The Incredible Importance of Retiring Gracefully

So... I just saw The Social Network.  And... I loved it.  It accomplished the ultimate challenge in storytelling: it created characters so compelling that in the end you’re not sure who’s the good guy.  Actually, I was so turned around at the end that I even felt semi-sympathetic towards the twin douche bags.  But the reason I bring it up has more to do with how it made me think about technology and the direction it’s taking our society.  (Yep, it’s one of those columns, so hang on to your proverbial britches.  And also your actual britches.)

No one is ever going to accuse this guy of being curmudgeonly about technology.  I love gadgets in general, my iPhone in specific, and am thoroughly giddy about some of the things we can do because of technology.  Case in point, my Starbucks card is on my phone now.  They scan my phone at Starbucks; totally bitchin’.  (And let me tell you, wow, do the girls swoon over that.)  But I’m definitely not the guy who’s excited about getting a personal bar-code tattoo, which is where we’re headed if you believe the naysayers, or the neigh-sayers, for that matter.

I’m more in the middle ground, like a Libertarian, or a shortstop.  I’m all for being “old school”, but I am thoroughly convinced there are a few things that we can give up on, and allow them to go quietly into the night/oblivion, hence the Brett Favre reference.  

And the first of these needs to be phone books.  I will say one thing for Hagadon Directories et al: they’re sticking with it.  They are tenacious holding on to this most archaic form of communication, and there is honor in that.  But there can’t possibly be money in it.  I came home to find the 2011 Moscow/Pullman phone book on my doorstep, and a tumble of different emotions overtook me.  The first was annoyance, because I had to bend down and pick it up.  Next came sadness at the thought of how many times this particular phone book would be opened (zero.)  And then finally just a tinge of anger at the thought of what a waste phone books are.  Please raise your figurative interweb hand if you’ve used a phone book in the last month... I’m sure there’s a few of you, but it was probably because you didn’t have internet access at the time, or you were trying to remember your home phone number from, you know, when you had a home phone.  I wonder if the only thing phone books are good for is sitting on if you’re wicked short.  It must be easier to sell skywriting ads than ads in the phone book.  Where is the money in this game?  It’s time to call it quits on the phone book.  The internet has killed this one something fierce, so why not save me the hassle of throwing it away.

There’s too many similarities between the Favre and the Phonebook (great name for an album title).  Imagine how fondly we could remember them if they had just bowed out gracefully.  This is the conversation I picture, using my PLP Matt as the other end of it --

Me:  “Hey, remember phone books?  Those were the bees knees back in the day!”

Matt:  “We used to have a jolly good time flipping through that thing, looking for funny name combinations!”

Me:  “Whatever happened to those?  You used to get a new one every year.”

Matt:  “I don’t know, but we seem to be doing just fine without them.  We don’t need them anymore now that everybody texts.  Although, they did have those ads in them for plumbers and stuff.”

Me:  “That’s right!  I forgot that there were businesses in there.  But if I need a plumber I can just google plumbers.”

Matt:  “I suppose you could, but I judge you for that.”

Me:  “You are very judgemental when it comes to plumbers.:

Matt:  “I feel passionately about the subject!  A man’s got to have a cause to fight for!”

Me:  “I suppose.”

Matt:  “Alright, I’ll call you later.”

Me:  “How will you get my number without a phone book?”

Matt:  “Touche.  But I’m just kidding, I’m not gonna call.”

Me:  “Oh, I’m not gonna miss you.”

See how nostalgic that could be?  And it would be the same with Favre.  The problem with holding on too long, is that inevitably our final memories involve the sad, like Brett Favre throwing sad interceptions and limping off the field like he’s me, or the sad phone book sitting on my doorstep, as if someone said to me, “Here, you throw this away.”  And I did, I put that phone book out of it’s misery, right into the trash can where it belongs.  If I respected it I would perhaps recycle it, but why is it my fault that someone still thinks this is a viable advertising medium?  Don’t judge me; after all, it’s not like I’m googling plumbers...

rossnation... out.

The Incredible Importance of Superpowers

So, it turns out that I’m a superhero.

Look, I’m as shocked as you are.  But before we all get carried away here (you know, expecting me to start fighting crime and responding to bat-signals) allow me to temper your excitement, because I’m not a “traditional” superhero.  They’re probably not going to make a movie about me.  I have no superpowers, per se (except the power of the written word, which doesn’t get the ladies all a-flutter.)  Chances are fair to middlin’ that I will not be on a lunchbox anytime soon.  Which is fine, because I don’t think they make those anymore.  Anyway, I’m more Clark Gable than Clark Kent.  Oh, why kid ourselves, probably more Clark Griswold.  

