Yes, I have an opinion. Do you care?

I created a Facebook nearly seven years ago, a very long time ago for someone my age. I was one of the first outside the college community for which it was created. In those seven years, I have watched the Goliath of social networks evolve into the endless abyss of efluvium it has become today. I am finding less and less use for it with each login. I don't care about cats or dogs doing funny things, or people for that matter, or people doing stupid things, or posts that I should share if I really care, or any of the games, or the echain-letters or jokes that have been recycled from the 70s. Perhaps most of all, I am weary of the political and religious aphorisms that require little thought and often have no basis in fact.

I am a learned man. You'll notice I didn't say a smart man. Learned is less subjective. I can objectively share my credentials with you, but in the interest of space and not boring you to tears, I will refrain.Memorizing facts is easy. In fact, there is a school of thought that maintains those whose minds are not cluttered with deep thought find it easier to memorize. I'm not sure I buy that, but it is a school. Nonetheless, deep thought, analysis and critical thinking are not easy. That's why the hoi polloi don't attempt it. Most are too busy finding new funny cat pictures to post. If that sounds condescending, good. I'm angry that more people, at least in this country, don't spend more time in critical thought.

The result is that one's opinions are reduced to the replication of what I like to call bumper-sticker logic. You know what I'm talking about. "Abortion stops a beating heart; Guns don't kill people, people kill people; I'm not rich enough to be a Republican; If you don't believe in God, what if you're wrong?" Ah, if only life were that easy. Life isn't easy, and neither are these issues. They're complex, and require complex thought, preceded by myriad amounts of research. If we were all to invest in that kind of time, a natural discourse would follow that might actually lead to a productive pool of intellectually-founded opinions.

Politicians are likely the most culpable. They are trained by their speech writers to speak in sound bites. While campaigning for the Republican nomination, Rick Santorum proudly proclaimed that cardon dioxide was not dangerous to the ozone. "Just ask the plants." To this day, I am certain he has no idea how sophomoric and insipid that sounds. Nor do the many constituents who cheered his comments. I am not an ecological expert, but I have studied it enough to recognize the absurdity. It's science, not politics. I am picking on Rick Santorum, but I could easily debunk any number of myths propogated by both parties' candidates, speaking about topics on which they haven't a scintilla of expertise.

I, too, have my opinions. Some of them are very potent opinions, based on years of research and contemplation. Friends have asked me, "Why don't you share them then?" I will gladly share my opinions with you if you ask. Just not on Facebook. I can't condense my comments to bumper-sticker size, unless I'm talking about drivers who don't use turn signals or shoppers who pay with a check in the express lane. Those are innocuous topics, and not really controversial.

There are other, more serious topics, that I haven't spent much time researching or comtemplating, simply because they're not important to me. In those cases, I generally withhold my opinion. I might have one, but it serves no purpose to share it if it lacks foundation.

So, I will continue to attempt to add some myrth to the new vaste wasteland that is now Facebook. Maybe it puts a smile on your face, or maybe you just roll your eyes. But I look at it this way. There's sufficient vapidity for all to enjoy. I'll continue to represent the lighter side, and save the heavier discussions for a medium more serious that Facebook.

Oh, yeah, one more thing. When you acquire more information, change your mind sometimes. It's ok.

Norman Vincent Peale Was Right

I'm so glad I didn't write this blog three days ago as I had originally intended. It would have been a vent, a rant, a pity party and an overall downer. I was having a rough week. My show is less than six weeks away, and I was without a costume maker, the other costume I ordered hadn't arrived, and thanks to Otterbein's spring break I felt we were woefully behind our marketing strategy.

Here it is Friday, and I have found the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. In fact, I've shined my own light to blaze a whole new trail. How did I do it? A shear, visceral, good old-fashioned powering through. I was thoroughly wallowing in misery Tuesday, wondering why I had begun this foolish endeavor and asking myself if it was still salvageable.

I think it's important to let yourself wallow once in awhile. If you don't, you're living outside of reality and I think that stifles your intestinal fortitude. I'm not a religious man, so the Peale reference is not entirely apt, but I am a religious believer in positive thinking. It does not stand alone, however. If the positive thinking is not accompanied by positive action, it is rendered inert.

