that kind of push, she never would have made me falter. Now that I’m back in balance, can think logically, and now that I know how she is going to approach me, I’ll be much more stable if pushed again.

I won’t be caught off-guard. My blood pressure will remain constant. I’ll be pleasant and gentlemanly while I tell to go fuck herself and then continue to have my say.

It’s a real shame that we have to walk around ready for trouble. But, those people are out there. They see the whole rest of the world as “them” and enemies around every corner. I had no ill will toward Zuma. I’m not all that interested nor invested in the workshop. I just wanted to help Ben with what I thought was a good piece of advice to make his writing stronger. Well, he and I talked about it after class. He’ll consider it. That’s all I would expect. He may tell me I’m full of shit and that’s OK, too. But, I will never leave a door locked if I think I might have the key. Worth a try, right?

Turns out, Zuma has completely the wrong idea about me. We were in another class, together. She has pre-conceived notions about who I am despite my efforts to prove otherwise. In her mind, I will always be one of “them.” And, since I’m one of “them” in her eyes, I want nothing to do with her.

It’s a shame, too, because I think she is a very promising writer. What happens when the publishing world gives her too hard of a criticism or an editor says something she takes the wrong way?. Soon, she’ll be sitting by herself, surrounded by “them.”

I pity her, really.

Pop Culture Torpedoes

Perhaps there are some of you out there who remember Bill Cosby’s albums. My dad had three or four of them, and my brother and I listened to them non-stop. I had memorized whole bits that I didn’t even understand. What’s strange is that there are things that have been implanted in my memory banks since I was so young that I don’t even remember where they came from. There are things that are so second-nature that I assume everyone knows them. There are things that I say that were picked up way back when I was little, listening to Bill Cosby, Old Laugh In reruns, and song lyrics. For instance, once at a dinner someone mentioned that a friend of mine was habitually annoying in a particular way, I said, without thinking, “Oh, he excels at that.”

It was then that a friend of mine turned to me and said, “Way to go, C3PO.”


Oh. Shit. Yeah. That’s from Star Wars. But, I wasn’t thinking that I was doing a movie quote at the time. It just came to mind. It’s Knee-Jerk Pop Culture Language Torpedo Deployment. It’s one of many phrases that just lurk around in my head like a submerged U-boat until such time as the perfect situation pops up. Then, torpedoes away!

Yesterday, I got to see Green Lantern. Now, I had heard different stuff. I also had seen a preview. I avoid previews as a matter of policy because they often give either an unrealistic view of the film or give you all of the major plot points so that there’s really no need to see the movie since you know what happens, anyway. Well, the preview I had seen made the movie look cartoonish and juvenile. Well, It was Gaelin’s birthday and that’s what she wanted to see. Surprisingly, I enjoyed it. It was a rather well done super hero movie. Anyone not familiar with Green lantern will get the gist of who he is, the corps, and the main players. I think they could have done much more with the ring’s powers, more of Hal’s training, etc. It was weird seeing a hero I had grown up with. Even weirder, that I was the only one saying the Green Lantern Oath along with Hal Jordan.

In brightest day in darkest night
No evil shall escape my sight
let those who worship evil's might
beware my power, Green Lantern's light!

I memorized that at age, what? 10? Nobody else knows this? How could that be? There it sat. Periscope up, waiting, watching, lurking. FIRE!

While we watched the movie, some theater flunky with a short lightsaber-wand-looking thing kept walking around looking for evildoers. He always stopped next to me. It was very distracting. Now, of course we had smuggled candy in, and Erica had to keep texting because she was coordinating dinner with everyone else. She was as discreet as she could be, but I was getting anxious that the movie-cop was on to us and that we’d miss the end of the movie by being politely asked to leave. I was thinking, “Be careful, or Ol’ Flashlight Johnson will get ya.”

Who the fuck is Flashlight Johnson? Ooooh. That’s from the old Bill Cosby and the Cosby Kids cartoon! He was the old man in the theater who would kick out the boys when they were unruly in the movie theater. (Can you hear the sonar ping?)

From there we went to dinner at Red Robin for Gaelin’s birthday. Red Robin has an online feature where you create your own burger. For someone like me, who is watching carbs, there is no better restaurant. I had both Erica’s and my custom-made burger printed out and in my pocket when we walked in. I highly recommend it. They have beer, too. Of course, when I bit into my bacon burger with TWO FRIED EGGS on it, I couldn't help but make the Homer Simpson Drool sound. Ohmm . . . (reload #2 bay)

After dinner, we headed back to her house in Urbana. On the way, we saw a classic 1969 Camarro off the road and put into a tree head-first. There was a guy standing outside the car with a cell phone in his hand. There was no other car stopped with him, so I immediately turned around. This was a 2-lane highway with blind curves for about a half a mile. I got behind him, turned on my flashers and asked if he needed any help. He was from New Mexico and had come for a Camaro rally in Frederick. His wife/girlfriend was very upset but nobody was hurt. He said that a racoon had ran out in front of him and, with the particular tires he had on his car, he lost control and hit the tree. It was still a tragedy due to it being a classic car.

We stayed with them for about 10 minutes until a police car drove by with the word SHERRIFF on the side. The deputy turned around stopped, turned on his lights, got out and strolled up to us.

“What happened?”

My mouth was moving LONG before I could stop myself.

“This guy was driving along when this tree jumped out and bit his car!"

Torpedo manufacturer: Bill Cosby. Album: Why is there Air?” 1969.

