Saturday, October 15, 2011
Wednesday, October 05, 2011
Taking Up Space
I’ve been trying to figure out what the “Occupy Wall Street” protestors are trying to accomplish. I’m not sure they know. My search of the website www.occupywallstreet.org didn’t yield much in the way of specifics, although the excessive use of the word “solidarity” coupled with the raised fist graphic on the masthead gives me a pretty good idea. They rail against the usual suspects: corporate greed, climate change, genetically modified food, corporate greed, social inequality, police trying to keep the Brooklyn Bridge open for traffic, corporate greed, poverty, etc.
A good protest is never without a healthy dose of irony, and this one doesn’t fail to deliver. A few examples: According to Forbes,
A core group of about two hundred people remain camped throughout the week. They sleep on air mattresses, use Mac laptops and play drums. They go to the bathroom at the local McDonald's.
The air mattresses they sleep on were almost certainly made in China, yet they protest global trade.
They use McDonald’s bathrooms. I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt on this one, and assume they are not actually purchasing food at McDonald’s, thus contributing to all things evil. As long as they just leech off of the hard work of others, then their actions are consistent with their professed beliefs.
Which brings us to the Apple phenomenon. Those who rail against “corporate greed” overwhelmingly favor products manufactured by Apple. Steve Svengali Jobs has managed to occupy their bleeding hearts and blind them to the fact that Apple’s corporate profit margins are more than double those of Exxon Mobil. But MacBooks, iPods, iPads, iPhones, and all the other iStuff are cool, so it’s okay.
Besides, how is a college student supposed to know about Apple’s profit margins? One need not understand business in order to criticize it, right? Apparently, a Master’s Degree from Columbia University doesn’t teach you the difference between a profit and a profit margin. Or maybe it just doesn’t teach you common sense and critical thinking. From the Forbes article:
Erin Larkins, a Columbia University graduate student at who says she and her boyfriend have significant student loan debt, was among the thousands of protesters on the bridge. She said a friend persuaded her to join the march and she's glad she did.
"I don't think we're asking for much, just to wake up every morning not worrying whether we can pay the rent, or whether our next meal will be rice and beans again," Larkins wrote in an email to The Associated Press.
Oh please. If you choose to borrow money in order to spend six years at university that costs $40,000 per year, you should not ask me to pay for your next meal.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Please Don't Feed The Bullies
We're doing it wrong!
Here's my approach. Let's start teaching our kids to get over it. Instead of proudly bestowing victim status on our kids, we should teach them to stand up for themselves.
Oprah would have us teach our kids that the first response to bullying is to go tell the school officials. This approach is symptomatic of our larger attitude toward self-reliance. We are slowly raising a nation of helpless victims whose first response to any problem is to go to find an authority figure to take care of us. If we think we can protect our children from bullies from the top down, we are fooling ourselves. Programs and policies can play a role, but until our kids learn to fend for themselves, the problem will only get worse. Obligatory disclaimer: Of course, students should know that they can ask teachers for help when needed, just as we know we can call the police when needed. But calling the police should not be our first response to most interpersonal disputes. Why would we teach our kids anything different?
Raising victims creates bullies.
I'm no Dr. Phil, but it seems to me that bullies compensate for their own insecurity by dominating and putting down others. They feed on this power like an addictive drug and will continue the behavior as long as their victims will allow it. Adults may be able to temporarily stop them by the power of authority, but the resulting powerlessness only serves to intensify their need to have power over others. Because the driving force behind bullying is the helplessness of the victim, the best way to stop a bully is to empower their victims. When the bully realizes he has no victim, the effect of the drug wears off. He or she may still need counseling and/or punishment to resolve their own inner problems, but this can work only after the detox of removing the source of their power.
Sticks and stones...
As a third grader, I was physically bullied by another boy. I told my dad. Did he come to the school and have a conference with the principal? No. He taught me to stand up for myself, and fight back if necessary. My dad taught me to fight, literally. I did fight back, and I gained respect for myself that has given me confidence all my life. As an added bonus, I believe that the bully benefited from the experience as well (although I don't think he realized it at the time). Some say that violence is never the answer, but I beg to differ. Had I been treated like a weak victim, the bully would have been empowered and my resulting insecurity might well have created another bully in me. My third grade tormentor and I both learned a powerful lesson that day, a lesson too many of our children will never learn.
