I Hate My Boss and Here's Why...

I've worked for "Jerry" for nearly a year now, and it's always been a strained relationship. He's a Northwestern/Kellogg grad, and he reaks of that pseudo-entitlement that permeates that organization and seems to infect everyone who attends it. In his soul he knows he's superior to nearly everyone he meets. Truth to tell, he's very smart, and probably very good at his job. Still, the fact that I sit four feet in front of him without even so much as a cloth partition between us is clearly galling to him.

Every now and then "Jerry" will decide that he needs to make an effort to be sociable with me. It's painful for both of us. Still, he's my boss and I guess I appreciate the effort. The other day, however, he told me a story that I think completely typifies who he is.

Several weeks ago, we had a death within the company. Our company is made up of primarily people who've known or worked together in previous companies. The death of this person, while not unexpected, was still a shock. He was very well respected and had many friends and business contacts. "Jerry" mentioned that "Linus" knew that our employee had died, and had not said anything to "Jerry."

"Jerry" wanted to touch base with "Linus," who explained had never really gotten along with "Jerry." "Linus" wasn't one to send gushing e-mail messages, and had actively campaigned against "Jerry" being hired by our company. Naturally, "Jerry" didn't appreciate this. Still, "Linus" is a figure of influence and "Jerry" wants/has to maintain a superficially cordial relationship.

"Jerry" told me that he was particularly annoyed by people who signed their e-mail messages with "Warmest Regards." The qualifier just annoyed him and came across as insincere. He told me that when he wanted to slyly tell someone he held that person in contempt, he'd sign his e-mail messages with "Warmest Regards." As he was telling me this story, he was laughing his ass off.

As he's telling me this story, all I could think was that this was the proof from the horse's mouth that my boss is a passive-agressive asshole.

All I could do was smile.

Redux

Last night I had a nightmare. That's an event, because I never have nightmares. I never dream of monsters coming from the bed or people dying or anything like that. All of my dreams are pleasant, or at the very worst boring.

But last night I dreamed I went back and relived my sophomore year in college. That's the year of my first real regret. But in the dream everyone knew that I was reliving that year and kept coming to me to find out what happened next, and all of the information I gave them was dull stuff. Like: "...and then we had lunch over there..." sort of crap that. All the stuff that people are barely interested in the first time around, let alone reliving.

Still, even after I woke up this morning I was still in the dream. I was plotting on how I would do things differently, what I would say at key moments. So much of what happened in the following five years, if not the rest of my life, stem from a handful of significant moments from that year. I'd recount the details here, but they're not important. They're gone if not forgotten.

It's interesting how something that happened more than twenty years ago can seem more important than anything that happened yesterday.

So, I've decided that for today I'm going to act as if I'd played those key moments differently. I'm going to rewrite history. The moments I'm talking about aren't significant to anyone but me, and the other people involved are no longer part of my life, so I'm just going to pretend they didn't happen the way they actually happened and see how my life would be different.

Israel

I have friends in Israel. They're not close, but they are people I can drop a line to, whom I see on a fairly regular basis.

And now they're within a hundred miles of a war that has the potential of becoming the catalyst for a world war.

One of my friends recently relocated his family to Israel. He's an Israeli national and his child needs some very specialized medical care. Because his parents and his in laws are there, and because the medical care is subsidized, he made the decision to move his family there this past summer. He makes frequent visits to Chicago and the last time he was here I asked if he felt safe. He told me that for the most part he felt as safe as he did in Chicago but that all Israelis have grown accustomed to the possibility of an outbreak of war at any minute.

Now that there is an actual war that appears to be escalating, it's personal in a way that war has never been before. People I know could be seriously hurt and even killed in horrific ways.

I'm ashamed. To have reached such a late stage in my life and been relatively untouched by the realities of the world is an embarrassment. The inconveniences and indignities that I've suffered in my life are nothing by comparison. My sister had a pre-marital pregnancy. My father died unexpectedly of a heart attack. I've had a couple of bouts of unemployment. I really, really wanted to be cast in the touring production of Beauty and the Beast...and didn't get the job.

