Spring Cleaning (Online)

Spring break has almost come to a close and the rotation of winter wool slacks for summer shorts is almost complete. I have been going through boxes that have been in storage for years in an attempt to divest the old and streamline what stays. I’ve found everything from high school yearbooks to a hardback of Tuesdays with Morrie that I borrowed from D-Byrd years ago (dude, I will return it as soon as you send me an address).

In the tradition of spring cleaning I have applied the concept to the ever increasingly annoying realm of Facebook. I have long scorned the sidebar of “People You Might Know” and wondered how on earth would I know these people?! Part of the madness stems from those that appear in the “friends in common” near the unknown offenders profile pic (you know, that thumbnail that either looks like a prostitute, a cell phone self-portrait, or some baby picture that only a mother could love). In the hopes of minimizing the 6-degrees of separation between me and [insert the name of a childhood neighbor of your third cousin, twice removed here] I have gone back to removing “friends” that aren’t contributing to my life.

There isn’t really a nice way to say why you would remove someone from your friend list but really, if you have ever hit “add” as a courtesy you know the trouble this brings. Sure there are the options of limited profile viewing but then there are just those that bring about online baggage. Don’t feel bad if you are a casualty of spring cleaning 2009. I can’t lie and say it’s nothing personal, in all actuality that is the problem – there is nothing personal between us as Facebook friends.

Harsh reality for some, true story for me.

The Spoken Word

The other day I was doing my post-holiday returns and exchanges when I stopped off at Rubio’s to rest my feet and grab lunch. Before I even had the chance to take my first bite a flock of seagulls (aka Parley's Country Club housewives) made their perch at the table next to me. The squawking was relentless as they caught up on all the neighborhood gossip. I tried to block them out but started to recognize specific names as I reached the mid-point of my Chicken Burrito Especiale. My stomach no longer craved the Baja cuisine in my hands; I wanted to throw up as private details dripped from the beaks of these vicious ladies.

After a mental check that these names were more than coincidence or happenstance I tried to block them out like I do at church services. It does not matter the denomination, there are always the gaggle of ladies that try to make themselves feel better by trashing those around them. I know this from experience as a victim and a spectator. I gleaned who was on the verge of divorce, who had a gay son sent home from a mission, the Christmas ruined by a father’s gambling habits, their ironic wagers on when a cocaine addicted father would relapse, and on and on. By the time I forced the last bite in my mouth I wasn’t sure if I was going to cry or scream. I decided to let it go but changed my mind by the time I dropped my tray at the trash and refilled my Dr. Pepper.

With purpose in my step I approached the table of public nuisances. With a big smile on my face and camouflaged as if I could have been any of their sons I injected myself into their dialog.

“Pardon me?”

With initial annoyance they stopped and looked at me. It was like when a flock of birds are fighting over a bag of chips and someone approaches, it was a wide-eyed nervous pause. Mistaking me as a possible neighborhood resident, maybe a child of some unnamed family acquaintance, or even a member of the country club they all politely smiled and I even received a “aren’t you the son of…”

I interrupted. “Sisters, Jesus prompted me to come over here and tell you to stop talking Shit and love thy neighbor.”

Shock overtook the table while those at the surrounding tables took notice at the new found silence from our corner of the restaurant.

I kept smiling, raised my eyebrows with the tilt of my head, turned and walked towards the door. I left a wake of awkward silence trailing behind me. A silence that typically accompanies the instance of a parent spanking a child too forcefully in public. An awkward disdain from strangers has a knowledgeable sting that can slap reality into ones life. Awkward indeed, but not for me.

I headed to Barnes & Noble and contemplated if my actions were too harsh. No, they weren’t. These ladies needed a wake up call and I needed to be their table conversation at dinner that night. They would wonder in fear who I was and what I might repeat. I very well could have been that quiet gentleman that sits in the back of Sunday School and spectates. I could be that man indeed because I am.

Later…

While at the bookstore, with a copy of Entertainment Weekly in my hands, the short dark-haired lady had found me and found the strength to start a conversation.

I saw her out of the corner of my eye as she debated approaching me like a teenager does when they want to ask for car keys (after having wrecked a car the night before).

“How dare you?!” is all I heard. She was convinced that she could create a socially insufferable situation for me like the one she experienced 15 minutes earlier. With a look that I have perfected as a camp counselor dealing with difficult teens I lowered my brow and distinctly asked her, “you have no idea who I am, do you?”

She wavered with the possibility that I could cause her societal bruising.

She continued, “How dare you speak to me and my friends with such foul language!”

My response was succinct and in a hushed tone that made her upper lip curl.

“How dare YOU take advantage of another's situation and turn it into lunch hour gossip. You are ugly on the inside – loud, mean, and ugly. That’s not up for debate”

I placed the magazine back on the stand and her enraged reply went mute in my ears as I again turned and walked to the door.

