How many times have you caught yourself saying, “It is what it is”?
The way I see it, it’s the idiomatic opposite of “It’s all good.”
“It’s all good” is a positive affirmation.
“It is what it is,” affirms reality, usually a negative reality unlikely to change.
I first heard the expression years ago coaching a rather bad youth lacrosse team. At one practice, with lax balls flying all over and many lost in the woods near the field, my trusty assistant came up to me and said, “You know, this team… it is what it is.”
In other words, don’t sweat the stuff that it what it is. Nuthin’ we can do about it.
In safetyspeak, I seldom hear someone say, “It’s all good.” As in, “Our rates our low, the CEO is happy, the employees are happy, it’s all good.”
More often I hear what I’ll call “realityspeak”:
“OSHA is a toothless shell of its former self. It is what it is.”
“Congress doesn’t give a damn about worker safety. It is what it is.”
“I’m working longer hours. Have taken on new responsibilities. But is my budget increasing? No. It is what it is.”
“It is what it is” is a coping mechanism. As in, you can’t fight city hall, so don’t bother.
“It is what it is” is to say, “Roll with it.”
Maybe you’ve heard of the latest generation generalization name. You know, we have Gen X, the boomers, the Millennials, and now, in 2012, the debut of Generation Flux.
Generation Flux is people of a certain mindset, not any particular age. You can be a Gen Fluxer at age 21 or 71. It’s all about attitude.
And that attitude is: Hey, things are crazy. Crazy fast changes. We know this. So to save yourself, go with the flow. It is what it is. Do what you have to do. We’re all in a state of flux. Who can be sure about what happens next.
Myself, I’ll take “it is what it is” any day over “it’s all good.” “It’s all good” is too easily spin. “It is what it is” is reality. Deal with it. It’s not about being beaten down, or resigned, or helpless. It’s seeing things for what they are.
In the Vietnam War there was a similar expression: “There it is.” The grunts spoke it, not the generals. As in, “No one has an idea what we’re doing out here.” Response: “There it is.” Translation: That’s the truth of the matter.
It is what it is. And that’s the truth. There are any number of harsh realities today. It ain’t all good. It is what it is is a good term for the times.
Friday, March 2, 2012
Confessions of a social media skeptic
I recently read an impassioned post from a long-ago coworker who wrote that she is “far happier on a day-to-day basis thanks to these technology tools (Twitter, e-mail, blogs, instant messaging, text messages, cell phones and Facebook).
“They have connected me more closely to the people I love, and to several new communities. They’ve sparked and formed new relationships, and have brought many amazing people into my world.
“These tools have helped me virtually eliminate loneliness from my life.”
Would you echo her feelings?
What kind of impact have social media tools made in your life? Not necessarily your professional career, but as my old coworker puts it, “on a day-to-day basis”?
For me, the effect has not been quite so profound and life-changing. I think that is because, like everything in life, what you get out of something is commensurate with what you put into it. My old coworker is something of a national-known tech expert. She consults, she teaches, she preaches on the advantages of social media. She left behind the “legacy media” print world years ago (which is where we crossed paths) and was an early, enthusiastic adapter of all things social media.
Attitude as they say is everything. My attitude is old school. Deal with it. I certainly see the benefits of e-mail, both professionally and personally. Couldn’t live without it. E-mail goes down and suddenly I feel lost and lonely. What am I missing?
Blogs are hit or miss. I have bookmarked some excellent blogs about journalism, travel, photography, music, sports, and health and safety. Others are soapboxes for agitators who clearly love to antagonize. Blogging is a good outlet for curmudgeons of all stripes. I ignore them.
Facebook and Twitter may have value as business marketing tools, more so probably 3-5 years from now. I find too many trivial, gossipy, and useless information posted on Facebook right now. A friend sends a photo of a fellow airline passenger ready to puke. Wonderful. What’s the point? A running thread on my Facebook for 6 months now is how great it was growing up in my humble hometown. Old neighbors and classmates have come up with what seems like hundreds of examples of “You know you’re from Oaklyn if you remember…”
I’m down with Tony Soprano on this one: Tony once complained to his posse who were idly gabbing about “Remember when…” by saying, “You know, the lowest form of conversation is talking about the old days.”
Twitter too has its place, like during revolutions when revolutionaries tweet on where the next protest will take place, or where the police are clamping down, or atrocities that have been witnessed.
But that’s the exception. Most tweets come from celebrities who see themselves as the center of the universe and assume their loyal followers want to know what the celeb ate for breakfast, who they hung out with last night, and what errands he or she is running today. Ridiculous.
Text messaging is lost on me. I get texts from my kids. I call them back. Why not just call me, guys? My bias here is that I’m all thumbs trying to text and it gets damn frustrating. Talk to me, damn it, don’t type what you can easily say in a call.
I think bias has much to do with one’s use, or non-use, of social media tools. Friends who were early adapters back in the 80s of Apple computers and PCs, have a bias toward tech gadgets. In the 90s they were the ones designing web sites. In the past decade they have smoothly transitioned to iTunes, iPhones, cell phone photography, Kindles and Nooks, iPads, and video on demand.