So after the obligatory wallowing, I mustered my courage and got on the phone. After some vigorous calls, texting and even a few emails, we have flyers printed and some distributed, we are days away from printing tickets, I have a costume maker who is eager to have at it, and I even picked up a potential external reviewer for the performance. External reviewers (outside Otterbein) are necessary to legitimize this exercise as scholarship and professional development.

The other costume still has not arrived, but I had reached my attitudinal nadir, and I am now rebounding famously. The costume is a blip right now. It will happen, because I will it to happen. I have worked too hard and too long for this effort to fail. It doesn't matter how you get there. If trusting that God will find a way works for you, then so be it. I rely on the supernatural power that is within me, and that works for me.

So I trudge on like a ground soldier, knowing there will still be myriad obstacles to face. Undaunted, I will survive them all because I choose to. Every one of us has this power. It's up to you to figure out how to tap its resources.

I still have one goal for 2012 that I have yet to achieve, and I'm sorry to inform you that there are only two people on the planet who know about that goal, so I can't reveal it. Unfortunately, I have no control over the outcome of this one, so I must believe with all my heart and trust that eventually my work ethic will be rewarded. And then if it still doesn't happen, I am not a failure. Only the task has failed. And that I can live with.

Countdown to Cinco de Mayhem

I decided to begin the countdown to my show today serrendipitously. However, there must be kismet in the air because there are 57 days left, and I turned 57 in December. I'm taking that as a sign. This is the culmination of more than a year and a half's work, and I can't believe it's almost here. I swear to you that I have never worked harder on a project, so we will see how much sweat equity pays off.

While this will be so much fun for me, it is designed as a learning tool for my students. I am involving students from public relations, broadcasting, theater, and even the music department. My hope is that they will learn by my example what can be accomplished with discipline, hard work and focus.

I can't believe how much has fallen into place. I began to panic about a month ago, thinking I was taking on too much and that I was never going to achieve my original vision. But I have had so much help and cooperation (most of it without pay) that I am now overwhelmed with the generosity instead of the magnitude of the show.

If the vision in my head is anywhere near realized, we will have such a good time on May 5th. I have successfully lost the 20 pounds I needed to get into "fighting shape." I physically run through the show at least once and sometimes twice a day, and I am completely exhausted at the end of the day. It is a superb exhaustion.

I have one costume in hand, another being shipped shortly and two more being made by a theater department student. My PR women are working on flyers and tickets, as well as electronic promotion of the show. You'll notice I'm not revealing much about the content of the show. That is purposeful. Those who do not know me will, I think, be entertained. Even though who know me well, I am certain, will be surprised. Only the people involved in the rehearsals will know the content.

I will continue blogging as often as I can with updates about the show, even though my days are about ten hours of work now. I hope you can attend. Westerville Central seats 750 and my PR pros tell me they will fill the seats. I would love nothing more. This is a bucket list checker-offer. See you there.

Life vs. Jeff on Pay-per-view

I am on a seven-year losing streak. Most people think I am being facetious when I say that. I am not. Our lives, at least my life-- because I shouldn't be presumptuous enough to speak for everybody-- is divided into small victories and small defeats, and large triumphs and catastrophes. We live for the large triumphs and hope to avoid the catastrophes. The micro versions get us through day to day. If we had no small victories, there would be little reason to get out of bed.

So we survive on little things that make us smile, but we live for the major triumphs. We live for the champagne-popping, let's celebrate, shouting and jumping-up-and-down moments. I haven't had one in seven years. Meanwhile, I have had a series of catastrophes that amounts to an incredible losing streak. Saturday, I opened an email from my colleagues, explaining that their committee has decided not to fund a project I have been sweating over for the past year. It's apropos that my hometown has the dubious distinction of being the losing-est major sports city in the country. I can relate.

Now, do not mistake me. I am not setting you up to feel sorry for me, nor am I feeling sorry for myself. I am telling you this because I have become a mental and emotional Hercules. There is a scene in Cool Hand Luke where George Kennedy is beating the snot out of Paul Newman in an informal prison boxing match, and "Luke" refuses to stay down. That scene is an allegory for my life right now. Life is beating the snot out of me, and I am laughing at it. All because I am lying in wait for the next major triumph, and I believe it is going to be huge.

