I'm done watching this year. Hope y'all have your act together when the green flag drops at Daytona in February. This is the biggest debacle in U.S. auto racing since the tire mess that killed the F1 race in Indianapolis.
If I paid money to attend that debacle at Talladega, I'd DEMAND a refund. If I were a driver, I'd PARK my car next Sunday in protest -- Chase or no Chase.
I hope you're paying attention to all the complaints from drivers on TV, and from fans here and on Twitter. YOU ARE LOSING US!!!
Sunday, November 1, 2009
"You are losing us"
I've heard the official NASCAR page on Facebook deletes fan comments that are, ah, too negative. So in case my comment in response to today's fustercluck at Talladega gets the gate, here's a copy they can't touch. :-)
Friday, October 9, 2009
The lost art of customer service
Mom wants to buy a couple of Nintendo Wiis as Christmas presents. And she wants to put them on layaway -- yes, some retailers still do that. But at her age, she can't get out much anymore.
So I told her I'd inquire about putting Wiis on layaway at the nearest retailer that offers it. My experience:
Waited at the customer service counter for what seemed like 10 minutes. They were busy with at least three prior customers, both in front of me and on the phone, but an acknowledgment of my presence (such as, "I'll be with you as soon as I can, sir. I'm sorry for the wait. Thanks for your patience!") would have been nice.
When it was finally my turn, I explained what my mom wanted and asked how I can go about doing that on her behalf. I was told that they were out of Wiis. And that they're not taking orders for them. And that it's up to me to find out when they come in, and it's first-come, first-serve from there.
So ...
You're not going to give me a rain check for them, nor let me pre-order them.
You're not going to take down my name and number, to call me when they come in. I have to call you three days a week -- since that's how often trucks show up with new merchandise -- to find out if any Wiis were even on the truck.
You're going to sell the Wiis to whoever buys them first. Meaning the buyers will likely be those who are fortunate enough to just happen to be in the store when the Wiis are restocked, rather than those who have been trying to get their hands on them maybe as far back as last Christmas.
Yeah. You know, just because demand exceeds supply doesn't justify poor customer service. So if we DO get Wiis, we're not getting them from YOUR STORE. 'Kthanksbye. ;-)
Now I'm not naming names -- *cough cough* KMART! *cough cough* -- but customer service seems to be a lost art no matter where you're the customer. I shouldn't have to fly first class, stay at a five-star hotel, or eat at a restaurant that requires a dinner jacket in order for you to treat me like you actually WANT my business! You don't have to bend over backward. Just treat me the way I would treat you: with common human decency.
And this particular store is within walking distance of the Domino's restaurant where two employees videotaped themselves doing disgusting things to customers' orders and posted it on YouTube. That restaurant closed two weeks ago, nearly six months after the video incident. A sharp drop-off in business after the incident was cited as the reason for the closing. You'd think this Kmart would have LEARNED something about customer service from the Domino's incident. Guess not.
The Wii experience, the Domino's incident, and the overall lost art of customer service were conversation fodder for me and my visiting cousin, after picking up her and her husband from the airport. She shared her own experience -- which is a much better way to wrap this up, since it's much funnier although it did permanently cost a restaurant chain two customers:
She and her husband were eating at a restaurant I won't name -- *cough cough* IHOP! *cough cough* -- when she ordered a breakfast item because it was supposed to come with warm walnut maple syrup. Said so right on the menu.
The order arrived. No warm walnut maple syrup.
She told the waitress what was supposed to come with her order, and was the deciding factor in her order. Said so right on the menu.
Waitress response: "Sometimes the menu lies."
The menu LIES??? Not, "I'm sorry, ma'am, let me go get you that"? Not, "We're out of warm walnut maple syrup, but let me bring you some other warm syrup"? Not, "I'm sorry, but we have no warm syrup of any kind. Can I get you something else?" And most importantly behind these "Nots," not "The customer is always right"? Just, "Sometimes the menu lies"?
Needless to say, cousin was not pleased. "I think I'd like to speak to your manager."
Waitress response: "Sure, just a minute. DAD!"
:-D
So I told her I'd inquire about putting Wiis on layaway at the nearest retailer that offers it. My experience:
Waited at the customer service counter for what seemed like 10 minutes. They were busy with at least three prior customers, both in front of me and on the phone, but an acknowledgment of my presence (such as, "I'll be with you as soon as I can, sir. I'm sorry for the wait. Thanks for your patience!") would have been nice.
When it was finally my turn, I explained what my mom wanted and asked how I can go about doing that on her behalf. I was told that they were out of Wiis. And that they're not taking orders for them. And that it's up to me to find out when they come in, and it's first-come, first-serve from there.
So ...
You're not going to give me a rain check for them, nor let me pre-order them.
You're not going to take down my name and number, to call me when they come in. I have to call you three days a week -- since that's how often trucks show up with new merchandise -- to find out if any Wiis were even on the truck.
