FREEDOM OF SPEECH – with a big but

It’s kind of interesting how we use or misuse the word “free” or “freedom”. My initial conclusion is that nothing is actually free – so take that. Freedom of Speech is an enormous so-called freedom that all man and woman-kind should be able to enjoy, but unfortunately we don’t. As with all freedoms, the one concerning speech does come with a few buts…

Historically I’m sure we can go far back (yes, even beyond my childhood; I heard that, thank you) and see specks of the idea here and there. Back in good old England in 1689, their Bill of Rights granted freedom of speech in Parliament; they have been screaming and shouting insults at each other ever since. In 1948 the Universal Declaration of Human Rights started with: “Everyone has the right to freedom of opinion and expression…” and so forth. It’s pretty much allowing us to speak without censorship; and this is where the “buts” come in. Freedom of speech is not absolute in any country as it is subjected to limitations (read censorship?) You are a bad girl or boy if you speak in ways of libel, slander, obscenity, incitement to commit a crime, involve pornography (oh no!) and hate speeches, to name a few. So right there, all the fun in talking has been removed in one swell swoop – dang it. What we should read is that we must always speak with respect and consideration. When we don’t we’ll have a million special-interest groups and individuals on our case dragging us to court. For the most that thing is going way beyond the fundamentals of our freedom to speak freely – unfortunately.

Oops, I was wrong; we do have a freedom with no buts attached. The freedom of thought is closely linked to other freedoms as in religion, speech and expression. We are so totally free to think whatever we want to think and that we do – a lot. This is something we are taking full advantage of and in the same breath, we are so utterly grateful that nobody can mind-read any of those thoughts; but are we sure they can’t? You flinched a bit, didn’t you? Can you imagine what would happen if we all of a sudden thought what we were saying and said what we were thinking? (A bit too fast for you? Try again slowly.) We would be dead meat and friendless and probably in that order, but most certainly very fast. I get all sweaty just writing it; I better start censoring what I’m thinking – especially in public…

And finally we are on the level of how all this works in our everyday life. Declarations and laws and stuff can at times (often) go in one ear and hopefully out the other. It’s the hands-on situations we care more about. My simplification of this speech freedom thing is: If you don’t wanna pay, you don’t wanna say. Remember Frank from an earlier post, still 380 pounds, low on hygiene and high on beer? You stupidly feel protected by the freedoms of speech and expression, feeling safe telling Frank that he is fat and that he smells really bad. You have had your say and now it’s time to pay. What you, silly person, would really like to hear in return from Frank is: “I appreciate your concern and interest and I will slim down fast and take several of them shower things… even using soap and water…” But Frank’s response consist of a tight fist at approximately 52 pounds (for readers in Europe, that’s about 23.6 kilos) going 60 miles an hour (96 kilometers) at which speed it lands on your nose, pretty much flattening it… Ouch. You say you pay. Okay a bit extreme, but you get the idea.

Our speech is legally free within limitations, so it is all about how well we express ourselves. Just thinking about how we must constantly adjust what we are going to say in the situations we are in; how much of that freedom do you still feel? We constantly consider the reactions to what we are going to say before we say it – yes, we all do. We are so good at it that these decisions are made in nano-seconds (which is very fast, even for me) and it comes rather naturally, very fluently without interruptions. Okay, so we are a bit too quick once in a while and then we have to pay. But for the most we are good at it – really good.

Thinking about what we want to say and how we want to say is essential within our freedom of speech. For the most I think about what I’m going to say before I say it – but in some cases, unfortunately, I think about it several weeks later.

Remember: We learn from listening, not from talking  

See you next Monday – really…

RUBBERNECKING – not just for exercise

Rubbernecking is that gawking thing we do looking at the carnage, death, slaughter, bloodbath, the piles of mangled vehicles (burning is even better) and other forms of destruction and accidents on the roads we travel. Traffic is flying fine at 65 miles an hour, we are heading for home, but suddenly it all comes to a crawl. First thought is accident and we swear and get irritated and just want to move back up to 65 and home. We finally arrive to the reason we are now using Interstate 5 as the longest parking-lot ever: the accident; and this is the moment we do that rubbernecking thing till it hurts. Admit it; you are rubbernecking as much as the rest of us.

But the question is: WHY DO WE DO IT?  I have yet to figure that one out. Okay so it most certainly has something to do with morbid curiosity, and I can swing with that; but the WHY still pops up. Do we wish these people bad things in their unfortunate situation, the poor victims of a terrible accident? Do we giggle and praise ourselves lucky that we are not involved, repeating several times: better you than me, buster? Or are we watching to learn?

The same goes with a lot of other stuff around us. If two people are arguing in public we tend to strain our ears to listen in. If it gets physical, it’s an instant crowd-pleaser, so we gather around and in some morose way can’t wait for the first blood to spill. I really don’t get it. And then you have the sports with this added violence as in hockey, as if it is not an aggressive and violent enough sport without the gloves-off fist-fights. If they took that kind of action outside the rink, they’d be arrested on the spot. But it is looked through the gloved fingers by those in charge, as it is a fan-favorite (well, for many to most fans). But why the heck do we enjoy watching it? Please tell me… Do we have some perverted suppressed aggression we need to release by watching other people mauling each other?

And of course my all-time favorite: Why do we pay big bucks for boxing matches and cage-fighting (I believe it’s called). The sole purpose is for these guys to knock, kick and savagely beat the crap out of each other; and the more blood we see the better. Are we that shallow that we find it entertaining on some level or other? Why are we praising violence so highly? I really don’t see the purpose, seriously.

