Author: Dave

Just Breathe

Dave

Not Veronica, but Betty.
Mary Ann not Ginger.

I was not fooled by the different last name, the changed hair style, or even the fuzziness of the Facebook picture. I recognized her immediately. And I smiled.

She hadn’t been beautiful or glamorous. She was pretty. She was cute. She was smart and she was ditzy. It was a combination that I have always found irresistible. But she was totally inaccessible. It would be years before I would date a non-Jewish girl and I knew nothing of conversions. So we became friends. I didn’t have an agenda or ulterior motives. I was completely safe. I listened to her and I could make her laugh.

There were days that I lived for that laugh.

And now, thirty plus years later, we were having lunch. Still incredibly cute, still smart, and somehow even ditzier, she was still inaccessible. The smile was unchanged, the laugh still endearing.

Back at my office she tried to recall a song she had heard earlier in the day. “Her name was Anna. Her last name had something to do with a hammer. Nail, nail something.”

I offered to look up Anna N. on Google.

“It was a great song. I couldn’t write it down. I was still on the turnpike. New song. Breathe.”

I had already walked to my desk and begun the search. “Breathe isn’t new, but it is a great song. This should be easy.” I clicked on a link. She leaned over my shoulder to read the lyrics.

I clicked on another link and a pretty young woman stared into the camera, and into us, as she began to sing. The words meant something to me. I’m certain they meant something to my friend. Not every silence is awkward, but this one was. I turned as she retreated to where we had been sitting.

It had been a moment of great intensity and intimacy. But we aren’t destined to share such moments. We weren’t in 1972 or ’73. We aren’t now. I returned to my seat and did what I did best.

I made her laugh.

R.I.P. My Magnavox

Dave

The end came suddenly this past Wednesday. The 27 inch Magnavox that I had mentioned a few months ago, the one that I had walked home over nineteen years ago, went out with a whimper, not a bang. Actually, it was more of a FZZZT. I was listening to the news while reading the Plain Dealer. I heard a brief hissing sound and then nothing. I looked up and saw a blank screen. It was gone. My television had succumbed to old age. It died peacefully. There was no struggle.

There are some people who rush to the breeder or Animal Protection League to adopt a puppy the day after they are forced to put a pet down. I never did that. But I have this beautiful solid cherry entertainment center in my living room and leaving it empty hardly seemed like a good idea. I have other televisions in the bedrooms and my breakfast room. I decided to close the doors of the cabinet and wait an acceptable period of time before replacing the Magnavox. I sat Shiva for two days before I hit the stores.

The Business Vegetarian

Dave

Sandi is a business vegetarian. She knows everything about sizzle, but has never tasted steak.

The woman sitting across from me is a content marketer. She had called about a week ago and I hadn’t, at that moment, the time nor the patience to deal with her. I thought that she represented a Beachwood Chamber of Commerce member. As the immediate past president, I make time for all of our members. I agreed to an appointment and now she is here.

What is a content marketer? Her poorly written email, sent to whet my appetite for our meeting, had been filled with promises of success through buzzwords. Clearly, she wasn’t a writer. Yet, that’s what she is selling.

I knew that I was in trouble as soon as I learned that neither she nor her new employer were chamber members. Worse, for some reason she felt compelled to try to convince me of the virtues of COSE. She wasn’t listening, wasn’t processing what she was hearing, or was simply unable to let go of her preconceived notions. It was at this point that I realized that she could no longer tell the difference between reality and the BS she and her company produced.

Puff pieces. Sandi sells puff pieces. She and a crack team of faux journalists create articles and bogus interviews for one of our area’s many business magazines. You can find these publications in offices and waiting rooms all over town. The subscriptions are forever and the price is popular, free. Flip through the pages and you will see lots of smiling executives and news stories brimming with success and happiness. This is fine as long as you realize that you aren’t reading a real magazine while you are waiting for Doctor Coldhands.

My first experience with fake journalism was about eleven years ago. I had a chance to be in a special advertising section of the Sun Papers. If I bought a big enough ad, the Sun Papers would publish a nice story about me. How nice? It was great. There was a quarter page article extolling my virtues as an agent and member of the community. I wrote it. My mother was very proud.