Hmm. Weird kind of symmetry, there. The Camaro was 1969. I think the car was the only one who might have got it, as the cop just gave me that “I’m putting up with your ass” smile. Erica looked completely shocked that I would be so callous. The guy on the phone ignored me. The lady from the passenger seat just kept crying. We gave our condolences and drove away.

But, really, I had no control. That had been floating in my subconscious for 30 years! There was NO way it wasn’t going to fire when it had the perfect shot.

Justice Vs Control

One of the biggest mistakes that we make as a society is teaching children the concept of justice. I’m not anti-justice. Please don’t get me wrong. There are times I’ve wanted to despense two-fisted justice with a vengeance. It never worked out that way, though. I’m cursed with being able to see many sides to a story, including the ones I don’t want to see.

If you think about it, how many times have you heard a child (usually a brat) whine “that isn’t fair!” or blame their actions on justified retaliation. “Billy hit me, first!” is the cry and you have to live with it. You made the monster, after all. Being fair, teaching children that there are consequences to their actions, and then extending those consequences to every single person on the planet who breaks a rule is a social norm that leads to more heartache and contempt than contentment. We’re taught this while we’re still soft in the head and quickly learn that life isn’t fair. Could you imagine walking up to your boss and demanding his salary because you work just as hard as he does?

When you think about it, does justice really exist? Killing someone, for example, is wrong. (That is, unless it’s fighting for your country, a holy war, self defense, euthanasia, or that jackhole just won’t turn down his goddamn stereo.) What about killing someone inadvertently with your car? What would justice look like? Would you run the person down in an eye-for-an-eye execution? What about a guy who rapes your daughter? Are you going to be the one to plow this lunatic? Or, do we keep “special” sociopaths around for this dirty work? Seriously, what can be done to “fix” it?
Reality is what screws justice up. It has a nasty habit of just being there despite how much we want things to be otherwise. Justice is a myth, perpetrated so that we can make sense of our world. Let me butcher the words of Terry Pratchet: “If you took the entire universe, pulverized it and strained it through the tiniest sieve, you would not find one molecule of mercy, not one atom of justice.” (That’s the gist. It’s not exact. It was in Hogfather, the book about the tooth fairy. Death said it.)

Let’s say someone you love is killed. For the sake of argument, you know who did it and you know it was malicious. What would you call “justice?” We usually seek justice because we want the pain and the hurt to go away. Well, that’s just like pouring tabasco on a chemical burn. In the case of the death penalty, I’m sure that all the way up to the point where the guy dies you’ll be thinking it’s what you want. Then, at the moment of death, you’ll understand that the emptiness and hurt is still there and you’ll have to find a new way to proceed. Killing him will not bring back your loved one. Torturing him will not do anyone any good and in all likelihood will make you feel worse (unless you are one of the aforementioned “special” people). Putting him in jail offers the chance for redemption, or at least an anal-raping, but who knows for sure? Then, imagine that a plea-bargain gets him only a couple of years? Where’s the justice? Welcome to the grey area.
Truthfully, the only real justice would be to jump in a time machine, go back to the moment before the killing and prevent it. But, then, he didn’t commit a crime, did he? Oh, it’s so complicated!

One of the lamest things I’ve ever heard when people talk about victims moving on with their lives is “forgiveness.” Ok, at first I was like “ohnomotherfuckthat.” But, it’s not really forgiveness they are talking about. You can’t forgive someone for killing. Nope. Sorry. Doesn’t work like that. What you can do is accept that life is different, you will never have true justice (because there is none), and you refuse to carry around those two suitcases, one labeled “hate” and the other labeled “what might have been.” They call it forgiveness because it makes you feel like a good person, like you’re going to out-nice the world out of spite. In reality, you’re accepting that there will be nothing that evens the whole thing out. Nothing will bring the scales level. There will not be justice and you have to find a way to either be OK with that or spend the rest of your years with that baggage.

Have you ever noticed no one seeks justice from a hurricane? Nobody ever took a tornado or tsunami to court. Natural disasters are one of those rare instance where we really feel that nobody is at fault. After all, you can’t control a bolt of lightning. You can’t prevent forest fires (heh). Justice only comes into play when we think someone has wronged us. Do you see how dangerous this is? How many atrocities have been perpetrated because the people doing the atrocity-ing thought that their cause was righteous? I would have to say all of them. Show me someone who is seeking justice, and I’ll show you someone delusional.

What about non-catastrophic events? What about simple negligence like being kept waiting at the doctor’s office, being kept waiting in traffic, or being kept waiting for an email? What about those sand-in-your-shorts things that are ALWAYS somebody’s fault? You cannot control other people. You cannot change the past. There are only two ways to control yourself to minimize the impact of an evildoing: Prevention and Damage control. Both are ways in which you control yourself, not other people.

On prevention: As a teacher in Baltimore, one of the biggest arguments I heard from my fellow teachers was, “I shouldn’t have to!” These are people who had a fantasy world living in their brains that they believed the rest of the world should conform to. “I shouldn’t have to stop my class to break up a fight!” Who are you telling? To whom is that directed? The kids who fought could give a shit, but I doubt it. You have all the time leading up to the fight to keep it from ever happening. What you are trying to do is control other people with your mind. This will never work, since they are neither privy to your fantasy world nor would they choose to accept your fantasy over their own, in this case beating the snot out of Jimmy in homeroom. All you can do is get people to volunteer to control themselves. Don’t believe me? What’s stopping you from running a red light?