It's a complex subject, and there are many problems in our society that contribute to the problem of bullying. The coarseness of the culture, our glorification of violence, absent fathers, the removal of God as a guiding force in our lives, all these are factors. But our fundamental shift from raising confident, self-reliant individuals to raising helpless wimps is certainly a major contributor. In an age where “the community” has supplanted the individual, self-reliance is now frowned upon. Therein lies the real problem. When we fail to teach our children to take care of themselves, we teach them to be losers. And we feed them to the bullies.
Monday, January 24, 2011
The Parable of the Purple Pedaler
Pam Pedaler loved to ride her purple bicycle each evening after dinner. Alan Activist didn’t like purple bicycles. “Purple bicycles should be banned from society!” he cried. “Purple bicycles are bad!”
“What’s wrong with purple bicycles?” asked Pam. “I think they’re nice.”
One day, Alan’s friend Vincent Victim was killed in a car accident. Alan’s outcry was immediate: “See, I told you purple bicycles were bad! My friend Vincent is dead because of those awful purple bicycles! Ban purple bikes! Ban purple bikes!”
Curious, Pam decided to read the accident report. There was no mention of any purple bicycle. Alan’s friend Vincent had died when a drunk driver ran a red light and smashed into his car. “But Alan,” she pointed out, “purple bicycles had nothing to do with your friend’s death. This was caused by a drunk driver.”
“It doesn’t matter!” screamed Alan. “What if it had been? What if someone else dies tomorrow because of all the purple bikes?”
“But… there’s no reason to believe that will happen.”
“Why should I listen to you, purple bike rider? After all, it could happen! All you purple bike riders, you don’t care if people die. You should give up your selfish ways and destroy your purple bicycles.”
“Why?” asked Pam Pedaler. “There’s no evidence that purple bicycles cause more accidents. In fact, studies show that purple…
“Now is the time to finally pass a law against purple bicycles.” Alan interrupted through a bullhorn. “We need a law! Outlaw purple bicycles!” Alan Activist and the rest of his friends organized rallies, and began to picket bicycle manufacturers. Newspapers and television networks covered the story as headlines.
At Vincent’s funeral, people who had never met Vincent shed crocodile tears and made speeches to the video cameras: “Vincent shall not have died in vain his death serves as a springboard for a national dialogue on the evils of purple bicycles.”
Fearful of bad PR and government intervention, the bicycle manufacturers announced that they would voluntarily cease production of purple bicycles. Not wishing to be perceived as anti-social, many owners of purple bicycles became ashamed and stopped riding them. Soon the bicycle makers and retailers realized that these people were buying new bikes as replacements, so they immediately began to lobby the federal government to seize and destroy all purple bikes in the hands of consumers.
Politicians began making speeches condemning the evils of purple bicycles. “This tragedy should serve as a constant reminder that purple bicycles are a danger to a civilized society. Today I’m introducing legislation which will make it a federal crime to own a purple bicycle.”
Pam continued to protest: “Why? There’s nothing wrong with purple bicycles. Banning them would be pointless! This accident was caused by a drunk driver. Shouldn’t we spend our energy trying to do something about the drunk drivers out there?”
Eventually, the politicians passed the law and made symbolic resolutions against purple bicycle ownership. All purple bicycles were seized and destroyed, and tax credits were given to qualified purple bike owners so they could replace the purple bikes with new green bikes.*
The President issued a proclamation that set a date for “No Purple Bike Day”, and declared it a federal holiday. As a sign of solidarity, entertainers wore “STOP THE VIOLET” ribbons to the Academy Awards show and made long acceptance speeches condemning evil purple bike riders. The whole nation watched and cheered as multiple awards were given to Michael Moore for his documentary “Purple Rage” which showed graphic footage of middle aged white men on purple bikes running down starving children and Muslim women with cancer.
