NEW YEAR RESOLUTIONS – an A for effort

We make them and we break them – seems to be the universal pattern, but let’s give ourselves at least an A for effort (in the USA, an A is equivalent to a top grade academically or a 4.0 – so now you know).

New Year Resolutions are as old as the birth of Homo sapiens (as in early man, woman, child, small dogs and bunnies named Fluffy). Though I wasn’t around at the time, I can only trust that we have always had this urge to do better, keep moving forward and improve ourselves. That’s why we have sliced bread, cell-phones and flushing toilets. For the most we let other Homo sapiens do the heavy lifting, though most of us normal sapiens are involved in that process constantly, one way or another. But one thing we all do before a new year begins, is getting a list together concerning how we would like to improve our own lives, make things better and enhance the world around us the next twelve months; and that is so cool - don’t you think?

Options are that we can announce our resolutions to everybody (which is really stupid; does accountability ring a bell?) write them on a secret piece of paper, carve them in stone as Moses did or keep them stored between your ears, risk-free. Whatever way, we all participate on some level; yes, even you.

Resolutions (the act of solving or determine) are made to improve ourselves, and that is where it all starts. The better we feel about ourselves, the better we get along with the people around us. Feeling good about ourselves first, makes the proverbial ball roll in the right direction.

The annual New Year Resolution is the Mother of All Resolutions. It’s where we aim big, and way big for the most: I will lose 164 pounds (and I need it), build a new 2 story summer-residence using only home-baked yellow bricks, learn six Chinese dialects and find the true cure for hiccups. Even extreme effort is not going to help you with that list, but I’ll still respect you for trying – really.

Under the Mother of All Resolutions we could set lesser goals, lower the bar to reach success; I can swing with that. But instead of just one huge unattainable “gee, I-really-want-to” challenge, why don’t we just split this resolution thing up in 365 equal parts (that’s pretty much one mini resolution every day for a year, huh?) It all adds up…

You might want to make the legendary beauty pageant wish PEACE ON EARTH your main focus. This wish is always expressed with the naïve hope that it might actually happen (yeah, good luck with that); it makes Peace on Earth sound like a Piece of Cake to accomplish. But a solution to this is actually right in front of us. Peace on Earth starts with you and me. When we have peace within ourselves, it will spread to our spouses, children, family, bunnies named Fluffy, neighbors, the tax-collector and then one day we finally have PEACE ON EARTH – it could happen; at least we should do our best to make it happen; are you with me on that? Mini resolutions is the answer.

Give yourself a few minutes in the morning to make sure that you have planned something to improve your day, to improve yourself and build a bit more foundation for your future, your happiness, whatever it is you are seeking (as long as it doesn't involve the judicial system or the police). In the evening you take a few minutes to go over what you did that day and especially how it made you feel. Daily resolutions are the way to succeed as you reach immediate goals that will satisfy you instantly; Piece of Cake. Now go do it…

Last year I called my resolutions: The Ten Demandments of Peter. No, gentle reader this is personal stuff, so there. But I did do an addendum: BE HAPPIER & BE NICER. That is not to say that I’m not happy or that I’m a crappy person to be around, it’s just a reminder that no matter how happy or how nice I am, I can always do better – we all can.

New Year Resolutions are great, they really are. The reason is that we have determined to improve, whatever that improvement involves. We are stating that we can actually do better and that admission in itself is golden; makes you feel good and giggly, doesn’t it?

Some resolutions die fast: Cut down on alcohol, swearing and don’t eat so much, falter around 4:30 PM January 1, but we still get an A for effort. Okay a bit extreme, but not far from the truth, huh? So we learn to set goals we can and want to reach, we put in the extra effort that soon becomes no effort at all – and we will succeed. The more we strive to succeed, the easier it gets, and by December 31, 365 days later, we realize that we did improve our lives, we did move forward. If that was just a few small steps or that 164 pounds of weight loss we aimed at (and good luck with that too), whatever size of improvement, you are adding up successes and are ready to do it again.

Peace on Earth would be heaven, really; the cure for cancer likewise and the list is long. To make it all happen, consider how important those New Year Resolutions you make for yourself are for the world around you. When we all do our share, who knows what will happen? And don’t fret about not living up to all your resolutions, remember instead that you did try your best and that in itself is a huge A for effort – seriously.