I’m more tactile. I like the feel of a newspaper or magazine or book. I like to look at my CD and DVD collections. I like to wander the ever-shrinking number of CD stores and indie book stores. Give me a well-stocked magazine stand in New York City or Washington. Priceless… and on the road to extinction, dammit. I don’t want everything digitized and residing off in some cloud. I don’t mind some clutter in my life, some scattered CDs and DVDs.
To paraphrase Gil Scott-Heron: the revolution will be digitized. No doubt about it. Start the revolution without me. Oh, it’s already well underway? Well, give me the Cliff Notes version of what I really ought to know about all things social media and I’ll manage just fine.
How about you? Does social media fragment communications and put more distance between us, or make us happier and less lonely?
“They have connected me more closely to the people I love, and to several new communities. They’ve sparked and formed new relationships, and have brought many amazing people into my world.
“These tools have helped me virtually eliminate loneliness from my life.”
Would you echo her feelings?
What kind of impact have social media tools made in your life? Not necessarily your professional career, but as my old coworker puts it, “on a day-to-day basis”?
For me, the effect has not been quite so profound and life-changing. I think that is because, like everything in life, what you get out of something is commensurate with what you put into it. My old coworker is something of a national-known tech expert. She consults, she teaches, she preaches on the advantages of social media. She left behind the “legacy media” print world years ago (which is where we crossed paths) and was an early, enthusiastic adapter of all things social media.
Attitude as they say is everything. My attitude is old school. Deal with it. I certainly see the benefits of e-mail, both professionally and personally. Couldn’t live without it. E-mail goes down and suddenly I feel lost and lonely. What am I missing?
Blogs are hit or miss. I have bookmarked some excellent blogs about journalism, travel, photography, music, sports, and health and safety. Others are soapboxes for agitators who clearly love to antagonize. Blogging is a good outlet for curmudgeons of all stripes. I ignore them.
Facebook and Twitter may have value as business marketing tools, more so probably 3-5 years from now. I find too many trivial, gossipy, and useless information posted on Facebook right now. A friend sends a photo of a fellow airline passenger ready to puke. Wonderful. What’s the point? A running thread on my Facebook for 6 months now is how great it was growing up in my humble hometown. Old neighbors and classmates have come up with what seems like hundreds of examples of “You know you’re from Oaklyn if you remember…”
I’m down with Tony Soprano on this one: Tony once complained to his posse who were idly gabbing about “Remember when…” by saying, “You know, the lowest form of conversation is talking about the old days.”
Twitter too has its place, like during revolutions when revolutionaries tweet on where the next protest will take place, or where the police are clamping down, or atrocities that have been witnessed.
But that’s the exception. Most tweets come from celebrities who see themselves as the center of the universe and assume their loyal followers want to know what the celeb ate for breakfast, who they hung out with last night, and what errands he or she is running today. Ridiculous.
Text messaging is lost on me. I get texts from my kids. I call them back. Why not just call me, guys? My bias here is that I’m all thumbs trying to text and it gets damn frustrating. Talk to me, damn it, don’t type what you can easily say in a call.
I think bias has much to do with one’s use, or non-use, of social media tools. Friends who were early adapters back in the 80s of Apple computers and PCs, have a bias toward tech gadgets. In the 90s they were the ones designing web sites. In the past decade they have smoothly transitioned to iTunes, iPhones, cell phone photography, Kindles and Nooks, iPads, and video on demand.
I’m more tactile. I like the feel of a newspaper or magazine or book. I like to look at my CD and DVD collections. I like to wander the ever-shrinking number of CD stores and indie book stores. Give me a well-stocked magazine stand in New York City or Washington. Priceless… and on the road to extinction, dammit. I don’t want everything digitized and residing off in some cloud. I don’t mind some clutter in my life, some scattered CDs and DVDs.
To paraphrase Gil Scott-Heron: the revolution will be digitized. No doubt about it. Start the revolution without me. Oh, it’s already well underway? Well, give me the Cliff Notes version of what I really ought to know about all things social media and I’ll manage just fine.
How about you? Does social media fragment communications and put more distance between us, or make us happier and less lonely?
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Leaving the nest unattended
After 50 hours in New York City — to get out of the neighborhood and take in a couple of plays — my wife and I returned home, where we had left our nineteen-year-old son Cale to his own devices. His older sister thought us crazy. And so began our second journey, an investigation, sniffing for clues as to what happened in our absence. Hmm… clue number one: a strange car sits in the drive.
Clue two: We get blasted by an overwhelming odor as we open the front door. Room freshener. ”Oust” Surface Disinfectant & Air Sanitizer. OK, Cale and his bros tried. Must have used five cans of the stuff. This explains the one, slightly ominous text I received from Cale in NYC the night before: “Dad, when will you be home?”