Pam Pedaler turned off the television and sighed. She had stopped arguing her case. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing. After all, it’s only a dialogue, right? She needed a new bike anyway, and got one, courtesy of the taxpayers. New bikes were being made and sold; the economy had been stimulated and jobs had been created. Federal employees and union workers got a paid day off work. So what if the law is unconstitutional? What does it hurt? Nobody really needs a purple bicycle, right? Yes, maybe this was a good thing after all. Pam walked out into the fresh evening air, got on her shiny new green bike, and started out on her daily exercise ride. As she pulled out into the street, she was hit and killed by a drunk driver.
* In order to qualify for the tax credit, purchasers were required to submit paperwork verifying that the new green bikes were built by manufacturers that met stringent new federal bicycle-making standards, which none of the existing manufacturers could meet. Just in time, a former Vice President formed a company with a state-of-the-art new plant to produce the new green bikes. Green bikes made outside the U.S. were subject to punitive tariffs. A government bailout provided funding for a failing bicycle manufacturer to retrofit its facilities to the new standards, and the wife of an advisor to the President started a firm consulting and contracting with non-conforming manufacturers to upgrade their facilities to meet the standards.
“What’s wrong with purple bicycles?” asked Pam. “I think they’re nice.”
Alan scowled at Pam. “Purple bicycles are unpleasant to me; therefore you must be a bad person. Purple bicycles are dangerous, and should be banned.” Pam didn’t understand, but didn’t want to argue, so she just shrugged and continued riding her bike.
One day, Alan’s friend Vincent Victim was killed in a car accident. Alan’s outcry was immediate: “See, I told you purple bicycles were bad! My friend Vincent is dead because of those awful purple bicycles! Ban purple bikes! Ban purple bikes!”
Curious, Pam decided to read the accident report. There was no mention of any purple bicycle. Alan’s friend Vincent had died when a drunk driver ran a red light and smashed into his car. “But Alan,” she pointed out, “purple bicycles had nothing to do with your friend’s death. This was caused by a drunk driver.”
“It doesn’t matter!” screamed Alan. “What if it had been? What if someone else dies tomorrow because of all the purple bikes?”
“But… there’s no reason to believe that will happen.”
“Why should I listen to you, purple bike rider? After all, it could happen! All you purple bike riders, you don’t care if people die. You should give up your selfish ways and destroy your purple bicycles.”
“Why?” asked Pam Pedaler. “There’s no evidence that purple bicycles cause more accidents. In fact, studies show that purple…
“Now is the time to finally pass a law against purple bicycles.” Alan interrupted through a bullhorn. “We need a law! Outlaw purple bicycles!” Alan Activist and the rest of his friends organized rallies, and began to picket bicycle manufacturers. Newspapers and television networks covered the story as headlines.
At Vincent’s funeral, people who had never met Vincent shed crocodile tears and made speeches to the video cameras: “Vincent shall not have died in vain his death serves as a springboard for a national dialogue on the evils of purple bicycles.”
Fearful of bad PR and government intervention, the bicycle manufacturers announced that they would voluntarily cease production of purple bicycles. Not wishing to be perceived as anti-social, many owners of purple bicycles became ashamed and stopped riding them. Soon the bicycle makers and retailers realized that these people were buying new bikes as replacements, so they immediately began to lobby the federal government to seize and destroy all purple bikes in the hands of consumers.
Politicians began making speeches condemning the evils of purple bicycles. “This tragedy should serve as a constant reminder that purple bicycles are a danger to a civilized society. Today I’m introducing legislation which will make it a federal crime to own a purple bicycle.”
Pam continued to protest: “Why? There’s nothing wrong with purple bicycles. Banning them would be pointless! This accident was caused by a drunk driver. Shouldn’t we spend our energy trying to do something about the drunk drivers out there?”
Eventually, the politicians passed the law and made symbolic resolutions against purple bicycle ownership. All purple bicycles were seized and destroyed, and tax credits were given to qualified purple bike owners so they could replace the purple bikes with new green bikes.*
The President issued a proclamation that set a date for “No Purple Bike Day”, and declared it a federal holiday. As a sign of solidarity, entertainers wore “STOP THE VIOLET” ribbons to the Academy Awards show and made long acceptance speeches condemning evil purple bike riders. The whole nation watched and cheered as multiple awards were given to Michael Moore for his documentary “Purple Rage” which showed graphic footage of middle aged white men on purple bikes running down starving children and Muslim women with cancer.
