My Fellow Americans

A friend of mine recently wrote a blog entry about how sentimental songs lately get the best of him. I've always been a sap for movies or TV shows, maybe a gut-wrenching song about soldiers in Iraq that plays on my way home. But politics? Never. OK, that's not true. Never...until last night.

As evening journeyed into night and darkness settled in so deeply that I could no longer make out the words in "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix" from my perch on the back porch, I stepped in to the house where the light was better and the refrigerator was closer. Sadly, my parents were glued to Extreme Makeover, a show I can't even stomach as background noise. I decided to be antisocial and took Harry to my room for some quiet reading, My TV loomed too temptingly in the corner, though--like a gooey chocolate brownie you know you shouldn't have but feel magnetically drawn toward anyway. So I grabbed the remote for a quick scan before I opened up Harry and got on with the story.

Nerd that I am, I stopped not on "The Nutty Professor," but on the Democratic National Convention. I intended to watch until I saw what was going on, but I got sucked in to the whirlpool that is party politics. And just as my friend found himself teary to country music, I found myself teary to the words of politicians.

Then I shuddered.

Once upon a time, I loved politics and didn't feel any shame in wearing my political buttons proudly or displaying my posters on my walls. Then, as most Americans experience, I lost hope for change and invested my time and energy elsewhere. To hell with politics and fighting for change. I could never make a difference and politicians always turn out to be the worst possible characters in our nation. Screw 'em all, I thought.

But last night, I think I started the long journey down the road to political reactivation. I feel like an old car that's been hidden in the garage for years that with a good wash and some new oil could run like new. I know what these politicians said was propaganda intended to do just what it did--rip into my heart and reignite the hope I desperately cling to but rarely admit. It was meant to make us feel like this time, this year this night, will finally be the time that life starts to change for the better.

As I listened to the democrats talk about the future and the possibility of change, I felt inspired. And that inspiration made me think that maybe I can make a difference. Maybe I should start caring and fight for what I know in my heart is right. I know I've been duped. I know neither candidate is the right answer, But I've been sucked into the trap of a well-trained speech writer with words like a hot fudge sundae that slides down my throat with no effort. Strangely, I don't resent being duped. Not at all. In fact, as the tears welled in my eyes when he talked about values on which our nation was founded, I was not ashamed. Because deep inside I knew it wasn't about the candidate. I was about me and the possibility of my own extreme makeover.

Yes!

Finally I can

• Make things bold and italic;
• Post in nifty colors;
• Change my font style and size;
• And links to other blogs like Bill and Tom.

(Not to mention the whole list thing.) Thank you Mozilla for being Mac-friendly.

A Trivial Pursuit

Some competitions leave audiences spellbound. The 1992 National League Championship series between the Pirates and Braves left Pittsburghers in tears in the bottom of Game Seven's ninth inning; The 1980 U.S. Hockey team made patriots out of every single American who drew breath that night.

But a good game of Trivial Pursuit? That stops time. A good Trivial Pursuit match separates the men from the boys, draws a line in the sand between experts and novices. And novices need not apply. Winning a Trivial Pursuit match can elevate you to a standard you've only dreamed possible; losing can destroy all hope. There's no second place, only one winner and a bunch of losers. Next time you play, look around the table. See those losers? Do you really want to be compared to them? This game is all about your Trivial reputation.

Right now, you think I'm nuts. No one takes the game this seriously, right? It is, after all, just that—a game. But the truth is that a large portion of humanity is dedicated to the proposition that all trivial intelligence is not created equal. And those who think they're all that and a bag of pie pieces will fight anyone who challenges them to a grudge match that would make even ear-biter Mike Tyson huddle alone in a corner, begging for mercy.

Last weekend, I participated in such a grudge match. Defying Gravity readers Bill and Tom (whose blogs I would link to if I could get the link function to work) decided to challenge the claim in my profile that I'm "phenomenal at Trivial Pursuit." When I reached Bill's house and saw the list of at least 20 editions of Trivial Pursuit in his possession, I thought I might have been out of my league. I also couldn't compete with the sports-type ego-boosting both engaged in about the vital roles they played on their high school Quiz Bowl teams. I was on Quiz Bowl, yeah, and I was good (MVP 1996). But even the question-asker noted that I excelled at questions about or related to Harrison Ford. And Harrison Ford can only take you so far in a good Trivial Pursuit match.

As luck would have it, my doubts were unfounded and I held my own against both boasting braggarts. They play by some contrived rules that deviate from the Trivial Norm, requiring the player with the filled pie to answer questions the whole way up the spoke toward the middle. Once arrived in the center (a feat that took me about 30 minutes), the player has to answer four of the six questions on the next card correctly to win the game. Insane, yes, but such were the house rules. FOUR times I answered three of six correctly. But that's just not enough. Nope. And Kerri Strubb wasn't close enough for the Olympic gymnast who sprained her ankle and still completed a perfect vault (Kerri Strugg). Almost four hours after the game began, I relinquished my lead to Tom, who knew all the answers to the questions I missed anyway. But I left Bill choking and sputtering in my dust, trying to pick himself up and brush away the web of yellow spaces he couldn't seem to escape from. And I did it without a single Harrison question.