I guess what I’m saying is that I only have one superhero trait, but every superhero has it.  I have a nemesis.  This is not to be confused with an arch enemy, or the Swedish metal band Arch Enemy.  My nemesis is my worst enemy, my most hated rival.  Evil and perfect in all the ways I’m not; my exact opposite, especially when you consider that my nemesis is not a person.  It’s a utility pole.  (Yeah, a telephone pole, how’s that for a let down!)

Bear with me, unless you already checked out with that last sentence, and I can’t say I blame you.  But good things come to those who wait, or so the Heinz company would have us believe.  (Personally, I think that ad campaign was only necessary because they couldn’t figure out plastic bottles, and that’s just lazy.)  That said, at least ketchup has a worthy adversary.  My nemesis is so... incredibly lame, but this particular piece of dead tree just has it in for me, and I’m not really winning the war.  

I’ll set the stage for you.  On the hill behind our office, there is a street that progress has forgotten, and the utilities for the houses are still hung from an old, decrepit utility pole in one of the backyards.  If this utility pole were a person?  Betty White.  Still hanging in there, but no one really wants to put a ladder up there, ya’ feel me?  So for the sake of simplicity, we’re gonna call this telephone pole Betty.  Betty stands in the backyard of 230 ---- St, at the top of a hill that is actually three tiers, 30 or 40 feet above the street.  Betty is at the junction of two fences, so to climb with gaffs you have to stand on top of the fence and start there.  Carrying a 60 pound extension ladder up the hill is the other method of getting there; also not fun.  In the summer, I imagine it wouldn’t be that difficult or annoying of an assignment.  The problem is, I’ve never had to work on Betty in the summer.

I’ve worked at Time Warner for almost four years, and I’ve only had to access Betty during the winter, only in the dark, and only with snow on the ground.  And not once, every winter.  I’ve had to activate 234 twice, and disconnect it twice.  Two houses over, 242, also gets cable from Betty.  242 is occupied by Moscow’s finest college boys, who I think probably like to zip line on the cable when they’re drunk.  Plus the cable hangs under about 100 feet of tree branches which have a tendency to fall on the cable during the winter storms.  Long story short(er), that cable comes down every winter, and I always seem to get the job of hanging it back up.  Please don’t take this as complaining: I always have help, and I get paid a healthy wage and free cable to do it.  But it’s exhausting, and cold, and annoying to have to do it over and over again.

And I’m starting to resent Betty and her offensive cables.  She may be the most difficult pole in Moscow to get to, and she is conspiring to keep me coming back.  About ten times, so far.  She is trying to break me, like Lex Luther (in this analogy, I’m Superman; pretty sweet what you can do when you’re the one typing.) 

So maybe I’m not a superhero.  Maybe I’m reading too much into this.  But I will tell you this for certain: Superman would make a hell of a cable guy...

cable guy!!! out.

The Incredible Importance of Moral Obligation

According to Wikipedia (and let’s be honest with ourselves, this is where 90 percent of the world’s knowledge is housed) the phrase “moral obligation” is applied to an act that is perceived as part of a person’s belief system... and that’s about it.  Seriously, this is the website that brings us hard-hitting articles about impact wrenches, wenches as they apply to British sitcoms, and “Ridin’ Wild” the 1922 western film directed by Nat Ross and starring Hoot Gibson (aside, I am the only person to “like” this on Facebook.  Go ahead, check, I’m no liar.)  And yet Wikipedia can’t give me three lousy sentences on a simple turn-of-phrase.  

All whining aside, I was looking for information on the subject because it’s a weird combination of words.  And I thought of it when searching for a way to describe my recent dabbling in the world of all-you-can-eat sushi.  I think the theory probably applies to all forms of AYCE (BBQ, pizza, chinese, waffles, et al), which might be one of my favorite and least favorite concepts in the world.  All-you-can-eat is a man’s game.  It’s a battle of wits, for the princess, to the death...