A VERY HAPPY AND PROSPEROUS 2012

TO YOU AND YOUR FAMILIES

PLEASE READ THE FOLLOWING POST:

I have published two posts this Monday. The following is of a more serious nature and I would really like you to read it. If you do not have time now, please find time another day. MICHAEL – we’ll always have Paris means a lot to me and I’m sure you’ll have some thoughts to ponder after you have read it. Thank You…

MICHAEL – we’ll always have Paris

We find friends in the strangest places. I like listening to “how we met…” stories; there are so many fun variations. Here’s my true story about how I met my good buddy Michael some 38 years ago – and I will never forget it.

It was a clear Saturday in Paris, February 1974. I had been away from home (Copenhagen) for a week, and due to delays in negotiations, I had to stay over the weekend. My boss had fled the city and left his girlfriend Gretchen for me to entertain (aka: babysitting) till she was flying back to Frankfurt Sunday afternoon. So I was not a happy camper; boredom sat in quickly. How can you be bored in Paris? I know, it sounds rather ignorant; but I was tired and homesick. But then Gretchen actually had a good idea – “Let’s sightsee, ja?” In German, of course – and we did.

I traveled to Paris a lot those years, but had never done the tourist bit, other than art galleries and museums. So the Eiffel Tower was the first stop on the list. We took the stairs and Gretchen won – granted, she was a lot younger than I; probably still is. The view of Paris was spectacular. The Seine snaking its way between beautiful buildings I had only seen from street level; it was awesome.

And then I saw this man talking with this woman. As I got closer, it was obvious they were Americans. I walked towards them with a big smile.

“I’m sorry, but I assume you are Americans?” He smiled as the woman looked hesitant.

“That’s right – Long Beach, California…” I flashed a picture ID in his general direction, giving him no time to see what it was (my library-card, actually).

“I’m working with a sub-division of the Danish government and we specialize in selling landmarks and tourist attractions worldwide…” A distinct smirk was soon plastered on his face, so I continued. “We are in the process of finding a connection in the U.S. that might be interested in purchasing this very structure, the original Eiffel Tower…”

“We already have the Spruce Goose and the Queen Mary in Long Beach…” He smirked, playing along.

“There you go – it would fit right in… Would you be interested in talking more about it – maybe over lunch? I know a quaint Chinese restaurant next to the Opera – they are closed now, but I’m sure they’ll let us in; I know the owners…” He smiled and nodded.

“Could we possibly make the Little Mermaid part of the deal?” I looked pretend speculative.

“That might be a possibility – I’ll talk with her about it…” Then we chatted about their vacation in Europe on the way down in the elevator; his name was Michael and hers was Linda.

Both Gretchen and Linda had been standing listening with their mouths hanging open and with fear in their eyes. It got worse when I hailed a couple of taxis. Back then taxis didn’t take more than a max of three passengers, so we had to split up. I suggested Gretchen and Linda go in one and Michael and I in the other. I told the drivers where to go and off we went. Gretchen and Linda were rather frightened that very moment as being kidnapped for white slavery was clearly on their minds – go figure!

We reunited in front of the restaurant and it was closed. But I knocked on the door, the owner opened with a smile and we spent the next 4 hours chatting away and having a grand time – laughing was the main ingredients of this long meal.

Michael and I hit it off the second we started talking. His humor was dry, intelligent and quick – we got along very well and we knew we would be close friends; we were already close friends. But the day ended and I was back in Copenhagen Monday evening. At 3AM Tuesday morning the phone rang – it was Michael.

“So how the (bleep) are you?”

“It’s 3AM…”

“It’s 6PM here. Doesn’t matter, you had to answer the phone anyway…” And he called me often and purposely early morning. “I could call you later, but I don’t feel like it…” And that was Michael.

The following June I traveled the USA for weeks and stayed with Michael and Linda in Long Beach 5-6 of those days – just hilarious times. The following year I immigrated to the USA and stayed with Michael and Linda until I found an apartment in Marina Del Rey. That was 10-14 days; hilarious times constantly. We couldn’t say much to each other without cracking some line of whatever. I stayed in Southern California about five years and we had a good, solid and fun friendship – I absolutely adored Michael. But then things changed, but stayed the same, as they say.