And these are the MAJOR disappointments/dramas of my life. They are in no way the things that I obsess over and work myself into a frantic lather over on a daily basis, like how can I lose twenty pounds and stop my hair from going gray?

As an American, living in a major city, I am completely insulated from the realities of the world. I'm completely pampered beyond anything that anyone else in the history of the world has ever been and not only do I take my privilege for granted, I'm almost willfully unaware of things that happened in more than a five-mile radius from my home.

Shameful.

I'm angry. I'm angry at people who have to resort to violence. I'm angry at people who are willing to use other people's lives to achieve...anything. I'm angry that there seems to be so little gratitude for the life of ease that even the poorest American has compared to those families who are having their homes destroyed by bombs delivered from miles away. I'm angry because I don't what I can do about it.

Rick Warren and Flying Shoes

I don't care what anyone says, George Bush deserves to have shoes thrown at him. I don't want him hit. I don't want him injured, but public humiliation in the eyes of the world is the absolute least he should suffer.

I've been surprised by the outrage of some of my liberal friends. "He's the President of the United States! The office deserves more respect!" "As an American, I take that assault personally!"

I agree that the office of the President of the United States deserves respect, and the first person to display that respect should be the person holding that office. To say that every day, in every way, George W. Bush fails demonstrate that he's fit to even be in the same room with the President of United States, let alone BE the President of the United States is obvious. And his presidential portrait just proves the point again.

It's the wrapper of the packaging of George W. Bush as "one of the people." It gives no hint of the troubled times over which he "presided," nor does it do anything other than capture his likeness. There's no metaphor, no depth, nothing but an image; not unlike the Bush II presidency.

However, what I find offensive is that Mr. Bush couldn't bother to be painted wearing a suit. This is not a class portrait. This is an historical document. I can almost guarantee you that Barak Obama will be painted wearing a suit, and probably every other president in this century. And in the great hall of presidential portraits, there will be W., looking every bit as inappropriate for the office that he's defaced for the past eight years.

Sometimes I just don't understand liberal outrage. Take Rick Warren and the inaugural invocation. Yes, Rick Warren is a political opportunist pandering to the basest fears of his dim followers. And clearly this is a political move for Barak Obama, an unequivocal demonstration of his promise to reach across differences and include everyone in his administration. After the past eight years of the most exclusive of the old boys' network pillaging the planet in every way imaginable, Barak Obama's selection is startling.

But I think what liberals are missing is that in five years, when Obama signs the amendment to the Constitution guaranteeing equal rights to ALL Americans -- a redundant amendment, but one that is sadly necessary -- he will be able to say to the nostril-flaring Bible beaters, "What's your damage? My presidency was blessed by one of you. What more do you want?"

Of course, if and when that day happens, it's quite likely that Obama will be dodging more than a few wayward shoes.

You've Got Mail

I love romantic comedies. In fact I love any art form that adheres to a rigid formula and still achieves success, and You've Got Mail is as successful as any other filmed romantic comedy.

In the movie Meg Ryan decides to close her charming little book shop because it's business has been crushed by Tom Hanks's corporate monster. There is a scene where Meg goes to tell her surrogate mother figure, played by Jean Stapleton that she's decided to close the shop.

"Closing the shop is the brave thing to do."

"Why?" Meg asks impishly. (Meg is perennially impish in these films.)

"Because it means you're daring to imagine life in a different way."

Or some thing to that effect.

Anyway, my point is that there are a handful of films that contain lines that when they're spoken echo inside me because of their truth. This is one of them. I have to admit that I do admire the sentiment, and much of my life has been lived in such as way as to reimagine it.

But as I grow older, there comes a point where rebuilding my life becomes almost tedious. On the one hand I look at people I know who trudge through the same job day after day and marvel at how they survive the montony. But on the other hand I also envy the stability and comfort that day-in, day-out routine has built.