Does anyone believe this stuff? Would you read or trust any publication with “Smart” or “True” in its name? You wouldn’t, but someone, other than the subjects’ mothers and the magazines’ staffs, must be buying the BS.

Or maybe not.

Does it matter if anyone opens these magazines or really reads the stories? The advertisers get certified audit reports that prove the distribution and educated guesses as to how many people were stuck in those waiting rooms. The news is always positive. The subjects of the articles and interviews are always happy with the product. Marketing executives and public relations specialists have a reliable partner, an outlet eager to spread a particular version of the truth. The only loser is the unsuspecting reader.

As our meeting ended, Sandi gave me her card but expressed doubts that I would remember our conversation. She speculated that I would throw out her card before she got to her car. Wrong again. I’m a steak guy. I will keep her business card. It is a permanent reminder about the dangers of getting caught up in the sizzle.

True To My Word

Dave

Windsor, Ontario
Thanksgiving Weekend
One ex ago

The Asian district looked like the China Town of any major North American city. Restaurant. Restaurant. Grocery store. Restaurant. Gift shop. Restaurant. We randomly selected a place for dinner and hoped for the best.

We were aiming for Chinese, familiar and safe. What we got was a Vietnamese Karaoke bar and restaurant. The owner’s daughter, one of the few women visible and the only person willing to attempt English, seated us at a table and handed us menus. Even if there had been any light, we still would not have been able to decipher our choices. I looked her in the eye and said, “Three courses. No heads. Surprise me”. She repeated my order. I smiled. The ex looked worried.

Ernest young men sang Vietnamese songs of love and loss. Some of their choices had English subtitles. The words and pictures flashed across a large screen that filled almost an entire wall. Dinner, most of it unrecognizable, was delightful. We appeared to be good sports, so they asked me to sing. I told them that I would sing Locomotive Breath from Jethro Tull. They offered Locomotion. I politely declined.

Why Locomotive Breath? Who knows? But for over ten years I have stuck to that offer. If Locomotive Breath would ever be an option, I would perform Karaoke. Needless to say, I have avoided public humiliation for years.

There have been close calls. The Beachwood Chamber of Commerce has sponsored a community pancake breakfast for years. Larry Weissman, the self-anointed Karaoke King, was one of our featured attractions. Knowing that as president I participated in everything, Larry approached me about performing. I promised, at a Board of Directors meeting, to sing. Luckily, he never added the song to his system.

I like Karaoke. Sally and I have been asked to judge competitions. I simply respect my audience too much to inflict my singing on them.

My streak ended Tuesday evening. Dreams Punta Cana has nightly entertainment. Tuesday’s was billed as “Dreams Got Talent”. This sounded like a perfectly harmless guest talent show. We figured that they had rounded up performers during the day much the way this had been organized on the cruise ship. Nope, it was Karaoke.

The first few singers had more moxie than talent. Then Evie took the stage. A polished performer who sang in French, her talents and ego were wasted on a show that had no judges or prizes. She wowed the crowd and chased away some of the more casual participants. The staff worked the audience looking for performers. They asked me if I would sing. I offered to look at the book, secure in the knowledge that my song wouldn’t be there and that I was still safe.

The book was HUGE. I could sense danger. There were over a half dozen Jethro Tull songs. Did I really want to sing Locomotive Breath? What about Cross-eyed Mary? Check and mate.

A day and a half in the sun, a couple of cigars, and G-d knows how many rum runners had already taken their toll on my voice. It was 10 PM and I was drinking coffee. It didn’t matter. If I didn’t do this, if I didn’t get up there on that stage in front of a couple hundred strangers and sing Locomotive Breath, then I had been lying for over ten years. I wrote my selection on the blue paper and handed my choice, and my dignity, to a young woman wearing a Super Girl costume.

There were no judges. There were no awards. I neither finished first nor last. The stage was massive. Tie lighting, intense. All I could see was the monitor in front of me. I grabbed the microphone and apologized to Ian Anderson.

Some of the performers were caught unawares as their songs started abruptly. I smiled as the album version, with its long piano introduction, began to play. I had enough time to gather myself.

The audience didn’t know the song. I was dressed conservatively. As the quiet piano played, they may have thought that I was about to sing another Sinatra-like song of the early 60’s. I thanked them for coming and joked as if I was about to leave the stage. As the intro switched tempo and grew in power, I ordered “louder” to the DJ. I couldn’t sing if I had wanted to. Instead, I growled a sing-song dramatic reading. Caught by surprise, the crowd gasped at the intensity. The MC made a point of thanking me as I returned to my seat after my performance.