Pam Pedaler turned off the television and sighed. She had stopped arguing her case. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing. After all, it’s only a dialogue, right? She needed a new bike anyway, and got one, courtesy of the taxpayers. New bikes were being made and sold; the economy had been stimulated and jobs had been created. Federal employees and union workers got a paid day off work. So what if the law is unconstitutional? What does it hurt? Nobody really needs a purple bicycle, right? Yes, maybe this was a good thing after all. Pam walked out into the fresh evening air, got on her shiny new green bike, and started out on her daily exercise ride. As she pulled out into the street, she was hit and killed by a drunk driver.
* In order to qualify for the tax credit, purchasers were required to submit paperwork verifying that the new green bikes were built by manufacturers that met stringent new federal bicycle-making standards, which none of the existing manufacturers could meet. Just in time, a former Vice President formed a company with a state-of-the-art new plant to produce the new green bikes. Green bikes made outside the U.S. were subject to punitive tariffs. A government bailout provided funding for a failing bicycle manufacturer to retrofit its facilities to the new standards, and the wife of an advisor to the President started a firm consulting and contracting with non-conforming manufacturers to upgrade their facilities to meet the standards.
Friday, July 09, 2010
The Name of the Game
You need a pretty strong self-image to stay in profession that must use euphemisms to describe itself. Nobody wants to deal with a salesman - or even a salesperson – so society is constantly assaulted with thinly disguised marketer-monikers as peddlers seek positive PR.
Over the years my business cards have held such titles as “Sales Professional”, “Sales Associate”, “Sales Representative”, and “Manufacturer’s Representative”. The latter is my favorite, as it doesn’t even CONTAIN the word “sales”, thus making the disguise complete. Then there are “Sales Team Members”, “Product Information Specialists, and “Customer Fulfillment Agents”.
In this world of enhanced titles, creating new ones must be increasingly difficult. That might explain the one I heard on the radio this week. A car dealer encouraged listeners to come in and visit with one of their “Automotive Relationship Counselors”.
Yes. Really. Automotive Relationship Counselors.
Now, being a car guy, I can appreciate the concept of a personal relationship with a motor vehicle. There remains a special place in my heart for my high school romance with a 1973 Datsun 240z. Then there was the love/hate thing with the ‘63 MGB, and my too-short fling with a Triumph Spitfire. My wife will tell you that back in college, I was in serious need of an Automotive Relationship Counselor to help me through a tough time with an old 1970 BMW. After a rocky relationship, I eventually killed her (the Beemer, not the fiancé).
But I digress. My point is that these people are not relationship counselors, automotive or otherwise. They are salespeople, and should not be ashamed to say so. As salespeople, the best thing we can do to improve our image is to stop insulting our customers’ intelligence, treat people with respect, and always conduct ourselves with honesty and integrity. In doing so, we will truly be professionals, no matter what is printed on our business cards.
Over the years my business cards have held such titles as “Sales Professional”, “Sales Associate”, “Sales Representative”, and “Manufacturer’s Representative”. The latter is my favorite, as it doesn’t even CONTAIN the word “sales”, thus making the disguise complete. Then there are “Sales Team Members”, “Product Information Specialists, and “Customer Fulfillment Agents”.
In this world of enhanced titles, creating new ones must be increasingly difficult. That might explain the one I heard on the radio this week. A car dealer encouraged listeners to come in and visit with one of their “Automotive Relationship Counselors”.
Yes. Really. Automotive Relationship Counselors.
Now, being a car guy, I can appreciate the concept of a personal relationship with a motor vehicle. There remains a special place in my heart for my high school romance with a 1973 Datsun 240z. Then there was the love/hate thing with the ‘63 MGB, and my too-short fling with a Triumph Spitfire. My wife will tell you that back in college, I was in serious need of an Automotive Relationship Counselor to help me through a tough time with an old 1970 BMW. After a rocky relationship, I eventually killed her (the Beemer, not the fiancé).