But we do have a weird sense of being attracted to that kind of stuff. 30,000 cars are heading home Sunday evening; they are full of happy and tired people after a fun weekend in the snow. The headline in the paper the next day, tells us about the 3 serious accidents that happened in the process; we are never told about the other 29,997 cars that made it home safely – go figure. Wouldn’t it be nice with some good news once in a while? Reading the daily paper’s headlines and watching TV news, it is overwhelmingly negative, morbid and depressing stuff. Do we really want that? Are we soon heading for an exchange like this?

“Hey Peter, how’s it going?” I smile and answer.

 “Great, my mother died.”

“Wow; that is so cool…” Well, you get the idea.

We are constantly bombarded with violence as the only way to solve problems in our society. Movies and TV shows underline that. But we must like it and sadly agree with it, because as consumers we buy more and more. It’s the old supply and demand at its best; as long as we want it, it'll be available. But we have the power to change that; so why don't we?

Another weird thing is that we teach our children to solve problems and conflicts by communicating verbally, not by throwing punches (no matter how much they would really like to smash that idiot’s face – oops!). Again I tell our boys that violence solves nothing; they understand and mention that thing about: “Why do we have wars?” I elegantly pretend I didn’t hear it. So we head down to the movie-theatre to watch Pulp Fiction yet again (because it’s an artistically superb movie?) No we go see it because we like watching people be shot to pieces, problems being solved with blood and guts hanging out of the loser’s stomach and other bodily cavities. And when a couple starts arguing a few rows behind us, we are more than willing to activate that rubbernecking thing; okay, me too I’m sorry to say. But I don’t know why. The extremely weird thing is that I hate violence with a passion; and that’s the truth – really.

Now go make it a peaceful week, you hear! See you next Monday...

Footnote: Some research done in the early 2000 established that rubbernecking counted for 16% of all distraction-related accidents in the USA - 16%. Admittedly I have been darn close adding to those statistics several times, so I can believe that.

WOMEN, ME & EQUALITY (and it rhymes)

They say that even those devout macho type males, who can open beer-bottles with their teeth, have a feminine side. I don't fully know what that means, actually, but let’s run with it anyway. I suspect my feminine side is above average, as I have always felt more satisfied and relaxed in the company of women. No, you masculine-fire-breathing dudes, it’s not always about sex and football. It’s about relating, communicating, respecting, accepting, trusting and exposing feelings, honesty and thoughts, plus a lot more; and  NO I do not dress up in mini-skirts and high heels Tuesday evenings as some of you still believe I do... (But there’s an idea…)

Asking most women how they have been, they will tell you and for the most in great detail; I like that very much. Asking your macho male friends and they’ll respond: “Dude!” while they spit the beer-cap out and readjust their crotch area – yet again… Now, don’t get mad, I know that none of the male readers of this blog would ever do that; I'm just trying to make a point (lawsuits avoided?) The reality is that males and females are different on so many levels; that’s the thing we still have a hard time accepting and adjust to. My mantra is that: When each of us respect diversity, we will all get stronger – together. I live by that on all levels and it applies well to the relationship between males and females.

When our two genders start listening more to each other instead of wasting time trying to fit the other side into molds we genetically do not fit into very well, we will be on the right track. Remember that we are not at war; we are all on the same team wearing slightly different uniforms, but aiming at the same goal; so why not cooperate? Yes, “dudes”, it involves give and take, and many women do drink beer, already meeting you half way. I think that both genders are still stubborn and somewhat set in what is perceived as being “the only way”, but we really need to discard that and work together towards an understanding and respect concerning our differences – are you still with me?

Dee Dee Myers, former White House press secretary during Clinton’s first term, wrote a book I highly recommend you read. The title: Why Women Should Rule the World is of course provocative and to me a bra-burning-suggestive, but don’t let my interpretation of the title fool you. Dee Dee is telling us as it is, or more so as it SHOULD be. I fully agree with her thoughts and I’m there with pom-poms and encouragement for ALL of us to move forward and more so hand in hand than in-front or behind each other; let’s try that side-by-side thing.

Dee Dee was kind enough to send me a letter (a response to a note I sent her after I read the book), where she stated (quote): The road ahead won’t be easy; it never is. And if it was, women would already have achieved equal status (end of quote). Equal status on equal levels; I couldn’t agree more. Gender-wise we will always have differences, I most certainly hope, so we need to respect, understand and learn more about these differences and when we do, we apply that knowledge and the sky will be our only limit. Just imagine what we can accomplish together - wow. 

Concerning the good old Viking days and equality (since you asked), the images we are fed are of them rough and tough raiding and looting fellows killing everything left and right while wearing funny hats (no horns, actually); so utterly macho and chauvinistic. But historians have found that women in the Viking society were the key-holders to the chests (no, not those things, you silly person; the family chests holding the gold and silver and stuff…). They were in charge at home and kept in high regard and respected by the males. I clearly see that in today’s Scandinavia as it was also very apparent through my life in Denmark and so many years after the end of the Viking-Age. I always had the greatest respect for the seemingly natural equality I experienced there. Why not learn at least a little bit from something that took place a thousand years ago; yes indeed, why not?

Now don't get me wrong, we have come a long way since them rough and tough Vikings did that raiding bit, but it seems that we could move even faster towards that equality thing by being less stubborn. Are you doing your part already?

So all I suggest is that since each gender have such a massive library of superb and different skills, thoughts, logic, ideas, emotions and the list is very long on both sides, is to make a combined effort of team-work for all of us to forge ahead into the future faster than we would ever have imagined. Combining the two seemingly opposing teams into one is the deal – really.