You're going to sell the Wiis to whoever buys them first. Meaning the buyers will likely be those who are fortunate enough to just happen to be in the store when the Wiis are restocked, rather than those who have been trying to get their hands on them maybe as far back as last Christmas.
Yeah. You know, just because demand exceeds supply doesn't justify poor customer service. So if we DO get Wiis, we're not getting them from YOUR STORE. 'Kthanksbye. ;-)
Now I'm not naming names -- *cough cough* KMART! *cough cough* -- but customer service seems to be a lost art no matter where you're the customer. I shouldn't have to fly first class, stay at a five-star hotel, or eat at a restaurant that requires a dinner jacket in order for you to treat me like you actually WANT my business! You don't have to bend over backward. Just treat me the way I would treat you: with common human decency.
And this particular store is within walking distance of the Domino's restaurant where two employees videotaped themselves doing disgusting things to customers' orders and posted it on YouTube. That restaurant closed two weeks ago, nearly six months after the video incident. A sharp drop-off in business after the incident was cited as the reason for the closing. You'd think this Kmart would have LEARNED something about customer service from the Domino's incident. Guess not.
The Wii experience, the Domino's incident, and the overall lost art of customer service were conversation fodder for me and my visiting cousin, after picking up her and her husband from the airport. She shared her own experience -- which is a much better way to wrap this up, since it's much funnier although it did permanently cost a restaurant chain two customers:
She and her husband were eating at a restaurant I won't name -- *cough cough* IHOP! *cough cough* -- when she ordered a breakfast item because it was supposed to come with warm walnut maple syrup. Said so right on the menu.
The order arrived. No warm walnut maple syrup.
She told the waitress what was supposed to come with her order, and was the deciding factor in her order. Said so right on the menu.
Waitress response: "Sometimes the menu lies."
The menu LIES??? Not, "I'm sorry, ma'am, let me go get you that"? Not, "We're out of warm walnut maple syrup, but let me bring you some other warm syrup"? Not, "I'm sorry, but we have no warm syrup of any kind. Can I get you something else?" And most importantly behind these "Nots," not "The customer is always right"? Just, "Sometimes the menu lies"?
Needless to say, cousin was not pleased. "I think I'd like to speak to your manager."
Waitress response: "Sure, just a minute. DAD!"
:-D
Friday, October 2, 2009
... And absolute power corrupts absolutely
So let me see if I've got this straight, David Letterman:
I've been a fan of yours all the way back to your guest appearances on "The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson" and your short-lived daytime NBC show in the 1970s. But tonight, I think you lost that fan.
- Admitted cheating on your wife and the mother of your children.
- Played it for laughs.
- Didn't apologize.
I've been a fan of yours all the way back to your guest appearances on "The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson" and your short-lived daytime NBC show in the 1970s. But tonight, I think you lost that fan.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Sunday morning coming down
Our pastor returned to the pulpit Sunday after a multi-week trip to the Holy Land -- Israel, Egypt and the like. It influenced his sermon, from the story in Exodus 1 about the Israelites' oppression at the hands of the Egyptians. He spoke passionately about how we would rather live in what's comfortable than what's Christian, and about how at our lowest point, we are closer to God than ever -- if we will only cry out and reach out to Him.
Then came the moment of invitation. And while the band played, the pastor received news from a congregation member that would give his sermon that much more weight, and make this a moment of invitation like no other.
The pastor informed us that a nearby colleague -- the Rev. Dr. David Treadway, pastor of Sandy Ridge Baptist Church in Hickory, N.C. -- had committed suicide. There were audible gasps, tears and prayers. The majority filed out in stunned silence, as a few remained to talk and pray.
I've been deeply moved by this tragedy. Not only because I knew Dr. Treadway in passing, but because of selfish, negative, anti-Christian feelings I had about him even recently that are now replaced by guilt. And because I wrestle not only with what I'm supposed to take from this tragedy as a Christian, but with my own issues of depression and suicide -- particularly in the last two to three years, as my life has turned for the worse.
I barely slept. As soon as I awoke, I knew I had to write about this in the hope that it ministers to someone. Bear with me. This is going to be a long one.
As our marriage struggled, my wife stopped attending our church. Personal reasons involving a conflict between a church leader and a member of her family. We visited different churches, including Sandy Ridge. She and her parents had attended there previously when she was younger. She enjoyed it again, but ... I don't know, it just wasn't for me. I found their service too brief (1 hour), and I was still drawn to what had been our church.
After she left me in June 2008, she and our son returned to Sandy Ridge and I returned to "our church." I contacted Dr. Treadway by e-mail to let him know about our separation, that my wife and son were attending there, and to see if there was anything he could do for them.
Ultimately, I had an ulterior motive. I wanted Dr. Treadway to counsel my wife against getting a divorce. At the time, I thought I was doing what God had called me to do. That my marriage was a covenant of God which no one -- including me or my wife -- should put asunder.