How do we do this? It’s the age-old “If you _____ then I’ll _____.” In the case of traffic lights: “If you run a red light, I’ll give you a ticket.” Or “If you run the light, I’ll hit you broadside and snap your neck like uncooked spaghetti then sue you because you broke the law.” Therefore, quite voluntarily, you choose to stop at the red light. No one restrains you. No one reaches out and steps on the brake to make you stop. You stop because either you feel it’s the right thing to do or you know things can be bad if you don’t stop. Can you imagine a world where people ran red lights indiscriminately? It’s not that hard. In Baltimore, the red and green lights change at the same time, unlike in York where there’s a second delay between red and green. So, when the light turns green and you’re used to gunning it and thinking “I have the right of way, so the whole rest of the world must conform!” you’re going to regain consciousness in traction to find a lawyer standing there telling you he has a strong feeling we might win the case.

Or you could prevent this by adjusting your behavior, which is another way you voluntarily give up control. Oh, you could say, “I shouldn’t have to!” Well, if wishing made it so, I’d be three inches taller and two inches longer. You can either prevent it or feel justified in your useless outrage.
On Damage Control: This is where punishment, picking up the pieces, and self-examination comes in. What is punishment? Really, it’s just another form of prevention. Think back to your childhood (if it was like mine) Whap! Whap! Whap! “Are you going to light fires in the trash can anymore?” Whap! Whap! Whap! “Are you going to get another D in math?” Whap! But there’s more to damage control than merely very early (or, in most cases very late) prevention. Many times, specifically during catastrophes, it’s a way to deal with what has occurred. This is the most sad of sad times. It’s when you press charges, get stitches, go to physical therapy and call the insurance company. Then, if it’s somone’s fault, you seek justice and you know how that will turn out.

Let’s apply this. You’re going out of town, and you’re leaving your two delinquent teenaged sons alone for the first time ever. They’re good kids, normally, but you’ve got that niggling feeling that something might go down. You don’t want to come home to a charred ruin, so how do you get them to give up control and do things the way you want them done without supervision? Just telling them “don’t” won’t be enough unless you have already established a system of checks and balances within your household. (aka: fear) You would have to figure out a way to control yourself so that they give control over to you. You have to do the “If you _____ then I _____.” (You can fill in your own blanks. Be creative, they’re your imaginary kids after all.) However you decide, it’s prevention. This may be as drastic as taking them with you. It may be as benign as having someone else keeps tabs on them. In any case, YOU do something.

If you spend your time saying, “I shouldn’t have to threaten my children/worry about what’s going to happen/offer a reward . . . Etc.” If so, would you mind explaining how you’re going to make your fantasy come true?

Let’s say you do all of that, and you still come home to a charred ruin. What now?

The third and final lesson: acceptance.

You came home to ashes because you mistakenly put your trust in those you shouldn’t have. It’s damage control time. It’s your mistake as much as theirs. Get help. Get advice. Above all, make sure you prevent it from happening again. Learn from it. It’s what you do from now on that matters. Nothing you do will be a truly just punishment and nothing you do will change what happened. Punishing your kids forever will just ruin what relationship you have (though it may be very tempting). You have rebuilding to do in every sense of the word.

Don’t get me wrong. If I find out I have cancer, there will be a period of time in which I scream WHY! at the sky for several hours. Afterwards, I’m going to knuckle down and fight the good fight. The same goes for being a victim of negligence or a violation. It happened. Blaming someone, holding someone accountable, or wishing things had been done differently is just as effective as screaming at the sky.

This blog was not meant to help you get through a catastrophe, though it may be good advice for that, too. This is about all of those little injustices that follow you. Do you tend to always get into arguments with the waiter? Do you spend most of your time on the road with your fist on the horn? Do you get into disagreements frequently with your customers or co-workers? Do you, in short, attempt to control other people because you have an idea of how they are supposed to act and they are not conforming to it?

I’ve actually wanted to say this to a parent of one of my students: “Your child has been suspended more often than she’s been in school, do you really think that every teacher in this school who has written her up, all twenty of them, were all just out to get her? OR, do you think something about your parenting needs to change? Pointing out the deficiencies in others may make you feel less like a shitty human being, but you and your daughter are the ONLY ones who are suffering because of it.” The woman I’m talking about wanted justice dealt out because she refused to believe her kid was mentally ill. I’ve known other parents who refused to believe their child was learning disabled. They all had something in common, they wanted the teachers and administrators to pay for what they did or said to their child. Justice. When I moved into my current address, I met a lady up the street who said she hated living there because everybody on the street was an asshole. I soon learned who the asshole was. “They’ll call the cops on you for any little thing.” Really? Really. So, they felt “justified” in vandalizing cars.

Justice is as individual a concept as faith. Everybody has their own idea of it. If you really want to live in a better world you have to choose action instead of reaction. The entire universe is between our ears. We decide what gets in and what stays. Some time in the past, when we were very young, justice was accepted as truth. Bullshit. Get your needs met and it’s nobody else’s fault but yours if they are NOT met. It’s as much a responsibility as it a blessing. It may mean accepting that you are wrong. It may mean accepting that you have something to learn. It may mean that you have an unrealistic idea of what the world “should” be like.

If that’s the case, control yourself.

Then, on the weekend, enjoy yourself.

On Harold Camping and the Great Rapture Rodeo

In the interest of staying out of the pigeon-hole, I do believe in a God. No, it’s not YOUR idea of God. No, it’s not Jehovah, Jesus, Allah, Buddha, Satan, Cernunnos, Cthulhu, or the Great Spaghetti monster and that’s all you need to fucking know. I’m a faithful practitioner of George Carlin’s first commandment: Thou Shalt Keep Thy Religion To Thy Self. Call me an agnostic if you will but the one thing you should NOT do is lump me in with any group for no other reason than you’ve found it an easy shortcut to thinking.