Maybe those ladies will think twice about their group conversation the next time they are in public. Chances are they won’t. Creatures of habit rarely change their tune.

If anything they will start looking around more often at church for someone that looks a little like me. Too bad they won’t ever find me.

Winter Cold, Take 1

Mark the calendar – Nov 6th is officially my first sick day of the winter (and it’s not even “officially” winter yet). It dumped snow this week and there are three storms on the way over the next seven days. Kill me now! Snowbird fires up its ski lifts tomorrow, exciting and depressing.

Who knows if my cold is due to a week of not sleeping while my boss traversed the Middle East two weeks ago, if I’ve been infected with whatever germs he brought back, if I have the crud that has half of out IT department out (convenient that my new MacBook Pro is in the hands of the person that may have gifted this disease to me), or if I contracted something after bowling til the wee hours last night and didn't wash my hands afterward.

Who really cares? One upside is that I have coughed for the last 18 hours and have managed a killer abdominal workout. The other upside is that I’m bored out of my gourd and decided to whip up a post.

In any case, I write this entry under mild medicinal intoxication. I hate medicine and never, repeat NEVER, take it. The only thing I hate more than medicine is being sick so one obviously trumps the other (I guess my definition of "never" is more flexible than it might be for others). Dayquil gives me a hazy hangover that has been ever present with me today. As if I don’t have enough trouble forming complete sentences or typing, this is risky business people. Please disregard my poor grammar or unforgivable typos (I just typed unfrogivable, thank you autocorrect).

So in case you didn’t realize it, this week was election week. I voted a week early on campus and only had to wait in line 15 minutes or so. November 4th in Utah started with a nasty storm that brought rain, snow, and blustery winds. I can’t imagine having to wait in lines outside in weather like that BUT I still would have done it in order to cast my vote.

As I watched the returns come in Tuesday night I tried to take in the significance of what was happening. My doubts and misgivings about the readiness of our country evaporated as the news stations started to declare our new President-Elect Obama. The rallies of people that had gathered in hopes that their voices would be heard erupted with cheers and tears. Why reiterate the historical significance of whoever could have taken office here on my blog – my memory will revolve around the fact that I sat in my living room glued to the TV, iPhone in hand texting away, with the overwhelming sense that the country had made it choice clear. The Supreme Court would not be deciding this election, a collective relief.

WARNING: Ranting will commence from here on out...

Some of those that are close to me and have turned out to be apathetic due to many excuses: I just don’t know about politics, it’s Utah – my vote doesn’t really count, I don’t like either candidate, etc. I try to be understanding with those that are part of my daily life that would rather watch reality TV and get their politics in 30 second sound bites than search for answers. It’s hard to have meaningful conversations with people that can spout off random sports statistics but couldn’t verbalize what socialism is. Don’t take offense, I’m not asking that you have a degree in political science to comment on an election. My concern is that with how critical this election is – most people in my immediate circles are disappointing in their election acumen (click on the word for the definition, I can wait).

I know too many people that live and die by SportsCenter, The Office, Gossip Girl, or {insert your show of the moment here} but when you can’t take 15 minutes a day in an election year to familiarize yourself with the issues and candidates I have diminished respect for you. Even more appalling is when you try to have a half-assed discussion about a candidate with nothing more than information from a local news station that can barley package a 7-11 robbery correctly. I am not announcing myself as a politico or a pundit but the only thing worse than apathy is ignorance. Sirs and Madams, check yourself before you wreck yourself (and our country).

All things aside, I don’t care how you voted. I do care that you voted with some level of competence, that you can explain why you decided one way or the other, and how you plan to get involved. Please don’t put critical issues on the back-burner until January 2009 or indefinitely. Don’t let apathy or victorious confidence result in passing responsibility to “those” who are heavily involved in politics. It’s time now to take inventory and get involved. Our country/state/county/city cannot solve problems without the assistance and input of its citizens. Make it a point to attend a town hall meeting with a group of friends, make time to go to an academic lecture, write your representative (for hells sake find out who your representatives are!), engage your community in some fashion, read (yes READ) more than one newspaper/magazine/website as information sources and stop forwarding emails from your uncle/sister-in-law/coworker/listserv/etc unless you are completely aligned with its contents (and for the love, stop with the bad Photoshop jobs of candidates and images stolen from Google).

Now that I have slighted my non-political friends I won’t go further and drop Prop 8 on you. Just know that I have strong feelings on the issue and I have tried to understand both sides of the issue and its ramifications. As a Californian by birth and having been raised in an active Mormon family I have struggled with how the proposition has been handled and spun. I will leave it at that and can only hope that politics do not turn up at the Thanksgiving Day dinner table. It won’t be pretty and I am not afraid to sling the mash potatoes across the table, blind a sibling with the cranberries, or even sacrifice the stuffing up a parent’s nostril. Game on!

So who’s in for dinner this year? I promise to post photos of the eminent food fight.