Dr. Treadway said my wife and son would have to reach out to him, rather than the other way around. And I've since come to realize that it wasn't God's will, but my will that I wanted done. Because I harbored ill will toward Dr. Treadway and his church for not fighting for our marriage.
Even recently, driving home from a visit with my son, I passed the church and spoke disparagingly of it. I think I even held up the Bible in my passenger seat. I'm surprised now that God didn't go Old Testament on me, and set fire to the Bible to burn me in conviction.
For all the selfish, negative, anti-Christian ill will I held toward Dr. Treadway and his church, I never would have wished this on him, his family and his congregation. I will not be able to attend the memorial service, scheduled for Tuesday at 5 p.m. at the church, but I'm planning to pay my respects at the funeral, scheduled for Wednesday at 2 p.m., also at the church. And if mourners are offered the chance to speak, I will confess my sin to his family and his congregation, and ask for their forgiveness.
But more importantly, this needs to be about what can be done to help his family and his congregation. As well as others ravaged by depression to the point of suicide. Everything happens for a reason under God. He wants us to turn this tragedy into a teaching moment.
There is still a stigma about depression and suicide in the South and in the Christian community. Most people do not understand depression, so they think it's something you can just "snap out of." And suicide remains the "dirty little secret" that people like to sweep under the rug, not talk about and consider a sin.
I've had depression probably my entire life, but have only come to acknowledge and treat it in the past five years with my former wife's help. As for suicide, family members have attempted it (including my mother), and I've sunk to the brink of it more than once. The last two to three years have proved particularly challenging, as my 20-year newspaper career and 10-year marriage simultaneously ended, as I became only a part-time dad to my son and as I continue to struggle not only with that, but with unemployment, financial ruin, foreclosure and the divorce I never wanted.
I also have a friend who has attempted suicide twice and stands on the brink of it still, ravaged by mental and physical health issues (bipolar disorder, multiple sclerosis, fibromyalgia). And all I can do is watch from afar and pray that she'll get the help she needs that is beyond what I, her friends and her family can offer; and that she'll turn back to the God she has renounced.
Our local newspapers, law enforcement and funeral homes contribute to the aforementioned stigma by not reporting suicides. I guarantee when Dr. Treadway's obituary is published, neither the newspapers nor the funeral home will report HOW he died.
If we're not talking about suicide, then we're also not talking about what can LEAD to suicide. And we need to, desperately.
A newspaper column by another area pastor, reflecting on the suicide of his brother, was a step in the right direction. Our area pastors, regardless of denomination, can take another step by making Dr. Treadway's death a teaching moment. Show up en masse at his memorial service and funeral. Offer to help his church move forward from this tragedy. Talk about Dr. Treadway to your own congregations, sharing what God's trying to teach us from this.
I wish Dr. Treadway had reached out to this pastor touched by suicide. I wish he had reached out to my pastor. I wished he had reached out to me. It's too late to save him now. But maybe someone else's potential tragedy can be turned into triumph through his story.
I know how alone and desperate you can feel when you are overwhelmed by depression. If depression comes into your life, please do not keep it to yourself.
If you're on the brink of suicide, you can:
Some verses to carry you this include Hebrews 3:13-14, James 1:2-5, James 1:12, Matthew 28:20, and Psalms 91:14-16. You can find the version that suits you at BibleGateway.com.
We discussed these verses Sunday night at a prayer service, then several of us drove to Dr. Treadway's church, laid hands on it and prayed for his family and congregation while repeating these verses. But it still doesn't feel like nearly enough.
Whatever you're going through, please know that you can talk to me about it. My contact information is on this blog. Get in touch any time. We'll get through it together.
If you can save yourself, or someone else, from the loneliness and desperation that overwhelmed Dr. Treadway, then his death was not in vain. That, I think, is the teaching moment.
Then came the moment of invitation. And while the band played, the pastor received news from a congregation member that would give his sermon that much more weight, and make this a moment of invitation like no other.
The pastor informed us that a nearby colleague -- the Rev. Dr. David Treadway, pastor of Sandy Ridge Baptist Church in Hickory, N.C. -- had committed suicide. There were audible gasps, tears and prayers. The majority filed out in stunned silence, as a few remained to talk and pray.
I've been deeply moved by this tragedy. Not only because I knew Dr. Treadway in passing, but because of selfish, negative, anti-Christian feelings I had about him even recently that are now replaced by guilt. And because I wrestle not only with what I'm supposed to take from this tragedy as a Christian, but with my own issues of depression and suicide -- particularly in the last two to three years, as my life has turned for the worse.
I barely slept. As soon as I awoke, I knew I had to write about this in the hope that it ministers to someone. Bear with me. This is going to be a long one.
As our marriage struggled, my wife stopped attending our church. Personal reasons involving a conflict between a church leader and a member of her family. We visited different churches, including Sandy Ridge. She and her parents had attended there previously when she was younger. She enjoyed it again, but ... I don't know, it just wasn't for me. I found their service too brief (1 hour), and I was still drawn to what had been our church.