When it comes to debate, I side with the atheists. From a logical standpoint, you HAVE to be an atheist. It’s not just because no one can prove that God exists, it’s because they really do have to be admired. It takes a lot of gumption to stand against the tide, specifically when you are outnumbered 300 to 1 (.4% of US population).

Now, your typical atheist could take the easy route. He could just sit back and say, "that’s just silly," when faced with religious dogma. It’s a great argument and would win in most circumstances. Instead, they have the tenacity to argue intelligently. The only trump card for a believer is his faith, which is kinda like a catch-22. "You have to have faith to believe and anything that challenges your faith is simply test of your faith." How convenient. Anything that might make you believe otherwise is a great way to drive your resolve even deeper. That’s pure genius. Most of the time arguing either way is time spent away from better pursuits like toenail grooming or catching up on missed Family Guys episodes.

Speaking of keeping religion to oneself: Harold Camping. Perhaps that’s all I need to say. His name makes a great punchline. "Why did Chicken Little think the sky was falling? Harold Camping." In case you live under a rock or have the enviable fortitude to ignore all media, Mr. Camping is the man behind the multi-million dollar website Family Radio. Camping recently put out that judgement day was decending upon us on May 21st 2011.

Allow me to share how he arrived at that date.
From the time of the crucifixion on April 11, 33 AD (shouldn’t that be Easter?) to May 21, 2011 is a total of 722,500 days. The number 722,500 is made up of two sets of an identical series of numbers: 5x10x17 x 5x10x17 = 722,500. Now, since the number 5 stands for atonement (stay with me) and 10 stands for perfection (just hang loose) and 17 stands for Heaven (it smells like ass, keep reading), this formula means, "Atonement has been completed for Heaven," and it is repeated twice for emphasis. Because, you know, God always says shit twice and loves math.

Harold, let me introduce you to the word Arbitrary. Definitions: 1) Based on random choice or personal whim, rather than any reason or system 2) according to Camping and NOBODY ELSE.

When I heard about this, all I wanted was to knock on his door the day after "Judgement", stick a microphone in his face and say, "Explain yourself." Well, he’s explaining himself, now, and he says, get this, "I don’t know what could have gone wrong?"

Well, I have a few ideas.
The first and most logical is that some people are born without the "doubt gene." Doubt is what keeps most Christians, and even some Pastors, floating right in the middle between committing suicide to get to heaven faster and throwing the bible away in a fit of indifference. Have you ever noticed that? You can go to church every Sunday, listen to what someone else thinks God is and what he wants and offer up prayers that don’t come true because it’s God’s will (or maybe they do which suddenly becomes proof that he exists). But, as soon as someone says they’ve seen Jesus, heard God’s voice, seen a light, or noticed the Virgin Mary in their breakfast cereal they are branded as a lunatic. Oh, we’re real supportive when someone tells us of these revelations as we nonchalantly attempt to edge out of the room. We pretend to listen as we tap our watches and suddenly remember we have non-screwball people to go see. Strange, isn’t it? Try as you might to be a true-believer, the doubt just keeps creeping in when it comes to miracles. So, when Camping says the End is Nigh, we roll our eyes and say "Cukoo."

Of course, doubt carries a long feather has a way of hanging out in the back or our minds and indiscriminately tickling anything we think is true. So, on May 21st, even the most jaded of us spent a moment looking up at the sky. It’s that "What if" that caused Camping’s followers to travel around the country in an RV and spread this viral outbreak of proposed apocalypse. Is it possible that these people were born without the ability to doubt? Basing any theory about the end of the world on religious doctrine, hidden numbers, or even outright prophesy is the work of a flaky mind. But people BELIEVED.

Camping and crew are an easy target. But, you seriously can’t attack them without attacking all religion at some level. Once we say, "that’s silly" where do we stop? So, let’s take the opposite viewpoint. Let’s take into consideration the impossible concept that Camping is Dead-On. God put those numbers in his head, gave ol’ Harold the inspiration to find ‘em, and this past Saturday truly was the day of Rapture. Let’s assume for the sake of argument that God Himself has Made It So. Well, how do we account for the whole lack-of-Armageddon?

There’s only one answer: The rapture DID happen and none of us know anyone who took the Soul Train. It’s not coincidence that everyone who pre-boarded for their trip on Revelation Rail thought they had a reserved first-class seat. What’s the opposite of being humble? Proud? Conceited? Pretentious? Arrogant? Would they have looked forward to the day of departure if they knew they would be left standing on the prognostication platform? Did it EVER occur to Camping that he just wasn’t on the passenger list?

So, who made it aboard? There are thousands of disappearances every day, would we really miss the homeless guy who took a silent vow of poverty and chose to live in filth in return for a place in the sky? Would we miss a group of fanatical zealots who live in a compound in Alaska? Or, here’s a treat, maybe somewhere in the middle of the desert we’ll find a pile of bones indicating human sacrifice surrounded by a laundromat’s worth of empty clothing. Either way, those who were sucked up into the sky were the few who could, conceivably, come back down and do the Nyah-Nyah dance at the rest of us. They were the ones who were "right" while the rest of us were irrevocably destined to surf on a lake of fire.