I did not text or otherwise attempt to contact Cale in the two nights we were out of town. No news is good news. No calls to my cell from the cops, the mayor, some attorney, a reporter, the emergency room, one of the neighbors. Cale is nineteen, soon to begin his sophomore year in college. His bros are eighteen, nineteen, twenty. For all intents and purposes, unless catastrophe strikes, they are beyond lectures. And if I had put in a call to Cale, I would have gotten jive. “Yo, Cale, how’s it going?” “C’mon dad, it’s all good. We’re just chillin’. What’d you think we’d be doing? Peace.”
Clue three: All my framed photographs are missing from the living room and dining room. Responsible thinking. The way was cleared for bro wrestling, dancing, boogie down productions, whatever.
Clue three: As soon as we arrive back home Anthony stumbles up from the basement like something out of the Night of the Living Dead. The Man Cave down there, a tight circle of Adirondack chairs, beach chairs, plastic white lawn chairs, a bare light bulb hanging from the wooden rafters, and an ancient church pew strewn with hip hop and rock CDs, is a semi-partitioned dump, concrete floor, assorted frayed wires and plumbing piping running along the exposed ceiling. It is about ten feet wide by fifteen feet deep. Concrete block walls. Someone forgot to spray “Oust” in the Man Cave.
Clue three: A man/boy’s body is stretched across a bed in one of the bedrooms. He died with his boots on, and all his clothes. Out cold. He does have a pulse.
Clue four: What are a couple of 12-inch screwdrivers doing in the kitchen and dining room? Turns out one of the bros locked himself in the bathroom, and they tried to pry him out with pliers.
Clue five: both our dogs are still alive. And I find no dog poop on the carpet.
More than once I’ve wondered: why is our 1950s ranch house bro central? Cale has bros who live in McMansions with built-in pools, patios, family room basements, landscaped acres of yard, entertainment rooms, home theatres. I think I know the attraction. At our place all the bros jam in around the flat screen or down in the Man Cave. They are more nostalgic than I think. For something retro, something that I cannot put a finger on.
Clue six: What is the turtle and his large, heavy tank doing in our back bedroom? Cale says later he needed to clear some space out. For a PlayStation convention? Smackdown wrestling?
Clue seven: An unopened box of Flex Odor Control Unscented Tall Kitchen garbage bags sits on the dining room table. Well, it’s the thought that counts.
Clue eight: Furniture still upright. DVD players still work.
Clue nine. Martha doesn’t rush over our first morning back to grab my wife and say, “You really oughta know what happened…” No evil stares from the neighbors. No reports our house was lit up like a riverboat casino. No reports of three o’clock in the morning backyard grinding and bumping and cigar smoking.
Clue ten: No tire tracks in the front yard.
We rolled the dice and got away with one here. Nothing happened. Something sure as hell could’ve. Why risk it? Most of Cale’s crew are good guys we’ve known since grade school. And it’s time to break away and let go. Nineteen years old is a weird age, somewhere between “What’s for dinner, mom?” and possibly hunting down the Taliban. I can say this: I have no interest in winning “coolest parent” honors. Like William Tecumseh Sherman, if nominated I will not run; if elected I will not serve.
Clue two: We get blasted by an overwhelming odor as we open the front door. Room freshener. ”Oust” Surface Disinfectant & Air Sanitizer. OK, Cale and his bros tried. Must have used five cans of the stuff. This explains the one, slightly ominous text I received from Cale in NYC the night before: “Dad, when will you be home?”
I did not text or otherwise attempt to contact Cale in the two nights we were out of town. No news is good news. No calls to my cell from the cops, the mayor, some attorney, a reporter, the emergency room, one of the neighbors. Cale is nineteen, soon to begin his sophomore year in college. His bros are eighteen, nineteen, twenty. For all intents and purposes, unless catastrophe strikes, they are beyond lectures. And if I had put in a call to Cale, I would have gotten jive. “Yo, Cale, how’s it going?” “C’mon dad, it’s all good. We’re just chillin’. What’d you think we’d be doing? Peace.”
Clue three: All my framed photographs are missing from the living room and dining room. Responsible thinking. The way was cleared for bro wrestling, dancing, boogie down productions, whatever.
Clue three: As soon as we arrive back home Anthony stumbles up from the basement like something out of the Night of the Living Dead. The Man Cave down there, a tight circle of Adirondack chairs, beach chairs, plastic white lawn chairs, a bare light bulb hanging from the wooden rafters, and an ancient church pew strewn with hip hop and rock CDs, is a semi-partitioned dump, concrete floor, assorted frayed wires and plumbing piping running along the exposed ceiling. It is about ten feet wide by fifteen feet deep. Concrete block walls. Someone forgot to spray “Oust” in the Man Cave.
Clue three: A man/boy’s body is stretched across a bed in one of the bedrooms. He died with his boots on, and all his clothes. Out cold. He does have a pulse.