After she left me in June 2008, she and our son returned to Sandy Ridge and I returned to "our church." I contacted Dr. Treadway by e-mail to let him know about our separation, that my wife and son were attending there, and to see if there was anything he could do for them.
Ultimately, I had an ulterior motive. I wanted Dr. Treadway to counsel my wife against getting a divorce. At the time, I thought I was doing what God had called me to do. That my marriage was a covenant of God which no one -- including me or my wife -- should put asunder.
Dr. Treadway said my wife and son would have to reach out to him, rather than the other way around. And I've since come to realize that it wasn't God's will, but my will that I wanted done. Because I harbored ill will toward Dr. Treadway and his church for not fighting for our marriage.
Even recently, driving home from a visit with my son, I passed the church and spoke disparagingly of it. I think I even held up the Bible in my passenger seat. I'm surprised now that God didn't go Old Testament on me, and set fire to the Bible to burn me in conviction.
For all the selfish, negative, anti-Christian ill will I held toward Dr. Treadway and his church, I never would have wished this on him, his family and his congregation. I will not be able to attend the memorial service, scheduled for Tuesday at 5 p.m. at the church, but I'm planning to pay my respects at the funeral, scheduled for Wednesday at 2 p.m., also at the church. And if mourners are offered the chance to speak, I will confess my sin to his family and his congregation, and ask for their forgiveness.
But more importantly, this needs to be about what can be done to help his family and his congregation. As well as others ravaged by depression to the point of suicide. Everything happens for a reason under God. He wants us to turn this tragedy into a teaching moment.
There is still a stigma about depression and suicide in the South and in the Christian community. Most people do not understand depression, so they think it's something you can just "snap out of." And suicide remains the "dirty little secret" that people like to sweep under the rug, not talk about and consider a sin.
I've had depression probably my entire life, but have only come to acknowledge and treat it in the past five years with my former wife's help. As for suicide, family members have attempted it (including my mother), and I've sunk to the brink of it more than once. The last two to three years have proved particularly challenging, as my 20-year newspaper career and 10-year marriage simultaneously ended, as I became only a part-time dad to my son and as I continue to struggle not only with that, but with unemployment, financial ruin, foreclosure and the divorce I never wanted.
I also have a friend who has attempted suicide twice and stands on the brink of it still, ravaged by mental and physical health issues (bipolar disorder, multiple sclerosis, fibromyalgia). And all I can do is watch from afar and pray that she'll get the help she needs that is beyond what I, her friends and her family can offer; and that she'll turn back to the God she has renounced.
Our local newspapers, law enforcement and funeral homes contribute to the aforementioned stigma by not reporting suicides. I guarantee when Dr. Treadway's obituary is published, neither the newspapers nor the funeral home will report HOW he died.
If we're not talking about suicide, then we're also not talking about what can LEAD to suicide. And we need to, desperately.
A newspaper column by another area pastor, reflecting on the suicide of his brother, was a step in the right direction. Our area pastors, regardless of denomination, can take another step by making Dr. Treadway's death a teaching moment. Show up en masse at his memorial service and funeral. Offer to help his church move forward from this tragedy. Talk about Dr. Treadway to your own congregations, sharing what God's trying to teach us from this.
I wish Dr. Treadway had reached out to this pastor touched by suicide. I wish he had reached out to my pastor. I wished he had reached out to me. It's too late to save him now. But maybe someone else's potential tragedy can be turned into triumph through his story.
I know how alone and desperate you can feel when you are overwhelmed by depression. If depression comes into your life, please do not keep it to yourself.
If you're on the brink of suicide, you can:
- Call the national suicide hotline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255).
- If you're in Catawba County like me, call the mobile crisis unit at (828) 695-5900.
- Or, call 911 and let the dispatcher know you're having a mental health crisis. You will be connected to those who can help you.
Some verses to carry you this include Hebrews 3:13-14, James 1:2-5, James 1:12, Matthew 28:20, and Psalms 91:14-16. You can find the version that suits you at BibleGateway.com.
We discussed these verses Sunday night at a prayer service, then several of us drove to Dr. Treadway's church, laid hands on it and prayed for his family and congregation while repeating these verses. But it still doesn't feel like nearly enough.
Whatever you're going through, please know that you can talk to me about it. My contact information is on this blog. Get in touch any time. We'll get through it together.
If you can save yourself, or someone else, from the loneliness and desperation that overwhelmed Dr. Treadway, then his death was not in vain. That, I think, is the teaching moment.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
More Joe Wilson jokes
I could never figure out how to send Joe Wilson punch lines to this site, so I've been posting punch lines to Twitter as I thought of them. I've run dry, and it won't be funny by tomorrow, so here's the second and likely last list.
Joe Wilson:
Joe Wilson:
- Ate your lunch at work. Even with your name on it.