I don't have that today, but I think I might like to have it for tomorrow. For me, stability would be daring.

Proposition 8

See more Jack Black videos at Funny or Die

The Straw

Over the years I've had people tell me that I'm a little abrupt at times, that I can choose my words a little more carefully, that I can take people's feelings into consideration before speaking.

Hard to believe, I know.

Well, three weeks ago I was sat down and spoken to about my attitude at work. I told my boss that the reality is I'm attached to nothing. My contribution is to clean the kitchen, and while I know someone has to do it I don't necessarily appreciate being treated like the maid. As an experiment, I decided to not speak until spoken to. I was silent for two days. I'm not kidding.

Still, I managed to put on a little show and I've gotten a nice, shiny, gold star for my improved attitude.

And then today I was sat down again.

I've been put in charge of sending out the holiday gifts and cards to the clients and prospective clients. When I was given this assignment, I was told that they were to go out on December 1. As of this morning nothing has been done. So, in an effort to jump start this project I sent out the following e-mail to everyone in the office:

"If anyone has any extra newspapers, I need them for packing materials for the holiday gifts, so if you could bring them in I'd appreciate it.

Also, I need your holiday cards by Friday."

It's that last line that set my boss's hair on fire. How could I tell anyone that I NEEDED anything? And to include the CEO on the mailing list? We're in an office of eight. The entire company is twenty employees. I sit less than five feet away from the CEO.

Yet, my e-mail was too demanding.

I'm looking for a new job.

Happy Holidays

The Obama Family Holiday Greeting

The Face of Evil and the Power of Forgiveness

Try as I might, there are just certain things I cannot understand. Joe Lieberman is one of them. He's like math or Mandarin Chinese to me. Conceptually I understand that he IS, but to be able to organically relate to the concept of math, Mandarin Chinese, or Joe Lieberman is beyond me. But in my limited world and with my limited intellectual capacity, Joe Lieberman comes closest to anything I can think of to pure evil.

And yes, without naming names I'm fully aware that others would consider some contemporary and historic figures to be higher on that list of pure evil. I respectfully disagree and here's why.

As horrid, hateful, and virtually unimaginable as the other potential toppers of the evil list might be, they each stood for something larger than themselves. No doubt they were motivated by very personal needs, but they found a way to satisfy those needs in service of something larger than themselves. And yes, hundreds, thousands, millions died while these ego maniacs served their larger goals. Indefensible.

Yet, how many died because of Joe Lieberman? Looking back at the last ten years of Joe Lieberman's career can anyone identify a single consistent cause larger than his own interests? Not his constituency, his political party, his country, nor his religion have held a higher priority to Joe Lieberman than Joe Lieberman. The expense of his priorities to the United States of America are incalculable.

And in my limited little world, that is the absolute depth of evil.

Of course I've met people who fall outside my paradigm of the world, whose actions and motives are breathlessly incomprehensible to me. It is to my complete shame that each and every time I encounter one of these people I am taken absolutely by surprise. I wish I was smarter. As an antidote I tend to be overly cautious in my dealings with people, keeping them at a manageable distance until I can ascribe a trust level to them. That has been my coping mechanism.

It is no secret how much I have come to admire Barak Obama, or at least the image of Barak Obama that is being built and prepped for the history books. I think that Mr. Obama is the right person at the right time to begin the horrific task of revitalizing America. But I'm finding personal inspiration in Mr. Obama's campaign and transition in to power.

I would have banished Joe Lieberman to some rock in the middle of the Atlantic. Obama, however is showing the way to deal with Lieberman and his ilk. Not only does Obama demonstrate his larger character by "forgiving" Lieberman, not only does create a political debt that Lieberman will never be able to fully repay, not only does Obama now have a political lap dog in a very powerful position, but Obama has also given Lieberman the opportunity to either redeem himself or to finish himself and his political legacy all on his own.

Had Obama banished Lieberman, then Obama would be the villain in the Lieberman. Now, there is no one to hold that mantle but Joe Lieberman.