I moved to Washington and we didn’t connect much, but I thought about Michael a lot through the many years. Then I got married, had kids, started a business, you know, all that stuff that makes you sit back some day and say: “What the heck happened?” 28-29 years went by – just like that; while our relationship was hibernating.

A couple of years ago, we had some friends over for dinner and the phone rang. We normally do not answer calls when we have guests, but for some weird reason I excused myself and picked it up.

“You’ll never know who the (bleep) this is?” I nearly fainted.

“It’s (bleeping) Michael. How the heck are you?” and we chatted for a bit and hooked up again the next day for a long time on the phone. He told me about his life and I told him about mine. We exchanged E-Mail addresses and phone-numbers and all that. One of the most wonderful days of my life – Michael and I were back together; wow!  But I still didn’t see him for a long time – but that was okay too.

We had been on a cruise with some good friends and were driving north from San Diego. I had asked if it was okay to stop by and see if Michael was home, surprising him. I remember the street and the house; he had lived there way over 30 years at least. As I got out of my car, Michael came out of the house and walked towards his car; perfect timing. I flashed (yet again) a picture ID, holding it high over my head like they do in the movies and said in a loud and demanding voice:

“Please stand back from the vehicle, Sir…” He looked up somewhat startled, but proceeded to unlock his car.

“If it isn’t (bleeping) Peter B. Steiness…” We were quickly in a warm embrace. It was heaven seeing my good buddy again. Then we all sat in the living room chatting like it had only been yesterday we saw each other last; you know, that kind of friendship, huh? And my wife took a photo of us, this lovely and wonderful man and me; I felt so rich.

It had been a month or so that we hadn’t communicated. I had on my TO DO list: “call Michael”, which I again postponed a few days – so busy. I had talked with my wife that I would go down and visit Michael in Long Beach next spring or summer. She thought it was a good idea; and then the phone rang.

Michael had died a few days ago. I don’t know from what, as I could not speak after receiving this terrible news. I could barely ask if the caller could get hold of me when the funeral arrangements had been made – because I have to be there; I must be there – for my buddy and for me; I cried and I cried for the longest time.

I am so privileged to have known Michael, this sweet man with the huge heart and the driest sense of humor. He enjoyed his wife Shirley, his children and his grandchildren, but he was so far from done with living – so very far from; where’s the fairness in that? Though we had a “sporadic” friendship at best, it was one we enjoyed and thrived on when we were on – no doubts about that. And we did love each other, though I can hear Michael say: “(Bleep) that (bleep)...”

But life goes on; for me it is emptier without him here, not to be able to hug him and to laugh with him. A few very special people are in my heart; Michael has been a permanent residence since that glorious February day in 1974 on top of the Eiffel Tower. I miss you so much, my Dear Pal, and we’ll always have Paris…

Don’t you have a friend you need to call? Nothing lasts forever, you know; there’s a New Year resolution for you…

Till next Monday…

My Dear Pal Michael & me, October 2009

SANTA CLAUS - I finally know the truth

THOU SHALL NOT LIE TO YE CHILDREN is the lesser known of the original Eleven Commandments.  Moses cut them down to ten, because he felt this one was too big of a challenge and also because he adored even numbers. This decision is no doubt the reason we feel it’s okay lying to our children as our parents lied to us and their parents lied to them and so forth. So we can pretty much blame Moses – don’t you agree? How could he have been so careless?

We tell the kids that Santa Claus is real and we extend the lying by including magical elves, gifts, 8 or 9 flying reindeer, one of them with a shiny nose called Frank or something, a sleigh and this weight-challenged dude dressed in red, stuffing himself down a narrow chimney carrying a sack of presents; and he's commuting from the North Pole of all places. (Oh, by the way, did you know that before Mrs. Claus became Santa’s wife she was an exotic North Pole-Dancer?) And we keep on lying, year after year; mom and dad being responsible role-models - huh?

The deal is that kids are NOT stupid; they figure things out. From 18 months old they already know that mom and dad are lying through their long shiny noses. But they also think: why ruin a good thing by taking a chance of “not” believing, “just in case”? I mean presents are involved. Of course they also notice that fat Uncle Harry is never around when Santa is visiting - DUH?