Clue four: What are a couple of 12-inch screwdrivers doing in the kitchen and dining room? Turns out one of the bros locked himself in the bathroom, and they tried to pry him out with pliers.
Clue five: both our dogs are still alive. And I find no dog poop on the carpet.
More than once I’ve wondered: why is our 1950s ranch house bro central? Cale has bros who live in McMansions with built-in pools, patios, family room basements, landscaped acres of yard, entertainment rooms, home theatres. I think I know the attraction. At our place all the bros jam in around the flat screen or down in the Man Cave. They are more nostalgic than I think. For something retro, something that I cannot put a finger on.
Clue six: What is the turtle and his large, heavy tank doing in our back bedroom? Cale says later he needed to clear some space out. For a PlayStation convention? Smackdown wrestling?
Clue seven: An unopened box of Flex Odor Control Unscented Tall Kitchen garbage bags sits on the dining room table. Well, it’s the thought that counts.
Clue eight: Furniture still upright. DVD players still work.
Clue nine. Martha doesn’t rush over our first morning back to grab my wife and say, “You really oughta know what happened…” No evil stares from the neighbors. No reports our house was lit up like a riverboat casino. No reports of three o’clock in the morning backyard grinding and bumping and cigar smoking.
Clue ten: No tire tracks in the front yard.
We rolled the dice and got away with one here. Nothing happened. Something sure as hell could’ve. Why risk it? Most of Cale’s crew are good guys we’ve known since grade school. And it’s time to break away and let go. Nineteen years old is a weird age, somewhere between “What’s for dinner, mom?” and possibly hunting down the Taliban. I can say this: I have no interest in winning “coolest parent” honors. Like William Tecumseh Sherman, if nominated I will not run; if elected I will not serve.
Me and my footprint
Brrriinnggg!!!
Brrriinnggg!!!
“Hello?
“Who’s calling? What’s that? The Society for a Sustainable Future?
“Well god bless you. What can I do for you?
“Do I have a few minutes for a poll? How can I say no to a Sustainable Future? Fire away.
“What’s that? Do I believe changes in individual behaviors and attitudes will make the biggest impact on a sustainable future? You bet. I love the environment, love it.
“Do I recycle? Of course. What could be easier? Trash in the red barrel. Plastic, glass and newspapers in the blue barrel. They teach this is pre-school, you know.
“What’s that? What is my thermostat set at right now? Wait a minute….
“80 degrees.
“That’s right, 80.
“Why so high? It’s December, you know. You’re calling north of the Mason-Dixon line. But in the summer it’s air conditioning 24/7 baby. OK. OK. Don’t worry, I’ll turn it down tonight.
“To what? I don’t know. Maybe 75. I like to feel toasty. Especially with the electric blanket on. Don’t worry. It’s got dual controls. That’s being energy-efficient, right?
“What’s that? What electric appliances do I run most often?
“Well, you have to understand, I’m one of those people, soon as I get home, the television goes on. Has to. I can’t stand a quiet house. Freaks me out. So the television is on basically whenever I’m home. At least I don’t sleep with it on. I knew a guy, couldn’t go to sleep at night without the TV on. Strange, huh?
“Then I might go in the kitchen and turn on NPR. No, I’m not really listening or watching. The news is too depressing. Have you watched it lately? Then, let’s see. I might pop something in the microwave.
“How often do I use the microwave? Ma’am, you know the world we live in. I’m microwaving every night. There’s no time.
“How far do I commute to work? Hah. Got ya there. I work at home. How many points do I get for that?
“Can I walk to where I shop for food.? What a concept, walk to shop. Just kidding. I could but I don’t. Why? I’d have the carry the stuff home. And those water bottles are heavy.
“How many water bottles do I consume in a day? I got to admit, I’m a little obsessive about my water bottles. It’s like I’m addicted. What? How many are in my frig right now? We’re getting a little personal, aren’t we? Just kidding. Wait…
“Ah, I guess there are about 20 or 30 in there. Hey, calm down. They’re eight-ounce Deer Parks. Of course, then I’ve got my giant tubular bottles of Smartwater. Can’t beat Smartwater. Oh, and then we have the easy pour three-quart jug of Deer Park for making coffee.
“What’s that you say? I’ve got enough plastic to cover an infield during a rain delay? I dunno, I never thought of it that way. C’mon, you gotta give me some points for recycling it all.
Diet and driving
“You want to talk more about diet? OK. How much beef do I eat? What’s that got to do with anything? What’s that you say? Raising livestock for human consumption creates 51% of GHG emissions, and pollutes rives and lakes. Well, I’m good for a couple of burgers a week, that’s about it. I’m not a big beef guy. I get points for that, right?
“What? What do I think about the cruelty of factory farming? To who? I know, I know, the farmers’ got it rough. The cattle? C’mon, they don’t even know where they are. They have pea brains. Just kidding. Alright. Alright. Jeez, I didn’t know this was a sore spot with you. This is where sustainability gets a little touchy feely for me. But don’t deduct any points, OK?
