ThomStratton.com

Robert Frost, in “Mending Wall”, claims that “good fences make good neighbors”. If only that’s all it took. I’ve built a few fences in my day, and they’re all still standing. I could be a really good neighbor. Unfortunately, I think it actually takes talking to your neighbor on a semi-regular basis, and I’m not so good at that. We’ve never been particularly good neighbors, I’m afraid. We’re not outgoing people, and in today’s society it’s easier to just live in your own little bubble; open the garage from down the street, drive in, close the door behind you and ignore that the world exists outside your house.

We’ve been trying to do better since we moved into our latest neighborhood. It’s a little easier to be friendly with the people you also see at church on a regular basis, but out of ten houses on our cul de sac only us and one other go to the same church–something of an anomaly in “Mormonville, USA”. But I’m pleased to say we’ve done better than normal. It helps that many on the street have reached out to us as well.

But when our next door neighbors sold and a new family moved in we decided it was time to step up our game. They’re a younger couple with two young, adorable daughters (one that unfortunately shares a name with our dog). It turns out they’re quite friendly, and have responded well to our efforts (hopefully we have to theirs, also). Our conversations are infrequent, but once we get talking it’s quite easy to talk to for quite some time. They’re daughters get along well with our daughter, which has earned her a babysitting opportunity.

This weekend we took the next step and invited them over for dinner. We had a really good time, and we have reason to believe they enjoyed it, too. They’re good people, and it was fun getting to know them better. We’ll be doing this again.

As I said, we’re not really sociable people. Entertaining is not something that works its way onto our “to do” list very often, yet whenever we do finally get around to it we usually enjoy it. It’s just a matter of rousing ourselves to invite people over in the first place.

We really should be more friendly with our neighbors. But I definitely need more practice on how to go about it.

I ran across this lip synch version later on, done by the Delta Sigma Phi fraternity. It’s kinda fun, but probably most impressive is their choreography and timing. Unless they’ve got mad editing skillz, this is all a single take, and the cameraman is getting one heck of a workout. We report. You decide:

UPDATE: The fraternity has gained a lot of attention from this video, evidently, including some from Taylor Swift herself. From the sound of it, they’re handling it well and looking to turn it into yet another positive. Kudos, guys.

Taylor Swift doesn’t exactly need me to send more views her way, but I’m going to anyway. I know we shouldn’t feel sorry for celebrities and all, but it’s got to be harder than it looks. You have people masterminding months-long cybercrimes just to get a peek at your online photo collection, for one. And as Swift herself related in a recent interview, it has to be weird to be driving somewhere with your latest boyfriend and hear people on the radio reporting rumors that the guy sitting beside you in the car has bought a ring and is getting ready to propose to you. Under such circumstances you either develop coping strategies or you crack. And that’s if you’re already well-grounded. It’s no wonder that so many other celebrities just don’t know how to handle it.

But then it’s not just celebrities these days. With the advent of social media it’s become easy–no, expected–for everyone to be up in everyone else’s business. Everyone’s got to have an opinion about everything. Facebook doesn’t need a “dislike” button–everyone’s perfectly capable of using all the buttons on their keyboards to express their dislike of anything that varies one micron from their own ideas of acceptability, and far too many do so, and with relish (and mustard, ketchup, and the occasional sauerkraut (This post comes pre-snarked for your convenience. You’re welcome, Bill!)).

I’ve noticed, too, that it’s not just people telling everyone what they think, either. Far too often I see posts telling you what you think, too. The False Dichotomy shows up on my feed with surprising regularity and with even more surprising deviousness. Just the other day I was presented with a meme pic showing the pictures of two women, one nearly grotesque with a garishly fake tan, over-botoxed or lifted face, obvious lip-enhancement and heavy makeup, and the other with a naturally pretty, pixie face, but with her torso covered in so many tattoos I at first thought they were a t-shirt. The text of the picture essentially condemned society for thinking the former was beautiful and the latter ugly.

I won’t take a position for or against tattoos here, but I’m willing to bet that meme picture was created by someone with tattoos, probably a lot of them, and who has–justifiably or not–become defensive over it. And so they created a propaganda meme pic that essentially tries to shame people into accepting them. The logic of this false dichotomy is three-fold: 1) you think the ugly-fake person is beautiful, and 2) you think the tattooed person is ugly because of her tattoos, and 3) this needs to change.

The last point would certainly be true if the first two were also true. But this is the insidiousness of such an approach. It doesn’t leave any room for people to have any other opinions. I suspect a large number of people would find the first picture repellant. I suspect a similarly large number of people reacted to the second picture the same way I did. I thought the woman shown had a very cute face; fresh and natural-looking–the very antithesis of the previous one. But since it made no sense for the meme pic to claim I thought the second was ugly, I looked deeper to see if I could determine why I should think the second woman unattractive. Only then did I notice the tattoos. Not just one or two, but essentially covered in them–though notably not on her face. And I still found her more attractive by far than the first woman. But the meme pic was accusing me of thinking just the opposite, and totally ignoring the fact that there are far, far many more ways to react to those pictures than the false dichotomy presented.