But I was a dumb kid and here is what happened to me and my faith in Santa Claus.

(Stop reading if you don’t want to know the truth).

One Christmas my mother told me that it was time for “that talk”; I immediately felt uncomfortable and started sweating in real weird places. We sat down in the living room; my mother across from me. She cleared her throat, dabbed her moist eyes and said those horrific words: “Peter, it’s time for you to know the truth: there is NO SANTA CLAUS – he is only a myth…” I couldn’t believe what I heard. I said: “But Mother, I believed you for so many years and now you tell me it was all a lie?” She nodded and said: “Yes Peter; since you turned 30, I thought it was time to tell you the truth …” I was frightened about the answer to my next question: “But what about the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny?” She was visibly crying now. “I’m so sorry…” and she left the room in a hurry. "No Santa, bunny or fairy?" I was devastated - aren't you?

Way back then, my parents, my older brother and I, dressed for the freezing weather, presents in several bags, fighting heavy winds and cold snow; it was Christmas eve. The street-car ride through six stops took about 15 minutes. Then we walked a dimly lit path for another 10 minutes in snow above our boots. We finally arrived at my grandparents’ house. It was warm and cozy and smelled so much of Christmas. The French doors to the living room were closed, but you could still see the decorated tree through the glass; presents underneath and the roaring fireplace. We all gathered in the formal dining room for the Christmas meal. Pork roast with rind, potatoes and gravy followed with rice pudding. If somebody found a whole almond in the pudding they won a marzipan pig; not actual size, of course, just a little one. After a year or so, I stopped eating the pudding as I never really liked it, but more so because my dear brother won the pig every bloody time (but when we returned home, my Mother would often sneak a small marzipan pig into my hand). I have always loved my Mother; so wise she was - so wise she is.

Then my grandfather opened the door to the living room and we entered in a state of awe. All the (real) candles on the tree were lit and the presents looked exciting. To bring the kids more agony we had to dance around the tree many times, holding hands and sing. It couldn’t go fast enough – and then it was time for presents. They were simple, is the only way to describe them – but they worked.

Later we piled on our clothes again, wobbled tired through the snow, got on the street-car, got off and walked home from there – exhausted from the excitement.

I remember Christmas back then in a romantic light. We were kids and we were smitten, just like kids are smitten today. We didn’t have great expectations in the gift department, so we were happy with what we got (except the bloody woolen knitted socks my grandmother gave me every bloody year. I even begged my mother to ask her mother to stop punishing me like that…) But then I took a bite of my little marzipan pig and that made me feel a lot better.

Moses should have left that eleventh Commandment as it was, but with an addendum stating that lying about Santa Claus, the Tooth fairy and the Easter Bunny would be okay; but lying to our children about anything else would be against his will and wishes – and who would wanna mess with Moses? Especially around Christmas - really.

HAPPY KRINGLE

Weight-challenged Uncle Harry at his best

HOLIDAYS – to greet or not to greet

If you live under a rock you wouldn’t know that the Holidays started late October and will race toward the final crescendo early January. If this trend continues we might soon start celebrating Christmas from mid-August, in red shorts, T-Shirts and sun-burned noses. Is that what you want? 

A Scandinavian Christmas song states that: “now it is Christmas again, now it is Christmas again and Christmas will last all the way till Easter.” If this was true, I’m sure the Holiday suicide rate would improve. The Holidays are nice, but boy, they have a lot of frustration, stress and high-end anxieties in the mix; I’m sure you agree, if you haven’t already freaked out. Deciding on Holiday greetings is just another ornament on the stress-filled tree.

Christmas is a celebration we have adhered to for a few thousand years. If we are involved in the religious aspect or not, doesn’t seem to be a factor. It’s celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ, but do we all really acknowledge that or are some of us just on board for the ride?  

And talking about Jesus: Our youngest son was born on December 19th. That was not what we had planned as we had wanted him to fit in better with the academic school year. So his birthday is a few days before Christmas; the one-two-BANG. To me, we either screwed him in the present department or we over-compensated. But look at Jesus? What tough luck he had; his date of birth and Christmas on the same day – what a bummer… And imagine the gift dilemma his parents were going through; I mean how stressful is that? Luckily for them he was an only child.