“My driving habits? OK. Well, I don’t have any points right now. I’m a good driver. “What’s that? How often do I drive somewhere where I could walk instead? Never. Listen, I live in the suburbs. We have sidewalks that lead to nowhere. Seriously, they just suddenly end, like they ran out of cement. Makes no sense. You know the suburbs, nothing is close to anything. The school’s too far to walk. Church, library, too far. Now did you ever once hear of anyone walking to a McDonald’s? Or Wal-Mart. Imagine someone actually walking to Wal-Mart. You could pull a hammy just crossing the parking lot.
“How many cars do I own? Let’s see. Five. What can I say, I like cars. And that’s not including the kids’ cars. When they’re home the front yard look like a moonshine runners’ convention what with all the cars all over.
“Would I consider purchasing a small, more fuel-efficient car, or a hybrid? The hybrid’s a little pricey for me, nice idea and all. You know, the economy isn’t exactly cooking along. We could still be in a recession. Who knows. And ah, small cars, they make me claustrophic. I don’t need those huge tail fins, we’ve outgrown them at least. And all the chrome. Nice, but you gotta move on…. Still, you know, this is America, not China. We’re a car nation.
Housing
“Would I consider downsizing into a smaller, more energy-efficient home? Like in England and Germany? But they’re row homes, aren’t they? Nothing against people who live in row homes. To each their own. But I’ve worked my career for my castle here. I’m kidding. This ain’t no McMansion. Don’t dock me too many points. But this is America, you know. We gotta express ourselves.
“What’s that you say? Am I willing to make meaningful reductions in my lifestyle for a sustainable future? What’s a meaningful reduction? You mean go back to something more simple? You mean give back? Not exactly the American way, but I guess I could go without so many water bottles. I don’t know if the family needs eight computers. But some of ‘em are old. I’d love to get rid of the kids’ cell phones, but that train left the station a long time ago. I don’t have an e-book or an iPad; I’ve got to get some points for that, huh? Let’s see, more reductions? Well, I guess I don’t have to use my underground sprinkler system every night on the grass. And to be honest with you, I could probably cut back on my 104-inch flat screen. It kind of takes over the room, you know?
“So that’s it? How did I score? What’s that? I’ve got a footprint the size of Crater Lake. You’re putting me on. Now exactly what is a footprint?
Brrriinnggg!!!
“Hello?
“Who’s calling? What’s that? The Society for a Sustainable Future?
“Well god bless you. What can I do for you?
“Do I have a few minutes for a poll? How can I say no to a Sustainable Future? Fire away.
“What’s that? Do I believe changes in individual behaviors and attitudes will make the biggest impact on a sustainable future? You bet. I love the environment, love it.
“Do I recycle? Of course. What could be easier? Trash in the red barrel. Plastic, glass and newspapers in the blue barrel. They teach this is pre-school, you know.
“What’s that? What is my thermostat set at right now? Wait a minute….
“80 degrees.
“That’s right, 80.
“Why so high? It’s December, you know. You’re calling north of the Mason-Dixon line. But in the summer it’s air conditioning 24/7 baby. OK. OK. Don’t worry, I’ll turn it down tonight.
“To what? I don’t know. Maybe 75. I like to feel toasty. Especially with the electric blanket on. Don’t worry. It’s got dual controls. That’s being energy-efficient, right?
“What’s that? What electric appliances do I run most often?
“Well, you have to understand, I’m one of those people, soon as I get home, the television goes on. Has to. I can’t stand a quiet house. Freaks me out. So the television is on basically whenever I’m home. At least I don’t sleep with it on. I knew a guy, couldn’t go to sleep at night without the TV on. Strange, huh?
“Then I might go in the kitchen and turn on NPR. No, I’m not really listening or watching. The news is too depressing. Have you watched it lately? Then, let’s see. I might pop something in the microwave.
“How often do I use the microwave? Ma’am, you know the world we live in. I’m microwaving every night. There’s no time.
“How far do I commute to work? Hah. Got ya there. I work at home. How many points do I get for that?
“Can I walk to where I shop for food.? What a concept, walk to shop. Just kidding. I could but I don’t. Why? I’d have the carry the stuff home. And those water bottles are heavy.
“How many water bottles do I consume in a day? I got to admit, I’m a little obsessive about my water bottles. It’s like I’m addicted. What? How many are in my frig right now? We’re getting a little personal, aren’t we? Just kidding. Wait…
“Ah, I guess there are about 20 or 30 in there. Hey, calm down. They’re eight-ounce Deer Parks. Of course, then I’ve got my giant tubular bottles of Smartwater. Can’t beat Smartwater. Oh, and then we have the easy pour three-quart jug of Deer Park for making coffee.
“What’s that you say? I’ve got enough plastic to cover an infield during a rain delay? I dunno, I never thought of it that way. C’mon, you gotta give me some points for recycling it all.