I lost to Tom, yes, but I proved myself a worthy opponent. Susie isn’t stupid and she would have won had the regular rules applied. She can overcome obstacles like people talking while she's contemplating how far north Canada really extends or what whales travel a long distance each year. Sure, she might not know that Stan Lee created "Batman" (Stanley Who?), but at least she knows that Helen Fielding wrote "Bridget Jones' Diary."

And she's definitely not intimidated by Bill or Tom. She might not talk the trivial talk, but at least she's shown she can walk the trivial walk.

Buzzword Hell

In honor of an all-day meeting I attended the other day, I compiled a list of my favorite corporate buzzwords and phrases. Feel free to comment with your own.

Barrel head (e.g., "We've got $25K on the barrel head")
Chops ("We have to develop the chops for this project")
Catch the bouncing balls
Worked in silos ("We had demonstrated successes but we worked in silos.")
Flux ("We had changes and flux dictated by market trends." i.e., layoffs)
Piggy-back
Metrics
Synergies (that all-time classic)
Cachet ("Build our cachet")
Leverage (ugh!)
Bootstrapping

More later, right now I have to catch the bouncing balls while I synergize efforts to leverage our cachet and develop our chops before we lose the account we have over the barrel head.

Warning: Susie Rant Follows

In my corner of the universe, summer takes its time making itself known. We seem to have downpour after downpour, with a few sunny days spaced in between to placate us throughout May, then more rain during June. Then one day you wake up with frizzy hair, sweating like a mother because it's only a few days before the Fourth of July and summer has finally, FINALLY, arrived at the party.

Aside from ushering in heat that makes my hair uncontrollable, the Fourth of July always gives me some pause. In my family, we celebrate the birth of the nation like any good Americans—we eat. But do we forget about the meaning of the holiday? Of course not. Bratwurst symbolizes the influence of the Germans in Colonial America and their impact on the outcome of the Revolutionary War. French Fries remind us of that French Guy who helped George Washington whip the troops into shape during that hard winter at Valley Forge, when they were losing hope and wishing for something hot, salty and deep-fried. And let's not forget the Doritos, Fritos and Tostitos we gorge ourselves on, all to pay tribute to the great contributions of Colonial America's Spanish-American population.

All kidding aside, I can't help taking this Fourth of July a little more seriously than I have in the past. Two of my best friends now serve in the armed forces, and their dedication to the principles this country was founded on amaze me. They're wonderful, talented people with a sense of obligation and dedication that I admire. One will eventually head to Iraq, the other to Korea. They'll work hard to support the United States and protect the freedom that we've long enjoyed and often taken for granted. And I will be proud to call them my best friends.

But as they (eventually) head for foreign soil, I'm concerned about the situation here at home. Being a first-class wimp with no desire to ever fire an M-16 (even if I could name it "Bloody Mary"), my battles will be fought on domestic ground. The past few months have been disconcerting for someone like me, who uses my freedom with words to make a living. I rely on the First Amendment and trust that it will keep me safe when all other domestic enemies threaten to destroy me. Life might be scary after 9/11, but at least I can still write or speak my mind freely. Right?

Wrong. Just ask Howard Stern, who was booted off radio stations in six cities earlier this year for his "indecency." I think Howard's shows are awful, so I only listened a few times. But I had that choice. I could choose to listen or flip the dial. So I flipped. When the media conglomerate that owns most of radio in my town removed him, they took away our right to choose, our right to exert the basic freedom to make a decision. And they took away Howard's right to free speech. Just like that.

Howard's coming back though, and in the press conference to announce the return, someone asked him what he considered "indecent." His answer? People dumping chemicals into streams without being fined, people ruining our natural resources without any repercussions. And people, slowly but surely, limiting the rights guaranteed under the First Amendment.

Think about it for a minute. Think of all the things you just can't say anymore. Someone doesn't die—they "cease to breathe;" someone isn't short—they're vertically challenged. We sugarcoat our reality so people aren't offended or so we don't piss people off.

Sometimes the truth hurts, yes, so we use discretion to spare friends' feelings. And that's fine. But when we have to use someone else's words to describe an event or a person—just so we can keep them happy—then we step into scary territory that's left the First Amendment far behind. We enter a land where freedom of speech becomes more and more mythical and the liberties we enjoy become mere historical once-upon-a-times we remember every year with hot dogs, fireworks and ice cream.

Do I know what to do about it? No. But it's something to think about, isn't it? We need to spread freedom to countries controlled by tyranny, but as we do that, is tyranny creeping into our houses while we sleep to steal the unspoken words from our mouths?