I guess what I’m trying to say, here, is: "Who’s to say?" Of all the religions in the world, all of the denominations of Christianity, all of the off-shoots, the individual churches that want to do their own thing, and the fact that the religion means something different to each and every individual, we are now talking about literally billions of possible definitions of the word "good." Add in all of the rituals that may or may not be correct or followed correctly, the poor translations, misconceptions, outdated doctrine (like selling your children, etc), it’s like playing the telephone game over a thousand years (You know, the one you played in grade school where "Amanda has nice eyes" becomes "mint goat coffee fucker"). By that token, the very idea that it’s exclusively Christians that would be raptured makes as much sense as having a section in the library that only includes books with blue covers. So, what went wrong, Mr. Camping? Well, EVERYTHING.

So, off we go into our world of mediocre beliefs where no one is really sure what’s going on or how it will all turn out. It would be nice to have some firm ground to stand on, but we don’t. We never will. Only people like Camping who have selectively clamped their hands over their ears have any security at all. Always letting in what jives with their perceptions and ruling out what doesn’t. Always doing enough to stay on the good side of their religion but rationalizing bad behavior with "we just don’t know for sure." Let those without doubt cast the first stone.

For a while, I did entertain the idea that I may be one of the chosen few. Then, I wondered what I might have done in the past that would get me left behind. Cheating on taxes? Premarital sex? Eating animals? Could it be such misdemeanors like using the F-word or laughing at retards? What’s my definition of "good?" But then I thought, "that’s just silly."

For a moment, though, one man made me think about it. One man and his crazy numbers caused me to ponder the afterlife or lack thereof and to strengthen my position on religion.

And Harold be thy name.

On anger, paranoia, and redemption.

When I was a kid, I was a fat kid. That’s the bad news. The good news is that it has been so long that I no longer have anxiety when I think about it. The injustices of youth have passed into oblivion. Well, that’s healthy. These feelings eventually let go mainly due to self esteem. When you have it, you are no longer affected by other people’s ideas of who you are or what you look like to them. When you don’t have it, you want to take a flame thrower to your old high school gym class. Luckily, I’m at the non-flame-throwing level of self esteem. I’m at the write-about-those-assholes level.

Even though I know I’m a good person, that I never deliberately harm anyone, sometimes I wonder if I could be better. No, that’s not true, I KNOW I can be better, but the big question is whether or not I should strive for better. Am I falling short? I’m no angel, but who is keeping score, anyway?

This chink in my armor allows those with their own agenda to place seeds of doubt. Unfortunately, these seeds bear the bitter fruit of failure. Whenever I’m bullied, put down, or held to an impossible standard, I always assume that there was something I could have done better, that I could have tried harder. It’s only in hindsight that I realize that I was the victim.

There’s an up-side to everything (except rap), and I’ve learned the most from people I’ve hated. The following is a list of people whom I hate, and if I were left in a room, alone and unmonitored, I would beat them half to death . . . twice. There’s a common theme to all of these stories: Injustice.

That guy in high school - To make a long story short, I got jumped in gym class. To this day, if I think about this guy or even pass by the old neighborhood, I think about settling the score. It’s been a long time, why would I harbor these thoughts? One reason: injustice. I did nothing to deserve a beating. I think he should be made to feel how I felt. Yeah, I’ve heard it all before, the fact that bullies have been molested, beaten, etc. So fucking what? Does him hitting me give me the right to go hurt someone else? He’s on the list.

What I learned: fight back hard. After I got trounced (surprised, really), I made a vow that the next time I was going to have to be beaten into the ground before I gave up. I truly think that determination, that look in my eye, has gotten me out of more situations than walking away.

The positive - A guy kicked my ass in High School. Because of him, I know what it’s like to be punched in the face. I can draw on that experience in my writing. He’d have a hard time getting away with that, now. One, because he’d go to jail. Two, I carry a gun.

The Chief - If you’ve ever felt sorry for Bob Cratchet, if you’ve ever got angry at Cinderella’s wicked stepmother, then you can just begin to see what it was like to work for this guy. The man was evil. He literally couldn’t stand to see any one of us not busting our asses. Despite the fact that he never caught me doing anything other than working, I was still treated like a shitbag. He even hit me, once. It wasn’t really a fight. He simply smacked me across the hands because he thought I wasn’t doing something correctly. I was doing it correctly, he was just too stupid to see it. That was a day like no other, and I remembered that guy in high school. I knew that to take it to him was going to cost me a lot more than broken bones. I had a wife at the time and I turned back. I handled it through the chain of command, but because I had such little contact with him (we all did), it passed into obscurity.

The worst thing he ever did was embarrass me for no other reason other than I was handy. He made me stand at the jack staff for over a half an hour, waiting to raise the Union Jack when we anchored. Well, they decided not to anchor, but he left me there, standing so that everyone on the bridge could see me long after everyone else knew the deal. My crime: we were talking during a sea and anchor detail of about 8 hours. Should have kept our mouths shut, I guess, even though we were all sitting around we were still within earshot of Mr. Wonderful.

What I learned - Firstly, never put yourself in a position where you have no power. Of course, sometimes, this is unavoidable. Secondly, never create a situation where you will ask "what if" later. I don’t know how much it would have cost me, but I should have gone into the deck office that night, and I should have faced him with all the anger I had mustered up. This is a regret.

The positive - I became a serious hard-ass while I worked for this guy. I was bulletproof. The best thing I learned is that laughter can get you through anything. We all hated this guy, and we jumped at every chance to laugh at his expense. The prayer before every meal was, "Please God, kill the chief, Amen."