I accept.  As did my father, my brother, and our friend Brian.  We did it without hesitation, or any thought to the prudence of the matter.  Boise being so close to the ocean, and thus famous the world over for its sushi skills, how could we go wrong?  Thus, we drop 25 dollars per for the opportunity to cram our mouths with as much Royal California, unagi, and yellowtail nigiri as we can possibly stomach.  In my younger days, it was a small amount for me; I simply didn’t like to eat raw what-nots, irregardless of the freshness or large amounts of soy and wasabi.  Also, I feel as if we’re sort of thumbing our noses at the guys who discovered fire.

And this is were “moral obligation” comes in.  Because that is how Grant and Brian treated that meal.  They knew that dad and I were weak, and would only eat slightly more than necessary to fill our tummies.  For them, it was then gut-check time (blam, double entendre).  It was their moral obligation to ensure that Yoi Tomo lost money, and the only way to offset the rest of us and the prohibitive cost of the hot tea (no bueno, by the way) was to eat their weight in raw foodstuffs.  Which is tough, because rice expands as we all know.  

It was an epic performance.  Even the server started to get a little bit rattled.  I don’t think she was used to such dedication to overindulgence.  But as I’ve said, it was their moral obligation to get dad’s money’s worth; Jesus wanted it that way.  I lost track of how many rolls we went through, but Grant and Brian must have taken down 15 to 20.  It was dining as moral obligation; far beyond working to eat, it was eating as work, and a sight to behold.  It was this type of dedication that sculpted the great pyramids, built the Oregon Trail, and took us to the moon.  So I’m excited to see what Brian and Grant are able to do when they apply their energy something more constructive than putting a sushi joint out of business.  Or maybe that in itself is a worthy goal: after all, if you open an AYCE restaurant, you’re just asking to be eaten out of house and home.  And I know just the men for the job.

rossnation... out.

The Incredible Importance of Beautiful Words (that aren't mine)

“Pay close attention, and write down everything I say, exactly as I say it.  The first book of Moses, called Genesis.  Chapter one, verse one.  In the Beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.  Verse Two.  And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep.  And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters.  Verse Three.  And God said, “Let there be light.” And there was light.”

“Dear Lord, thank you for giving me the strength and the conviction to complete the task you entrusted to me.  Thank you for guiding me straight and true through the many obstacles in my path.  And for keeping me resolute when all around seemed lost.  Thank you for your protection and for your many signs along the way.  Thank you for any good that I may have done, I’m so sorry about the bad.  Thank you for the friend I made.  Please watch over her as you’ve watched over me.  Thank you for finally allowing me to rest.  I’m so very tired.  But I go now to my rest, at peace, knowing I have done right with my time on this earth.  I fought the good fight, I finished the race.  I kept the faith.”

rossnation... defines and defies the universe

Who among the faithful is acquainted with the PBS show "NOVA"?  As a youngun' (not to be confused with a young gun) whose only real television choice was PBS, Nova seemed to have all the answers.  That was probably because of the flashy 80's graphics and the fact that it was on at night.  Turns out the best program on PBS was actually Square One TV, with Mathnet and it's incredibly realistic portrayal of the LAPD (they carried calculators in their shoulder holsters.)  Now that I'm older I see these things clearer, and realize that the world needs a new NOVA, and that's where rossnation... comes in.  So to the adoring public, we present the following theories:

• Black Holes -- Traditional science would have you believe that a black hole is an area of mass so dense that nothing can escape from it.  What Stephen Hawking won't tell you, though, is the truth: black holes are formed from enormous amounts of cheese.  I know, it makes so much sense now, right?  Think about how weird cheese is, and it's clear that we didn't invent it; cosmic intervention is the only possible explanation.  But don't get me started on how this cheese is harvested.  Let's just say there's a reason Tillamook can charge 13 dollars for a block of cheddar...*
• Antimatter -- This will blow your minds, both individually and collectively.  (Yes, rossnation... is a hive mind.  You know, like the Borg.)  Antimatter is the opposite of matter, supposedly.  But I find this too simplistic.  I think antimatter is nothing more than energy, and has a single purpose: it is the source of all rossnation... ideas.  I'd write an entire essay on this, but it's about as likely to be published as a children's book written by Michael Vick.
• The Bermuda Triangle -- This is nothing more than a joke that got out of hand.  I surmise that it was probably someone making fun of Bermudian's math skills (which are notoriously suspect, but they're good people), but was warped into the current conspiracy theories as a way to explain why so many people seemed to go to the Caribbean and never come back.  The real reason they were never heard from again is that it's warm there.
• Justin Bieber's Popularity -- Forget it, even I don't have an explanation...
• The Extinction of Dinosaurs -- My head tells me that the dinosaurs were obliterated by the climate change caused by a giant meteorite striking the earth.  If I'm not mistaken, this is also the plot line of The Land Before Time, so I may just be flashing on that movie.  What my heart tells me is slightly less believable: that the dinosaurs were actually hunted out of existence by - wait for it - Winston Churchill.  I can't really figure why he held so much animosity toward the dinosaurs, but I imagine it has something to do with not enough hugs as a child.

