I am not nearly as interesting to other people as I am to myself.
Well, I personally am as interesting to other people as I am to myself; that opening statement was more of a generalization than a specific comment on my status in the world. Maybe I should have said that you are not as interesting to me as you are to yourself. That makes more sense.
"Huh," SuperK said. "I'm way more interesting to everyone, including myself, than you are," drawing no argument from me.
I try to think about the relative strengths and weaknesses of my person on the Interest-O-Meter when I'm talking to someone. Especially when I talk in front of a group of people, like at a meeting. I should talk some of the time but not every time. I should let other people talk and try to pretend that I'm interested in what they are saying, which isn't very often.
It's come to my attention that when I'm talking about myself or thinking what I'm going to say about myself that I can't possibly be listening to what you are saying.
Haven't we all thought, as we talked to someone who obviously wasn't listening to what we are saying: "This is a waste of my time." Sometimes I can barely hold my tongue to let the other person finish. If there is less than a microsecond of dead air between the end of your comment and your fellow's response, then they probably weren't listening.
We have two ears and one mouth for a reason. And we have to eat with that thing, too.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Monday, January 11, 2010
The Lead
I got a phone call a few days ago from someone I did not know.
"I got your name from Ubiquitous John and wondered if you would give a talk for me next Monday at our local clubhouse?" the guy asked.
"How many people are going to be there?" I asked.
He paused for a minute, confused, and I jumped right in, hoping to finish his sentence for him. I knew better than he did what he wanted to say.
"Normally, I try to limit my talks to very large groups. State conventions, keynote addresses, stuff like that. MY message is quite good and I don't want to dilute it by talking in front of insignificant crowds. This is Marketing 101," I replied. "Are there going to b e any important people there?"
"I don't know," he stammered.
"OK, no problem," I mused. "You have a few days still to drum up attendance. Who is going to be handling the taping? Do you have all of the equipment and technical support that you need to make a quality recording?"
"Well, I don't know about . . . "
"How about a sergeant at arms?" I mused, thinking out loud. I had already forgotten who I was talking to . "Someone to make sure that no stragglers try to leave when I'm talking. What are we thinking: 3 or 4 hours? I can probably shorten things up a bit if there's a time limit I need to respect."
He started making static noises. "Horseface, the connection . . ssshhsshhh . . . line breaking up sshsshhshhh. . . "
The connection went dead.
"I got your name from Ubiquitous John and wondered if you would give a talk for me next Monday at our local clubhouse?" the guy asked.
"How many people are going to be there?" I asked.
He paused for a minute, confused, and I jumped right in, hoping to finish his sentence for him. I knew better than he did what he wanted to say.
"Normally, I try to limit my talks to very large groups. State conventions, keynote addresses, stuff like that. MY message is quite good and I don't want to dilute it by talking in front of insignificant crowds. This is Marketing 101," I replied. "Are there going to b e any important people there?"
"I don't know," he stammered.
"OK, no problem," I mused. "You have a few days still to drum up attendance. Who is going to be handling the taping? Do you have all of the equipment and technical support that you need to make a quality recording?"
"Well, I don't know about . . . "
"How about a sergeant at arms?" I mused, thinking out loud. I had already forgotten who I was talking to . "Someone to make sure that no stragglers try to leave when I'm talking. What are we thinking: 3 or 4 hours? I can probably shorten things up a bit if there's a time limit I need to respect."
He started making static noises. "Horseface, the connection . . ssshhsshhh . . . line breaking up sshsshhshhh. . . "
The connection went dead.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Horseface Steve: Honorable Warrior
Honor: A keen sense of right and wrong; adherence to action or principles considered right; integrity.
Today I'm going to be dishonest. It's just too hard to tell the truth. It's often uncomfortable and inconvenient. I'm going to protect my good name by every means possible. I'm going to weasel my way out of tight spots and exaggerate my accomplishments. My day will go easier if I do this.
There was an old Western serial called "Branded." I think Chuck Connors was in it. That's a great name, by the way: Chuck Connors. I think I'll use it at the coffee shop tomorrow. "Extra-room Americano. OK, what's the name?" I'll pretend I'm squinting into the setting sun: "Connors. Chuck Connors."