How do I know this? I don't. I only know the facts, and the facts are that I have three goals for 2012, and I have never worked harder to achieve them. Never! I am only sorry that I cannot share these goals. It is not because I am superstitious, but because I want to pop the champagne, celebrate and jump up and down screaming and shouting if I achieve any one of these, and I will share it with everyone.

I am not a religious man, so I don't quite understand those who say, "God has a plan for me, so I will put my life in his hands." If there is a god, I would hope it would be the type of god that lets me take the wheel and determine my own destiny. And empirically you simply must believe in free will, because we see examples every day of how people are not rewarded for their hard work, and others far less deserving are handed the prize. The religious answer to that is that the reward comes in the next life, but I am living like there is no tomorrow and no next life. By the way, if the alternative method works for you, fantastic. Who am I to stop you from putting your faith in something bigger than yourself?

The inequity of life does not deter me. I am fighting back with a Paul Newman-like vengeance. I just finished watching a movie called How Do You Know? for about the fifth time. I also love the fact that virtually nobody cares about some of the movies I like. In this movie, George gives Maddy, who is seeing a rich ballplayer, a can of Play-Doh for her birthday. He is being indicted for something he didn't do, his father is the reason, he has no money and his girlfriend broke up with him. He doesn't care. He shares the Play-Doh with Maddy and tells her it was invented by Joe McVicker of central Ohio. He invented it to remove soot from wallpaper, but when central heat replaces coal furnaces he is about to be destitute. His sister-in-law tells him how much her kids enjoy playing with the stuff and he should color it and sell it as Play-Doh. George delivers the denouement, which is "I have kept this as proof, that we are all just one small adjustment away from making our lives work."

That's good writing and it identifies my struggle. I am just one small adjustment from making my life work. Those words, which I have adopted as a mantra, give me a wry smile. I know something that Life doesn't know. I may lose the struggle and fail on all three of my goals. I will be devastated. There's no avoiding that. But I will come back for another round and Life will look at me perplexed, as if to say, "I have beaten you to a pulp. Stay down."

Up yours, Life. I'm here for the duration.

Tribute to Jarry

I met my father-in-law almost 25 years ago. We had little in common. I loved sports. He wanted little to do with sports. He would tell you his father force-fed him sports because he was big and tall, but Jarry was interested in the cerebral side of life. He taught English and literature most of his adult life. If there were a Readers Anonymous for those with an addiction, he would have been a charter member.

So what would I talk to him about? This new father-in-law of mine. I was nervous. It didn't take long to figure out he was one of the most brilliant men I had ever met. If I did broach a topic, he had a comment, a reference, an insight or even a citation. It was all from memory. I never saw him look up anything. What's more, he would even ask me about sports. He was genuinely interested and knew it was one of my areas of expertise--that, and mass communication.

Surprisingly enough, it didn't take that long to find common ground. Even though I didn't read much fiction, I picked his brain about the civil war, politics, religion and sometimes just the "good old days." I went from that awkward stage of, "Oh, god, don't leave me alone in the same room with him," to "Where's Jarry? I have something I want to share with him."

Of course, I really didn't have to ask "Where's Jarry?" aloud. He was always in the same spot--his recliner, which later became his raised recliner, which later became his fully-automated, turbo-charged, jet-fueled recliner. This all happened as he became less and less mobile. His rebuilt legs couldn't take the strain of his large frame as he got older. It was hard for him to stand without help.

Yet he was still a giant to me. Through all the trauma and pounding his body took, his mind remained unaffected. There was never any chance of Alzheimer's here. I would marvel as I brought up a historical name I was sure he wouldn't recognize, and he would respond with a quote about the person, where he read it and probably what page it was on.

He always spoke slowly and deliberately, but not because he couldn't remember. He was crafting his thought, and although you were tempted to urge him on because sometimes there were long pauses, you knew whatever he said was going to be worth the wait, and you were likely to learn from him. He would have made an amazing Jeopardy contestant, except for the fact that Alex would have lost patience with the time he took to answer, and he probably would have given him too much information.

Now I realize I'm no mental slouch, but I always felt dwarfed by his intellect. As I left the world of my tunnel-visioned knowledge of sports and branched out into other milieus, we were able to share a wealth of information, but I could always count on him to enrich me further than I enriched him.

I know it's cliche to say he has given so much to those around him and those who loved him, but it's nonetheless apropos in this case. You can measure the things he taught. Had I been one of his students in the early days, he might have inspired me to change my major and open myself to new worlds and a new appreciation of epistemology.