But I digress. My point is that these people are not relationship counselors, automotive or otherwise. They are salespeople, and should not be ashamed to say so. As salespeople, the best thing we can do to improve our image is to stop insulting our customers’ intelligence, treat people with respect, and always conduct ourselves with honesty and integrity. In doing so, we will truly be professionals, no matter what is printed on our business cards.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
A Tenuous Bond
The year was 1970, and I was entering the public school system as a first grader. Mine was the first class in this East Texas town to be fully desegregated, the “separate but equal” elementary schools having been closed the year prior. This makes me a unique breed: the first generation to have never known segregated schools. Of course, we still had a long way to go. It would be nearly twelve years later before our class of '82 stopped electing separate class favorites for blacks and whites. Our senior yearbook contains only one set of "Most Popular" and "Most Beautiful" and all the other miscellaneous "mosts", thus eliminating the last vestiges of sanctioned segregation.
Several events along the way stick in my mind.
1971 - Second Grade: A black teacher had been moved to our school from the “separate but equal” campus. There was a bit of a dust-up because many white parents did not want their children in her class. Apparently, the whole “equal” part hadn’t been true after all, because she was judged to be an inferior teacher. She probably was less qualified, but she had a heart of gold, and the students loved her, even if their parents didn’t. I had the white teacher. She was mean.
1976 - Seventh Grade: I became friends with a black kid. He was a nice guy, and I was a nice guy, and we just happened to get along well. I’m sure he knew, as did I, that our friendship was outside the mainstream, but to us it was no big deal. One day I called his house to invite him to go somewhere and do something, and his father answered the phone. He demanded to know who I was, and was openly hostile, refusing to let me speak to his son. It stung. It still stings. In the years since, I’ve tried to convince myself that maybe he was just having a bad day, that maybe this had nothing to do with the fact that I was white. But I knew then, as I know now, that fear and resentment existed in both our worlds.
1978 - Ninth Grade: After football practice, some of the team walked to Mac’s, a favorite local hamburger joint two blocks from the school. Mac’s still had a rear entrance and separate dining area for black patrons, and some of the older folk still used it. But our black teammates went with us through the front door and we all ate at the same tables. Not the first, to be sure, but among the first to think nothing of it. On some level, we must have known that our generation was turning a corner at a historic crossroads, but at the time, I didn’t really understand the significance. I wonder if the black kids did.
We grew up in modern times, in a not-so-modern place. School was the overlapping subset of two circles, a place where we learned to share a society with people we could not really know. We learned of Cornelius Vanderbuilt’s railroad empire and of Harriet Tubman’s underground railroad; of George Washington’s cherry tree and of George Washington Carver’s peanut butter. We faced a future that promised a post-racial society, and we were the first generation who did not fear it.
Forty years after that first grade fall morning, I’m still in the same town, and that future is not yet present. There are more circles now, smaller and more diverse. Their overlapping intersections are more complex, but still they are separate circles. I see some of my African-American classmates around town from time to time, and we usually give a genuine smile and say hi, though we never call each other up to go to dinner together. Acquaintances have become friends on Facebook, and a look at our wall posts shows that we still travel in somewhat different - if not separate - circles. Still, I like to think that those of us in that subset share a tenuous bond - an uneasy tension combined with an unspoken pride in the Henderson High School class of 1982.
Mrs. Langston's First Grade Class
Several events along the way stick in my mind.
1971 - Second Grade: A black teacher had been moved to our school from the “separate but equal” campus. There was a bit of a dust-up because many white parents did not want their children in her class. Apparently, the whole “equal” part hadn’t been true after all, because she was judged to be an inferior teacher. She probably was less qualified, but she had a heart of gold, and the students loved her, even if their parents didn’t. I had the white teacher. She was mean.
1976 - Seventh Grade: I became friends with a black kid. He was a nice guy, and I was a nice guy, and we just happened to get along well. I’m sure he knew, as did I, that our friendship was outside the mainstream, but to us it was no big deal. One day I called his house to invite him to go somewhere and do something, and his father answered the phone. He demanded to know who I was, and was openly hostile, refusing to let me speak to his son. It stung. It still stings. In the years since, I’ve tried to convince myself that maybe he was just having a bad day, that maybe this had nothing to do with the fact that I was white. But I knew then, as I know now, that fear and resentment existed in both our worlds.
