Losers Rule

I didn't watch "Sports' Biggest Night", as ESPN so modestly called it ESPY Awards. No, I'd been burned before by that show. I saw that Olympic skier Lindsey Vonn won for "Female Athlete of the Year". Seeing as she wiped out in three of her five events, and that teammate Julia Mancuso actually had a better overall Winter Games, you could say I was surprised to see that. Nope, it was pretty much what I expected, continuing with the theme that failure is now more accepted than success. The "best", in the case of Vonn, failed miserably 60 percent of the time. Now come get your trophy.

Want another? Catch. Lance Armstrong is once again taking part in the Tour de France. No one can argue that Armstrong has had a fantastic career (though arguing about how he achieved such a career can make for some interesting give and take around the barstool). Not so much for this go-round. Three spills. Seems to me the easiest thing to do is not to run into another cyclist, but our boy Lance had it happened three times, effectively killing his chances to win. The articles I saw in the paper didn't describe an athlete past his prime, whose best days are long behind him. No, Armstrong was instead lauded for his "bravery" and "courage". It takes more courage to realize when you can't accomplish something anymore, and live with it, as opposed to millions of us seeing it for ourselves.

Winners used to get trophies. Now everyone does. Successes used to be toasted and held up as examples for others to follow. Now, inspirational stories are more likely to feature the homeless guy beating the heat, the single mom with two kids (at 25. Don't ask how she got where she was, just empathize) who works two jobs just to put food on the table (and pay the kids' cell phone bills), or the couple bravely facing foreclosure as the evil banks threaten to take away their house, car, boat, home theater system, spa memberships, etc. How brave they are in actually facing responsibility for once. Never mind that it's paid for by those of us that have kept our noses clean.

Starting to stray from topic. I'm good at that.

The word hero is tossed about so much these days its meaning has become watered down. Save a kid from a burning building? Hero. Feed a homeless guy a sandwich? Not a hero. Sully? Hero. Mrs. DeGronmont, 3rd grade teacher from Whippoorwill Elementary who taught Jamel cursive writing? Not a hero. That's what she's supposed to do.

If today's heroes are, in actuality, losers, we're doomed. Now go out there and be hopelessly average!

Creating And Debating

One thing I've noticed about these posts is that I rarely do it when I'm in a good mood. It's only when I'm down or nostalgic that I feel like sitting here and typing innocuous thoughts. If you follow this blog (God help you) you'll notice that there's been a dearth of material over the past couple of months, mostly due to the fact that my spirits have been high. Events over the past couple of days have sent me into a tailspin, so here I sit. Yet I don't know what to say. Funny, because creativity flourishes with misery, and flounders with happiness.

Well, that's something, isn't it? We strive for happiness, yet are most productive when we're not. If we're happy, we let things slide. This is particularly true in the artistic community, where the best work is born out of suffering. Show me a music artist that is happily married and I'll show you someone who's best days have long past. Show me a writer who's at peace, and I'll bet dollars to doughnuts his/her later work is filling up the bargain bins at Borders. The books are so bad they actually stock them in the area that's before you walk into the actual store, so you don't suffer the shame of having someone see you leafing through it.

Anyway, I guess the point I'm getting at, the question- is happiness overrated? Are we better off when we're miserable than when we're happy? We all have dreams we hope to reach, and we (usually) don't reach those dreams without working damn hard on the way up: lousy hours, low wages, demeaning superiors. Back then, it was all about having a couple of drinks on a Friday night and airing your frustrations to a friend or the bartender (if they paid attention to you, which was much more likely if the bartender was a dude). Then Monday morning it was back at it, with dreams of a better future keeping you from chucking your alarm clock across the room.

I have a nice house, an adorable gal, no kids to speak of, and an amazing little dog. Life's good, right? This is living the dream. So why do I fall into a rut so easily, and why is that rut so hard to crawl out of when it happens? I'm happy, right? Right?

Remembering The '"Rath"

My air conditioning is out.

Considering the time of year it is, things could be worse. The forecast calls for dropping temps, so I probably won't be using it this week, anyway. I ran it yesterday just to test it and things didn't go well, so The Guy is coming tomorrow to take a look. If Sully can land a plane in the Hudson, I can go without a.c. for a week.

Still, it's a little muggy in the house, especially in the back bedroom where I take my afternoon nap. The conditions today took me back to Madison, Wisconsin circa 1988. It was the summer of my senior year, and I was taking a couple of classes. It was the final six credits that I needed for graduation. I even remember the classes: World War II and some class that dealt with nutrition. It had nothing to do with my major, but all my requirements for a degree had been fulfilled, so I took two classes that were both of ease and interest to me.

I didn't work in the summer of '88. My parents were cool that way. That said my job was college. Do well at college, then move on to the "real world" (They loved to say that. Believe me, it's true). With two three-credit classes I was never bogged down with too much work (home or otherwise). I was smart enough to realize that the Real World was fast-approaching: September of 1988. I better make the most of it.