What took the most courage this vacation? Was it swimming with nurse sharks and giant sting rays? Hell no. I had done that before. What took the most courage was to keep my word.

Freedom

Dave

Freedom.
When thinking about breakfast, it is important to remember that the chicken is involved, but the pig is committed.

The government in Tunisia has fallen. Hosni Mubarak’s reign of Egypt has abruptly ended. Forty-two years of Colonel Muammar el-Qaddafi’s dictatorial control of Libya may have ended by the time you read this. Bahrain is in play. Other Arab dictators and kingdoms are in jeopardy. Freedom is in the air. The Arabs are demanding honest voting and real representational government.

The last two months have taught us the meaning of commitment. The people in Cairo were committed. They took to the streets, peacefully, and protested for change. Mubarak’s secret police, riding horses and camels(!) and wielding clubs and swords, charged into the crowds. The people stood their ground. The government was toppled.

The people of Bahrain are committed. They may not, however, know the first rule of dictatorships. A couple of days ago, a group of protestors, when approached by the army, took off their shirts, fell to their knees, and dared the military to shoot them. Here’s the rule: Don’t dare a guy with a gun to shoot you! The people of Bahrain are committed. They are willing to risk their lives to be free.

We don’t bother to vote. We don’t bother to even register to vote. We in the U.S. are free enough to not give a damn.

We may not over-achieve in the pursuit and maintenance of our own freedom, but we, the U.S., believes that we are the arbiters of who is free as well as who can or can not handle democracy.

We are thrilled to see Qaddafi overthrown. We exercised our G-d given authority to decide right and wrong and took out Saddam Hussein. But the repressive regime next door to Saddam, headed by the Saudi royal family, is our BAFF (Best Arab Friend Forever).

I am always amazed to hear people speculate as to whether the Arabs or Muslims can handle democracy. Who can? The cradles of democracy are Italy and Greece. Their last two thousand years have had many high and low points. Democracy has always been in the eye of the beholder. Remember, we had to pass the Voting Rights Act of 1965. We had to. A sizeable portion of our current population would not have experienced democracy without it.

Thanks to the Voting Rights Act of 1965, minorities now have the right to ignore Tuesdays in November the way the rest of us do.

We’re involved, but we are not committed.

Coach C.

Dave

 

“Gentlemen, you are not jewelry store managers.  You are businessmen who happen to be in the jewelry business.”

The speaker, Burt K., a tall imposing man who looked like a New York Jew but sounded like a man who had lived in Dallas his entire life, delivered that line as if he really meant it.  He didn’t.  He was a terrible supervisor, possibly the worst I ever had.  But, he was proof that you can learn something of value from anyone.  You just have to pay attention.

A young businessman, a self-employed guy in his early thirties, heard that I mentor several entrepreneurs.  Most of the people I’ve coached have been insurance agents, but I have also worked with other professionals, such as doctors and attorneys, as well as retail establishments and not-for-profit agencies.  What really attracted this guy, a service provider, was my price.  FREE.  I refuse to charge for my advice.  Of course, it may only be worth what they are paying.

Our guy, we’ll call him Rob, asked for my help.  The problem was that I had already been coaching him for three months.  He hadn’t been paying attention.  Since I refused to begin every sentence or every email with the words “Rule One or Remember This”, he had missed everything.

I brought out the 2 x 4 Friday morning.  Below are a few rules I shared with Rob.  Bluntly.  I also let him know that this would all appear in my next blog.  Many of you will find the following self-evident.  Indulge me.  I know that Rob isn’t the only small businessperson that needs to read this.

1.  The customer/client/patient you are with is the most important person in the world.  Believe it and live it.  If you don’t believe it, pretend.  If you can’t pretend, do something else.

Every meeting with a customer is like being in a restaurant while on a first date.  If you are checking out the room instead of focusing completely at the person across the table, you are doomed to failure.  Unless your spouse is about to go into labor or a parent is at death’s door, put away the cell phone.  You don’t need it.  Don’t even put it on vibrate.  It’s a distraction.  Your customer deserves 100% of you.