1978 - Ninth Grade: After football practice, some of the team walked to Mac’s, a favorite local hamburger joint two blocks from the school. Mac’s still had a rear entrance and separate dining area for black patrons, and some of the older folk still used it. But our black teammates went with us through the front door and we all ate at the same tables. Not the first, to be sure, but among the first to think nothing of it. On some level, we must have known that our generation was turning a corner at a historic crossroads, but at the time, I didn’t really understand the significance. I wonder if the black kids did.
We grew up in modern times, in a not-so-modern place. School was the overlapping subset of two circles, a place where we learned to share a society with people we could not really know. We learned of Cornelius Vanderbuilt’s railroad empire and of Harriet Tubman’s underground railroad; of George Washington’s cherry tree and of George Washington Carver’s peanut butter. We faced a future that promised a post-racial society, and we were the first generation who did not fear it.
Forty years after that first grade fall morning, I’m still in the same town, and that future is not yet present. There are more circles now, smaller and more diverse. Their overlapping intersections are more complex, but still they are separate circles. I see some of my African-American classmates around town from time to time, and we usually give a genuine smile and say hi, though we never call each other up to go to dinner together. Acquaintances have become friends on Facebook, and a look at our wall posts shows that we still travel in somewhat different - if not separate - circles. Still, I like to think that those of us in that subset share a tenuous bond - an uneasy tension combined with an unspoken pride in the Henderson High School class of 1982.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Daddy-Daughter Days Revisited
My daughter's latest blog entry beautifully describes a Saturday morning tradition she and I shared not so many years ago. She's a much better writer than me, so I'll let you read about it in her words here, and I'll just share a couple of pics I dug up last night.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Import your blog into Facebook!
I just discovered that you can import your blog into your Facebook notes. It's supposed to feed automatically. Here's how: http://www.facebook.com/help/?page=818
Friday, June 11, 2010
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Need baking soda? I know this guy...
If you need sodium bicarbonate in large quantities, I can hook you up. Thanks to the power of the WWW, I now have a source in China for bulk baking soda.
How lucky can you get? This morning, out of the blue, an email showed up in my inbox from this guy named William Zhang. William and his business associates located my business through a careful search of the internet. According to the email, "We learn your esteemed company on your website!"
Now, most people would probably never think to market wholesale baking soda to an esteemed church furniture salesman, but then most people are not as sharp as William Zhang. He obviously thinks outside the box, and I’m inspired to do the same.
Lest you think Hangzhou Garden Corporation is just some fly-by-night outfit sending out spam willy-nilly, be aware that they’ve been at this since 2002, and they exported 120,000 Metric Tons of baking soda in 2009 alone! Besides that, the flowability of their soda is excellent. According to Mr. Zhang, “There is no agglomerate under common conditions in a year.” And the whiteness can meet 94.5. What more can you ask for?
I haven’t quite figured out how to work the baking soda into my church furniture website, so I’m offering it to you here. So before you shell out big bucks at the grocery store, call me for a sodium bicarbonate deal.
How lucky can you get? This morning, out of the blue, an email showed up in my inbox from this guy named William Zhang. William and his business associates located my business through a careful search of the internet. According to the email, "We learn your esteemed company on your website!"
Now, most people would probably never think to market wholesale baking soda to an esteemed church furniture salesman, but then most people are not as sharp as William Zhang. He obviously thinks outside the box, and I’m inspired to do the same.
Lest you think Hangzhou Garden Corporation is just some fly-by-night outfit sending out spam willy-nilly, be aware that they’ve been at this since 2002, and they exported 120,000 Metric Tons of baking soda in 2009 alone! Besides that, the flowability of their soda is excellent. According to Mr. Zhang, “There is no agglomerate under common conditions in a year.” And the whiteness can meet 94.5. What more can you ask for?
I haven’t quite figured out how to work the baking soda into my church furniture website, so I’m offering it to you here. So before you shell out big bucks at the grocery store, call me for a sodium bicarbonate deal.
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