The University of Wisconsin is a beautiful campus, surround by four lakes. On the shores of Lake Mendota sits the Memorial Union, one of UW's most historic buildings. The biggest room was the Rathskeller, gathering place place for professors, aspiring intellectuals, drunks, and me. Days like today remind me of afternoons spent at the Rathskeller. I didn't have air conditioning at my Madison loft, so on days that were too warm to swelter inside, I would walk down to the Rathskeller for a pint or two. This was a healthy walk, probably 2-3 miles from where I lived, but the walk always built up a nice thirst. There were plenty of tables on the outdoor terrace with outstanding views of the lake.

Midday afternoons were never that busy, so I'd order a 24 ounce cup of beer (Miller, I think), buy some pretzel rods (a nickel apiece back then), and take a table. From there, I would do nothing. I'd watch the water. I'd overhear nearby conversations. I'd take some crushed pretzels and feed the ducks that would come to shore (the Union folk frowned on that). Hours would drift by. Every time I thought about going home, I would remind myself that September of 1988 was coming fast and go get another beer. Every so often the Union would have live music outside, mostly jazz. Sometimes I'd come across a friend, which would lead to another round. Then another. More pretzels, please. It's as good as it sounds.

Surprisingly, I handled my beer better then than I do now, so waking up the next day never provided any real complications, and the memories of the night before were always crystal clear. I've been employed by the Real World for over 20 years now, complete with all the rewards and heartaches associated with such a promotion. I'm not a dumb guy, and I realized that my time spent on the Memorial Union terrace sipping tepid Miller High Life was time well spent, some of the best times ever. I'm nostalgic for that time, while fully embracing what I have today.

I hear the pretzels are .25 now.

Failure IS an Option

So I'm sitting here watching bits of Conan O' Brian's interview from "60 Minutes" last night. What a guy. He says he wouldn't have done what Jay Leno did. All Leno "did" was rescue the 11:30 time slot for NBC, make the network a whole buncha money, and please a lot of nervous stockholders. That's a pretty good trifecta. What did Conan do? Get bought out to the tune of 20 million dollars, use the publicity garnered from the very public fight with Leno to launch a summer stand-up comedy tour and get paid big bucks for a show later this year on TBS (which will do well in its first week, then fall back to more "Conan-like" numbers).

Simply put, Conan was the loser and made 20 million dollars because of it. He delivered an inferior product to the consumer, who went and bought something else. Price for losing? 20 million dollars. We should all be so lucky. That's the way it is these day. Lose and go home? No no no. Losing has never been more lucrative. Losing is in.

Sure, for the longest time, the worst teams have gotten the best picks and then landed (if they did their homework) the best players to help them improve. Now, losing is in vogue just about everywhere. Signed a mortgage you can't handle anymore? No problem. Banks are now forced to make you a better deal. Close to 50 percent of people don't pay taxes. 50 percent! This means 50 percent of people pay taxes for services that 100 percent of the people use. Nice deal if you can get it. Funny how the more you've screwed up, the more bad decisions you've made, the bigger, more luxurious boat seems to pull up to take you to a safe harbor. A ship that I paid for.

I'm doing things the way they're supposed to be done, right? When the bill comes, I pay it. When something breaks, I fix it. When I marry someone, I don't cheat. The number of people at work who help me do my job better is...0. If I can't do my job to the best of my ability without anyone having to help out, get someone else in there and turn me loose.

Come to think of it, maybe that's the way to go. Losing has rarely been closer to winning than it is today.

Count Me In

Off from work today. Got 8 hours of sleep. Closer to 9, actually. Took the dog for a brisk walk around the neighborhood. Had a nice breakfast. Enjoyed three cups of freshly brewed coffee. From everything that I read, I should be at the peak of my mental powers right now. So let's do this.

The great sportswriter Dan Jenkins once described golf as a good walk spoiled. With so many people protesting every last little thing these days, it's now more important than ever to carefully pick your battles. If you're throwing a tantrum every day, eventually everybody stops listening. I lose my temper so infrequently that when I do, the matter of my anger is treated with much more respect. Anyway, I understand a lot of the anger regarding the health-care bill, bailouts, cap and trade legislation, etc. Yet there's one protest that's to be catching fire that seems to me to be a good protest spoiled: The Census.

I received my census form in the mail a couple of weeks ago, and prior to its arrival it was a popular topic on many of the radio and television talk shows that I frequent. I heard bluster and outrage about what an invasion of privacy it was. How dare the government ask for things as invasive as "How many people live at your house", or "How old are you?" (especially prickly for female participants) How dare they??

Before I opened it, I expected to see all sorts of probing questions, so I was a little bit disappointed when I saw that all it wanted was to basically see who lives in the house. That's it. We lead a pretty simple existence, Pumpkin and me (or is it Pumpkin and I?). We both work, pay the mortgage and bills on time, go out to dinner every so often, hang out with an old dog and watch TV at night, go to bed at a decent hour. We have nothing to hide. In short, answering the questions took no longer than a couple of minutes. I put it in inside the postage-paid envelope (thanks USA!) and mailed it off the next morning.