- Has two favorite football players. College: LeGarrette Blount. Pro: Michael Vick.
- Double-dips his chips.
- Didn't laugh at The Hangover.
- Loves the farm and Mafia apps on Facebook.
- Doesn't squeeze from the bottom of the toothpaste tube.
- Doesn't follow the "Open Here" instructions.
- Doesn't want to "Have a nice day!"
- Doesn't follow the "10 items or less" rule in the grocery express checkout line.
- Watches the Watchmen.
- Is the fifth dentist in the Trident survey.
- Prefers the original Battlestar Galactica.
- Broke up the Beatles. Yoko Schmoko!
- Shot Liberty Valance.
- Can understand Courtney Love's tweets.
- Killed Trudy. (For all you "Monk" fans!)
Joe Wilson is:
- Being thanked by Mark Sanford, for taking the "batshit South Carolina politician" spotlight away from him.
- "That dad" at his kids' sports events.
- Asking Philadelphia to rebuild the Vet, so he can fit right in at the 700 level at Eagles games.
- On a movie set with Christian Bale.
- Recording a duet with Joe Cocker.
- Leaving a voicemail for Alec Baldwin's daughter.
- Listening to his favorite song: "Shout" by Tears for Fears.
- In the peanut gallery at The Muppet Show.
- The new face of Coors Light. They're dropping the "yelling football coaches" theme.
- Sure you're lying about your age.
For the first time in my adult life ...
... I am embarrassed to say I got my college education in South Carolina and lived in/worked another 11 years in the Palmetto State. First, Gov. Mark Sanford. Now, Rep. Joe Wilson:
This may be the "jumping the shark" moment for the lunatic fringe that seems to have taken over the Republican Party. At least we can only hope.
South Carolina seceded from the United States in 1861. Maybe the United States can secede from South Carolina in 2009. Or get some DNA from Gen. Sherman's remains, clone him, and tell the clone to finish the job.
This may be the "jumping the shark" moment for the lunatic fringe that seems to have taken over the Republican Party. At least we can only hope.
South Carolina seceded from the United States in 1861. Maybe the United States can secede from South Carolina in 2009. Or get some DNA from Gen. Sherman's remains, clone him, and tell the clone to finish the job.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Prayer request
Please pray for a friend of mine in Charlotte, N.C., who -- for at least the second time in her life -- may have attempted suicide.
I got a cryptic text message from her about 11 p.m. Sunday -- I don't remember the exact words, but it was something like, "Thanks for always being my friend. Love ya. Bye." At first I thought she was just saying goodnight, so I texted back, "Love you too. Sleep well." Then she texted, "Vry long sleep, but thx." The "long sleep" and abbreviated words concerned me, so I asked her whether she was OK, and she said only, "No." I then asked her to call me or let me call her, and then I did call her after 5 minutes when she didn't respond. She didn't answer, so I left her a voicemail message saying I'd call the police in 10 minutes if she didn't call me in that time. She didn't, so I did -- and in that time, I also found a couple of cryptic posts she had left on Facebook around the same time she first texted me.
The police would only say they got another call about her well-being, and sent officers to her apartment. They referred me to county medic, which would only tell me that they transported a psychiatric-call patient in her community to the hospital. Of course, I want to drop everything and rush to Charlotte, but that's as much as I'm going to find out tonight.
My friend is employed, but is struggling financially. She's going through an ugly separation/divorce in which her estranged husband has threatened to rape and murder her, but she won't call the police because she doesn't want to make it worse than it already is while she's working quietly to get full custody of their son. She suffers from multiple sclerosis, which has her in pain daily and makes some days nearly impossible to function. And she has bipolar disorder, which can literally make her happier than Tigger one minute and sadder than Eeyore the next. It was a major factor in her suicide attempt 12 years ago, and apparently has been building in her to another psychotic break last night.
I hope she or one of her family members will let me know more Monday, and I'll pass along what I find out.
In the meantime, she needs our prayers. Thanks.
UPDATE: The hospital released my friend into family custody about 15 hours later, so maybe it was a suicide threat and not a suicide attempt. She still needs prayers, though.
AND ANOTHER THING: I hope it serves as a reminder to those of you who live your life through social media, and treat it like it's a game or a joke. It is NOT! There are genuine hearts and emotions behind those keyboards. And those people need YOU, not your 140-character Twitter updates -- or if you're on Facebook, your quiz results, application invites, etc. with those status updates.
I got a cryptic text message from her about 11 p.m. Sunday -- I don't remember the exact words, but it was something like, "Thanks for always being my friend. Love ya. Bye." At first I thought she was just saying goodnight, so I texted back, "Love you too. Sleep well." Then she texted, "Vry long sleep, but thx." The "long sleep" and abbreviated words concerned me, so I asked her whether she was OK, and she said only, "No." I then asked her to call me or let me call her, and then I did call her after 5 minutes when she didn't respond. She didn't answer, so I left her a voicemail message saying I'd call the police in 10 minutes if she didn't call me in that time. She didn't, so I did -- and in that time, I also found a couple of cryptic posts she had left on Facebook around the same time she first texted me.