Maybe Obama's approach isn't that different than mine.

Truth

There was a point in my life -- somewhere around age twenty-two or twenty-three -- when I knew everything. My knowledge was complete and my faith in my comprehensive knowledge was unshakable. I was never, ever wrong.

Then my father died and for the first time in my life I began to realize that there is nothing in life that is absolute. From that moment onward, my life has been an endless struggle to find something that is a certainty. That struggle becomes less and less vigorous as the years go by and I become comfortable with the fact that there are no absolutes, that nothing is constant but change, and that I in fact know absolutely nothing and never have.

One of the concepts that I began to wrestle with while I worked on my master's degree is the idea of objective truth. Does such a concept exist, especially in an arena such as human interaction. Trials are predicated upon the belief that truth can be determined through rhetorical skill, that two opposing sides can present arguments to an objective jury who will then weigh that evidence and determine the truth.

And for me, right now, the closest I can come to an absolute truth is: "...there is nothing good or bad but thinking makes it so." (Hamlet: Act II, scene ii)

It's funny how I am haunted by Hamlet. Back in my days of absolute certainty, Hamlet was the pinnacle of success for me. I'd have died to be cast in that role and auditioned for the play every chance I got. My first brush with it was as a freshman in college when I played a collection of the smaller roles, and then again the next year when the production was remounted and I played an expanded collection of the supporting roles. It was my first brush with complex language. I was cast as Bernardo, who is one of the courtiers who first sees the ghost of Hamlet's father. He tells Hamlet of the sighting, and the speech begins, "Last night of all, when yond same star..."

The director of that production scared the living daylights out of me in rehearsal by telling everyone, "That speech is the audience's first exposure to heightened language." Then he turned to me and said, "Don't fuck it up." I was terrified by that speech and I struggled to learn it. It was such an issue for me that my roommate told me I recited the speech in my sleep -- with a southern accent. I'm not sure I ever successfully introduced the audience to the heightened language of Hamlet, but I do know that when I stepped on the stage and delivered that speech, I knew I could.

As I begin to lose interest in the concept of truth, I become more interested in the idea of possibility. There is no life in truth. Life lives in possibility.

Life is bringing possibility to truth.

Good god, can you imagine how pompous and pedantic I would be if I drank?

Everything Old is New Again.

My parents divorced when I was very young. After the divorce, my father moved into his mother's home, and on weekends my sister and I would go to their home.

My father painted signs. In our hometown, if you needed a sign painted, you went to my father. He was a master at free-hand lettering and his work was beautiful. In the summer, he'd do his signs in the garage, but in the winter he'd have to go to the basement. If he had a particularly tight deadline, he could get a little testy. Any movement in the house would make him crazy, and I remember that many times he would come raging from the basement demanding that my sister and I stop whatever we were doing that was so noisy.

The stress and panic was overwhelming. At our mother's home, we lived in apartments and we were told that we would have to be quiet so we wouldn't disturb the neighbors, or we'd be thrown out into the street.

More stress and panic.

Of course, the ultimate was when we visited our other grandmother and her husband, when we were basically only permitted to sit in the chair and stare at the wall.

I now work in an office that is essentially one big room, and sit across from my two bosses, both of whom are very focused.

And every day, I go back into work and feel like I'm six years old again.

As If

The historical significance of Barack Obama's election is not lost on me. The first African-American president is something I was sure I'd never see in my life time. Only historians will be able to say that this moment was a watershed moment in American history, if in fact more than a new leaf was turned, but an entire new volume begun.

And for the past few days, national figures have been congratulating themselves and Americans for taking this historic step. "See, we're not racist!" Yet this morning Maureen Dowd writes an entire column about nearly every white person she knows quizzing every black person they meet on how they 'feel' about Obama's election.

As if the color of his skin was in any way a qualification for the job.

The fact that Barack Obama was elected as president says more about the American public than it does about Obama himself. And as a nation we deserve a moment to reflect upon this moment. But let us not forget that this event pales in comparison to the issues that loom for Barack Obama.