Diet and driving
“You want to talk more about diet? OK. How much beef do I eat? What’s that got to do with anything? What’s that you say? Raising livestock for human consumption creates 51% of GHG emissions, and pollutes rives and lakes. Well, I’m good for a couple of burgers a week, that’s about it. I’m not a big beef guy. I get points for that, right?
“What? What do I think about the cruelty of factory farming? To who? I know, I know, the farmers’ got it rough. The cattle? C’mon, they don’t even know where they are. They have pea brains. Just kidding. Alright. Alright. Jeez, I didn’t know this was a sore spot with you. This is where sustainability gets a little touchy feely for me. But don’t deduct any points, OK?
“My driving habits? OK. Well, I don’t have any points right now. I’m a good driver. “What’s that? How often do I drive somewhere where I could walk instead? Never. Listen, I live in the suburbs. We have sidewalks that lead to nowhere. Seriously, they just suddenly end, like they ran out of cement. Makes no sense. You know the suburbs, nothing is close to anything. The school’s too far to walk. Church, library, too far. Now did you ever once hear of anyone walking to a McDonald’s? Or Wal-Mart. Imagine someone actually walking to Wal-Mart. You could pull a hammy just crossing the parking lot.
“How many cars do I own? Let’s see. Five. What can I say, I like cars. And that’s not including the kids’ cars. When they’re home the front yard look like a moonshine runners’ convention what with all the cars all over.
“Would I consider purchasing a small, more fuel-efficient car, or a hybrid? The hybrid’s a little pricey for me, nice idea and all. You know, the economy isn’t exactly cooking along. We could still be in a recession. Who knows. And ah, small cars, they make me claustrophic. I don’t need those huge tail fins, we’ve outgrown them at least. And all the chrome. Nice, but you gotta move on…. Still, you know, this is America, not China. We’re a car nation.
Housing
“Would I consider downsizing into a smaller, more energy-efficient home? Like in England and Germany? But they’re row homes, aren’t they? Nothing against people who live in row homes. To each their own. But I’ve worked my career for my castle here. I’m kidding. This ain’t no McMansion. Don’t dock me too many points. But this is America, you know. We gotta express ourselves.
“What’s that you say? Am I willing to make meaningful reductions in my lifestyle for a sustainable future? What’s a meaningful reduction? You mean go back to something more simple? You mean give back? Not exactly the American way, but I guess I could go without so many water bottles. I don’t know if the family needs eight computers. But some of ‘em are old. I’d love to get rid of the kids’ cell phones, but that train left the station a long time ago. I don’t have an e-book or an iPad; I’ve got to get some points for that, huh? Let’s see, more reductions? Well, I guess I don’t have to use my underground sprinkler system every night on the grass. And to be honest with you, I could probably cut back on my 104-inch flat screen. It kind of takes over the room, you know?
“So that’s it? How did I score? What’s that? I’ve got a footprint the size of Crater Lake. You’re putting me on. Now exactly what is a footprint?
Who, me anxious?
A March 2011 survey by the American Psychological Association on “Stress in the Workplace” saw the glass half (or one-third) empty — emphasizing that 36 percent of workers said they typically feel tense or stressed out during their workday.
That leaves more than 60 percent not feeling particularly tense or stressed out during the day.
That leaves more than 60 percent not feeling particularly tense or stressed out during the day.
Call it the silent majority of the comfortably satisfied. Or acceptably challenged by their work.
Of course psychologists would be staring at empty waiting rooms in a world without stress, which is why APA places its emphasis where it does in its survey.
And we all know that “good news” doesn’t sell magazines and newspapers. Imagine a Time cover story: “Why Most Americans Don’t Feel Particularly Anxious About Anything.”
Well, here’s some good news for you:
77 percent of employees report having a positive relationship with their boss, according to the APA survey.
85 percent enjoy positive relations with their co-workers.
66 percent say they are motivated to do their very best for their employer.
(APA phrases it “only two-thirds” but in any office I’ve ever worked in, if two-thirds were trying “to do their very best” that’d be a pretty damn productive office. Many people hang on to the 80/20 rule, you know, 80 percent of the work is done by 20 percent of the people. So 66 percent seems good to me.
All in all, I’d say these percentages point to a fairly non-threatening, accomodating work environment.
The Penn State scandal: Eyes wide open
The term willful blindness refers to an individual who could have known the facts of a situation, and should have known the facts, but deliberately blinded himself to the existence of the facts.
It will be a long time before all the facts come out, if they ever do, about the charges up in Happy Valley, Pennsylvania that former assistant football coach Jerry Sandusky sexually abused at least eight young boys 40 times during a span of 15 years, some of which allegedly took place at the football complex.
Recently fired legendary football coach Joe Paterno has been accused of willful blindness. It’s argued that Penn State, a huge university with more than 40,000 students on the main campus and an annual budget of $4 billion, suffers from a case of institutional willful blindness.
