Cardboard cutouts

Maybe Facebook isn't the best place to let your guard down. Keep it simple. Stay close to the surface. Most people are happier if expectations are kept to a minimum. The more savvy among us do something like this: they trot out cardboard cutouts of themselves, with seemingly endless supplies of shallow status updates and photo albums highlighting the stuff they've consumed. They spotlight solely on their lifestyle, never revealing a single insight into what makes them tick or what makes them feel vulnerable.

Try it. This will be best for everyone. Here's how:

• Old friends will conclude you've done well for yourself, and be happy for your success in life. This is ideal because, as it turns out, you'll probably never (ever) be in the same room with any of these friends again.
• New friends will bask in the glow of your awesomeness, and feel that little extra euphoria from knowing they chose wisely when they chose you. And further, this is the shiny surface with which you can explore the shallow depths together. You'll have new best friends in no time.
• Former friends of a wide and varying ilk will envy your sparkly awesomeness when confronted with its magnitude. They already hated you; no biggie. Now, with very little effort on your part, you've confirmed all over again why they hate you.

This is one way to treat your friends. It's not your fault Facebook took what essentially amounts to a one or a zero in a database field and concluded friendship. They could've went with "associate" or "acquaintance" or "chum" or "well-wisher" or "cohort" or "buddy."

But they chose "friend."

And it's clear, the cardboard cutout route isn't cutout for friendship.

Put me in coach

My son's new tee ball coach is me. I'm not really sure how it happened. An old teammate called last week and asked if I'd be interested in helping out. My son was with a group of unplaced players in the downtown area. Without much thought I said yes.

We play a lot of catch at my house, and hit the ball across the road, and generally have fun. It's not too long before other kids from around the neighborhood are gathered around participating too. So, it can't be too much different from that, right?

That was Friday. After mulling it over a few days and nights I'm not so sure anymore. This is Tee Ball. The kids are 5-6 years old. The skill levels are all over the map, from zero to barely more than zero. Attention spans not withstanding, this will be their very first exposure to organized baseball -- America's favorite pastime.

It's not really a matter of knowing the game and building fundamentals. I know baseball like the back of my hand, having spent my entire youth playing every spring and summer.

This is coaching. This is important. Like the baseball gods of Cooperstown saw fit to entrust me with the very essence of the game: not the doing, not the greatness, not the achievement, nor the legacy. No. I'm talking about the soul of the game. That which ignites in young kids, turns to love or hatred in an instant, and burns for a lifetime.

And then... parents. Their trust is bigger than baseball or any other sport. They trust that a simple decision to sign their kids up for a fun activity like tee ball won't result in permanent scarring -- not only of precious, delicate young minds but the kind of scarring that occurs after a little bleeding. That the coach won't be a total jackass. Or that he won't hurt their kid's feelings. Or that he won't yell at them and make them cry.

I need a frame of reference, to draw from my own experiences.

My coaches were all great, from the time I started to the time I stopped playing: Mr. Clauser, Mr. Lyons, Mr. Murphy, Mr. Bradford, Mr. Blacketter, my dad, the Bloom brothers, Mr. Carpenter, Coach Vasser and Coach Church.

They all left impressions, about baseball, teaching me the game, and about the kind of men they were. Respectable human beings. Men I looked up to. A lot. They were instructors (better than my school teachers). They were motivators (better than my parents). They were cheerleaders who corrected mistakes and encouraged play-making: hitting well, fielding well and throwing well. They drove home the practice of being a good teammate and always being a good sport.

My son is thrilled beyond words. Every last relative and friend knows that his dad is his coach. I've never seen him more excited than when he found out.

The pressure is palpable for this first timer.

Circular logic

The world doesn't want you

... so you change

The world doesn't want you to change

... into something you're not

The world doesn't need you

What's new? Nothing much

I asked a friend on Facebook what was up today, what was new, that kind of thing.... the interchange went like this:
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ME: what do you know, stranger?

FRIEND: I know lotsa stuff. What's up with you?

ME: I'm just the same old dude, doing the same old stuff. People ask me all the time, "what's new?" I freeze. I don't know what to say. I'm not even good at just stringing along a line of bull that says nothing but sounds impressive like it's something. I take a hard swallow of reality and offer up the same tried and true response: "nothing much."

It hurts. It's painfully obvious that the air was wasted on the question alone. People know better, usually. In a world of courtesies and civil interchanges, the ones who know better, but have to ask anyway (as politeness would dictate) come away from the experience ever more convinced that there really is nothing there.

