The Gift of the Magi, by O. Henry, captures the unselfishness of the Christmas holiday. We are reminded that it is not about the shopping, or the rush to open the presents; Christmas is about giving of ourselves to others. I recorded this when I was a TV news anchor in Idaho. I can’t find that original recording, although my sister tells me that she listens to the cassette tape I made for her every year. I hope it inspires her and my nieces every holiday season. I’ve recorded O. Henry’s short story again and share it with you this holiday season.
All of you screamers and pontificators, Presidents and Talk-Show Hosts. Time for a rhetoric break. Just go off and find a quite place and sit and think for a month. Take your TelePrompter with you. Sit and contemplate. Stop. Don’t talk. Just listen.
Walk away from the TV camera. Keep the funny faces to yourself. Put away the crazy demonstrations. Breathe.
Invite your enemies over and ask them to tell you more about themselves. Why do they think the way they do? What motivates them? Don’t be judgmental or deaf to their viewpoints. Just listen and focus. Work on comprehending their viewpoints.
Repeat back what you’ve just heard and ask them if that is what they meant to say. Try again if you don’t quite understand. Look for commonness. See if you have anything that can make you friends.
There, your 31 days are up. Did you come to any middle ground? Can you work to build relationships? If not, go back to your quite place and try again.
Work on this until you can say something nice about your enemy and show the rest of us that they are now a friend. Until you do that, just shut up and meditate. Put the rhetoric away.
Ah, politics. Is it time for a new political party? Maybe a political organization for the beer-drinking, hard-working, hard-partying, freedom-loving, honest-dealing, well-worn, slightly-flawed, and happy-with-themselves crowd? You know a political party made up of a group of people unwilling to put up with the broken promises, lost Hope and business-as-usual, as long as it benefits me, crowd.
Some Other Thoughts on the Theme: New Political Party
I spoke the other day about Twitter and other social media tools at the National Association of Bar Executives Communication Section’s meeting in Las Vegas. I made everyone put down the phones and pay attention. That led to a small revolt, but I made my point: Social Media fills a human need to communicate. Either that or it allows those with ADHD to maintain a sense of control.
Michael Sommermeyer, court information officer with the Clark County (Las Vegas, Nev.) Courts talked about the challenges that Twitter – and social media in general – are providing for courts and judges, at the National Association of Bar Executives (NABE) Communications Section’s annual workshop in Las Vegas. His session was titled “Your Court’s All-A-Twitter.”
I especially like the video. I manage to ramble on like a Led Zepplin song and only stop to gulp down some air. Thankfully, Kevin Hunt ends the madness before we all suffocate.
In a stunning announcement, the Nobel Prize Committee has announced Michael Sommermeyer has won the Nobel Prize for Literature for his planned, yet not yet published, novel about a fish taco vendor who outsmarts a pesky meter maid, meets a shaman, lands in a Mexican pueblo made up of ex-pat American criminals, and manages to escape without dying. While the committee concluded Sommermeyer hadn’t managed to produce much beyond an outline and a few paragraphs, the potential of the novel warranted the prize.
A guy can dream…
I was afraid it was a goner there for a bit, but after some impressive work in the Detroit Free Press, the Las Vegas Sun and now two young independent journalists who decided to become commando 60 Minutes-like investigators, I’m fairly sure that journalism may actually survive. Will it make money? Maybe not, but who among us who grew up wanting to be writers and journalists actually thought we would make any money anyway?
What makes great journalism is the story. The heart-wrenching, gut-turning, mess of a story. The pathos. The deeply-fractured soul. The pile of scat we leave behind for the journalists to find and show to the world. If more newspapers would drop the entertainment fluff and return to actually finding good stories to tell, I’m fairly sure people would buy the product again. Bring back the Wall Street Journal leads and start telling compelling stories. And television, stop worrying about pissing off the car dealers, the dry cleaners and various other cash cows and start actually reporting on things. Ignore the sales department; they will come around when you start bringing back the viewers.
I’ve spent a lot of time driving and traveling so far this summer. I’ve made at least four trips to the Fresno area this summer and came away with this feeling of a expansive carpet of green and renewal. I enjoy farm regions for their variety. These trips were my first since high school, when I managed to suck in some Valley Fever spores and spent the rest of the fall coughing and thinking I had a far worse disease. I got over it then, although I wondered if I would manage to catch it again. There was a lot of brown mixed into the green. Seems there is not enough water to go around. I wondered how we had reached the point where we failed to plan for water needs, why a small fish became so powerful to turn off the water, and why the federal government was imposing its will on a state’s right to manage its own natural resources. Seems there are a few things out of balance here.