Let us also not forget that an incredibly qualified candidate had to run a near-perfect campaign against an old-school campaign and candidate of the incumbent party only to win the popular vote by six points. And nearly a week after his election the only thing we can discuss is the color of his skin. The celebrations should not be held until we can confidently say that Obama was elected because he was the best candidate and not simply because there wasn't an even comparable white candidate. If a mirror-image white candidate of Obama had run on the Republican side, is there really any doubt as to which candidate would have won? If the Republicans had been able to produce a candidate who ran an intellectually, fact-based campaign instead of one based on fear and emotion, where would the Democrat Obama be now?

The excitement this country should be feeling is about the renewed hope, about the one-hundred and eighty degree turn that we made in one day. The excitement should be about the fact that we are literally standing on the edge of extinction and for the first time we have someone going into the White House who has convinced the American public that he can come up with a plan to back us away from the abyss, and he has about twenty minutes to do it.

For the better part of a year I read Martin Luther King, Jr. speeches and Malcolm X speeches. I am not in any way an authority on the American Black Experience. I can only imagine what they would be thinking and feeling at this moment. Still, once the euphoria and self congratulations die down, someone has got to stand up and say that Obama is now first, and foremost the President of the United States, and all other roles and titles will take a back seat to that. And he needs to be evaluated and held accountable on that basis. I'm sure that MKL, Malcolm X, and Mr. Obama himself would insist upon no other criteria.

Sherry Shepherd

To think that Sherry Shepherd could be more eloquent than anyone else I've heard on the subject. And even she only gives a glimmer of the emotion.

Martin Luther King and Others

Yesterday would not have been possible without the legend of Martin Luther King. There were many, many African-American men and women who but cracks in that particular glass ceiling that Obama shattered.

Yesterday's election was a monumental moment in American history -- far too large for a concise little blog post. It was an event that may transcend words. I couldn't find it, but if you can find a still shot of Jesse Jackson's face during Obama's victory speech, it said everything. The man stood in Grant Park and bawled like a little boy.

It was an emotional night. I knew it was over when they called Ohio for Obama. As is our tradition, I was on the phone with my mother as the results came in. She literally started to cry.

I could not be prouder that it is my generation that has produced Obama.

As I watched Michelle Obama join her husband after the speech, I found myself praying. He has a monumental job in front of him. I did not get a sense of joy or victory. Rather I saw two people who were ready to get to work. Who had accepted the enormity of the task they had just been saddled with. And I was grateful that I had such confidence in my president. That is a forgotten feeling.

And I have to admit that I was scared. I was very aware that Obama was on that stage behind bullet-proof panels. I believe that there will be very unfriendly forces working against him and I have no doubt that there are people who would wish him dead.

When I woke up this morning, I truly had a sense that a new day had dawned. I had the hope that Obama promised.

Saturday Safari

The Attack Continues

Let me preface all of this by saying that the attacks of September 11, 2001 were horrific. Being televised, live, across the globe they will reverberate through history in a way that no other act of war ever could. And the subject itself is large for a blog post. The reasons for it, the full repercussions will not be known for generations.

But even before the first tower fell, the poetry of the attacks was clear. Those planes, while they hit the World Trade Center were really aimed at the world economy. It's tempting -- almost narcissistic -- to think that Al-Quaida had the sole objective of destroying the economy of the United States. Even someone who has only the most basic understanding of the economy knows that you cannot pull the American economy down without the entire economic world following it. The attack on the twin towers was a brilliant attack in that in a single blow it started a chain of events, it planted the seeds that are beginning to bear fruit.

It's now clear that to anyone who was paying attention exactly how George W. Bush would react to the attack, even if the specifics could not be clear. Blind rage is of course the natural response, but it takes someone with emotional maturity to resist the temptation of a knee-jerk reaction, not be ruled by that natural response. George W. Bush = emotional maturity? Not. A man known for his braggadocio, his studied, manufactured swagger and his renowned lack of intellectual curiosity is easily manipulated. And an American public that is encouraged to revere and emulate such qualities, who want a president they'd want at a backyard barbecue and not one who might actually be smarter then the average bear, quite frankly get what they deserve.