It was rather ironic. Here was a meme pic pre-judging me to try and convince me not to pre-judge its creator. Physician, heal thyself. Go ahead and tell me what you think. I don’t mind that. But don’t try and tell me how I think in an effort to try to get me to think like you.

That’s just one example of how we’re under constant pressure to be hard on one another these days. Other than the advice offered by Dieter F. Uchtdorf (“Stop it.”), I don’t know how to combat that sort of thing. “Haters gonna hate” and all that. But that doesn’t mean that we, as targets, have to take them at all seriously. As hard as it may be, the best revenge is to shake it off and be happy anyway. Hence the Taylor Swift video below.

On first glance it seems ironic–Taylor Swift telling us to just ignore the haters and downers out there and just have fun. What does she have to be sad about? But I’m going to go out on a limb here and suggest that becoming an A-list celebrity, a household name, and the continual focus of celeb-watchers and gossip-mongers doesn’t suddenly make you immune to negativity and snark. Those with any brains know that fame is fleeting, and as often as not what got you where you are over someone you may feel is more talented, more beautiful, or more deserving is just plain luck.

Taylor Swift strikes me as one who’s got her head screwed on straighter than most. She seems to get that this is all fleeting, and while she works hard for it, someday hard work may not be enough. But listening to the critics is only going to accelerate that, not keep it at bay. So I suspect, however catchy and trite the song may be, there’s truth there. Be you, and be happy. It’s not something I’ve been able to perfect by any means, but looking back over my life, the times I was happiest was when I felt comfortable and confident enough with where I was and what I was doing that didn’t feel a need to take ownership of any negativity thrown at me. So I believe Taylor has it right, here.

And it’s a dang catchy song, to boot.

For what it’s worth, while she’s an attractive young lady in general, I think the blond semi-bob, black outfit beatnik/jazz look really works.

Not that I should have an opinion, but at least it’s a positive one.

My wife and I have been married fifteen years–the better part of my life. Those of you keeping score will recognize that’s not the majority of my life; it’s barely a third. But it has been the better part of my life. I might even go so far as to say “the best part” of my life, but only if I append “so far.”

Fifteen years is not that long, really. It will take another fifteen years before we’ll have been married for half my life. But on the other hand, within the next fifteen years our children will have moved out and started families of their own. An entire generation enclosed within thirty years of marriage. Even at the half-way point it’s incredible just how much has happened in that time. We’ve crammed those fifteen years full of memories, both good and bad, but the good have a massive lead, hands down. Life has thrown a great deal at us, but we’ve come through it all with a reasonable amount of grace (my wife’s doing; she’s the ballerina), determination, humor, and hard work. Most importantly, the things we’ve come through we’ve come through together. We’ve changed in that time, but we’ve changed in much the same direction rather than divergent paths.

I have no idea what the trick is to that, though heaven knows too many couples in the world haven’t been able to do what we’ve done. All I can say is that it takes work–constant, devoted work. It takes a determination to stick together. It means some things are going to have to take a back seat to our marriage.

It means you need to marry the right person (not perfect, but right). I can’t begin to tell you what that means for others, but for us it means that no matter how different we may be (and there are some pretty dramatic differences in some areas), there is a solid core that we share and draw strength from. It means common goals, from the lofty and lengthy to the brief and mundane. It means making time for one another. And it means making space for each other to do their own thing.

Now, I don’t claim any special wisdom in marriage. This is only my first time, after all. All I really know about how to have a successful marriage is this: Marry Terhi. And that kinda sets everyone else up for failure, so I can hardly offer that as bankable advice. I’ve seen plenty of other people make it work–at least longer, if not better–with matchups that leave me scratching my head, so clearly there’s no one-size-fits-all approach. At least not that I’ve been able to come up with.

This much I do know. Couples can let the experiences of life–the successes and the buffetings–pull them apart or bring them together. I’m really fortunate to have a wife for whom the tendency is toward the latter. And it seems that the more things we go through together, the more committed we become to going through things together. The larger our mass of common experiences becomes, the more gravitational weight it provides to keep us together.

