Borrowed Time

To be sure, many of us have been duly blessed. We are blessed with a capacity for focus, hard work and the health, intellect and physical stamina to persevere when what we’d really like to do is to super-size the French fries and watch another six hours of television. The debate is really nothing new. Since Ogg proved himself a better gatherer routinely bringing home more food to the cave, someone has cried foul. It isn’t fair! Ogg is not held back by my disabilities. Ogg has advantages over me. Ogg likes to work long hours in the heat of the sun. Besides those Ogg critics out there are not blessed with the capacity to get the job done. It is not their fault. They are victims to an Ogg-biased system that rewards folks gifted with a natural desire to work. How can it be fair to let those who like to work, can tolerate competition and enjoy risk have an advantage over those of us to whom such advantages were not bestowed by God, some abstract social system or generational government?

The Clean Plate Club

There are many ways to measure success. But chief among them is to know that we are tops on a list where it is good to be tops and near the bottom, where the opposite standard applies. This past week, we Hoosiers moved in the opposite direction on both measures. We ballooned on lists that measure our obesity per capita compared to fellow states. And, we tumbled on lists that quantify personal activity in contrast to citizens in other locales. It seems clear that the two are related, but some would rather not consider the connection. In my own fight against age and a slowing metabolism, it pains me to admit that it is the dressing on my salad that expands my waistline and not the salad itself. But the dressing is so very tasty; it can’t be hiding fat and calories behind its silky goodness. And, water is a great thirst quencher, but there is something about that curvy bottle and red label that makes one need an afternoon soda – or two – or three.

Let Me Count the Ways

How do I love Thee, let me count the ways. When Elizabeth Barrett Browning penned the now famous line, one could imagine that she was yet another romantic poet in a time of many romantic poets. But this particular phrase has held sway in the some 17 decades or so since it first found its way from creator to audience. Why? Certainly it resonates as we consider the ways in which we share our love with another. But doesn’t it also get at our innate desire to create lists?

Dependent-Minded

Some weeks ago, I was following an email thread surreptitiously. Admittedly, I can, at times, be a little bit of a thought voyeur. While I enjoy exchanging messages with a number of different folks about topics as varied as the fate and reminiscences of our alma mater to the modern state of the free market, I sometimes simply watch the interactions as they fill my inbox, deciding not to enter the fray. Much like sitting silent at the dinner table as the rest of the family relates stories of their passing day I enjoy the discourse uninterrupted by my own participation. At any rate, the communication that garnered my attention pertained to access to higher education.

Buggy Whips

It is amazing, really, how static we become as we age. Most of the folks from my generation still refer to “taping” something from television although the use of videotape has long been replaced by some digital recording device. Yet, why would we bother to learn the new vernacular? It is almost hard to imagine the number of words that are likely doomed to fade in the coming years. Will we still have car keys in two decades? Will pennies still jingle in our pockets? Will television even exist in any identifiable way let alone the words used to describe trying to capture it for later review?

Crass Truth

Experience teaches that winning football coaches are amongst the most unbeatable of political adversaries. If they choose to run for office, they put together a plan, organize a qualified, trained and loyal team and execute without mercy. Likewise, there is an adage in politics that such a formidable personage is “unbeatable unless they are found in the company of a dead girl or a live boy.” While unmitigated in its crassness, the saw sheds an interesting perspective on the appalling turn of events in Penn State University’s storied gridiron program and its much-honored head coach, Joe Paterno, and his staff.

Real Real

Donald Trump moved the phrase “You’re fired!” from the personnel office to reality television. But in The Donald’s world folks go from the board room, to an elevator, to a waiting cab to be whisked away not to be seen again until some reality reunion gives them another moment of airtime. In real real life when people get the boot, there is no afterglow of residual fame to soften the blow, no career waiting at home to be resumed and no parting gifts. People suffer. After the walk of shame back to their desk, they gather their belongings – with or without the helpful oversight of a member of corporate security. Next they leave their access cards, sign some paperwork and head to their car for the last time. No one celebrates their retirement. No one takes them for a farewell lunch at their favorite haunt. The newly unemployed drive from the lot and head home to share the news with waiting family.

I Never Heard

Perhaps John Banner said it best in his famous character, Sargent Schultz, from the popular 1960’s television program Hogan’s Heros, “I know nothing.” As the beleaguered guard overseeing a crew of rebellious American and British prisoners of war in a German camp during World War II, Banner has come to exemplify the often undervalued approach that discretion indeed is the better part of valor. While the comedy would put Schultz in ridiculous circumstances that sometimes were aimed directly at making fun of Germans (especially soldiers) in these years of recovery when most WWII veterans were at home watching TV with their families, he always managed to show the humanity in electing to keeps one’s mouth shut.