Just Because You Can, Should You?

“When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, ‘Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.’” – John 8:7

Why are people so terrible?  Do you ever ask yourself that?  Why do we take something that is none of our business and turn it into everyone’s?  Do we not understand the power of our words?  Of our actions?  Of our choices?  It’s like we can’t stop ourselves.  We have no filter.  Our opinion needs to be heard.  Our feelings on a certain situation need to be expressed.  Others need to know!  They need to see!  Instantly.  It’s a reflex.  It’s almost like nothing counts unless it’s shared via social media for everyone to witness.  We need the likes, the shares, the comments, the validation that comes with the world hearing us.  We feel empowered.  Encouraged.  It feeds our ego with a great sense of satisfaction, but here’s the thing…

It’s not all about us.

So, quick back story:  Yesterday a friend of mine texted me the link to this post on some guy’s sports blog with a title about racism being alive and well in Nebraska.  Just below the title there were two pictures that someone had taken on their phone – one of the woman sitting in front of them in the bleachers (they were taken at a basketball game) and one of a text conversation that woman was having on her cell phone.  Nestled among the texts was a racial slur.  The caption?  “I guess maybe a picture does speak a thousand words…”  Obviously, the article went viral in a matter of minutes and it didn’t take long for my hometown – population 1,258 – to get a hold of it and plaster it all over their Facebook news feeds eliciting the vile comments of all who scrolled past and paused to pass their judgment on the situation.  The woman in the picture is a resident of the next town over.  That town can’t even be technically classified as a town.  There aren’t enough people living in it.  It’s a village.  Seriously.  There are 593 residents according to the last census.

Now, I don’t know if any of you reading this grew up in a small town but if you did, you understand the grossly prevalent concept that your business is never your own.  Residents joke about it, country artists sing about it, movies and TV shows make fun of it.  It’s a thing.  Small towns seethe with gossip.  Whispers and “Well I heard”s breeze off the lips of locals and make their way around town as quickly as a chain of evenly spaced dominoes toppling in perfect succession.  A reputation can be ruined in an afternoon.  Did you ever see the movie “Doubt?”  It came out in the early 20-teens or something.  Phillip Seymour Hoffman plays this priest and Meryl Streep is this super intense nun that tries to get him fired (Do priests get fired?).  Any way, there is this great opening scene where Hoffman is giving this homily to the congregation and he compares gossip to taking a feather pillow and ripping it open outside on a windy day.  The feathers get carried away by the wind and you can try to run around afterwards and find the feathers and pick them up and stuff them back into the pillow, but it will never work.  You’ll never find all the feathers.  The pillow will never be the same.  “That,” he says at the end “is gossip.”  It’s such a cool scene and such a spot on comparison.

So people are sharing this blog post and this woman’s picture on Facebook and people are commenting on how ignorant and callous and racist she is.  They’re name calling and finger pointing and chastising, flippantly adding their two cents as a judgmental addition to the list then scrolling on mindlessly to the next post that catches their eye.  Feathers are flying around everywhere and nobody cares.  It’s disgusting.  People are destroying this woman’s reputation one keystroke at a time and then going about their daily routine without a blink of remorse.  What’s worse?  These people are her friends.  Her neighbors.  Her community.  And, here’s my question (Well, one of them.  I have many.):  Who are they to say anything at all?  I know lots of these opinionated keyboard condemners and I can say that a generous handful of them are not without fault themselves.  Let he among us without sin be the first to condemn, yes?  Apparently not in this case.  Instead, folks can play pious shamers, internally elevating themselves above this obviously – according to them – moral-less, hateful woman only because they haven’t been caught themselves and thrown to that which is the merciless beast of the internet.  And that’s not excluding the guy that took the pictures and caption and ran with it.  An actual quote from his post reads that he is, “shocked that we are still here as a country and as a people and that something as devastating as what’s being passed around via the information super-highway is done so with such a callousness and such disregard for fellow human beings.”  Are you kidding me?  What a double standard.  Ranting about disregard for others and doing the exact same thing via blog post.  I can’t even handle it.

The context of this woman’s text conversation went like this:  She sent a message to someone commenting on how full the gym was for the game.  That person responded with a text asking if the gym was full of *insert racial slur here*.  She responded that it was.  Now, should that slur have been sent?  Probably not.  Should we still be using racial slurs in casual conversation, be it electronic or in person?  No.  But, have we all done it at one point in our lives whether joking or serious?  Most likely.  If not, have we ever maybe said something backhanded or rude that in the heat of the moment seemed totally justified but after the fact we came to regret and wished we could take back?  Who hasn’t!  That’s what makes this whole situation all the more outrageous!  These people are assaulting this woman over something that they’ve most likely been guilty of themselves!  How is that okay?  This woman lives in a town of 593 people.  She had to delete her Facebook page.  She won’t be able to get groceries, or her mail, or grab a freakin’ cup of coffee without being judged – outright or internally – by those around her.  I mean, can you imagine that?  Can you seriously imagine that situation?  Imagine if it were you.  Even if you’re sorry about it and regret it and apologize for it, it won’t matter.