The other Chief - This guy would start the work day at 3:00PM. He was a perfectionist, he would nit-pick, and he wasn’t at all concerned for the welfare of his men. He started me down the path of paranoia. I’m not kidding. It’s one thing to be mentally ill, it’s something else entirely to KNOW that you are being watched. He turned the whole chain of command against me and they all came by to let me know where I stood.

What I learned - Kissing ass works. There were two guys who worked in the same office before me. Both of them had their heads so far up this chief’s ass that I wondered how they could breathe. Both of them only never left the office unless the chief sent them away. Well, I wasn’t that committed. That is, until the last two weeks on board. Read below.

The XO (executive officer) - This XO had me taken to Captain’s Mass a few weeks before. Why? Because I went to the Captain with a problem, a captain who had an open-door policy and did NOT tell me I had jumped the chain of command. The complaint was legitimate, which made it even worse. If I’d just been a loud noise, I wouldn’t have been taken seriously. Add to this the fact that the captain, himself, had praised me to the entire crew only the week before, and the command had to put a stop to me. Here’s a guy who wants equal rights! Code Red!

So, the XO wanted a chance to bitch me out. Luckily, I had an officer who was looking out for me and told me what I had to do to keep off of restriction or non-judicial punishment. I kept my mouth shut, let the XO bitch me, and when I didn’t give him a reason to punish me, he let me go. But, I was being watched.

The XO called me up to the bridge as we were getting underway for two weeks at sea. With all of the things that had to be done, with all of the other responsibilities that he had going on, he called me to the bridge. He was such a fascist about it, too: "Uh, Thompson, do you remember that little conversation we had a couple weeks ago?" That ‘conversation’ was the aforementioned Captain’s Mass. He let me know that if I didn’t do the work of two men this week then he was going to cancel my terminal leave. What did that mean? That meant that instead of going home in a week, I would be stuck on the ship for another month. That may not sound like a big deal, but I was looking over my shoulder every second. A month of that would have driven me crazy. Why did I have to do the work of two men? Because of the other guy in the office. His wife was in a car accident TWO WEEKS BEFORE. She wasn’t hurt, just shaken. He was allowed to stay behind to look after her. Meanwhile, my wife (at the time) had to pack up our stuff, clean up the apartment, and get ready to permanently move while I was at sea. Who had the bigger burden?

What I learned - For that week, I stuck my head square in the chief’s ass. He literally had to tell me to get out of the office. The result? When I left he said, "This past week was the first time you acted like a personnelman." I guess living the job was what was expected of me. So, I guess I learned two things. One: what I’m physically capable of. Two: don’t take a job that you have no intention of committing to.

The positive - A few guys in khaki fucked with me in the Navy. Hey, I collected every dime of my pay and did every day of my time. They took nothing away from me but a bit of freedom and gave me a few grey hairs. You may not believe me, but I just KNOW the fact that they were never able to really "get" me pissed them off. Thoughts like that keep me warm at night.

That guy I used to live with - I had plenty of roommates over the period of time while I was going to college; thirteen, to be exact. Some were good, some were bad. This guy was a pain in the ass. He told me more often than not that he didn’t have rent money. Now, I hate getting in someone’s business. I really do. But there was one occurrence where he didn’t pay me, told me he was broke, then went out and got a brand new tattoo. It was a big one, too. Without explaining every instance, suffice to say that he got in my pocket a lot as far as aggravation and money. He moved out, eventually. I figured he owed me about $200 when all was said and done.

I got over it. Fast forward a couple of years. He had gotten a job, got a brand new vehicle, was doing very well for himself. I met up with him and some other friends I hadn’t seen in a long time. Now, at the time, I was broke. We’re talking I was making just enough to make my car and insurance payment. It was at the end of a meal, and I ordered a beer. They had eaten dinner, I had not. Part of the conversation was my situation in life, so he was well-aware. Do you know that this motherfucker actually asked me for the money for that beer?! Eight people at the table, a receipt about ten inches long, and he went over that with a fine tooth comb to be sure that I paid my three bucks. He was an ass about it, too. I should have gotten up from the table. I should have threw it in his face. I didn’t. At the time, I thought I was over-reacting. Since then, however, it has become clear that he is completely self-absorbed.

What I learned - I know I should have confronted him right then and there, but at the time I seriously thought it was none of my business. I’d been on the receiving end of that kind of criticism and I really didn’t want to be that guy. I should have thrown him out when he refused to pay the rent. I should have told him to stick that $3 up his ass. Better yet, I should have ordered a bunch of shit and then stuck him with the bill. The lesson is that you can NOT expect people to act how you would in any given situation. It’s ridiculous to think so. If you don’t get your needs met, you have no one to blame but yourself. To this day, he is completely unaware of the effect he had on me at the time. It’s pointless to bring it up, now, and even more pointless to dwell on it, since it was MY responsibility to get my way, not wait for someone to give me justice.
The positive - I’ve learned the signs that point to the narcissist. I’ve been able to see selfishness when it rears its ugly head. Also, I won’t make the mistake of giving someone who owes me money the benefit of the doubt. Fuck you, pay me.

That Bitch at Welfare - I was employed for six months at the PA dept of welfare. The short story is that there is a group of women that decides who makes it and who does not. From talking with people who were hired before me, they arbitrarily pick who they are going to railroad out of the job. It was so bad that, out of the new hires, the ones they didn’t like used to write notes with their questions to the ones they did like so that they could be asked with impunity. I didn’t have anyone to screen for me. If I didn’t ask a question, I had to look up the answer, which meant it took me longer to do everything. If I did ask a question, it was documented that I was stupid.