Christmas cards used to be personal. When I was a young lad (1832) we made our own Christmas cards by cutting, gluing, coloring and writing. And finally we made that special and solemn trip to the mail-box so far, far away, through deep snow, howling winds and of course up-hill. We then turned around and struggled our way back home through even deeper snow, howling winds and up-hill yet again.

Today’s greetings are based on some frustration, stress and high anxieties as the choices of what we should and what we should not do adds massive pressure. It has become a game of politics it seems. We have so many options besides that old handmade Christmas card thing, and even when we do go the Christmas card way, most of the writing is already done for us – all we have to do is sign; if we even do that. What’s wrong with writing something ourselves? Don’t we have time or don’t we give a hooters? Or are we so busy and are the people we are trying to reach not that important? If not, why even bother? Should I write or should I not?

But the stress is getting even more complicated as we have options like E-Mail, Androids, text messages, iPhones, iPads, Kindle-Fire’s, Facebook, Twitter and the technological list is long. Though I’m getting better, I have a really hard time with the automated greetings – the ethics of it. But on the other hand, I have to accept that whole personal touch thing semi-died with the dinosaurs (that would be back in 1832 for those of you who are date-seekers); but I still try to make my Christmas greetings somewhat personal. But how to greet or how not to greet that IS the question…

I’m okay with people we care about sending us photo collages (thanks Caroline and John, Sue and Eric), because we do care. Okay so it makes us feel a year older, but it shows us how we all progress, how we grow up and that is cool. But I am totally against the Holiday newsletters, as they spell out bloody perfect lives and everybody in that family has only excelled and so forth. One year, I sent out a rather sarcastic response (some of my best humorous writing ever) “the-year-in-the-life-of…” newsletter. The following Christmas we didn’t even get an automated greeting from any of them – go figure.

I like getting Holiday greetings (except from the IRS, funeral homes and proctologists). I answer every single greeting I get if there is something to answer or comment about. I feel somewhat guilty if I get a greeting from somebody I didn’t send a greeting to, for whatever reason; but that’s when I swing into plan B – the Happy New Year greetings. I just make it sound like I didn’t send out any Christmas cards – they would never know the difference. One year I didn’t send anything out before Christmas, but waited till New Year and then I just send Happy New Year cards to the ones I got Christmas cards from; rather economical and as far as I know, nobody got hurt. But I ended up feeling flat, cheap, cunning and sleazy and those feelings have nothing to do with the Holidays, do they?

I like the Holidays, I really do. I’m not a religious person, but I respect the reasons for Christmas and whatever other celebrations that involves. The diversity of beliefs, faiths and traditions is just that – diverse and very exciting; a fact we should all respect.

I really don’t know what to do without the Holidays, this kind of year-end cozy part. So I bitch about writing Holiday greetings or not, but there is no serious importance in that - really. It’s just to greet or not to greet; it’s not about life or death. But actually, it is about life and about a rather celebrated birthday that became Christmas. And in the big Holiday picture scheme of things, if you believe or not, that is all pretty cool – seriously.

Until next Monday – Oh, and don’t get me started about Santa Claus, please.

Read in the Paper

The oldest dog on record died. It was Japanese and lived 26 years and 8 months. That is really, really old, something like 190 human years; I can swing with that. But I did giggle when the paper listed old age as the course of death – duh!

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SEX SELLS – and now you are curious

Let the buying frenzy begin – it’s a seasonal thing. I like it because it stimulates the economy (the more stimulation the better, huh? And NO gentle reader, I’m not talking about sex – yet). When the economy gets stimulated it means I’m getting some presents. To me that’s the whole idea, or at least it should be…

To fuel the frenzy, advertising is thrown into the fire and in advertising you have sex (and not just at the Christmas party). But the funny thing is that sex or sex-appeal used in advertising only has very few entrances on the list of the top 100 most effective ads; I really thought it would have been a lot more, even dominating the list – but I was wrong. So we are not really buying sex, are we?