It’s probably true that after a while – most likely a long while – things will blow over and people will get over it and the story will become something that gets casually brought up every once in a while, but still.  Her privacy was literally ripped to shreds because some nosy *insert caustic expletive here* (I gave up swearing for Lent.) thought eavesdropping on someone’s text conversation was okay, then thought it was also okay to share it in some capacity that it got around to a sports blogger’s inbox who thought it was okay to broadcast it to the world.  I mean, do these people even think?  Also, why is this news?  It’s – to quote my husband – a perfect example of people looking for “internet points” (See the intro paragraph).  We want recognition of our opinions.  At who’s expense?  We don’t care.  It’s heartless.  Small town values?  Apparently they only apply in certain situations.

Is racism okay?  No.  But neither is taking someone else’s business and making it your own.  The good and the bad we put out into this world have a way of coming back around to us and in the end we all meet the same fate, but perhaps we ought to take an extra minute for our minds to play out all the consequences of our actions before we hit send because once we tear that pillow open no one can contain the feathers.

To Gift, or Not to Gift...

“All I know: Sometimes you love it and you hate it, but what good’s love if it ain’t a little complicated?”
– Kip Moore

My husband is terrible at gift giving.  You heard me.  I said it (or, rather – typed it).  Gift giving.  Not his thing.  Sometimes he doesn’t remember the date.  Sometimes he runs out of time.  Sometimes he has no idea what to get.  We’re not all gift givers.  It really is a bit of a skill.  I mean, think about it.  To give a truly memorable gift one must harness the perfect storm of casual conversation, context clues and memory retention, combined with just the right avenue of creative execution.  That’s a lot of things going on.  For a person who’s so inclined, it’s a natural, comfortable process that said gift giver finds quite enjoyable, but for the rest?  It’s an intimidating nightmare.

“What’s Doug getting you for Valentine’s Day?”  That was the most common question I fielded this past week.  My response?  “Probably nothing.”  “But, *gasp*” exclaims my inquisitor, “It’s Valentine’s Day!  He’s your husband!”  My countenance mellows and I shrug.  “Gift giving,” I respond, “It’s not his thing.”  So, what exactly is?

Here’s the thing…I’ve been in a relationship with Doug since October of 2006.  That’s almost nine and a half years.  And, guess what?  I still don’t have him all figured out.  There’ve been Christmases and birthdays and Valentine’s Days and dating anniversaries where he’s pulled out all the stops with flowers and wine and jewelry and love notes, and others where there’s goose eggs.  Nothing.  He’s inconsistent and sporadic – virtually pattern-less.  I literally never know what to expect.  I remember my 22nd birthday back home crying out in front of the Roundup Bar and Grill during a street dance because ONCE AGAIN Doug had “forgotten” to get me a present.  I berated him through dramatic sobs and animated hand gestures while he apologized repetitively, assuring me of his continued affections in his best attempt to calm me down (and divert the stares from the locals whose good timin’ vibes I was harshing, no doubt).  All the same, I can just as vividly remember tearing up while flipping through the content of a red folder that Doug had given me with logs of cell phone minutes we had racked up calling each other and a list of the “most used words” he had pulled from all of our text message conversations and copies of emails we had sent back and forth to each other from when we had done the first nine month leg of our long distance relationship, ending with a hand written love note that both destroyed my eye liner and made me grin from ear to ear at the same time.  You see what I mean?  One day he’s the worst, and the next the sweetest, most thoughtful chap of all time.  He’s a kamikaze.

Friday afternoon I told him that I was going over to a friend’s after work the next night to make his Valentine because I wanted it to be a surprise until Sunday morning and he said, – up front – “You’re making me something?  I didn’t get you anything!”  Internally, I rolled my eyes.  Externally, I replied with a smile and, “That’s okay, I just wanted to make you a little something.”  I was baking him a giant, heart-shaped cookie (literally, the size of an entire cookie sheet) that I had planned to strategically leave next to a gag worthy, sap laden, tastefully mushy note on the kitchen counter, hoping it’s discovery would start his day with a smile and some warm fuzzies to tide him over until I got home from work that evening.  I had a conversation earlier with a friend who had asked what I was getting Doug for Valentine’s Day and I joked that since he probably didn’t get me anything I should just give him “one more day of my love and affection.”  Cop out gift, right?

Fast-forward to last night when I finally make it home from work, which – quick back-story – was pretty far from a stellar day.  The restaurant I work at does a brunch every Sunday morning, which is usually a pretty big deal.  Well, guess how much bigger of a deal it is on Valentine’s Day?  To squash the suspense – a lot.  At one point we were on an hour wait for five hours.  As soon as one table would leave, another couple would sit down.  Serve, turn and repeat.  No breaks.  No down time.  Constant movement.  Grab ice.  Stock plates.  Run drinks.  Run food.  More ranch.  Where’s my beer?  Check please!  The tips were below average, two tables (who maintained a professional poker face of contentment pre and post meal) stiffed me, and at one point I spilled an entire tray full of orange juices and chocolate milks onto an old man (who ended up being way to kind and understanding of the mishap).  I – in an embarrassed, adrenaline induced frenzy – grabbed a towel and started squeezing the fabric on the sleeve of his sweater in an apology laden, desperate attempt to soak up my accidental “breakfast shower.”  He assured me that he was “just fine” and his sweater would dry and that I needn’t worry and eventually I quit acting like a skiddish mare, but man – let me tell ya – brunch was slightly trying.  Anyway, where was I?  Oh, yes – last night!