Everyone I spoke with was friendly and didn’t mind me milling around. I spent some time in a peach orchard admiring the fruit turning red on the branches and wondering if I might bite into one of those delicious fruits later this summer. I saw an entire field of red onions and noticed how they smelled like a giant field of Wendy’s side potatoes! I was very hungry this trip. I also admired the small businesses tucked into the most hidden places selling candles, fresh fruit, jarred jam and dolls. An entire community would just pop up like an island in a sea of almonds, cherries and nectarines.
I made it to Reno a couple of times and I always like to be up there. The mountains break the sky and remind me of my childhood north of the city. I walked the Truckee River again and marveled at the growth along the banks and the renewal of the city. Lots of new businesses and opportunities for exploration. It looks like that new baseball stadium will be a major boon for the area.
I met an entire group of people from Ukraine who were very nice and laughed at my jokes even though most of them didn’t speak English. They gave me a hand-painted plate, which was very important to them and vastly improves my office wall.
I made it to Lake Tahoe twice this summer. Both times it was snowing. Meanwhile, back home in Las Vegas the temperature exceeded 104 degrees. I stopped in Benton and had the best cheeseburger and home fries ever on my first trip. The road between Benton and Lee Vining always takes my breath away and causes my stomach to jump, but this time I swear it was like sitting on top of the world surrounded by Sierra peaks and blue skies. It was worth the rollercoaster ride!
I drove to Lubbock twice in the span of three weeks. The first trip seemed like the longest ever, but the return trip was enchanting, especially west of Gallup. I love the way the light falls on the mesas and painted desert. A respite and rejuvenating drive.
Now the travels are over for a few weeks, although I’m planning a couple more trips this fall to Reno and Carson City. Maybe another trip to Lake Tahoe; the fall leaves will likely be waiting for me.
But not as hot as a few years ago when the temperature topped 120. I like the heat and rarely complain. I’ve been walking in it more this summer than in the past. My daughter has me walking at least 10,000 steps a day. That’s not as easy as it sounds. Roughly 2,500 steps equals a mile. Most people rarely get in more than 3,000 steps each day. No wonder I’m considered obese. Not enough steps in 45 years and too many cheeseburgers! I’ve been dropping weight though and maybe I’ve finally found my best strategy for the middle years; more walking, fewer hamburgers and no cheese. I can rattle off the fat content in a typical burger now and that sends me walking to a Subway. When I arrived in Las Vegas I weighed in at a hefty 226 pounds. I’m closer to that number today, although I still need to drop below 200 (I’m hovering around 228) to feel my best. I’m sure by the end of the summer I will be lighter.
But back to the heat. I didn’t realize how much it doesn’t bother you once you’ve left the confines of the air conditioned office and just wandered out a bit. At some point the heat seems to go away. My friend Glenn Campbell says our bodies are built to adapt to the heat and we don’t need all of the unnatural contraptions that cool the air. I’m beginning to agree with him.
Then there is the car. I’m surprised how lazy I had become by driving four blocks rather than walking them. I’ve increased the walking and reduced the polluting. It’s a small step, but I feel better about it. And I don’t seem to mind the 106 degrees.
The Fourth of July has always been a highlight holiday for me. I have seen some great fireworks shows across the west. I was in Williams, Arizona one fourth and they lit up the center of town. There were fireworks hovering over I-40 as trucks blew under them. It was one of the best shows ever. I was in Twin Falls, Idaho when I thought the entire sky was on fire and I was standing directly under the lights and next to the next round of rockets. That was impressive. We were too late for the Fourth at Disneyland one year, so we caught the show between the walls of two motel buildings. Not the best show, but the cheers from the guests was inspiring. Everywhere I go, the magic of the Fourth seems to come out. The one day when everyone seems to remember for just a small moment that we are Americans and we have all fought to be here.
I love railroads. The thought of being a hobo and riding the rails always appealed to me. I’m not a big fan of railroads to nowhere, which is just what we have on the drawing books for southern Nevada. We have the mythical magnetic levitation train from Las Vegas to Primm. Of course, they tell you that someday this railroad will deliver happy families from Las Vegas to Anaheim and then off to Disneyland. And on the other side of the spectrum, we have the high-speed iron horse railroad from Las Vegas to Victorville. Another railroad to nowhere. Nothing against my friends in the Apple Valley, but I just don’t see myself jumping on a train to Victorville, where presumably, I can rent a car to visit, well, Disneyland.
Both of these projects have Harry Reid at the controls, although he jumps from engine-to-engine from time-to-time. Personally, I wonder where he was when we could have been fighting for a freeway to Phoenix or Reno thereby eliminating that eight-hours of mindless plodding to our state capitol. Not that a freeway would have improved things much, but at least it would be straight and we could have returned some of those freeway funds that were diverted to the east coast.
So we’ll soon see funding for the magical railroads, which like our magical monorail, will proceed to stops in the middle of nowhere, where very few people will actually want to visit.