I feel bad for them. They've been left wanting. It's the reason I stopped writing Christmas letters, because before I realized that most normal people actually hate those wretched, desperate attempts to show you're a witty S.O.B., it occurred to me that I was repeating myself. A lot. Oh sure, the kids get older and have new experiences (ah... youth), and occasionally the dog can write one to mix it up. It was the same old crap served up on a different plate year after year.

Maybe I am a deep S.O.B., and it's important for people to realize that, even though everything on the outside stays the same, never changing, never compelling, never really worth asking about. A dude so rich in thought who's never really been anywhere and never really done anything and doesn't really know much at all.

I know you know lots of stuff. How are you?

FRIEND: Maybe you could try really letting them know the truth of what is new and then they will stop asking. For example... the top five things that are new in my life that I would probably not advertise, but could would be:

1. Weaned myself from antidepressants
2. Got in a fight with my neighbor because her daughter is a bully
3. Watched Fat Actress for the first time and kind of enjoyed it
4. Admitted to my husband that I would choose my son over him
5. Came to the realization that I do actually probably drink too much

Then there are the top five things that that I would share, but realize nobody cares about:

1. My child's loose tooth
2. Home improvement projects
3. Pets
4. Weather
5. Cars

So, I like you... just say, 'nothin' much.'

But, usually when I ask someone whats new, I really kind of want to know the real stuff~like my first list, but nobody ever shares that info. Bunch of jabber really. My mother in law asks what's new and then interrupts me and tells me about all her friends with cancer who I don't know.. I really don't care about that, especially because she asked ME what was new, I didn't even ask her.

ME: I do like your first list better. What were you taking? Was it a fist fight or a war of words? That's tough stuff.. all of it.

FRIEND: I was on a low dose of Prozac for only about 2 months. I hated it. I was having hormonal issues as well as situational depression over the kitchen episode and it can't even be described how weird/hard it is to have your baby turning 18 and graduating. I was a basket case, however, I hated the fatigue and numbness the medication provided. It took away a part of me that, though I don't sometimes like, is a big part of who I am and who I have come to know. The fight was a huge war of words, that I only regret because I spoke a secret truth that hurt someone. Things are better all the way around now. I wish the sun would come out though... I've had enough cold and rain.

ME: (nothing yet... seems to be covered)
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It was a good exchange, I thought. On most days, "nothing much" seems to work best for most people. Life happens, so "nothing much" is that secret sauce able to bridge time and place to people and things, sparing all the boring details. Especially when the details are boring.

But it's nice, on occasion, to sweep aside the well-rehearsed and reflex ready replies to questions of what's new and how are we doing, by digging a little deeper and revealing more of ourselves to those who might inquire when we need it most.

Life is certainly more than "nothing much." It's good to remember that fact, as I wrestle with my nothing much, which just seems to ring truer for me, and anyone else who felt socially obligated to ask.

From Russia with love...

I got this in a junk email today and it was just too good not to share....

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Hello the stranger. We are not familiar with you. But I very much would like to get acquainted with you on closer. My name is Ekaterina, I from Russia and me of 27 years. I work as the seller in shop and I write to you from work. I when did not get acquainted before with men on the Internet it is my first time. I have decided to find to myself of the partner in life through the Internet and have written to you. I very much was disappointed in men from Russia, I wish to meet now the prince on the Internet. I send to you I wash a photo.

If I have interested you, write to me on mine e-mail: (hidden)

And I will necessarily answer you. You to me seem very good man with which it will be interesting to communicate. I would like you to learn better and more close to get acquainted. I will wait the answer.

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Effing Karma

Karma. I'm not even sure what it means. It's often quoted, though; I know that much. And usually only referred to when plans don't work out, or destiny comes into question.

Is this karma in action?

A for sale sign in the window and several months worth of ads in the penny saver will net no interest from possible buyers. But the day you throw up your hands and take the damn car back to the dealer (a 100 miles away), you get asked "how much?" at the gas station, the drive through, and every stop light on the way out of town. Effing karma.

After a Saturday morning soccer gear safari with the boy, finally having rounded up the required items for the next several Saturdays, lunchtime hits and before you commit to the order, good guy voice on your shoulder suggests you get enough for everyone at home too. Don't be selfish. Fine. Extra food. Drive home. Win win, everyone eats. Nope. Karma had other plans. "We already ate," is waiting at the door. Not even a thank you. Effing karma. (And you know for damn sure what would've happened if you weren't such a thoughtful son of a bitch... no one would've had lunch yet.)