So there you have it, there's some definitions.  Have questions of your own that can't be answered with traditional science?  I'll accept submissions, and you can help us defy the universe.

rossnation... out.

*  According to Fish Master Matt Abrahamse, "All dairy products are better when reduced to a singularity."  I concur.  Also, is it a sign of the times that you can buy cheese on amazon.com?

The Incredible Importance of Saying Nice Things

I had a very Mark Twain-esque moment today.  It was one of those moments that is not really that funny, unless you think about it in a certain way.  (My way, that is.)  But no matter how you look at it, at the time it was hysterical, and no one is ever there to share the laugh with.  Let’s just say that Matt or Mike would have pooped on themselves had they been there.

Twain once said, “I can live for two months on a good compliment.”  I can certainly attest to that, and I think you’ll all agree.  A real and true compliment from someone - friend, foe, or complete stranger - is a game changer.  It’s a sad fact that in today’s culture a sincere compliment is a very rare thing, I think because most everybody is so incredibly self-centered.  Because of this, I find that when someone says something nice to me (i.e. “You are extremely handsome and talented.”) the rest of the day is about 5 degrees warmer, so to speak.  A sincere compliment can change someone’s week, and it costs nothing.  And it doesn’t even have to be intentional praise, as I discovered today at the laundromat.

First, a word about my laundromat, Sudzees.  It’s clean.  It’s warm.  It’s close to my house.  It has free wireless internet (so slow as to be unusable, but it’s the thought that counts.)  And it is generally not inundated with large, smelly trailer dwelling folk.  And (very) occasionally there is a lovely lady there, also cleansing her unmentionables.  Sudzees is the Peter Luger’s of laundromat’s.  

So Saturday is laundry day in rossnation..., a tradition that dates back all the way to last year.  Occasionally it has to happen on Sundays, depending on the level of apathy in the water.  But it must be done, as rossnation... lays claim to only 6 work shirts, and would prefer not to be known the world over as “the stinky cable guy.”  Thus, I found myself there today, cleaning my whatnots, when two older women approached me near the change machine with a pointed question: “Do you have a knife?”

The women were trying to open their detergent package, and being old, did not have teeth sharp enough to bite it open as I would probably have done.  Not to worry, though, as I just happened to have a pocket knife gifted to me from my sister and brother in law not one day before.  The timing could not have been more perfect, which leads me to believe that my density has bought me to you.  (Back to the Future reference.)

I know you’re in suspense, so I’ll allay that by telling you that I did open their detergent.  After all, I am a gentleman and a scholar, with many gentlemanly and scholarly things to do.  But it was the few seconds afterward that changed my day for the better, when out of the wind, one of the women said to me, “You didn’t strike us as a knife kind of man.”  Oh, be still my racing heart.

Her comment was so offhand that I almost didn’t catch it, and she clearly didn’t intend it as a compliment, but I couldn’t help but smile.  For some reason, it was very comforting to me to know that I don’t look like a person who carries a knife.  On the other hand, she might have meant, “You look like a person who can’t help.”  I think I’ll take it either way, because if I look useless, perhaps I won’t be bothered with the trivial.  But I opened the detergent, bowed deeply, and walked off into the sunset (and by sunset I mean the dryer section.)

The key here is that it made my day, and a compliment is such an easy thing to give.  And imagine how big a difference it can make if it’s thought out and intentional.  It can change the world, like Eric Clapton, except without the British-ness.  And it’s better that way.

rossnation... out.

The Incredible Importance of Loyalty

The Vandals need us.  They’ve never needed us more.  

We’re beyond the point of being able to call any loss “crushing,” simply because there have been so many losses in the last fifteen years.  But after today’s one-sided defeat against Nevada, I can feel the passion draining from Vandal fan’s souls, and I think we might be at a crossroads.  Now, far be it from me to suggest that I have any pull in the Vandal universe, so forgive me if I overstep my authority.  I am but a lowly alumnus with an opinion: Idaho is a hair away from returning to the dark ages of Vandal football, and if that happens it will be partly our fault - and mine - as fans.