Anyway, Chuck was unfairly booted from the cavalry due to some terrible misunderstanding. The commander called him out in front of the entire regiment, ripped the epaulets from his shoulders, and snapped his sword in two, to ominous drum music. That dude was dishonored, although I think he got to keep the broken part of his sword, probably to remind him of his dishonorable actions but it ended up being a very effective weapon, as I recall.
My interpretation is that he tried to tell the truth. Big mistake. Lying is OK if you are trying to protect yourself. And the best thing that evolves from a rich history of lying is that you eventually learn to deceive yourself, which is a major plus. I could justify all kinds of stuff as long as I believed it was OK. Remember: it's not lying if you believe it.
I heard honesty described in the meeting last night as "the absence of the intent to deceive."
Very nice.
Today I'm going to be dishonest. It's just too hard to tell the truth. It's often uncomfortable and inconvenient. I'm going to protect my good name by every means possible. I'm going to weasel my way out of tight spots and exaggerate my accomplishments. My day will go easier if I do this.
There was an old Western serial called "Branded." I think Chuck Connors was in it. That's a great name, by the way: Chuck Connors. I think I'll use it at the coffee shop tomorrow. "Extra-room Americano. OK, what's the name?" I'll pretend I'm squinting into the setting sun: "Connors. Chuck Connors."
Anyway, Chuck was unfairly booted from the cavalry due to some terrible misunderstanding. The commander called him out in front of the entire regiment, ripped the epaulets from his shoulders, and snapped his sword in two, to ominous drum music. That dude was dishonored, although I think he got to keep the broken part of his sword, probably to remind him of his dishonorable actions but it ended up being a very effective weapon, as I recall.
My interpretation is that he tried to tell the truth. Big mistake. Lying is OK if you are trying to protect yourself. And the best thing that evolves from a rich history of lying is that you eventually learn to deceive yourself, which is a major plus. I could justify all kinds of stuff as long as I believed it was OK. Remember: it's not lying if you believe it.
I heard honesty described in the meeting last night as "the absence of the intent to deceive."
Very nice.
Friday, January 8, 2010
My cash.
I'm going to refinance my home today. I'm really quite nervous about it. It's not like I've never signed a mortgage before and this is going to save me some money. But I'm still edgy.
Probably the issue is that money is involved. I have a sneaking suspicion that these people are going to try to separate me from my money, even though this has not been the case in the past. I'm just assuming it's going to happen this time. Maybe it's that these people shuffle documents in front of me like a card shark: "Sign here, initial here. DNA sample -- spit in this test tube. Juggle these three pieces of paper while balancing our pen -- you can take it home with you, too! -- on your nose. OK, we're almost done here, just 38 more legal documents to sign."
I think the goal is to get you so numb with the signing -- "Don't worry about this one -- it simply gives us the right to kill you slowly if you lie or even make a mistake" -- so that when they slip in the rustproofing and undercoating on the last page you overlook it. I mean, have you seen the printing on those documents? It looks like the Magna Carta. I couldn't read it in a day, and I know how to read.
P.S.: Everything went fin.
Probably the issue is that money is involved. I have a sneaking suspicion that these people are going to try to separate me from my money, even though this has not been the case in the past. I'm just assuming it's going to happen this time. Maybe it's that these people shuffle documents in front of me like a card shark: "Sign here, initial here. DNA sample -- spit in this test tube. Juggle these three pieces of paper while balancing our pen -- you can take it home with you, too! -- on your nose. OK, we're almost done here, just 38 more legal documents to sign."
I think the goal is to get you so numb with the signing -- "Don't worry about this one -- it simply gives us the right to kill you slowly if you lie or even make a mistake" -- so that when they slip in the rustproofing and undercoating on the last page you overlook it. I mean, have you seen the printing on those documents? It looks like the Magna Carta. I couldn't read it in a day, and I know how to read.
P.S.: Everything went fin.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
The Medicine Man
Medicine Man: A man supposed to have supernatural powers of curing disease and controlling spirits.