2.  Ask More Questions.  Most businesspeople fail to ask enough questions.  You may know what you want to sell, but you may have no idea what your customer wants to buy.  Stop.  Throw away that script.  Talk to your clients.  They have made time to meet with you.  Why?  You can’t solve their problems until you know what their problems are.

I recently told a vendor exactly what I wanted.  He didn’t understand and he didn’t ask any questions.  He had no idea how important this was to me and how much I was willing to spend.  He underestimated my needs and wants and lowballed the price.  Total failure.  I didn’t get what I really wanted and he left hundreds of dollars on the table.

3. Communicate.  Some appointments can’t be made.  Some deadlines will be missed.  Blizzards happen.  OK.  Call your customers and let them know.  Don’t force the client to track you down like some escaped convict.  We will understand and forgive errors if you disclose them.  Skip the excuses.  Just tell us what happened and how you will fix it. 

Rob was surprised that the first three rules had nothing to do with his particular business.  They don’t.  These basic rules apply to all businesses, even law firms.  Paying attention, listening, and treating people properly won’t guarantee success.  They are simply the foundation.  I need Rob to master these basics before we can move on to more difficult assignments.

There are lessons to be learned from the most unlikely of sources, if we are paying attention. One of my most important rules came from an unpleasant bully who managed by fear.  Are you paying attention?  We are surrounded by teachers.

Cornered

Dave

 
Occupying more space than ever
Looking out at a vast expanse

I’m cornered.

My error
My doing
No one to blame but me.
Too trusting
Delegated
   When I should have taken control.

What once was two
Is now three
What once was good
Is now
   Not.

I’m cornered.

Partnership was once revered
Now its just passé

I’m cornered.

My future
Now past
No way to reclaim what is gone.
Stopped worrying
Felt safe
   My timing could not have been worse.

What once was two
Is now three
What once was good
Is now
   NOT.

I’m cornered.

I Go, You Go

Dave

New readers of this blog may be shocked to learn that I can be a bit of a jerk. The truth is that I can, at times, be a real ass. As previously noted a few months ago, I can be judgmental, self-righteous, and unabashedly opinionated.

I can be rather intolerant when it comes to bad grammar. My mother reflexively corrected my grammar as a child.  It didn’t matter where we were.  No sentence could end with a preposition. Lazy words, such as Like, were not accepted. This is not a complaint. I never resented her interruptions. I didn’t welcome them. I simply understood that these were serious errors that needed to be addressed.

Did my children resent my policing of their language and grammar? I don’t know. I never asked.

I raise this issue because I have the devil of a time restraining myself whenever I hear adults misuse certain words. The biggest offense, the one that drives me nuts, is the substitution of goes for said or says.

There are days when people close to me completely abandon words such as said or says. The entire retelling of a conversation might include a half a dozen or more goes. Some sentences may include two or three offenses. It takes all of my self-control to remain silent.

Worse, this misuse of the word goes is becoming more common. Today, however, may have been the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. I was at a seminar hosted by a major insurance company. The speaker, nationally known and respected, was funny, informative, and capable of ending on time. All three are very important. Unfortunately, his grammar was atrocious. Among other things, he repeatedly substituted goes for said.

Sitting there, working hard to absorb the valuable parts of his message, I was doing my best to ignore the goes. But he wouldn’t stop. My mother might have interrupted his presentation. I simply repositioned myself in my seat. Again and again and again. The people behind me probably speculated that I was suffering from either hemorrhoids or poison ivy.

So, if a professional, a best selling author and educator, stumbles through the difficult terrain of the English language, how can I judge harshly average Americans who trip over the usage of goes vs. said? I promise to grit my teeth, shift my weight, and to work harder at remaining silent.

I’ll still be a jerk. It just won’t be as obvious.

A Brief Respite

Dave

“Enough with the politics. How about food? Why don’t you give us another recipe?”

This is a full service blog. Ask for another recipe and that’s what you get.

Regular readers may remember that I like to create Kosher, low carbohydrate meals and desserts. Past posts have detailed my pumpkin pie, my version of Chicken Cordon Bleu, and mashed cauliflower, a great substitute for mashed potatoes. Kosher meals do not mix meat and dairy so I may use fake meat and real cheese or real meat and fake cheese. Low carb diets, whether for weight loss or diabetes, require that we eliminate as many unnecessary carbs as possible. This isn’t a search for absolute zero. Some of you on stricter diets may choose to eliminate one or two of the ingredients.