I'm angry. Much like the George Bush ignoring memos brought to him saying that Bin Laden intended an attack, Americans ignored the warning signs in the economy. As a nation we fail to connect the dots, we fail to realize that a fascination with blond starlets and allowing that fascination to dominate the media obscures and clouds the focus of real issues. We fail to realize that real issues will not be ignored. The result of of us watching I Love New York instead of reading a newspaper is that millions of people are losing their jobs, homes, dreams, and lives. An entire generation, if not more, will be saddled not only with the economic but the social responsibility of rebuilding Western culture. It will be done, but in many ways we are looking at an economic, social, and political dark age.

I, however, do not believe this dark age will last for generations. Two years tops. First, I have great faith in Barak Obama. With every passing day I believe a great man has arisen from the American populace and is equal to the challenge facing us as a nation. Much in the way that Roosevelt rebuilt the country from the Depression and guided us through World War II, I believe Obama will lead us through this. I know that how that reads. I realize that Obama is not perfect. I understand that my belief is based on a carefully crafted image, but to be honest what choice do we have?

I also believe that modern technology, which has contributed to our current difficulty, will also contribute to our salvation. Action can be taken in much swifter measures and results will be seen in hours and days where it might have taken weeks and years eighty years ago.

Yes, these are ugly times, but I truly believe that our best days are ahead of us and that it takes a crisis to stiffen our resolve, to wake us up and focus us on a common goal. It is by rebuilding Western culture that the lives lost on September 11 will be redeemed. It is for the new America, the new Western culture that their lives were sacrificed and I believe that Barak Obama will be the man to make good on that sacrifice.

Friday Nights

My parents divorced when I was five years old. According to court order my father had custody on Wednesday nights and weekends. That meant he picked up after work and we went home with him, to a small town in Iowa where he moved in with his mother after the divorce.

Although my father and I weren't close -- and at times there were points when we actively hated each other, I loved those weekends. I felt like my life began the minute we got in the car.

My father worked for a printing company as a graphic artist. It wasn't a glamorous, sunny-office kind of job. He made huge stickers that went on the sides of trucks and trains. He always smelled of chemicals. Hygiene wasn't something my father was noted for, and after Grandma died and there was no one to get after him he frequently slept in his clothes and went to work, not changing or bathing for a week at a time. He smoked. There was a smell, but it wasn't what you'd expect. I can almost smell it now. It was musty, but it was comforting.

I remember the autumn Fridays the most. It would be dark by the time we got home and Grandma would have supper waiting so that we could eat quickly and then go to the high-school football game. It would be cold and instead of buying a ticket my father would stand outside the fence until half time, when he could get in for free. My sister and I would run around and jump on the mats that were used for the pole vaulters. We never watched the games. Sometimes we'd lose track of one another, but we always met up at home.

If it rained, there was the sun porch with the tin roof. We'd stop at the grocery store and Dad would buy us some trinkets to play with, or some new colors and coloring book. I loved the sound of the rain against roof and the smell of coffee coming from the kitchen where my father and Grandmother would be talking. On rare occasions my mother would come for a visit. Those were the warmest feeling nights. It felt like my home was complete.

Those days are far, far away and yet when it rains on a Friday night, like it is right now, I can feel that kitchen cinnamon warmth and hear my mom and grandma discussing the price of corn. When I think of heaven, that's what it will be like, an eternal Friday night on Grandma's sun porch.

Overwhelmed

I think the tragedy of this entire presidential campaign is the sacrifice of Sarah Palin. She allowed herself to reach for the brass ring before she was ready. She is an under-rehearsed understudy in a production where the director thought that it would be all right if she went into a performance carrying a script. A really experienced star could get away with that, an unknown cannot. As a result of going on for a star on opening night in a costume that doesn't quite fit and fumbling for lines, Sarah Palin has probably destroyed her career.