And he gave me one thing more. He and his lovely bride produced the love of my life. For that alone, I will be forever in his debt.

A special blog for a high school classmate

Everybody sends flowers, and while they are nice, all you get is a little card to wrap up everything you feel. It's never enough, and neither is this, but it's personal, and it's all I know. This is the old-fashioned kind of verse that rhymes. Forgive me. I'm writing this at four in the morning. I sure hope it makes sense tomorrow.

My Friend Len

It was a long time ago in '72.
You hardly knew me and I barely knew you.
We were two different people from a different walk,
So we would pass in the halls but we'd never talk.
And I never got to know your darling Mary.
In fact all I knew of you was that you were quite hairy. (You may laugh here)
But I remember as I watched you walk off that stage
That somehow inside I knew of your rage.
'Twas injustice you must have felt on that day
The same injustice that takes our loved ones away.
We don't understand why life is so cruel
How we could be robbed of a precious jewel.
We're hurt and confused and feeling quite lost
For we have just paid the ultimate cost.
I've shared the pain that I'm sure you must feel,
A time ago I was handed the same deal.
Like yours my love lived too short a life
My lover, my friend, my soulmate, my wife.
And when I thought I had experienced pain like no other,
Three tiny months later, I said goodbye to my brother.
I don't tell you this to make you more sad
But to offer a hand for the sorrows we've had.
And to tell you that one day your life starts anew
And once again, you must learn what it means to be you.
The dawn will break through to reveal a new day
And you'll think that the sun will not give you a ray.
Just search through the clouds that you see up above,
And remind yourself that you know what it's like to be loved.
I didn't know what kind of love Mary had to give
But I do know that she would want you to live.
Live life as though you had never a care
Knowing your true love will always be there.
The story of Len, Part Two will be told
By meeting new friends or perhaps friends of old.
It may be the best way to honor her wishes
And make up for the times you didn't do dishes. (Feel free to laugh again)
Walk a new pathway, knowing time and again
That I will walk with you, with my old-new friend Len.

My Aha Moment

I realize now that I took the wrong approach when I began the endeavor of blogging. I wanted to discipline myself to blog every day at first, and then every other day when I became aware that the well of material would soon run dry. Discipline is fine, but that was outside the goal I wanted to achieve. The goal was to share my thoughts, experiences and, at the risk of conceit, my wisdom on occasion.

The epiphany struck me this evening. One should blog when one has something about which to blog. Inspiration is the lifeblood of every writer. Writer's block is nothing more than the mind telling the flesh that now is not the time. The inspiration will guide you.

Tonight, I watched The Miracle Worker with my daughter. I have never been more content in my life. If you wonder how Barbie dolls, Play-Doh, Legos and Monopoly have stood the test of time, it's because we want so desperately to share those experiences with our offspring. We recapture those childhood feelings symbiotically and empathetically through our children.

At the respective ages of 17 and 56, my daughter and I hardly have much in common. We don't watch the same shows, read the same books or even entertain ourselves in the same ways. She has no more interest in playing Bookworm than I do in watching Pretty Little Liars.

However, tonight we shared, and it opened my eyes. We have more in common than I think, and it's because we share the same values--the important things in life. We both love the movie Remember the Titans, and we watch it whenever we get the chance, because it promotes our values of equality and acceptance, regardless of race, creed or color. We shared the experience of The Miracle Worker tonight because of our desire to see that those who are afflicted with mental or physical disorders be given the same opportunities we have had.

These aren't values based on a religious, philosophical or political ideology. These are basic human values that we should all share if we expect to survive together. I sat on the easy chair while she lay on the couch, comforted by the fact that for whatever reason she has inherited those values. That supercedes all the physical attributes, good or bad, that she may have inherited. I have peace knowing that I am sending into the adult world a human being who will make the planet better, even if in a small way.

Long after I'm gone, no one will remember me like they remember William Shakespeare, Susan B. Anthony, Albert Einstein or Marie Curie. My legacy will not contain fame or fortune, but to me something more valuable. My legacy will be that I have carried the best of my values that my parents instilled in me, and their parents before them, and will assure that they pass to at least one more generation.

"Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed, citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has."  --Margaret Mead