What I learned - Document everything! If I had written down everything that was said to me off-hand, every smartass comment that was made in my direction, everything that the other employees had told me, I could have made the water a little hotter for them.

The positive - I also learned that it’s very satisfying to slip into someone’s office and fart. I know it’s juvenile, but it made me feel SO much better. From there I went on to teaching, practically doubling my salary at that office.

Is this the complete list? No. Not even close. There are plenty of people out there who have done me much more wrong. I’ve lost a lot over the whims of others. I have been almost destroyed by the impassivity of those in charge, the indifference of a system that cares nothing for the truth. That list, the people who did not know me, I can’t hold entirely to blame. The above are people who had the opportunity to know my heart and chose to make my life hell for the fun of it.

I try hard. I do the best I can. There are people who are going to dislike me no matter what I do. There are people who are going to take advantage of my trust or my naivety. There are people who are going to point out everything I do wrong despite how hard I try. Well, what can I do? What’s the alternative to living in a world of trust? Paranoia sucks. It’s a hell of a way to live. I refuse. But, I’ll watch for the signs, since I’m pretty good at picking them up, now. I’ve had a lot of practice. Acting on them, however, is very risky. There’s always the chance that I’ll turn it into a self-fulfilling prophesy; making it so rather than avoiding it.

The biggest lesson is that, without exception, I always moved on to bigger and better things. Those evil gremlins who live to torment are really just tormenting themselves. My internal gremlin wants me to blame myself for not watching my back. Hey, sometimes it’s just not my fault. I’ll continue to be open, honest, and trusting. If it doesn’t work out, at least I can fart in someone’s office before they run me out of town.

Football sucks

Please note: this article is not intended to change your mind about how YOU feel about football, it is merely to explain how I feel about football.

If you’re a football fan, you’re not alone. Average game attendance is over 67,000. Also, 63% of Americans claim to be a fan of pro football. I’m left within the minority. But ONLY within the United States. As its name suggests, American Football is only popular in the United States. There’s plenty of spoofs on the internet making fun of the very fact that it’s CALLED football. To everyone else in the world, it’s a soft form of Rugby. What really amazes me, however, is how many times someone has asked me, "Did you see that game, last night?" And I responded with, "What game?" Eventually, we get around to the fact that I don’t watch football. I always get looks of complete surprise and puzzlement. It really does seem unbelievable so some people. There’s a perfectly sound and reasonable explanation for why I don’t watch football. Here it is.

Part I - Football is boring. I’ll prove it.
Reason number one: Down time.
The average NFL game takes from 2-3 hours to play from beginning to end. Each quarter is 15 minutes long, times four quarters = 1 hour. So, if the game only takes an hour to actually play, this leaves us with 1-2 hours of complete and total down time. Time to watch guys walk around the field, watch commercials, watch the announcers talk about what just happened, etc.

Reason number two: More down time.
Even while the clock is ticking, time is spent lining up, walking around, setting up, walking around, and more walking around. I just read where the typical NFL game runs approximately 120 plays, each play taking a maximum of six seconds. That’s 720 seconds 720/60 = 12 minutes. So, that means that of the full 60 minutes that the players are supposed to be Doing Something, we have a total of approximately 12 minutes of ball-moving-around. These 12 minutes are spread in 6-second intervals (plays) throughout . . . 2-3 hours!

Reason number three: Redundancy
"Let’s see that again!" It’s a great testament to how much down time there is during a professional football game when the network can show you what you just saw, slowed down to Ultra Slow Motion so catch every nuance of the play that just happened and we all saw. Then we go back to the field where the players are . . . walking around. Next up, we have the guys lining up . . . again. There’s the snap, and the same shit that JUST happened happens again. The pass falls short, the quarterback gets sacked, etc. VERY rarely does anything surprising ever happen. Or even unexpected, for that matter. You can watch a play from 1974 and it looks JUST like the game that happened today. Hey, what about picking up the quarterback and THROWING him over the defensive line? That’d be unexpected, right? Or, how about hiding the ball under your shirt? How about passing it more than once during a play? Anything to break up the monotony of line up, run and/or pass, walk around, repeat.

Part II: Who cares?
Reason for being a fan: It’s my hometown team!
I fail to understand loyalty to a geographic area in any case, but these guys aren’t even from your geographic area. Go to "Your" team’s website, click on the team roster. Now scroll down the list of names and see what colleges they came from. They are not from your home town, many of them are very far from home. They have no loyalty to "your" home team, and any one of these guys could be playing for someone else’s hometown next year. You might be from Pittsburgh, but the Steelers are not. You might be from Baltimore, but the Ravens are not. Add in the fact that an entire team can pack up and leave town (Looking at you, Colts), and you can see where this ‘hometown loyalty’ is strictly a one-way street.

Reason for being a fan: If they win, I got bragging rights!
Believe it or not, I’ll go with this one. I mean, if you buy a jersey, a coffee mug, or any "officially licenced" team product, you have actually given money to the team. Let’s break that down. The NFL revenue for 2010 is $7.8 Billion. The average base salary of an NFL player in 2009 was around $990,000. The average NFL player signing bonus salary for all players in 2009 was approximately $1.3 million. I’m sure that $65 you paid for that official replica jersey was JUST what these cats were thinking about when they scored one for YOU, the fans. So, yeah, you just brag away that "your" team won. I mean, after all, you contributed. But that’s it, you know. Whatever money you contributed is your ONLY contribution. So you did not win. We did not win. The team won, and you feel entitled and obligated to brag for them. Of course, if you happen to actually go to the game and cheer, and the players actually care that you’re cheering, then, perhaps, you may have contributed your drop in the bucket to that particular game. Good for you.