 So let’s listen more across gender lines, let’s learn more about each other and let’s apply some of those many things we learn with respect and appreciation and we will see a much brighter future a lot faster – hand in hand and side-by-side. And then perhaps one day, every single one of us will be able to open beer-bottles with our teeth, watch football while breast-feeding our babies and make the same money for the same job – maybe a tad optimistic, but it could happen, duh! I know that we are already getting closer every single day, bit by bit; we are all heading in the right direction. I do hope you agree – really. (Shoot, I think I chipped a tooth – I’ll have wine next time)…

I HAVE DONE SEVERAL STUPID THINGS – and so have you

Let me clarify STUPID THINGS as stuff we have done that was brainless, irresponsible, thoughtless, rude, selfish, idiotic, etc. - you get the idea; just dumb stuff. I’m not talking about killing somebody and go: “Oops that was stupid”, because that is so above any form of comprehension and way beyond extreme stupidity. I’m just talking about things that do surprise us, as we normally would not have done that. If we only learn one thing from these I’m pleading insanity moments, let it be that we will never ever do it again – really.

I had traveled for two weeks; it was a chaotic trip and I eagerly wanted to get the heck home. Copenhagen International Airport was busy and there were lines everywhere. I finally had my boarding pass for Chicago and on to San Francisco. After the security check-point, I wobbled out to the gate. Then I waited in line outside the gate before being checked into the gate-lounge area to wait for boarding to begin. Got the picture? The line I was impatiently waiting in did not move. Time for departure was coming up fast, so I got even more irritated and frustrated; okay, at this time I had reached royally pissed. About 10 minutes before scheduled departure I heard my name over the PA system: “Mr. Peter Steiness, please come to Gate 24 immediately, we are ready for departure, bla, bla, bla”. But we were not even checked into the lounge yet! I grabbed my carry-on and rushed up to the counter banging into everybody on the way; at that point I had lost every bit of being cool. I proceeded to deliver an Oscar worthy tirade into the face of the unfortunate person who was supposed to have checked us in. I went on for a while, loud as ever, while she just stood there trying to give me her best calm-down-you-jerk look. “I don’t want to miss the (insert your favorite explicit – I used them all) flight to Chicago nor the (use it again) flight to SFO, so get the (oh no, not again) show in the air”; well, you get the idea. Everybody in the long line was now listening and seemed to enjoy the floor-show with Peter-the-Jerk as the main attraction. After several long moments I had to catch my breath at which time she calmly looked at me. “Mr. Steiness, do you want to visit Moscow?” I exploded yet again, “or do you want to go to Chicago?” she peacefully continued. “(*&^%$#) Chicago,” I screamed. “Well, in that case I suggest you run over to Gate 24 as fast as you can; this is Gate 23. All these nice folks are going to Moscow.” I had waited at the wrong gate for 45 minutes. I never felt so embarrassed, so utterly dumb and like such an extreme idiot. As I ran over to the correct gate (which was now closed, but they did let me in) many people in the Moscow line applauded – at the time it sounded very sarcastic. I finally wobbled down the aisle on the correct plane to find my seat; I just wanted to sit down and die. I was so positive everybody on this plane had also heard my loud tirade. Even today I have a hard time flying out of Copenhagen, as I feel they still recognize me – even after all these years.

The above scenario didn’t leave any casualties; nobody was hurt except my ego, pride, self-esteem, honor, calm demeanor, control of communication skills, you know, just about everything; but nobody else was injured. Even writing about this incident embarrass me; traveling through any airport today, I am constantly reminded of that time. But the positive thing is that I learned to triple check everything when I fly and have not done the wrong gate thing since – lesson learned.

I knew who she was; very sweet, lovely and a bit on the quiet side. I was living in Denmark and perhaps 23. A female colleague kept prodding me to ask this sweet and kind girl out, but at the time I was obsessed (pretty much) with another girl (who didn’t know I existed). Now don’t giggle and think I was some kind of Adonis-like Don Juan Lover-Boy. I was very far from that image; look up Nerd-Boy and there would be a picture of me. But this sweet girl wanted to go out on a date, but I didn’t. One evening she approached me in a restaurant where I was eating with some friends of mine. She asked me straight out if I wanted to come to her house and have dinner that next Friday. Now understand that any sane male would have grabbed that offer without blinking; she was that nice, intelligent and pretty. I felt caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place. “Okay,” I stuttered (and regretted it in that same breath)…

Friday arrived and I still did not want to go; but I got ready, got some flowers, a bottle of wine and drove to her house. As I parked in the front, my feet got very cold. It had absolutely nothing to do with her, only some really stupid stuff between my ears. With the vision and naïve hope of that other girl, I started up the car and drove off, making me an instant no-show-jerk.

The next day my female colleague who had suggested the previous evening’s date more or less, stormed into my office and gave me a bucket full of… well, you get the picture. This sweet girl had made a full course dinner with wine and candles and talked about me coming over (well, go figure). She had been excited and had looked forward to a nice evening with me – and then the no-show-jerk didn’t even call her to cancel nor to apologize. To top it all, she had seen me arriving, parked in front of her house, as well as leaving (fleeing is a better term).

Though this is so many years ago, I seriously feel a lot of shame, so much self-loathing every time I think about it. She has no doubt forgotten it all. I get very uncomfortable when I’m reminded of my utter stupidity and cruel disrespect concerning another human being. If I have ever learned a lesson, this is way up on top of the list. The stupid stuff incidents above, are just a couple of examples from my stupid stuff library.

I’m sure you also have some stupid stuff skeletons in the closet, something you regret you did or didn't do (feel free to share…). But when we learn from the stupid stuff we realize we have done, we have come a long way. None of us are stupid-stuff-free, and that’s okay, as it is just another part of growing up, being human and gather experience; and that part is not stupid at all.

This week, remember that a smile is the shortest distance between two people.