The police would only say they got another call about her well-being, and sent officers to her apartment. They referred me to county medic, which would only tell me that they transported a psychiatric-call patient in her community to the hospital. Of course, I want to drop everything and rush to Charlotte, but that's as much as I'm going to find out tonight.
My friend is employed, but is struggling financially. She's going through an ugly separation/divorce in which her estranged husband has threatened to rape and murder her, but she won't call the police because she doesn't want to make it worse than it already is while she's working quietly to get full custody of their son. She suffers from multiple sclerosis, which has her in pain daily and makes some days nearly impossible to function. And she has bipolar disorder, which can literally make her happier than Tigger one minute and sadder than Eeyore the next. It was a major factor in her suicide attempt 12 years ago, and apparently has been building in her to another psychotic break last night.
I hope she or one of her family members will let me know more Monday, and I'll pass along what I find out.
In the meantime, she needs our prayers. Thanks.
UPDATE: The hospital released my friend into family custody about 15 hours later, so maybe it was a suicide threat and not a suicide attempt. She still needs prayers, though.
AND ANOTHER THING: I hope it serves as a reminder to those of you who live your life through social media, and treat it like it's a game or a joke. It is NOT! There are genuine hearts and emotions behind those keyboards. And those people need YOU, not your 140-character Twitter updates -- or if you're on Facebook, your quiz results, application invites, etc. with those status updates.
Friday, August 21, 2009
What the ... ?
I can never remember my dreams, so I'm writing this one down before I forget.
I was a passenger on a turboprop plane that had to make an emergency landing. The plane was doing all kinds of crazy things -- nearly landing on a busy road, crashing through a large plate-glass window in a building that it didn't have enough power to clear. Before landing safely in a hilly field. Oh, and we were at the beach. So how was there a hilly, grassy field so close to the beach?
Yeah, even in my dreams, I'm an editor.
The dream even had a villain. She was being mean to fellow passengers. Then she fell down when the plane made a banked turn and she couldn't get back up, so I had to help her get back in her seat and put her seat belt on. She looked like CNBC's Mary Thompson. She spoke like Tilda Swinton. And I can't remember whether she said, "Thank you." Manners, people!
I also dreamed that at the same time I was helping her, I had to lock a door on the plane that had come open. I also remember being relatively calm despite all the excitement.
I also remember that as fellow passengers were disembarking, I loudly announced, "I'm never flying prop again." Which made them laugh. But apparently nobody wanted to join my passenger revolution.
Then a man -- not sure if he was supposed to be a pilot, or a flight attendant, or an airline representative -- directed me and my luggage to a stone staircase that led to a hotel/restaurant connected to the airport, where I was supposed to make a connecting flight. I think they were trying to separate me from the other passengers and any media that was coming to cover the crash landing, since they knew I could be a rabble rouser.
As I ascended the staircase, I awoke. Since the dream gave me too much adrenaline to go back to sleep, and since I forget my dreams like I said before, I headed for my keyboard to write it all down.
And in case you're wondering, I had mesquite steak last night. With yellow rice and wax beans. And sweet tea. And a chocolate-peanut butter square from one of those no-bake dessert mixes. And yes, everything was properly cooked. So, no, this wasn't a feverish dream from food poisoning or indigestion.
And that's the second time I've survived a crash landing in my dreams. Although the other time was on a small jet plane. And someone else died on that plane. And both were planes that developed problems during, or just after, takeoff.
What does it all mean? Why was I at the beach? Where was I flying to? What was I doing for a living? How old was I? Why was I alone? What was a British-accented meanie doing in my dream, and why did I want to help her? Since everything happens in threes, if I dream about a crash landing for the third time, will I die in the dream -- and in my sleep?
Oh, and I'm REALLY never flying prop again. Not that there are many commercial airline routes left that fly turboprop. But I mean what I say. Even when I say it in my dreams.
Now, is there a dream interpreter in the house?
I was a passenger on a turboprop plane that had to make an emergency landing. The plane was doing all kinds of crazy things -- nearly landing on a busy road, crashing through a large plate-glass window in a building that it didn't have enough power to clear. Before landing safely in a hilly field. Oh, and we were at the beach. So how was there a hilly, grassy field so close to the beach?
Yeah, even in my dreams, I'm an editor.
The dream even had a villain. She was being mean to fellow passengers. Then she fell down when the plane made a banked turn and she couldn't get back up, so I had to help her get back in her seat and put her seat belt on. She looked like CNBC's Mary Thompson. She spoke like Tilda Swinton. And I can't remember whether she said, "Thank you." Manners, people!
I also dreamed that at the same time I was helping her, I had to lock a door on the plane that had come open. I also remember being relatively calm despite all the excitement.