JoePa regrets now that he did not “do more” after learning of an alleged incident involving Sandusky and a youth in football complex shower room in 2002. Sandusky was first investigated by campus police in 1998 after a alleged incident. After retiring in 1999, he retained “privileges”: he was invited to games to which he sometimes brought boys; on one bowl trip he took a young boy along. Sandusky maintained an office and had keys to the athletic facilities to workout and shower. I don’t call this willful blindness; it’s an open invitation.
Sandusky says there is nothing to be blind about; he is innocent, and has claimed to be since day one.
This tragedy is all too reminiscent of workplace safety horror stories. Who knew what and when did they know it?
Who knew the risks at the Texas City refinery, the Upper Big Branch mine, the Deepwater Horizon operation? When were they uncovered? Were they investigated as thoroughly as they ought to have been? Who made the decision that these risks were somehow acceptable? Why didn’t others speak up?
It has been said people are resistant to seeing the truth if it runs counter to what they have an economic stake in.
I’m sorry, but I don’t believe people are blind when there is money involved. You can’t be blind and manage huge sums of money.
And money is at the root of most every workplace safety debacle. Resistance to spend money to correct hazards or improve maintenance. Rushing to get the thing done to save money. Cutting corners to save money.
Penn State football generates $70 million in revenue, $50 million in profit. Success in football has put the school on the map. Donations from JoePa built the school library. Home games are played in one of the most massive stadiums in the country. Alumni love a winner and alumni dollars roll in. Big-time football has created a reputation for the university that attracts students (122,000 freshman applications this year) and faculty nationwide.
The core of that reputation or brand, as articulated for more than 40 years by Paterno, is to be successful athletically, economically prosperous, and as ethically clean as a Disneyworld street.
So who is going take down this Magic Kingdom in the middle of Pennsylvania that has been 50 years in the making? A county district attorney declined to pursue one of the abuse allegations several years ago, mysteriously disappeared in 2005, and was declared legally dead in July of this year. A temporary janitor observed one shower room incident, told other janitors, but never made a report to police. Penn State’s athletic director was told of an incident and did not file a police report. The school’s president has been fired for, in effect, trying to hide the ticking time bomb to protect the brand. Several other officials have been put on leave. State College, home to Penn State, is a small, rural town. It’s been said a powerful football coach knows everything that happens in town. So does his staff. Even the janitors knew something was very wrong.
I don’t see any kind of willful blindness. No one was blind to the money machine that is Penn State football. They knew the value of Penn State’s clean image. Officials knew of the allegations surrounding Sandusky going back to 1998 at least and the risk posed by keeping Sandusky around “with privileges.”
Complacent? Yes. Greedy? Yes. Reckless? Yes. Blind, willfully blind? No. Penn State officials knew what they were trying to protect. They knew they were delaying, hemming and hawing, not alerting authorities, not filing reports, downplaying allegations when they did surface. They willfully decided to take a huge risk in not getting caught. Just like in so many workplace disasters. There was no ignorance. People thought they could get away with a risk and it blew up in their face.
It will be a long time before all the facts come out, if they ever do, about the charges up in Happy Valley, Pennsylvania that former assistant football coach Jerry Sandusky sexually abused at least eight young boys 40 times during a span of 15 years, some of which allegedly took place at the football complex.
Recently fired legendary football coach Joe Paterno has been accused of willful blindness. It’s argued that Penn State, a huge university with more than 40,000 students on the main campus and an annual budget of $4 billion, suffers from a case of institutional willful blindness.
JoePa regrets now that he did not “do more” after learning of an alleged incident involving Sandusky and a youth in football complex shower room in 2002. Sandusky was first investigated by campus police in 1998 after a alleged incident. After retiring in 1999, he retained “privileges”: he was invited to games to which he sometimes brought boys; on one bowl trip he took a young boy along. Sandusky maintained an office and had keys to the athletic facilities to workout and shower. I don’t call this willful blindness; it’s an open invitation.
Sandusky says there is nothing to be blind about; he is innocent, and has claimed to be since day one.
This tragedy is all too reminiscent of workplace safety horror stories. Who knew what and when did they know it?
Who knew the risks at the Texas City refinery, the Upper Big Branch mine, the Deepwater Horizon operation? When were they uncovered? Were they investigated as thoroughly as they ought to have been? Who made the decision that these risks were somehow acceptable? Why didn’t others speak up?
It has been said people are resistant to seeing the truth if it runs counter to what they have an economic stake in.
I’m sorry, but I don’t believe people are blind when there is money involved. You can’t be blind and manage huge sums of money.
And money is at the root of most every workplace safety debacle. Resistance to spend money to correct hazards or improve maintenance. Rushing to get the thing done to save money. Cutting corners to save money.
Penn State football generates $70 million in revenue, $50 million in profit. Success in football has put the school on the map. Donations from JoePa built the school library. Home games are played in one of the most massive stadiums in the country. Alumni love a winner and alumni dollars roll in. Big-time football has created a reputation for the university that attracts students (122,000 freshman applications this year) and faculty nationwide.
The core of that reputation or brand, as articulated for more than 40 years by Paterno, is to be successful athletically, economically prosperous, and as ethically clean as a Disneyworld street.