The little humans in this house are messy as hell. Ketchup stains, gogurt stains, mud stains, juice stains, toothpaste stains, and any one of a number of other stains thrive like industrial disaster areas on 10's of dozens of all those cute little garments. Washing them in a timely and predictable order is apparently too much for us. Laundrey pile, a nefarious lifeform if you will, mocks us every day and every night we let another opportunity to make a dent pass us by. The clock ticks down and laundrey pile spreads his influence ever further over the washroom floor.

Right before dozing off for the night, you recall a tear-stained, weeping child who has "nothing to wear tomorrow." Heavy sigh. It's only 12:33 in the AM. So you throw a load in, and wait. It'll be about an hour to cycle and then the dryer can finish up the job. You turn on the TV, and flip channels for minutes and minutes and minutes.

You land on "Spartacus: Blood and Sand," an original series on Starz. Holy Moses! Who else is wide awake in about 16 seconds? You've seen this story before: gladiators, honor, blood, swords, lots of people in robes and forced accents wandering about pontificating the glory of Rome. Oh, and none-stop humping. Humping in the foreground, background, off the ground, on the ground, in the streets, on the seats, etc. More skin, sweating, writhing and humping then you could ever recall witnessing on TV in your life. It's like, instead of beautiful architecture and believable scenery in the backgrounds, the producers and director only requested naked "actors" willing to hump the whole time, no matter what, no matter the scene being played out on screen. I'm certain they're trying to tell a story somewhere between the barrage of humping. But it's hard to gather an actual story unfolding at all. People smarter than me -- who make more money than me -- decide these things.

Full disclosure, I watched until the spin cycle stopped and the final credits rolled. Effing karma laughs yet again at a simple man trying to do the right thing for his children, late at night, when he should've just gone to sleep an hour earlier. Oh, and that was just the set-up, because when morning came the kid was sick, and she wouldn't be needing any of those freshly washed clothes today. Not one. Just awesome! What gives? Effing karma.

Then the others, like: washing your car on a sunny day only to have it rain a few hours later. Or, choosing not to mow the lawn this evening because you have the whole weekend to worry about it (a weekend full of rainy days). Or you cut and trim a stretched-too-thin budget, because it's a smart thing to do, only to have the unexpected repair, mechanical failure or doctor bill gobble up your surplus like a yellow lab woofing down dog chow. Effing karma.

I don't know what the hell karma is. I just know whatever you're planning to do will have little to do with your destiny. Thems are the breaks, kid. Whatever belief system you go by, or religious compass you adhere to, the concept of karma is universal: that the more you convince yourself that you're in control of every last detail of your life the more evident it becomes that you're really not. That faith, good habits and common sense will surely help you navigate that which unfolds along your path, but you will never know -- never really know -- what awaits you around the bend.

Effing karma knows.

Talentd enough

People who know me best know I'm sarcastic. Talentdmrripley is the furthest thing from a pat of my own back, but rather, a snarky, tongue-in-cheek self assessment. (And a blantant rip off of a movie starring Matt Damon.) In no way do I throw it out there as a moniker to be taken seriously.

It's a 15-letter, made up word which speaks volumes based on the misconception that I'm either talented, or very impressed with my own abundance of said talent. It's sarcastic, which makes it fun, but only for me.

It's not to say I don't wish to be talented. I do. Who doesn't want that? To be a gifted musician or singer, an artist, or writer, a businessman, physician, or scientist. But from where I'm standing, the expanse between wanting something to be true about yourself and the spot where true talent is realized can be far too distant.

Or maybe it's too much work.

So cheat. Bridge the gap by merely saying something is so: like having talent. Now, I'm talented because I say am.

Do you believe it? Do I believe it?

True talent is beautiful -- possibly even divine. There's never a doubt when confronted with true talent. You know it when you see it, or read it, or hear it, or taste it, or smell it, or touch it. True talent stimulates and energizes something in us that I believe is the essence of life itself. It reminds us that, though, we are merely flesh and blood, there's so much more residing in the wells of our spirits and souls.

Our heart might keep us alive, but alone, it can never switch us on. True talent shakes our very core, and isn't even shy about it, imprinting the experience on our soul forever.

I believe I know talent, but remain unsure if I'm in possession of it, or have the courage to secure it. I must try, though, even if it's a joke.

My friend Lisa W shared a quote last month that I love, yet still hard to equip:

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

-Marianne Williamson