I laugh (and yes, scoff) at the people who say they're not going to put down honest information. As someone who's dealt with identity theft, I'd rather the government have honest information than not. But if it makes you feel better to to list your address as the one that Mr. Douglas and Arnold the Pig used in "Green Acres", knock yourself out. It just seems like the waste of a good protest to me. A good protest is something that accomplishes something at the end of the day, whether it was the intended consequence or not. Shirking the census has all of the impact of screaming at the TV when the ball goes through your shortstop's legs. It feels good to get your frustration out, but in the end accomplishes nothing.

I wonder how many people who bitch and moan about filling out the census form give all that information (and more, much more) to their local slot club so they can stand in line and get a free fanny pack or two-slice toaster. Prioritize before you energize.

Things I Don't Understand (Part I of CCLV)

I don't consider myself a dumb guy, but the following question may change that thinking.

Why can't someone just buy their own health insurance?

Granted, for the past 15 years or so, my insurance has either been covered by my employer, or by my wife's employer. I haven't had to go out and actively seek a policy. Certainly one can do that, no? Nevada Rep. Shelley Berkley says that once people lose their jobs, they lose their insurance as well. That can't be right, can it? I mean, yes, they lose their insurance that their former employer used to provide them, but they can still get it, can't they?

How did we get to the point where the benefits are now the most important part of a person's job? Whether it's health insurance, a 401k plan, dental, vision, whatever- it seems the first thing that a person thinks about when they get fired (ok, maybe the second or third) is: what am I going to do about benefits? I admit that I gave that a thought before realizing I could jump on Pumpkin's plan until I landed a new gig. Still, I felt bad that her paycheck was much smaller because of that. I never considered looking on my own for a policy that best fit what I needed as a married father of none.

Maybe I'm old school, but I still consider the employer-employee relationship to be a good day's work for a good day's pay. How did we get to the point where the employer has to take care of everything for you but tucking you in at night? Isn't it enough that they pay you a wage that allows for food, shelter, and the occasional Friday night run to Applebee's? Wouldn't the checks be larger if the employer didn't have to worry about providing you with an ever-increasing health care package? Employers now are faced with the possibility of laying off more workers because of Obamacare. Why can't they just hire people to work for them, pay the people their wages, and that's that? Isn't that what Wal Mart does (again, forgive the ignorance if Wal Mart caved in to union pressures. I must've missed that)? In the meantime, the employee can study for whatever health-care, investment, dental plan, that best suits the needs of him and his family. What's so hard to understand about this?

I must be a moron because I don't hear anybody else speaking the argument. That, or I'm a genius. Either way, I'm confused

This One's For You, Mikey

Another radio guy I know got sacked today. I asked him what happened and he said his boss said that "his talk breaks were too long". That's about it. This guy worked mornings, so if there's a place where your talk breaks can be lengthy, that's where. I'm Facebook friends with him, so I'll get updates on things that he did with the station and he always seemed to be out in his community. Nice guy, well liked, not a big ego. Big deal. His talk breaks were too long. Here's a box. Pack your stuff.

I've said this before, but show me a radio station that pushes a "more music" morning show, and I'll show you a loser. Now more than ever, it will be personalities that radio needs to save itself. It just needs the incomprehensible incompetence of radio management to get their boot off of the personalities' throats, and it doesn't look like that's going to happen anytime soon.

It's abundantly clear that the most successful radio shows have nothing to do with playing the hits, and everything to do with showcasing the biggest personalities: Limbaugh, Stern, Dees (ok, maybe that one's a stretch). Yet, time and again, we jocks are told to cut the chit chat and spin the tunes. I've even had a market manager tally up the number of songs played over one week's time and told me that that number indicated that I was talking too much (forgetting the fact that they had added two extra :60 commercials each hour and the average length of a country song had increased by over a minute). And this was a boss that I actually had respect for!

People can get music almost anywhere these days. What's sorely lacking is entertainment. Satellite radio was supposed to be the next big thing when it arrived because it was all music, commercial free. Subscriber numbers have been disappointing. In fact, a large number of people simply signed up for the service because that was the only place they were going to be able to hear Howard Stern. A personality. An entertainer. Music is omnipresent. There's only one Stern. Again, a lesson. Staff a radio station with personalities people want to listen to, and every sales person will be driving a Bentley. Christ, what's so hard to understand about this?

Lately we're seeing some music artists starting up their own record labels because they grew tired of how things were handled in a typical record label operation. Maybe that can happen with radio, where a bunch of jocks fed up with the "just play more music" mentality can put a group together and show the suits how it's supposed to be done. I don't see any other way for radio to pull out of its death spiral. Every radio salesperson elevated to a position where they can make decisions over programming is akin to a morbidly obese guy eating another triple cheeseburger. A quick death is inevitable