Farmer Bill had some surgery this week. I hope it went well but if not, eh. It's not like I'm in any pain so I'm having trouble generating any enthusiasm, and I like Farmer Bill. I did feel that it was my duty as someone enjoying Advanced Sobriety to pass along my experience, strength, and hope concerning pain medication. Everybody tells me that they would have trouble navigating through life if I wasn't dispensing advice. Well, technically they don't actually tell me but I know what they're thinking. I know they're grateful when I tell them what to do. All of 'em are.
First and foremost, don't tell anybody what medication has been prescribed. It's none of their business. You can handle it all by yourself. If you invite someone besides me to give you advice, you might get some bad advice, or this person might sneak into your house when you're all groggy from the pills and steal some or all of your medication, depending on how good it is. Handle the pills in the privacy of your own home, with the blinds drawn and the Jimi Hendrix playing softly.
Never, ever take more than half of a bottle at once unless it's a small bottle or you have built up a lot of tolerance and you can handle the contents of a big bottle. Of course, if the pain is worse than you thought it was going to be or you think that it might get worse -- even if you are having no pain right now -- err on the side of excess. We wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable.
And since I'm a fair, balanced and open-minded dude I'll pay lip service to the opposing point of view, which is that all medication is always bad and serves no purpose other than to facilitate a good party. These people are idiots. These people have never needed a root canal. There is nothing wrong with legal medication legally prescribed for an actual condition. The problem is us. We look at the bottle of Oxycontin -- a legal drug -- and note that it doesn't say that you can't grind all of the pills into a powder and snort them in a matter of hours, so it must be OK, right?
Just remember -- the slider is going to be hard on your rotator cuff. Just ask Bill.
Farmer Bill had some surgery this week. I hope it went well but if not, eh. It's not like I'm in any pain so I'm having trouble generating any enthusiasm, and I like Farmer Bill. I did feel that it was my duty as someone enjoying Advanced Sobriety to pass along my experience, strength, and hope concerning pain medication. Everybody tells me that they would have trouble navigating through life if I wasn't dispensing advice. Well, technically they don't actually tell me but I know what they're thinking. I know they're grateful when I tell them what to do. All of 'em are.
First and foremost, don't tell anybody what medication has been prescribed. It's none of their business. You can handle it all by yourself. If you invite someone besides me to give you advice, you might get some bad advice, or this person might sneak into your house when you're all groggy from the pills and steal some or all of your medication, depending on how good it is. Handle the pills in the privacy of your own home, with the blinds drawn and the Jimi Hendrix playing softly.
Never, ever take more than half of a bottle at once unless it's a small bottle or you have built up a lot of tolerance and you can handle the contents of a big bottle. Of course, if the pain is worse than you thought it was going to be or you think that it might get worse -- even if you are having no pain right now -- err on the side of excess. We wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable.
And since I'm a fair, balanced and open-minded dude I'll pay lip service to the opposing point of view, which is that all medication is always bad and serves no purpose other than to facilitate a good party. These people are idiots. These people have never needed a root canal. There is nothing wrong with legal medication legally prescribed for an actual condition. The problem is us. We look at the bottle of Oxycontin -- a legal drug -- and note that it doesn't say that you can't grind all of the pills into a powder and snort them in a matter of hours, so it must be OK, right?
Just remember -- the slider is going to be hard on your rotator cuff. Just ask Bill.
Just Shoot Me.
I've been reading some stuff I wrote in the last few years of my drinking. It's not for the faint of heart, I'll tell you that much. It is making me flinch, making me look away. I feel like someone is snapping the bridge of my nose with a ruler, over and over. My nose is now quite sore. I have to walk away and regroup every now and then, take a deep breath before plunging back in. I'm thinking: "Someone shoot this poor SOB and put him out of his misery."
I thought I could pull on my Hip, Slick, and Cool face mask, stroll into The Fellowship, and fool everybody. As if someone in that much emotional pain could pull the wool over the eyes of a bunch of cynical, experienced drunks. That emotion was written all over my face, as obvious to others as the booze oozing out of my pores.