So who is going take down this Magic Kingdom in the middle of Pennsylvania that has been 50 years in the making? A county district attorney declined to pursue one of the abuse allegations several years ago, mysteriously disappeared in 2005, and was declared legally dead in July of this year. A temporary janitor observed one shower room incident, told other janitors, but never made a report to police. Penn State’s athletic director was told of an incident and did not file a police report. The school’s president has been fired for, in effect, trying to hide the ticking time bomb to protect the brand. Several other officials have been put on leave. State College, home to Penn State, is a small, rural town. It’s been said a powerful football coach knows everything that happens in town. So does his staff. Even the janitors knew something was very wrong.
I don’t see any kind of willful blindness. No one was blind to the money machine that is Penn State football. They knew the value of Penn State’s clean image. Officials knew of the allegations surrounding Sandusky going back to 1998 at least and the risk posed by keeping Sandusky around “with privileges.”
Complacent? Yes. Greedy? Yes. Reckless? Yes. Blind, willfully blind? No. Penn State officials knew what they were trying to protect. They knew they were delaying, hemming and hawing, not alerting authorities, not filing reports, downplaying allegations when they did surface. They willfully decided to take a huge risk in not getting caught. Just like in so many workplace disasters. There was no ignorance. People thought they could get away with a risk and it blew up in their face.
Sorry, Mitt, corporations are not people
Last August while trolling for votes at the Iowa State Farm, Republican presidential candidate Mitt Romney created a media stir when, egged on by an irate protestor, said, “Corporations are people, my friend.” After someone yelled, “No they’re not,” Romney went on: “Of course they are. Everything corporations ultimately earn goes to people. Where do you think it goes?”
Let’s put aside the issue of which “people” benefit most from corporate earnings, and the Grand Canyon-size gap between what executives are paid versus the average worker.
It’s been said forever that safety is all about people. Many if not most safety and health pros are drawn to their positions because of their feelings for people; their innate desire not see people hurt or killed on the job.
This often makes the safety and health pro something of a misfit in corporations. Because most employees in the corporation, most senior leaders, don’t share this level of caring and concern. Especially when it involves sizeable investments. So often the safety and health person becomes “the conscience of the corporation.”
If a corporation was a person, it would have its own conscience. It would have, either in its DNA or through parenting and schooling, some sense of right and wrong. But corporations are not biological, obviously. Some CEOs do have a conscience for safety, for sustainability, for a sense of corporate responsibility. But CEOs are agents for the corporation. Agents with agendas, emotions, perspectives, values, ambitions. These very human characteristics steer the corporation.
As such, sustainability and social responsibility often become “directional” tactics, not values. Marketing and communications departments get involved to make the corporation more appealing, more reputable and responsible to customers, stock analysts, investors, regulators, their own employees.
There is nothing wrong with tactics of self-interest if they benefit the safety and health of the employees, the environment, and the communities in which corporations operate. Let’s have more of it.
But don’t mistake that self-interest as coming from a living, breathing corporation. As the late economist Milton Friedman said, “The social responsibility of business is to increase its profits. In a 1970 article in “The New York Times Magazine,” Friedman said, “Only people can have responsibilities. A corporation is an artificial person and in this sense may have artificial responsibilities, but ‘business’ as a whole cannot be said to have responsibilities…”
Let’s put aside the issue of which “people” benefit most from corporate earnings, and the Grand Canyon-size gap between what executives are paid versus the average worker.
It’s been said forever that safety is all about people. Many if not most safety and health pros are drawn to their positions because of their feelings for people; their innate desire not see people hurt or killed on the job.
This often makes the safety and health pro something of a misfit in corporations. Because most employees in the corporation, most senior leaders, don’t share this level of caring and concern. Especially when it involves sizeable investments. So often the safety and health person becomes “the conscience of the corporation.”
If a corporation was a person, it would have its own conscience. It would have, either in its DNA or through parenting and schooling, some sense of right and wrong. But corporations are not biological, obviously. Some CEOs do have a conscience for safety, for sustainability, for a sense of corporate responsibility. But CEOs are agents for the corporation. Agents with agendas, emotions, perspectives, values, ambitions. These very human characteristics steer the corporation.
As such, sustainability and social responsibility often become “directional” tactics, not values. Marketing and communications departments get involved to make the corporation more appealing, more reputable and responsible to customers, stock analysts, investors, regulators, their own employees.
There is nothing wrong with tactics of self-interest if they benefit the safety and health of the employees, the environment, and the communities in which corporations operate. Let’s have more of it.
But don’t mistake that self-interest as coming from a living, breathing corporation. As the late economist Milton Friedman said, “The social responsibility of business is to increase its profits. In a 1970 article in “The New York Times Magazine,” Friedman said, “Only people can have responsibilities. A corporation is an artificial person and in this sense may have artificial responsibilities, but ‘business’ as a whole cannot be said to have responsibilities…”
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