Reason for being a fan: I was raised a _(your NFL team here)_ fan!
I’m of two minds about this one. On one hand, I can’t think of a dumber reason to have an opinion about anything that is justified by "that’s how I was raised." You’re basically saying, "I’ve been programmed to be this way, thus, I have no interest in changing that programming." On the other hand, it’s as good a reason as any to be a fan, so have at it.

Part III: it has nothing to do with you.
Any professional sport is not about you. It’s about the teams who are playing. Granted, somewhere along the line somebody figured out that there’s a market in this and that you’ll pay to watch somebody else do something. If it weren’t for fans, people would be playing these games for fun, right? So, the fans, as a whole, are important. However, whether or not it affects you, personally, is totally and completely between your ears. You have to choose to take an interest, then choose to follow the team’s progress, and then become emotionally involved in the outcome of said progress. However, nobody involved in the planning and execution of the game is thinking about you, the viewer. You might be thinking "What’s the difference between this and, say, a movie?" Movies and TV shows are 100% about the viewer. The whole reason Indiana Jones gets into these scraps is to entertain you. Writers write the screenplay with YOU in mind. The director tries to get the most out of the film so that YOU will enjoy it. It was created for you. Football, on the other hand, is reverse-engineered. Guys were playing the game, THEN came the spectators, then came the money. These games will be played whether or not you, as an individual, watch. If you don’t watch, you will not be missed. If you watch a movie, and like it, you’ll recommend it to a friend. So, movie-makers have a vested interest in entertaining you. With football: Can they see the game? Check. We’re good.

Part IV: Jocks suck.
Firstly: NFL players appear to feel empowered and above the law. I can almost understand someone who commits a crime because of ignorance or bad upbringing. But just take a look at this: http://nflcrimes.blogspot.com/
From DUI’s to attempted murder, there’s whole lot of wrong-doing among NFL players. Perhaps it’s just so tough being a celebrity, but I’m having a hard time feeling sorry for them. Considering the fact that there are a total of about 1700 players for the NFL, this certainly seems like a group of people who are above the national average when it comes to crimes-per-capita. ‘Nuff said.

We worship them because they can throw a ball. We pay them huge sums of money because they are big and fast. They get roles on TV and film because people know their names and no other reason. I think it’s sad the way someone can go to eight years of med school, save lives on a regular basis, and get paid less than the Millions a year a professional athlete gets for how well he can throw a ball.

I’m not saying these guys are dumb, they’re college graduates, after all. But that’s not what they’re famous for and that’s not what they’re paid to do. As Bill Cosby said: "Run ball, get Check. Catch ball, get check. Kick ball, get check." Am I jealous? Hell yeah, I’m jealous! If I were 6'6" and a superb physical specimen, perhaps I could get that kinda doe. But, just like me, they had no control over who their genetic donors (parents) were, so why pay them for it?

Part V: I’m an individualist.
I used to get mad when the Mustang Club would put a flyer on my car’s windshield. I owned a mustang. I bought it because it was cool, different, and it made me feel good. If I went to a meeting of the Mustang club, my car would look like everyone else’s. Why would I buy a car that stands out, then go someplace where it wouldn’t? Comparisons would be made for the fastest, the loudest, the best paint job, etc. Why would I want to go to a place where suddenly everybody had their rulers out measuring dicks? No thank you. I’ve often said that if I had a Harley Davidson, the last place you would find me is at a Harley rally. Again, why go where you’re just a face in the crowd?

Yeah, I’m building up to something.

Where’s the fun? Where’s the originality? Why do we have this herd mentality to dress like everyone else and stand shoulder-to-shoulder to simultaneously scream? Worse yet, why do we feel the need to sit still for three hours on a Sunday to yell at a TV set? (Psst! They can’t hear you, you know.) As I’ve already discussed, it has nothing to do with you, so why give up your identity to be lumped in as "just another fan." Maybe I’m just insecure, but I like being different. I’m sure there are things that I’d feel so strongly about that I’d jump at the chance to be with like-minded people, but that sure as hell wouldn’t be a football team.

Part VI: I’m not competitive.
I don’t care about winning or losing. I seriously don’t understand it. Team A plays Team B. Team B loses. What does it mean, really? Nothing. Team A was better that day than Team B. Period. Next time, it might not be that way. So, why chear on a team for a game that matters not-at-all?

Some of the most fun I had as a teenager was when we would go over to the middle school on Wednesday nights to play volleyball. We got the people in charge to change the rules so that me and my pals could all play on the same team. We never won a game. Even to this day, when we play rec volleyball we don’t keep score. It’s about the fun, it’s about the playing, not the winning or the losing. I’ve said it many times: I’d rather play something well and lose than play crappy and win.
　
I think most people agree that it’s the playing of the game that is the exciting part. How do I know? Because football fans watch the game and don’t simply check the scores the next morning INSTEAD of watching the game. But I've also seen people seriously PISSED that their team lost. Why let a thing like that ruin your day?

In conclusion, I don’t hate football, I’ve just never seen the point of liking football. Have I ever watched a game? Yes. I may even have enjoyed it. Again, this little rant was not meant to change your mind about how you feel about it. I couldn’t if I wanted to. So, why type it out at all? Because maybe there’s somebody else out there who feels bombarded and inundated with all of these profile updates that are football-related. Just wanted to let you know that even though you’re the minority, you’re not alone. The whole rest of the world could give a rat's ass.