I knew I had a problem way back then. I'm not sure I knew what the solution was yet. I could not imagine a life without alcohol and drugs, although I knew that they were the problem. The Book talks about a "jumping off point." The Book talks about getting to a spot where we can't imagine life with alcohol and we can't imagine a life without alcohol. That pretty much covers everything. There's not any other choices. There's not any other time in the day.
After a while I quit trying to convince people that I was OK. No one seemed to believe me, anyway. They seemed skeptical. It's important for me to keep the wrath of alcohol fresh in my mind. Every now and then a pleasant memory concerning alcohol or drugs will ferret its way into my consciousness. I'll wonder how good the music would sound if I blew some weed, or how relaxed I'd be with a few jolts under my belt.
I need to stay connected to that miserable SOB.
I thought I could pull on my Hip, Slick, and Cool face mask, stroll into The Fellowship, and fool everybody. As if someone in that much emotional pain could pull the wool over the eyes of a bunch of cynical, experienced drunks. That emotion was written all over my face, as obvious to others as the booze oozing out of my pores.
I knew I had a problem way back then. I'm not sure I knew what the solution was yet. I could not imagine a life without alcohol and drugs, although I knew that they were the problem. The Book talks about a "jumping off point." The Book talks about getting to a spot where we can't imagine life with alcohol and we can't imagine a life without alcohol. That pretty much covers everything. There's not any other choices. There's not any other time in the day.
After a while I quit trying to convince people that I was OK. No one seemed to believe me, anyway. They seemed skeptical. It's important for me to keep the wrath of alcohol fresh in my mind. Every now and then a pleasant memory concerning alcohol or drugs will ferret its way into my consciousness. I'll wonder how good the music would sound if I blew some weed, or how relaxed I'd be with a few jolts under my belt.
I need to stay connected to that miserable SOB.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
The Taker
Take: To get into one's hand or hold; to acquire for oneself.
Today I am going to be A Taker.
I'm not sure how this differs from any other day to be honest with you. I spent a few minutes thinking about all of the days when I assumed the roll of A Giver but nothing came to mind. I'm drawing a blank. I'll have to go through my notes and get back to you on that one. I'm sure it's happened at least once, maybe twice. I don't think that I'm going to get into double figures.
The world owes me everything. I deserve to be given EVERYTHING! I deserve more than my fair share, which is the whole pie. Screw getting the biggest piece of pie -- I want the entire thing.
Giving is for the weak among us. Those who don't understand that by giving they're losing out on getting more. I was the guy who couldn't remember where my car was but had perfect recall on who had bought how many pitchers of beer. I'm like the Rain Man on that one. Russell stills owes me for one pitcher back in 1972, late fall, I believe, before the rains came. And there was no obvious reason for me to tip the person who brought me the beer. If they were unhappy with their compensation they should have taken that up with management, not long suffering customers.
Isn't it a cruel irony that the things that I want, the things that I think make me feel better, are empty calories in the long run? Sugar versus cauliflower; exercise versus Survivor; stuff versus god?
Today I am going to be A Taker.
I'm not sure how this differs from any other day to be honest with you. I spent a few minutes thinking about all of the days when I assumed the roll of A Giver but nothing came to mind. I'm drawing a blank. I'll have to go through my notes and get back to you on that one. I'm sure it's happened at least once, maybe twice. I don't think that I'm going to get into double figures.
The world owes me everything. I deserve to be given EVERYTHING! I deserve more than my fair share, which is the whole pie. Screw getting the biggest piece of pie -- I want the entire thing.
Giving is for the weak among us. Those who don't understand that by giving they're losing out on getting more. I was the guy who couldn't remember where my car was but had perfect recall on who had bought how many pitchers of beer. I'm like the Rain Man on that one. Russell stills owes me for one pitcher back in 1972, late fall, I believe, before the rains came. And there was no obvious reason for me to tip the person who brought me the beer. If they were unhappy with their compensation they should have taken that up with management, not long suffering customers.
Isn't it a cruel irony that the things that I want, the things that I think make me feel better, are empty calories in the long run? Sugar versus cauliflower; exercise versus Survivor; stuff versus god?
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