Sex, sexuality and sex-appeal are but a few of so many tools used in advertising to draw our interest to certain products, services and ideas, to entice our business, to make us pull out the plastic and cash. Advertising expenditure worldwide is running around $500 billion dollars where $300 billion is expended in the USA annually. And by the way, who’s paying for all this stuff? Sorry pal, you and I… 

I never really understood the connection between a well-shaped female with semi exposed breasts and a set of sparkplugs. Never felt enticed to smoke cigarettes because the ad shows two good looking younger persons laughing through pearly white teeth, with her sitting slightly suggestive on a motorcycle, with his right hand resting on her thigh, cigarettes in hand. The young and good-looking dude, who didn’t feel like shaving that morning, topless and tan, is trying to mope me into using Armani Code.  I don’t care much for “famous” people telling me what to use, that be diets, panty-liners or any other products and services. Taylor Swift will never convince me to buy loads of NatureLuxe Mousse Mascara – ever; it’s not going to happen.

The fact is that sex used in advertising rarely relates to the product, but more so to the emotional package sex comes with, the curiosity sex brings along – ha, you didn’t know that, did you? (I didn’t either…) But I’m still confused when she is suggestively holding that new cordless power-drill, smiling shyly, duh! So here you advertise a male oriented product, using a scantily clad woman to sell it.  Don’t tell me that you think: “If I buy that drill maybe…” because that’s pathetic. But it’s not just male-oriented products or services that are offered by sex and sex-appeal. A vast quantity is geared towards women, the biggest buyer of the two genders. I wonder why we don’t feel offended by this sexism – but obviously we’re not, as the ad-industry is not letting up – nobody’s complaining so why should they stop?

Product placements in movies and on TV are very offensive to me. We all know it’s being done. When you can blatantly read the PEPSI on the can some actor or actress is drinking from, inside the BMW wearing a Nike top and a Rolex and so forth, I lose interest as I do not like to participate in undercover advertising when I’m trying to enjoy a movie; I don’t buy it. It really ticks me off, but then I take an ADVIL and all is well again.

The images in advertising includes “young, in excellent shape, perfect teeth and great smiles” just to mention a few. It’s not a whiny complaint, because I believe that we do NOT want advertising to reflect reality. We want to escape on some level; fantasize a bit. When we want reality, we’ll just look around us. Advertising is for the most eye-candy and I’m fine with that and mixed with a bit of sex, yeah, okay. But I’m still not buying it, though the power drill looks like a possibility, if only…

I am in awe of a lot of the advertising, the originality and the creative thoughts. I especially appreciate when humor is included, as humor shows humanity and tongue-in-cheek attitude. Toilet-paper is important, but it is hard to convince me to purchase such product with a technical and dry presentation; so make it fun, original and light. The only time I got involved with toilet paper was to see if Charmin delivered what they preached. They said: 400 sheets per roll; I counted only 394 – and I counted the roll twice just to be sure (yes, I have a rich and busy life). So this proves that we cannot fully believe everything they tell us (I took several ADVIL that day just because of that…) But wait, there’s more!

We are also exposed to horrible ads and commercials that make no sense at all. Even worse; what about the commercials where we are brainwashed to sing and hum and whistle their damn jingles?  And what about: “Where’s the beef?” I hope the little old lady has found it by now.

I have no problem with the use of sex and sexuality in advertising; it’s just that I rarely see the connection between breasts, sparkplugs, suggestive positions involving power-tools, motor oil and race-cars. One of the legit uses of sex-appeal is in the Victoria Secret’s ads and commercials. They are selling sex and they do that so very well; I mean I’m not a woman (last I checked), but I can see how these ads and commercials can inspire consumers on both sides of that gender-thing. Sex does sell to some extend, but sparkplugs and motor-oil? Nah, I don’t buy it – do you? Now go join the frenzy – it’s the patriotic thing to do – really.

Until next Monday

TRUE BONUS STORY OF THE WEEK:

A young looking man walks into a liquor store, tells the clerk behind the counter that he has a gun and demands money. The clerk, not being stupid, hands over the cash. The young man says: “Since I’m here already, what about a bottle of whiskey?” The clerk says: “I can’t give you alcohol as you do not look like you are 21. I have to see some identification.” The young man pulls out his driver’s license and hands it to the clerk. “You are right, you are over 21…” and he hands the young man the whiskey. When the wannabe criminal gets home, the police are there to greet him, duh! (with handcuffs, I assume)…

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