Today we tackle White Chicken Chili for two.

1 pound        Skinless, boneless chicken thighs
2 T                  Vegetable Oil
1                     Small Onion, chopped
2                     Small Crimini Mushrooms, sliced
2                     Cloves of Garlic, chopped
4 ounces      Diced Green Chili Peppers (small can)
1t                    Oregano
1t                    Cumin
½ t                  Cayenne Pepper
14.5 ounces Low Sodium Chicken Broth (can)
15 ounces     White Kidney Beans, drained (Cannelloni)
1 slice             Tofutti (fake Mozzarella Cheese)
4                     Saltines (very optional)

1. Clean, trim, and cut the chicken into large, bite size pieces. Cook the chicken. I stir fried mine in the wok. Feel free to bake or boil if that is easier for you.

2. Heat some vegetable oil in a large saucepan. Slowly cook the onion and mushrooms. Stir in the garlic, chili peppers, cumin, cayenne pepper and oregano. Cook till tender. Stir in the chicken soup and beans. Add in the chicken and bring this to a light boil. Reduce to a lower heat and simmer for 20 minutes.

3. I served this hot over a couple of crunched up saltines. Each bowl was topped with half a slice of the fake cheese.

We enjoyed this with a salad of mixed greens, carrots, and cucumber. I found this to be a great cold weather meal. The chicken thigh meat gives it much more flavor.

Wine selection? I’m not sure. I suspect John Boehner might recommend orange soda.

Reckless

Dave

There are two types of reckless drivers. Some manage to never have an accident. Their cars have no scratches or dents. Unfortunately, they leave in their wake death and destruction as others are affected by their actions. The other type of reckless driver is more familiar. The daily news features stories of people texting right up to the moment that they slammed into the parked car or school bus.

My Republican friends used to accuse Democrats of hating George Bush. I never met anyone who hated our most recent president. They didn’t like him. They certainly didn’t respect him. But George Bush was too insubstantial to generate hate, a strong emotional reaction. What I often perceived was resentment. People resented Mr. Bush’s ability to go through life oblivious of the affect of his actions, untouched by his mistakes, and seemingly unaware of his place in history. While others stressed about the human condition, George W. Bush appeared to be the living embodiment of the expression that Ignorance is Bliss.

Then there is Sarah Palin. As I am writing this, a young woman, a Congresswoman, is fighting for her life in a Tucson hospital. Eighteen people were shot. Six have already died. One of the fatalities was a nine year old child. One of the fatalities was a federal judge. I can only hope that no one else will have died by the time you read this.

Why did I mention the former Alaskan governor? Up to an hour or so ago, Mrs. Palin was “targeting” Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords and other elected officials. Targeting is the correct word. Her site featured a map with bull’s-eyes. Her rhetoric, inflammatory.

There is a campaign to take back our country. This assumes that someone or some group took our country from us. It idealizes some imaginary world, circa 1950’s, where everyone, or at least everyone that mattered, was white, Christian, and middle class. Mom stayed home and wore dresses. Dad went to work. The U.S. was #1 and the biggest question was who made the best cars, GM, Ford, or Chrysler.

That time never existed!

The United States has been a dominant country throughout much of its existence. We are a world power. We can be a beacon of hope. We have also suffered the stain of slavery, Japanese internment, and unequal justice. In many respects, we are a better country today, January 8, 2011, then we ever were before. And we have plenty of room for improvement.

We can not move forward as a country by targeting those who disagree with us. The U.S. Constitution is a living document that has been amended twenty-seven times. It will be amended again as our country’s needs change in the future. We can no more return to 1954 then we can relive 1854. Nor should we want to.

There are 435 members of the House of Representatives. There are 100 Senators. It is probably easier for you to name a half a dozen with whom you disagree, six that you would like to see replaced, than five that you always support. That’s representative government.

You don’t point guns at people. No targets. No bull’s-eyes. No bull shit. Swimming pools have adult only time. We have come to a point where it has become necessary to declare an Adults Only time for public discourse.

We have suffered too long from the actions of the reckless. It is time to escort them from the public stage.