I love her, not just because of who she is and what she brings to the table, but because she’s the one who was with me when our car broke down on the freeway forty miles from anywhere. Because she’s the one who endured a week in a motel with three little kids and three cats while we waited to be able to move into our house. Because she’s the one who ignored my crankiness and helped bail out our tent and slept in a slightly-damp sleeping bag with me on our first major camping trip. Because she’s the one who stood by me (and put up with me) through two years of unemployment. Because she’s the one who was cheering in the audience when I graduated with my MBA. Because she’s the one who cried with me upon leaving two homes behind. Because she’s the one who encourages me to keep writing, even if I’m writing stuff she has no interest in reading.

Fifteen years of experiences, memories, hardships, laughs, tears, and more. How do you replace that? Why would I ever entertain the thought of throwing that all away and starting over from nothing with someone else? How empty that would feel. No inside jokes. No subtle expressions that let you know you’re both thinking exactly the same thing. It would be like our first night in our current house, having little more than our clothes and a sleeping bag in a big, empty, strange space. Yes, sure, you set about building a life the same way you set about filling a house; one piece at a time. And some people, because life is not always fair, are forced to do just that.

But to voluntarily walk away from that and start over? I am very blessed to not be able to understand that. I am fortunate to have built a marriage where the positives outweigh the negatives so resoundingly.

I love you, Terhi. Here’s to another fifteen years, packed with memories and running over. I’m a lucky man.

So, last week’s emergencies have got me thinking again about capturing rain water from our rain gutters and saving it up to water the garden. We don’t get a lot of water here in Utah, but when we do, it seems to be a real gully-washer. It seems a waste not to try and save up some for…uh…a rainy day.

But it turns out that until recently that was illegal here. In 2010 the state legislature finally gave in and passed a law allowing private citizens–if they register with the state division of water rights–to capture and store rain water up to 2500 gallons in below-ground storage, or 200 gallons above ground. Fascinating, if a little irritating. I hear from colleagues at work that different areas of the state have “culinary water” system and irrigation water systems, and the latter is cheaper. Where we live it’s all one and the same. I’m using chlorinated water to water my tomatoes and grass. And it gets a little pricey. It’s also no help whatsoever if, for whatever reason, the city water system is inaccessible.

It’s no wonder that so few people want to “go green”. We’ve got ourselves into such an intertwined, convoluted system that it’s difficult to really, truly be sure you’re really helping the planet–and doing it legally.

So, last week was our unofficial, unscheduled “Emergency Preparedness Drill”. The morning after Labor Day we awoke to no electricity, and it didn’t come back on until after we had all left for our day. We were able to pass that drill reasonably well. We have lots of flashlights and lanterns–enough to get us through our morning routine without much inconvenience.

Friday was “No Water Day”. My wife discovered one of our main water lines spraying water all over the room. We were fortunate. She discovered it within a few minutes of it rupturing, and it was in our unfinished downstairs bathroom we primarily use for storage. Very little was actually damaged, and the pipes are exposed there. Had it ruptured somewhere behind drywall it would have been a much nastier situation. There is only one other place in the entire house where it could have occurred that would have caused less damage. Believe what you will about a Supreme Being, but we consider ourselves quite blessed.

Not that we got off lightly. The problem wasn’t just the pipe, but a series of issues. Our main line’s pressure regulator went out, allowing high pressure on the lines. Then the thermal expansion tank failed. Then our water heater cracked. And then the pipe ruptured. And our main line cutoff valve is an old rotary valve, like most outdoor faucets use, and enough minerals had built up over the years that it wouldn’t shut off tight. We finally had to shut off the water at the meter to get it to stop.

I wish I could say we passed this test as well as the electrical outage. We did have some water storage, so we didn’t have to worry about cooking dinner that night. And we did capture enough to the water running out of the water heater emergency valve to provide us with a few toilet flushes. But had the plumber not come that night and patch the pipe so that we could restore the water we would have been in a bit of a spot. We’re not terribly practiced in living without a steady, abundant supply of water. A couple of days of that and we would have been in trouble. We have a few things to learn from this.

On the bright side, we now have a much better cut-off valve, and we took the opportunity to show the kids where it is and how to turn it off. We’ll soon be doing the same for the electricity and gas cut-offs.

Although I’m not particularly eager to go through this sort of thing again, it was a beneficial experience. We’ll be making a few changes in how we do things and what sort of things we store for emergencies–not to mention where we store them. This was a good test, and close enough together that it’s not difficult to imagine how things would be if we experienced power and water loss simultaneously. Losing the natural gas as well wouldn’t be as big a deal, except in the winter time.

We live near a fault line, and we’re due for a good quake. There have been a few minor ones in the area recently. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to make sure we have everything we need for at least a three to five day span, should The Big One hit.

I need to hear this song every so often.  I need a little extra perspective now and then, and this week has been no exception. It started off well. My boss called me into his office to compliment me on my productivity–and show me some numbers that even I couldn’t down-play. My work for another group got some positive attention, too.