I also remember that as fellow passengers were disembarking, I loudly announced, "I'm never flying prop again." Which made them laugh. But apparently nobody wanted to join my passenger revolution.
Then a man -- not sure if he was supposed to be a pilot, or a flight attendant, or an airline representative -- directed me and my luggage to a stone staircase that led to a hotel/restaurant connected to the airport, where I was supposed to make a connecting flight. I think they were trying to separate me from the other passengers and any media that was coming to cover the crash landing, since they knew I could be a rabble rouser.
As I ascended the staircase, I awoke. Since the dream gave me too much adrenaline to go back to sleep, and since I forget my dreams like I said before, I headed for my keyboard to write it all down.
And in case you're wondering, I had mesquite steak last night. With yellow rice and wax beans. And sweet tea. And a chocolate-peanut butter square from one of those no-bake dessert mixes. And yes, everything was properly cooked. So, no, this wasn't a feverish dream from food poisoning or indigestion.
And that's the second time I've survived a crash landing in my dreams. Although the other time was on a small jet plane. And someone else died on that plane. And both were planes that developed problems during, or just after, takeoff.
What does it all mean? Why was I at the beach? Where was I flying to? What was I doing for a living? How old was I? Why was I alone? What was a British-accented meanie doing in my dream, and why did I want to help her? Since everything happens in threes, if I dream about a crash landing for the third time, will I die in the dream -- and in my sleep?
Oh, and I'm REALLY never flying prop again. Not that there are many commercial airline routes left that fly turboprop. But I mean what I say. Even when I say it in my dreams.
Now, is there a dream interpreter in the house?
Friday, August 7, 2009
The Big D, and I Don't Mean Dallas
My marriage came to an end Thursday morning. It took a judge less than 10 minutes to undo 10 years. Eleven if you count the courtship.
I tried to keep myself busy. If I went straight home from court, I would have been overcome with emotion and unable to do anything. And I've had PLENTY of days like that as of late. So I tried to fill my day with little things -- breakfast with my pastor, a little grocery shopping, mowing/yardwork.
The rest of the day was supposed to involve taking a shower, making dinner, talking to my son, and then leaving time for contemplation. But I got on social media after the "Twitterpocalypse" -- the denial-of-service attack that shut down Twitter and crippled Facebook -- and everything changed from there.
I sent direct messages to update a few friends who knew what was happening Thursday. I also tweeted about my divorce for all the Twittersphere to see. That's when a Twitter friend tweeted, "*hugging you*." And that's when my stiff lower lip quivered.
Thank you for your sentiments, but damn it, woman, you're messing up my schedule! I'll cry later. Any hugs or encouraging words when I'm sad -- virtual or reality -- open the floodgates immediately. Just ask the well-meaning men and women in church who have had to hold me at the end of a Sunday service while I sobbed uncontrollably.
I wanted to go through my day like one of those people who've had a death in the family but get through the memorial service, funeral and covered-dish meal after the funeral (a Southern tradition!) before they "let it hit them."
But then I didn't feel like a shower. Didn't feel like making dinner. So instead, I threw on a clean shirt, took out the trash for Friday pickup, and went for a takeout dinner.
Then I talked to my son, who's handled this whole separation/divorce thing better than either of his parents. But there was something else: My now-former mother-in-law answered the phone because she was watching him. Where was his mother, my now-former wife? Working late, as she sometimes does? Or out celebrating the first day of the rest of her life?
I must admit, it bothered me a little to think it might be the latter. Could you not sit at home and at least try to feel as bad as I do about this thing, even though you got what you wanted? Could you not have waited until at least the day after the ink dried on your divorce before celebrating your restored freedom?
If I kept playing it over and over in my head, it would have bothered me to an overwhelming and crippling extent. But then, just as fast as it started, it faded. I have no control over what she's going to do. She doesn't care what I think or feel. She's not my problem any more.
And, with that, my need to contemplate and cry faded, too. I have contemplated. I have cried. I have prayed. I have begged. I have pleaded. I have tried to become the man she deserved in the first place. None of it has averted the tragic outcome that is part of God's plan.
Maybe it will yet hit me harder, and I'll need time to reminisce, cry and pray. Maybe it won't. Maybe I've used up all those emotions since she left last June, and am ready to move forward.
Not that I'm taking any chances. A friend wrote on Facebook about "Something's Gotta Give" being on TV last night. No, no. No rom-com for me for now -- especially not one that my ex and I saw in a theater together, and loved. No movie that opens the floodgates for sentimental reasons, because it feels like a page out of my life, or because it's just so compelling -- including, but not limited to, "Terms of Endearment," "When a Man Loves a Woman," "Muriel's Wedding," "Jerry Maguire," "Chasing Amy," "My Best Friend's Wedding," and the "our film" for me and my ex: "Notting Hill."
"Fight Club" was on, too. That's more my speed right now -- entertainment with an edge, even if that edge is softened for TV. "Fight Club." "Pulp Fiction." "Trainspotting" -- no, that's not on TV, but I wish it was.