   

GIVE AND RECEIVE GIFTS CAN SUCK – AT TIMES

We have all been there, so no need to hide behind the monitor. If you tell me that this has never been an issue with you, I know you are lying – nobody’s that perfect. Giving gifts as well as receiving gifts can suck so bad that it’s actually rather funny, in a horrid kind of way – at times.

“Give me cash, checks or money-orders” I respond if anybody is silly enough to ask what I would like for my birthday. I seriously suspect that this is actually what we all want, cash – makes life easier for the gift-giver as well as the gift-receiver. But by some homemade law, which actually seems fairly international, we do not fork over cash as “gifts” as it is not personal, therefor not proper. I would have preferred my grandmother coughing up some dough instead of woolen bloody socks every Xmas (remember?) But nooooooh, it is not proper – says who?

See if this sounds somewhat familiar: I'm invited to a birthday party and I immediately feel the pressure; should I bring a present or not. Okay, stupid scenario, as the real deal is: “I have to deliver; so how much is she worth and what the heck do I get her.” Now don’t stop reading because it hits too close to home and gets slightly embarrassing. Just stay with me as it will get even worse - I dare you.

The money issue. So I automatically do some calculations involving, but not limited to the following criteria: How long have I known her? Is she a good friend, a close friend, do I really care about her, what was her name again, what did she give me for my birthday, what did it cost, did I like it, how much will other people spend, and the all-important: should I call in sick that day? Establishing an amount is as troublesome as picking the right gift.

Okay, I decide on the amount I want to blow based on the criteria above, so here comes the tricky part; what the heck should I get her? If I get her clothes, how big is she (bigger than me for sure), should I get her a size extra-large-awkward, will she look good in fat horizontal stripes, does anybody look good in fat horizontal stripes, toaster, salad-bowl set, gift-card to Jenny Craig or coupons for Alcohol Anonymous (she sure needs those…)? You can fill in the blanks as there are too many things to consider – and few of them are really comfortable. You know precisely what I’m talking about; if you say NO, you are not truthful – are you?

So I finally decide (forced by the mix of agonizing and desperation). Next, should I gift wrap it myself (Peter Cheapskate) or have it professionally done for $10 or more? Of course the professional job makes the present look impersonal and cold. “Couldn’t he have done it himself? Don’t I mean something to him?” She probably doesn’t, but I came anyway, didn't I? And if I wrapped it myself it would be “what a shabby job this thing is…” See, we can’t win. So all the presents in all their might and colors and ribbons and sizes end up on the dining room table for all to see, admire and envy; it's part of the competition. My flat, wrinkled and home-wrapped little thing does not measure up to the mighty boxes obviously wrapped by seasoned professionals. I decide never to gift-wrap again ever; one lesson learned. So everybody is now catering to the birthday person, everybody fighting to become her best friend ever, at least that day. She is now fully surrounded, has nowhere to escape to.

So here comes the big moment where she is going to start a bit of lying and agonizing and desperately try to show enthusiasm for stuff that normally would make her barf. Don’t say no and turn away, because we have all been there and we are all going back for more, strangely enough. She carefully picks the first present and reads the card. The expensive paper and ribbon are removed and the “gift” is exposed. Whatever pops out of that box will be met with expressions of joy and surprise and so many thank you so much’ s and my all-time favorite I always wanted one of these things followed by what is it?

So she labors through the dining room table and eventually reach my hand-made gift-wrapped contribution. She opens my offering slowly and everybody gasps as she unfurls the fat horizontal striped dress. It is hard for anybody to hold back giggles and oh my God’s. The birthday girl is in tears, but not the joyous ones. “Who is it from?” some nosey guest asks, but nobody answers and I'm keeping totally still. “Is there a card?” But they won’t find any because I have stealthily removed it from the table while nobody was watching – it is now resting in my left pocket; it was a very close call, but I seriously thought the dress would please her - I really did... What do I know about women's clothing?

Okay, so the above is a bit extreme, but soul-searching yourself, you have to admit that at least tiny bits are true. When we look back at some of the presents we have given and especially received over the years, how many do we actually remember? Where is that present now? Be honest and accept that I’m right, but don't feel shame about any of this; we are all on the same team. It's a really tough thing to deal with, as so many issues need to be decided to satisfy this one person’s taste and needs; too many considerations make it a very difficult task. Are you good at showing happiness and genuine appreciation when somebody gives you that gory looking glazed ceramic clock with the two clay owls making out around noon (on the clock that is)? I'm not; but at least I'm honest about it.

My conclusion is, that for the most we are good gift-givers and gift-receivers as we do make good choices for our friends and family members. And maybe it's just me who goes through the above - but I doubt I'm alone...  

Oh by the way, I found one reaction when receiving a gift you might try to avoid if you value your gift-giving friends. At a birthday I received this hideous thing (best way to describe it) and in my feeble mind of silly thoughts I blurted out: “Wow! This is such a perfect gift; how did you know we have a garage-sale next Saturday?” I lost yet another friend, but even worse, I couldn’t get rid of that damn thing at the garage-sale, couldn’t even give it away – go figure.

Footnote concerning the cash thing: My good buddy Russell and I have birthdays next to each other. We recognize these two days and the value of our friendship by giving each other $50,000; in my book of references, the perfect gift - you should try it some time and gift wrapping is not involved.

See you next Monday…   

I’M TERRIBLY SHY & ELEVATORS...

Okay, so people who know me will laugh, giggle and shake their heads. “You shy?” They question. “Yes, me shy…” I answer while blushing. And terribly so, I can add – really. See, you haven't noticed either...