When I say the dark ages, I am referring to my own experience, the dismal years following 1998 when the Vandal football team posted a record of 30-86 (1999-2008).  1999 was a better year than most people may realize, especially when you consider that an 8-5 record is merely above average, and a bowl win is cool, but not earth shaking.  Imagine the best meal you’ve ever eaten at Applebee’s, followed by a cone at Baskin Robbins.  (You’re not gonna write a column about it, is my point.)  But 1999 delivered something that I actually cherish more than wins: a head coach that I’m proud of.

I missed the salad days of Idaho coaches.  John L. Smith, Dennis Erickson (the first time), and Keith Gilbertson helmed Vandal teams of note, but what I got was Chris Tormey (interviewed him once: kinda of a jerk), Tom Cable (terrible coach, keeps getting better jobs somehow), Nick Holt (leaves for a better gig every two years), and Dennis Erickson (the liar).  Then comes along Robb Akey.  I was skeptical to the max, as the kids say.  After all, the man was a coach on one of the worst PacTen teams in history.  But Senor Akey is infectious.  He’s gotten under my skin with his passion and his perfect soundbites.  He makes me want to believe in Vandal football, that there are better days ahead, that mediocrity isn’t everything.  And now that I have that feeling I’m scared of losing him (insert weird comment here.)

But the awful truth is this: I wouldn’t stay if I was him either.  Not with the support that we give him.  I know Moscow’s a small town, but the Kibbie Dome is a small building, and filling it can be done.  (In related news, I’ve heard an inordinate amount of complaints about the way ticketing was handled for next week’s “game” against Boise State, but I don’t think anybody gets to complain if we don’t sell out every game against top 25 teams.)  Why would Coach Akey stay if we don’t show him that he’s wanted?  Yes, that probably includes a significant pay raise, but money is less of a concern than showing up.  Playing for a half-full dome can’t be uplifting.  

On the flip side, how incredible would it be if in 25 years, we were Penn State.  I know that Joe Paterno’s teams have not been dominant recently, but the man has won 400 football games, 24 bowl games, and two national championships.  He has been the head coach at Pennsylvania State University for sixty one years.  He is 84 years old, and still stalks the sidelines of Happy Valley as often as his legs will allow him.  This is loyalty at its finest.  Over the last year I have realized that loyalty (aka, commitment) may be the most important human quality that we possess.  Or not possess, sadly.  And that’s why, speaking only for myself, Joe Paterno is a hero.  He’s a man with a passion for his work, for his employers, for his students and for his supporters, and doesn’t exhibit an ounce of selfishness.  I sense the same aura from Robb Akey, and I want (perhaps naively) to see it even more in a quarter century.  That kind of loyalty from him, and from us as fans and alumni, is what turns a mediocre program into a juggernaut.  It can be done, but it isn’t easy and it doesn’t come cheap, and it won’t happen overnight.  It will happen when we decide that being there for the team is important, every week, for every snap, for every rendition of Go Vandals.  When we tell them they’re important by staying for the last whistle, even though it means getting stuck in traffic leaving the parking lot.  When we do that, Coach will have good reason to think twice when the University of Whatnot comes calling with a bigger program and bigger wallet and a bigger...well, you know.  When, not if, that happens we’ve got to make a stand for our coach, and be able to tell him, without a hint of inconsistency, that we are behind him to the end.

These principles apply to so many more parts of life, but that’s material for a different rant.  The nuts of this column are a call to arms for all Vandal fans, alums, or Moscow indifferants.  Let’s stop acting like football is just a game (even though it is), and treat our Vandals as a student that we’re trying to raise to be the President of the United States.  It takes all of us to make that happen, by showing up, always, even if the game doesn’t matter.  It takes all of us telling Coach Akey that we believe in his talent as a coach, and that we want him here.  It takes all of us yelling ourselves hoarse, even if we’re down by double digits, to tell the players that we believe in their talent and drive, and that win or lose we will be with them next week, and next season, and the season after that.  If we do that, they’ll talk about Idaho football on SportsCenter with the reverence they used to reserve for Notre Dame.  

And in ten years (or so), Idaho will beat Boise State again.  And this is my prayer, that we’ll prove them wrong.  BSU will want to play in the Dome, because they have a worthy opponent there, or they will fear the Dome, because they have a butt-whooping waiting for them inside.  I want to be part of that.

Until next time then.  rossnation... out.