I don't know why this marriage had to end. I don't know if I'm done thinking and crying about it. I don't know why I'm going through unemployment and foreclosure at the same time.
All I know is that Friday is another day to move forward.
I tried to keep myself busy. If I went straight home from court, I would have been overcome with emotion and unable to do anything. And I've had PLENTY of days like that as of late. So I tried to fill my day with little things -- breakfast with my pastor, a little grocery shopping, mowing/yardwork.
The rest of the day was supposed to involve taking a shower, making dinner, talking to my son, and then leaving time for contemplation. But I got on social media after the "Twitterpocalypse" -- the denial-of-service attack that shut down Twitter and crippled Facebook -- and everything changed from there.
I sent direct messages to update a few friends who knew what was happening Thursday. I also tweeted about my divorce for all the Twittersphere to see. That's when a Twitter friend tweeted, "*hugging you*." And that's when my stiff lower lip quivered.
Thank you for your sentiments, but damn it, woman, you're messing up my schedule! I'll cry later. Any hugs or encouraging words when I'm sad -- virtual or reality -- open the floodgates immediately. Just ask the well-meaning men and women in church who have had to hold me at the end of a Sunday service while I sobbed uncontrollably.
I wanted to go through my day like one of those people who've had a death in the family but get through the memorial service, funeral and covered-dish meal after the funeral (a Southern tradition!) before they "let it hit them."
But then I didn't feel like a shower. Didn't feel like making dinner. So instead, I threw on a clean shirt, took out the trash for Friday pickup, and went for a takeout dinner.
Then I talked to my son, who's handled this whole separation/divorce thing better than either of his parents. But there was something else: My now-former mother-in-law answered the phone because she was watching him. Where was his mother, my now-former wife? Working late, as she sometimes does? Or out celebrating the first day of the rest of her life?
I must admit, it bothered me a little to think it might be the latter. Could you not sit at home and at least try to feel as bad as I do about this thing, even though you got what you wanted? Could you not have waited until at least the day after the ink dried on your divorce before celebrating your restored freedom?
If I kept playing it over and over in my head, it would have bothered me to an overwhelming and crippling extent. But then, just as fast as it started, it faded. I have no control over what she's going to do. She doesn't care what I think or feel. She's not my problem any more.
And, with that, my need to contemplate and cry faded, too. I have contemplated. I have cried. I have prayed. I have begged. I have pleaded. I have tried to become the man she deserved in the first place. None of it has averted the tragic outcome that is part of God's plan.
Maybe it will yet hit me harder, and I'll need time to reminisce, cry and pray. Maybe it won't. Maybe I've used up all those emotions since she left last June, and am ready to move forward.
Not that I'm taking any chances. A friend wrote on Facebook about "Something's Gotta Give" being on TV last night. No, no. No rom-com for me for now -- especially not one that my ex and I saw in a theater together, and loved. No movie that opens the floodgates for sentimental reasons, because it feels like a page out of my life, or because it's just so compelling -- including, but not limited to, "Terms of Endearment," "When a Man Loves a Woman," "Muriel's Wedding," "Jerry Maguire," "Chasing Amy," "My Best Friend's Wedding," and the "our film" for me and my ex: "Notting Hill."
"Fight Club" was on, too. That's more my speed right now -- entertainment with an edge, even if that edge is softened for TV. "Fight Club." "Pulp Fiction." "Trainspotting" -- no, that's not on TV, but I wish it was.
I don't know why this marriage had to end. I don't know if I'm done thinking and crying about it. I don't know why I'm going through unemployment and foreclosure at the same time.
All I know is that Friday is another day to move forward.
Friday, June 26, 2009
There is a line from the movie "Magnolia" where a character says, "It is dangerous to confuse children with angels." I think that describes Michael Jackson.
As an adult, he seemed to be reverting to the childhood he said he never got to have because of the "stage dad" who pushed him and his brothers so hard as a boy. In his mind, he was a boy having an innocent sleepover with a friend. Something inappropriate might have happened, but it seems more likely that he got taken advantage of by the "I'm a victim!" generation that claims something criminal happened in order to make easy money and get 15 minutes of fame.
If Jackson did commit crimes against any children, he's answering for them now before the Ultimate Judge. If he didn't, and his heart was right with the Lord, I hope he has the peace in death that he could never find in life.
As an adult, he seemed to be reverting to the childhood he said he never got to have because of the "stage dad" who pushed him and his brothers so hard as a boy. In his mind, he was a boy having an innocent sleepover with a friend. Something inappropriate might have happened, but it seems more likely that he got taken advantage of by the "I'm a victim!" generation that claims something criminal happened in order to make easy money and get 15 minutes of fame.
If Jackson did commit crimes against any children, he's answering for them now before the Ultimate Judge. If he didn't, and his heart was right with the Lord, I hope he has the peace in death that he could never find in life.
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