Growing up I was not assertive and so totally not your social butterfly (more so an anti-social cocoon). At the few parties I was mistakenly invited to as a youngster, I was not even a wall-flower - I was the blooming wall. I dreaded being around other people; socially I was always miserable. They would point at me and snicker: “Look at him.” At least that was what I thought they did all the time, but in reality they never even saw me. Of course I was the last selected in anything that involved selecting – actually none of the teams really wanted me. The final nail in my pre-adolescent coffin was a pair of black framed dorky-looking prescription glasses; I was the first and only one in the whole bloody school of 800 students – yes, why not me, duh? My life sucked due to this shyness thing and it didn’t comfort any when my sweet mother kept telling me that it would go away as I got older, like it was a zit or something. I was sure that I needed to hit the age of 132 before this awkward shyness would disappear; and I would probably still be wearing dorky glasses. But then a few things happened that changed a lot.

“You look like Buddy Holly with those glasses…” I could have died and gone to heaven. Not only did somebody speak to me (even though she obviously mistook me for Buddy Holly), but she was the girl of my illicit fantasies. It was at the time I had started an interest in the opposite gender (which of course was another hopeless issue), and that was all she said, you look like Buddy Holly - it was awesome. I raced home to tell my mother. She looked at me through teary eyes: “That’s wonderful Peter; that was so nice of her to say that… and by the way, who is Buddy Holly?”

Another thing that happened was that I had started to comment on a lot of stuff during classes; just sarcastic remarks from observations, just for my own entertainment, I thought. At times my comments were actually giggle material, but for the most they cost me trips to the principal’s office; we became very close over the years. But even though I felt “brave” enough to open up a bit in class, somewhat supported by positive reactions from my classmates, I was still the blushing, sweating-in-really-weird-places and shying-away-from-life dude; but then another Peter showed up. He was an academic genius, and I was not. He was smart beyond the academics, intimidating, though charming and really good looking (with me looking like nerdy Buddy Holly). I was never intimidated by him, by the way. Peter was grand with the girls and they all wanted his attention; they still didn’t know I existed. Peter came up to me one day and simply said: “You are funny; you wanna be friends?” (But in Danish, of course). I was stunned and could only nod: “yes, but why me?” as an answer. And we had a fantastic friendship for many years.

Peter introduced me to jazz, smoking the pipe (legal stuff), using Old Spice, playing the drums, drinking beer and how to operate successfully at parties. I began to feel much better about myself, as he always treated me as an equal. All of a sudden I didn’t fell so dorky, weird and insecure. I was still very shy, but started learning to live with it feeling more comfortable with whom I was; a lot of that came from the respect Peter showed me in our friendship. The funny thing was that my mother did NOT like Peter at all. He was too “advanced”, too charming, too smooth, too perfect, she said; but she was happy that I finally started bringing girls home.

The years Peter and I were friends taught me a lot about how to handle my shyness. Don't get me wrong, I’m still very shy, but you probably wouldn’t notice, but I notice – again and again. But I have gotten so good at handling my shyness that I can get passengers in any elevator laughing all the way up or down – really. By the way, I always thought it the weirdest thing that when we are in an elevator we are seemingly not allowed to speak, so we all keep busy trying to hold our breath while watching the floor-lights turn on and off, floor after floor (my breath-holding record is 11 floors including 4 stops; it happened in the Intercontinental Hotel on Michigan Avenue in Chicago, January 1997); elevators were the ultimate challenge for me and my shyness.

So besides my friendship with Peter, some parts of accepting and learning to live with my shyness have actually been achieved in various elevators around the world. Oh, a funny elevator story: I was in the elevator going down from a visit to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris back in 1974; I had the crowd of tourists laughing all the way down. As we were exiting the elevator, I heard this sweet Japanese man ask his wife: “Was that Buddy Holly?” So you see I have come a long way - or perhaps it was the glasses?

 

Make it a grand week...

PS. Buddy Holly (with glasses) and the Crickets had early rock n' roll hits like PEGGY SUE & THAT'LL BE THE DAY in the late 1950s. Buddy died in a plane crash Feb.3, 1959. He was only 22 years old. The Beatles were inspired by his music; they recorded and performed many of Buddy Holly's songs through the years. John Lennon and Paul McCartney were encouraged to compose their own songs because Buddy Holly did and had.

WE ARE WHAT WE EAT – BUT ON SOME LEVELS I HOPE NOT

That’s what they say – as mentioned in earlier posts I’m not totally sure who they are, but they say it anyway. YOU ARE WHAT YOU EAT, so I must be a cross between a cow, some pig, a flock of chicken and a few turkeys, a variety of fish, marinating in slow churned praline crunch yogurt, a few barrels of wine, bread, cheese, some soda and a few gin and tonics. Okay I know that’s not what they mean. It’s the old thing about stuffing good stuff in and becoming healthy accordingly; it's all about what we eat. The following might make you giggle or make you feel nauseated.

Using some USDA figures concerning meat consumption in the USA, based on a set number of servings per animal, the following is not far from reality. Let’s base this on a 60-year life span of eating adult meals. Assuming we are “average” eaters, we down 5.4 cows, 15.8 pigs, ¼ calf (how could you!), .80 lambs (never had any), 573 chickens and about 35 turkeys and a lot of fish, actually. It kind of makes you think, huh? Or barf? Now imagine all these animals lined up in front of you in alphabetic order and with sad eyes. Looks like a mouthful? And it is... So how do you feel now?

Most of us are trying to maintain a lower weight and we try it in a lot of ways. We exercise, we watch sports (oops, that’s not slimming me down), hikes and walks, etc. but I truly believe that we are not too wild about doing that diet thing, eating healthy, as they call it. I for one, use exercise more so than staying away from what I like to eat (or drink). I figure the dog will have to suffer with me for another 30 minutes on the afternoon walk so I can inhale that additional portion of praline crunch yogurt after dinner. The dog is slim and healthy, as I am obviously not sharing any human food with her – maybe I should try her food for a while? There's an idea.