Don't get me wrong. There's probably not a chance that I would have agreed with a single syllable that ever came out of her mouth. And as time goes by, I think it's becoming pretty clear that she's about as corrupt as any politician in either party. But I get a sense that under all of that, there is a) a smart woman, and b) someone who might have gone into politics for the right reasons.

I don't know which is the greater disappointment: that Palin made the decision to be part of the last line of the Republican party as it turns the page, or that the page is being turned before Palin was fully developed and become the first line on the new page.

Say what you want, it cannot be denied that Palin has been a breath of fresh air in the stale, smokey, back-boy's room in the house that Rove built. The problem is that the Republican party needs a hurricane to knock that house down. I want them to get it together. The nation needs them to get it together. I don't like the feeling that there wasn't an intellectual debate of the issues in my life time. This campaign (and frankly every campaign I've where I've been eligible to vote) has been lopsided. Obama has provided a good, strong clearing wind (if not a hurricane) to the Democratic party, while Palin has been a breath of fresh air. This country needs to opposing forces to whip into a cyclone and shake things up. In the absence of a controlled political approach to correcting things, the market is collapsing and we're going to clean things out through economic ruin. Again.

I have no illusions about Barak Obama. I know he's a politician. I know he's not perfect and I fully expect to be disappointed by him in the future. But I think that had she been brought to the national stage with a couple years of preparation, the same years of study and prep that Obama has had running for president, I think Palin could have been a formidable adversary to Obama, a no-nonsense, common sense, grass roots approach to his over-intellectual, ivy-league philosophies and approaches. Oh, I'd have still voted for Barak Obama, but I think we'd have gotten a legitimate debate of ideas and issues instead of a flailing ad campaign. What a luxury it must be to go into an election booth and really have to decide between two intelligent, competing philosophies instead of wrestling with intellectual issues that have been defined in emotional terms, to know that whichever way the election is decided there will be someone competent, if not exactly inspired in charge.

For all of her alleged charm, what Palin has is an intellectual approach to her campaigns. You can see it in the delivery of her lines. Like an actress who is calculating every move an inflection for effect, Palin's speeches are studied, they're calculated. Sure, she's shoveling the emotionally based message the campaign is feeding her, but unlike McCain it's clear she's trying to understand the concepts behind the message. It's clear that with more preparation and experience, with room to make a mistake or two or fail, she could have led a Republican campaign instead of taking marching orders like McCain is doing.

If only she'd waited one more campaign cycle.

Trees

It's weird, I know, but I've always had a thing for trees. There was a huge oak outside my grandmother's house with two large knots on the trunk. We called it the Butt Tree. When I was a kid, my favorite book was My Side of the Mountain, which was about a boy who ran away and hallowed out a tree and lived off the land for a year.

There were points in my life when I lived in neighborhoods that felt naked for the lack of trees, and all of that barren, open space just felt oppressive. I'm at the point now where I simply refuse to live in a neighborhood that lacks trees.

This autumn is especially nice for me, for several reasons. This is the first autumn in probably a decade when I've not either had to deal with a stressful job, or worry about being unemployed. And, this year I'm working out in a lovely suburb, with almost a mile between my train stop and my office. The foliage this year is not to be believed. Simply not to be believed. In years past, I've been disappointed when all of the leaves just turned yellow. I missed the reds and oranges. This year I'm seeing a rainbow of reds, with some as deep as purple and others that bleed as if tie-dyed with yellow. Today I discovered a tree with maroon leaves, and it was if all of the leaves had died but were still attached to the branches. They hung there like a semi-precious stone chandelier.

Most people tend to think of autumn as the beginning of the end, or perhaps a coda to the main event of the year, summer. But for me, this year, everything else has led up to these weeks and the colorful trees are the climax, a symphonic crescendo of color. I'm doing everything I can to enjoy every second of it.

Sunday Safari