But then the kids have been struggling with a variety of things this week, too. And I went to the doctor for my yearly reminder of my mortality. Usually I can come away just glad to hear that there are no extreme measures in my immediate future, but this year I came away with the feeling that, while there are no extreme measures in my immediate future, it’s inevitable they’ll have to do something.

Mind you that’s always been the case from the moment I was first diagnosed. There’s just something about the timing, my mood, or something that’s got me taking this poorly. There’s no reason for it, really. Right now I feel just fine. I’m not canceling my plans to go hiking with the scouts this weekend or anything. It’s all perspective, and my perspective needs some adjustment, clearly. And so… take it away, Mr. Tritt!

And if that doesn’t work, dance!

I awoke around 4:00 am this morning and checked the clock. It wasn’t there. It took me a moment to register what I wasn’t seeing. It was there; the power was off. Today is a normal schedule for everyone. Oversleeping was not an option. I made my way downstairs to find my cellphone to set its alarm to wake me up.

It’s amazing how much light there is in a house at night. LEDs are everywhere; microwave displays, DVD-players, clocks, battery chargers, electric razors, and on and on. A thousand reference-points of light. It’s difficult to navigate the house at night without them.

We were right on the edge of the outage. The neighborhood on the other side of the street our property backs to had power, but most of the streetlights along the separating street were out. A little farther down there was power, but only one streetlight was close enough to provide much illumination. The street in front of our house was dark, but a block north or east there was power. The animatronic sign at the high school still beamed its outdated messages to the neighborhood.

I didn’t sleep very soundly from then on. Part of me was listening for that sudden surge of white noise from a dozen appliances regaining power, part of me was afraid I’d still manage to oversleep, and part of me was afraid I wouldn’t get back to sleep in the first place. I did get some more sleep, but not sleep of much quality.

Walking the dog was a little eerie. I could see well enough; we live in a large city, and the air is hazy, so the sky itself provided significant illumination. But I’ve grown rather accustomed to the pools of orange light that gather around the streetlights. I had my cellphone with me, which I had to use as a flashlight in order to see to clean up after Sofie’s deposits. A utility truck–city or power company, I couldn’t tell–slowly cruised the neighborhood.

Half the family was up when I returned home. Usually no one is. Everyone was unnerved by the outage. Would we even be able to get out of our garage to get to where we needed to be today? I assured them there’s a manual release on the garage door opener, but in my mind I wasn’t so positive. I knew there was one, but I’d never tried it. Would it turn out to be yet another one of the unpleasant surprises our house has to offer?

Showering by flashlight wasn’t as difficult as I would have expected, and as soon as I was dressed I decided to resolve the garage door question. It worked. The door is heavy, but not difficult to get up. It stays up, too. I backed both vehicles out into the driveway and closed the door again. We would at least be able to get on with our day. My electric razor retained enough charge to get the job done.

The power was still out when I left for work. In this day of ubiquitous automation I’m sure the power company knew about the outage the instant it failed. And yet part of me always wonders, “What if they don’t know? What if everyone assumes they know and no one tells them?” I checked their website when I got to work. They only list outages and status when it impacts more then 500 customers. Our area isn’t that big. No news to be had.

Ironically, tonight we will be talking with our cub scouts about energy.

Let me just say up front that I don’t watch award shows. I don’t watch television, really. I gave up on it a long time ago. And so you can pretty much guarantee that everything I say from here onward is biased along those lines.

Evidently at the Emmy awards the head of the academy or whatever he is gave a speech which they jokingly attempted to liven up by displaying Sofia Vergara on a turntable. Feminists immediately objected to her objectification, and anti-feminist conservatives (and Vergara herself, whatever her leanings may be) countered with varying vapidity. One side says the joke wasn’t funny. The other insists it was.

We all totally missed the joke, and it was on us. The television entertainment industry just openly insulted (or accurately skewered) its audience by telling the truth disguised as a joke. Or several truths, really, such as:

1. Industry execs truly see us this way. We need pretty, sexy eye-candy to make their “intellectual content” palatable. If there are messages that need to be delivered (and trust me, they have their messages they want delivered) they need to coat it with a nice layer of sex, violence and pretty people so we don’t choke on it.
2. The own a whole stable of pretty people who they can get to put themselves on display any time, anywhere. People are falling all over themselves to be the richly rewarded minions willing to provide the eye-candy-coating to help the “medicine” go down.
3. The industry execs think the viewing public is so stupid that they can insult us to our faces and we won’t even notice. (They may be right, from the sound of it.)
4. The exploited are very good at convincing themselves they aren’t exploited.
5. Sure enough, put the eye-candy out there and no one will notice the message, won’t weigh it, won’t think about it, won’t even consciously register it. But it was delivered, and no one is talking about it.

It’s times like this I have to admit we probably deserve our fate.