I used to like fast-food and ate it often, as in a lot. A quarter pounder with cheese, fries and a soda; it's not really that healthy. Lots of that saturated fat stuff makes it taste so darn good. Take that away and the Styrofoam box may actually taste better; just a thought. But now I rarely eat fast-food, and it has helped a lot in the losing weight department– really.

I know what my problem is; I like eating good food as I call it, and for the most, my good food you won't find under “healthy” foods. But do I care? Not really. I always try to substantiate my consumption of the foods I shouldn’t eat. That's where “I’ll start that diet thing tomorrow” comes in handy - for the millionth time. Every time I’m eyeing the bad food stuff, the dog is looking at me fearing she’ll pay with the additional 30 minutes the next morning; and for the most she will.

And don’t buy me candy. I fully know that there are not of speck of goodness in candy, not the kind of candy I like to swallow. I buy a couple of bags of Red Vines and I eat them all in one sitting and certainly before anybody gets home. I simply cannot stop and will not share. Eating a few pieces and then put the rest away for later? Are you kidding me?

We are what we eat is true, but breaking it down within my own silly logic, and long list of excuses, I keep inhaling some of those bad things, but I try to decrease the sizes of the portions and that I’m fairly good at. So I don’t think I’ll end up eating the full 5.4 cows and every single one of those 573 chickens. The lambs and the calves can rest assured that I will never even consider them as a meal – never have. But as long as they make slow churned praline crunch yogurt I will be first in line with a big spoon and a frustrated dog.

This brings me to the fact (good transition), that when we live 75 years, we sleep a solid 25 years. What a waste of time that is. Imagine how much more food we could inhale and enjoy if we didn’t have to sleep so much? Something to consider.

CONGRATS to Japan’s Women’s Soccer Team winning the World Cup gold

CONGRATS to the USA Women’s Soccer Team winning the World Cup silver

CONGRATS to Sweden’s Women’s Soccer Team winning the World Cup bronze.

And thanks to all the other teams for a terrific soccer tournament – really.

The quality of women’s soccer is consistently getting better and better - way to go girls.

TRYING TO COMPREHEND CAN AT TIMES MAKE US DIZZY – AND SOME SOCCER

I don’t know about you, but I often stop and think about it, contemplate what the heck I’m doing, why are we here and why us. Don’t you? We can walk and chew gum, we talk and dress and drive, invent a lot of stuff, communicate, buy water in bottles, wear shoes and the list is long. And we can’t find anybody else like us or close to us at all in this vast universe space thing we supposedly live in. Sounds familiar? And that’s where the “comprehension” part comes in – for me.

There are certain aspects of our existence we as human beings cannot comprehend. That Carla is still dating that loser jerk and politicians haven’t found a way to move the country forward instead of constantly bicker to save their own political behinds; that baseball crowns a World Champion every year when only two countries are involved (and Canada is like a sibling to us, yeah?), why bicycle helmets have to make everybody look so dorky; those are but a few of the things we have a hard time comprehending; but we can for the most if we try hard.

But the really big one, the one we cannot understand, comprehend or cannot be explained into believing is that thing about the universe, the solar system we supposedly sit in the middle of. Okay, I can swing with the part about where we are, but it’s the infinity, meaning the unlimited extent of time, space, distance and quantity that we can’t cope with, cannot comprehend. So we fly off into the sunset, the universe and way beyond and it never ends; simple enough? But really thinking about it; doesn’t it make you a tiny bit dizzy? Okay I hear Carla’s loser friend saying: “It gotta end somewhere…” Yeah, but if it does, what’s on the other side? There gotta be something… Yeah, but only infinity (I better sit down now).

It’s the thought of infinity, the never ending part I get dizzy thinking about. It’s like waiting in the dentist's office for that root-canal surgery, but a lot longer. The experts will try to explain it to us, and every time they finish, believing it’s understandable and logical, I point a shaking finger at them and say: “But then what? If we are in this huge cosmic ball, there still has to be something beyond… So there; it will never end.”  And it never will. It’s a fact we cannot comprehend; weird, huh?

Every time my thoughts head down Infinity Way, I do feel humbled concerning who I am, why and where; it puts a lot into perspective, it really does. In spite that I believe I am the center of the universe (especially on birthdays and stuff) my thoughts quickly dismiss that arrogant feeling and I find myself in the place I should be most of the time: happy, smiling, friendly, human, sharing and content, because I realize that I am just this tiny cosmic speck (with dorky looking bicycle helmet), and there is not a heck of a lot I can do about that infinity thing – and I’m fine with that, also because it makes me dizzy.

SOCCER/FOOTBALL

For those of you living under a rock, the 2011 World Cup Women Soccer (football, that is), is raging on in Germany. Yesterday I watched one of the most exciting soccer games I have ever watched, men or women – and I have coached and watched thousands of games. The American women’s team was fighting against the wind, played most of the game with 10 players (Brazil with 11), a few calls not going their way, but by never giving up, came from behind and won the game in such extraordinary fashion, dramatic and to the wire – I also left the field exhausted, and I had only been watching; it was a pure piece of poetic justice.

The American’s coach Pia Sundhage is Swedish, and her comment after this awesome game was that she was yet again stunned about the tenacity, the determination never to give up that every single player exposed. She added that to her, this fierce will to win at all cost is what America is all about – I couldn’t agree more.

Think about infinity once in a while – I do, especially when I get too much into myself, me into that self-inflicted center of the cosmos. Together with that and the proverbial deep breath, I’m back on earth, both feet (in shoes) planted solidly on the ground, eating Humble Pie. It tastes good – it really does, once in a while...

Best Regards, Peter

I DO LOVE YOU - BUT NOT THAT WAY

I have a problem with the way you so loosely use the word LOVE. And I say YOU as I do not freely throw it around as frivolously as most people do.

Growing up in Denmark I cannot recall a single time my parents verbally expressed that they loved me – not once. When I finally told my mother I loved her, I was perhaps 40 years old; there was a long pause on the line and then a sweet and soft voice: I love you too, Peter (in Danish, of course). That was the first and last time ever. But around here the LOVE word is exploited and pushed around and in my opinion, being brutally stripped from what it should really mean and therefore denied the only way we should use it, which is in a much more serious manner - in my opinion.

Endearment, devotion, adoration, fondness, affection, warmth, closeness, intimacy, attachment, passion, infatuation, crush, etc. are just a few of the words related to LOVE. The writer dude Ralph Waldo Emerson looked very highly upon the true meaning of LOVE (as I do) and wrote this about it: “Our highest word and the synonym of God…” Okay, that’s a bit much, but you get the idea.

Of course LOVE also has meanings of action: Make out, kiss, cuddle, neck, embrace, make love, romance, have sex, and my all-time favorite: Have the hots for… Plato (some Greek dude who lived around a very long time ago), and I think a bit more alike concerning our interpretation of the LOVE-word: “Desire for beauty which should transcend the physical… and then attachment and something sexual...” You follow? Or is this all Greek to you?

Plato was only somewhat correct, so I'll give you my much deeper and self-made philosophy concerning the meaning of LOVE: “If I can kiss it – and it can kiss me back, then I can say I love it - if I want to (that would be human beings… now now, don’t get all giggly on me). So you see it doesn’t fit with “I LOVE my car, dress, movie, bacon cheeseburger, property taxes", or whatever you want to make it. I can’t LOVE my car, because according to my own philosophy it also means being intimate with, so that would be really weird, nearly impossible and should be illegal in most states. You see, my car won’t kiss me back; nothing personal, I’m sure… So I can’t LOVE my car, but I can LIKE it (and I do).

I must admit that to some extend I am wrong concerning the way you so freely use LOVE, with a bit of confusion in the mix. When one girlfriend tells another girlfriend that she loves her, it seems fine and acceptable. But if a male friend tells another male friend that he loves him, for the most that would be awkward (depending on sexual preference, of course). I do understand that when you say: “I LOVE your outfit”, it’s not because you want to have a passionate physical relationship with it – I hope. So you see that I’m not totally lost, just a bit confused - duh!

But looking around I am still trying so hard not to cringe and giggle when Frank, weighing in at 380 pounds, smelly and rather hairy in weird places, tells me he loves his 4X4 Chevy truck, because in my twisted mind that is not a pretty picture. But I do try to accept that what he is actually saying is, that he likes his truck, and really doesn’t have the hots for it, that way – I hope. I’m getting better at understanding.

I love my wife and have found that there are not enough words to describe how much I love her. That’s when I see the true power in that single word LOVE, as it does (according to me) cover every description possible and beyond.

Writing all this actually makes me feel better, as I begin to see that you might be right and I might be somewhat wrong (that would be the second time I’m wrong in the last 4 years), but still and in spite of that, you will never hear me use LOVE loosely.

John and Paul wrote a sweet line in one of their last Beatles songs:

“And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.”

However corny, I do believe it is true – I have to, according to my philosophy.

Just for you, I’m going to say this, but only once ever, so pay attention:

I do love you – but not that way (sorry Frank…)


Remember this week, that we all look terrific when we smile :)

I HAVE GREAT TASTE AND SO DO YOU…

I have really great taste. I decided that way back in early 1970 when I worked in the women's fashion business in Denmark. European fashion critics, observers and related magazines kept hammering on everybody, telling us what good taste was and what was bad taste. I all of a sudden realized that I was not comfortable being told by anybody what I should think concerning my tastes, good or bad. So I decided that whatever taste I had was good; it was actually great – for me.

Tastes and opinions about anything and everything are in my book of references very personal. Nobody can tell me otherwise anymore. The downside is that I have to respect other people's “tastes”, not meaning that I agree with what they are, but I still have to respect their choices, because according to my own rules, they also have great taste. Of course when we see this hideous person’s mind-numbing outfit (in a really bad way), we wonder what the heck she has been sniffing, snorting, inhaling or eaten. But when we consider that she actually checked herself in the mirror before she went out that morning and was very pleased with what she saw, we have to respect her taste, don't we? You see, based on my decision of the early 1970’s, individually we all have great taste, it's our own and it's unique. Makes you feel kind of warm and cuddly inside, huh?

We are constantly bombarded with how we should think, feel, like, buy and use from advertising and commercials, friends, family and surroundings, from all over the blooming place 24/7. I’m actually fine with that, as I have learned to filter out the blatant lies, avoid being pulled in and told where to go, this way negating being manipulated. So whatever they hit us with, we are now able to decide on our own, choose what WE like and not what THEY want us to like, wear and drink. With hidden messages they even threaten us, that if we don't do what they want us to do or buy or think, we are unfit for society and will die lonely, poor, sorry and sad; that's what they tell us - more or less. But you and I? We are strong because we take a stand by telling them that we are in control and that we know what good taste is; we are in charge - so take that!

Amongst so many other things concerning this, I have a bone to pick with art. Again THEY (whoever the heck they are) tell us what good art is and what art is bad. But the simplicity is, that if I think it’s good, it’s good, even if they keep telling me it's bad; don't they get it? Same with movie critics. Here we have one person telling us what movie we should go see or not, by the quantity of those stupid little stars they attach to their opinions. Does it make sense to go see a movie or not, based on the opinion of only one person? No, it really doesn't make sense. I knew you would agree. (See, I assumed your opinion; manipulation is a piece of cake)…

Okay, I admit I have not fine-tuned this whole concept yet because my immature reactions are still forthcoming, showing their ugly heads. Example: I see the woman in that hideous outfit and instead of respecting her taste in clothing and accept her choices, (and when nobody is listening), I pretty much go: “What the heck is her problem; that outfit sucks sky high.” Well, so much for respect and acceptance. But then again, did I state anywhere above that I’m perfect? I do feel I am allowed to express a little disdain for other people’s real bad taste (when nobody is listening). I can do that because I have such great taste to compare it with – and so do you. We shouldn't have a problem with that, should we? I knew you would agree...

 

Thought of the week:

When each of us respect diversity, we all get stronger - together.

Make it a good one, please...

MIRROR MIRROR ON THE WALL

Mirror mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all? Most of us remember that scene when the queen asks the mirror to confirm she is still more beautiful than Snow White. By the way, as a kid I wanted so bad to fall in love with Snow White, but I couldn't; it was due to that rather irritating high-pitched voice of hers. I had the same problem with Bambi... Only kidding. - Well, back to the mirrors.

I have never had a good relationship with mirrors; seems like they all have something against me, or at least something against the image of me. It doesn't matter what side of me I try to reflect, it's always the same result: Oh no, not again... Sure there are the few times I get a glimpse of a ruggedly handsome Mr. Steiness; I gloat a bit, smirk, walk away, but hurry back to make sure I wasn't just seeing things - but for the most I am; he was gone as fast as he had appeared - dang it...

Can we assume George Clooney doesn't suffer my mirror problems? In my opinion, he is top-of-the-list handsome. But does he ever stand in front of the mirror, smiling that charming smile of his and utter: "I am still more handsome than Tom and Brad." I think he does. I could utter the same thing, but would unfortunately not be referring to the same Tom and Brad.

I have always found it fascinating watching people in front of mirrors watching (admiring?) themselves. Some leave shaking their heads, some with tears of joy, others pump their fists, a few have smirks on their faces and some, like me, simply avoid mirrors all together. Don't misunderstand me, this is not a call for help from Mr. Low-Self-Esteem, not at all. In other areas I am rather sure of myself (when I recall what any of those other areas are, I'll let you know). And that brings up photographs.

Now, you tell me what it is we like so much about being photographed - because that's what it's all about: images of ME. We force our way into any photo, then we turn on silly faces, we smile and will do anything to stand out. Don't worry, we are all a bit like that, and I have always wondered why that is. Are we that self-absorbed, so self-centered? I don't think so; I just don't know why - do you? Another thing is that after we push ourselves into the pictures and then see that image of ourselves on the LCD screen, on the paper, the monitor, the mobile, we scream: Gee, I'm so ugly, stupid, insane (or whatever). Sometimes we find a photo that actually is really good, where we do look handsome, charming, beautiful (or whatever), but this satisfied opinion we keep to ourselves; I mean, we are not that shallow, are we?
I only have one picture of me where I'm cute and adorable. It's a black and white photo from 1946, I was barely 3 months old; seriously, it is very cute - for the wallet (if I had one).

At times I ask my wife and very best friend ever, if I'm okay looking. She always answers: "I think you are". And in the end, that IS all that matters - for her and especially for me. The thing is that we NEVER see ourselves the same way other people see us. What we look like to other people is extremely different from what we think we look like, mirrors or no mirrors. So I certainly hope that people see something in me that I don't see myself.

Therefor my logical conclusion is that when they do look at Peter B. Steiness, they do actually see a lot of George Clooney - (well, you might if you try really hard - please!)

Make it a productive week whatever you are doing - legally.

Best Regards,

Peter

IT'S MY BIRTHDAY - SO, WHATEVER...

Certain annual events (that's "once a year" for those of you living in Aarhus, Denmark) are cool, really. Xmas being one of them - but that's about it for me. My birthday is coming up later this week, but I don't feel any of the excitement I felt as a little boy; it seems to fade away as we get older. It always felt awkward opening presents, trying desperately not sounding fake with the oohs & aahs as everybody looked on. The self-knitted woolen socks my grandmother gave me every bloody year; did she really hate me that much? My mother forced me to wear them; that's "conspiracy" if you ask me. And then there is the illogical cake bit...

You hit the mature age of one and get only one lousy candle on top of the cake. Now where the heck is the fun in that? We should establish an average life-expectancy, let's say 75 for males and a lot longer for females, of course. So the one year old boy should start with 75 candles on the cake (and garden-hose at the ready), and the 75 year old geezer would end up with just one candle, this way not having to blow out 75 candles while making a desperate wish that the dentures won't land in the frosting. Any birthday after 75 is a bonus - no candles at all... Makes sense to you? I thought so...

Paul McCartney and I celebrate on the same day. He's still a bit older than I, and I'm hitting 65. I'm more worried about Paul getting "so old" than I'm about my own age. I was a big Beatles-fan (still am) but in my ignorance through the years, I wanted the Fab Four to stay the same, and certainly not have John and George dead. And that's another part of "birthday" I don't care much about, when it becomes more so a reminder of... Oh well, let's finish on a happy note... So why only "birthday child" and not "birthday adult"?

On my upcoming birthday I will feel pampered simply by having my wife, our two sons and their terrific girlfriends together for a BBQ - and I tell you, that is a heck of a lot better than a pair of my grandmother's woolen socks.

Best Regards,
Peter B. Steiness

PS. Please make it a good week and why not give one compliment a day to somebody. They will like getting one as much as you will like giving one. I tried it, and that's how it works - really...