I’m exhausted and gross smelling and the left leg of my pants is caked with pulp and milk from the above trauma and I open the door and there’s Doug with a smile on his face.  Not just like a regular, run of the mill smile.  A smile that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle and his whole face light up.  And before I can even take my shoes off he wraps me in this big bear hug and says, “Happy Valentine’s Day!”  Cue all the feelings.  He had cleaned up the kitchen and hand washed all of the dishes and said that he had gotten groceries and wanted to know if we could make dinner together.  And as I stood there at the kitchen island cleaning Brussels sprouts while Doug told me about his day as he butterflied a chicken breast it hit me.  Doug had gifted my sarcastic jab.  He had given me one more day of his love and affection.  And – in that moment – the thought was actually quite beautiful.

It wasn’t a cop out gift.  It was a legitimate gesture.  That weekend my schedule was the complete opposite of what it usually is.  I was working late hours on shifts that I had picked up, our heat pump had busted, Doug had been up late correcting things that had gone awry at his work, we hadn’t been able to eat dinner together, or workout together – we were on complete separate schedules.  And in that moment, there we were.  Making chicken cordon bleu.  Together.  Doug, while not getting me a physical gift, had actually executed the perfect one.  And, that – I think – is his “thing.”  Doing the right thing at the right time.  Nine and a half years ago, he gave me school girl butterflies when he asked me to dinner and a movie and last night they were back, fluttering around again.  Who needs roses and ribbon when you’ve got a guy who can – with one simple gesture – remind you why you fell in love with him in the first place?  So, while his gift giving game may not be as strong as other husbands’ out there, he does have a way of planning just the right something on just the right day to make my sarcastic heart melt.  I think I’ll keep him around.

Social-less Media

“I fear the day that technology will surpass our human interaction.  The world will have a generation of idiots.” – Albert Einstein

So, here we are.  February 7th.  A couple of months ago or, wait…maybe it was longer than that…I made a bet with one of my regulars about who would win the Super Bowl.  Months earlier we had made a bet about how many runs the Royals would make in the World Series.  I said 32 and he said 37.  I won.  The wager?  For my regular it was no Diet Coke for three months.  Lucky me.  If he had won?  No alcohol for Becci for three months (I am forever indebted to the boys in blue.  I seriously owe each of them a favor).  This time around, the rules were simple.  I could either have first pick, my regular the next four picks, then me all the rest of the NFL teams or the other way around.  I let him pick first.  He chose the Patriots.

Now, I don’t follow the NFL at all.  I’m Nebraska born and bred.  If it isn’t college ball, I’m not interested.  Enlisting the help of a fanatical coworker my next four picks were as follows – Chiefs, Panthers, Cardinals, Packers.  He got the rest.  The wager this time around?  No social media for three months – I’m not sure what his deal is with the number three, but it seems to be the standard for lost bet punishment.  Nevertheless!  Here we are. 

I was lucky enough in my pre-handshake negotiations to rule out my blog.  I pleaded my case that it was going to be my New Years resolution, and if I were to be cut off from it one month in it would be doomed, thus defeating the purpose of said resolution.  He obliged, so long as I’m not the one to hit the post button.  Fair enough, I suppose.  So, as I sit here tonight unable to scroll through the litany of post Super Bowl commentary on my Facebook or troll all the opinions of the “SB50” hashtaggers on my Twitter feed, it got me thinking about how I’m going to fill all that free time, and here’s the thing…

We are on our phones.  A lot.  Seriously, so much.  Think about it.  When you’re in line at the grocery store, or stuck at a red light, or at a boring party, or when you’re in bed but you can’t fall asleep – what are you doing?  You’re stooped over looking at your phone.  Checking Facebook or reading emails or double tapping pictures on Instagram or taking a selfie with your mouth open and your eyebrows raised and snapping it to thirteen different contacts.  Shit, maybe you’re like my husband and whenever you have a free minute you’re scrolling through posts on Reddit just for something to do.  Something to fill the void.  I see people all the time, out to eat and just sitting across the booth from each other staring at their phones.  Parents pushing their kids in strollers at the park, one hand on the stroller on hand on the phone – thumb mindlessly swiping from the bottom of the screen to the top.  People in traffic furiously swipe keyboard texting as they drift over the line, caustically jerking their car back into the lane when their peripheral vision kicks in.

Why do we fill every spare minute on those damn phones?  I’m guilty of it as well.  I’m a notorious red light texter.  When it’s dead at work I’m mindlessly scrolling through all of the recipe shares and eyebrow selfies and hashtags and ranting posts on my news feed.  It’s just become a part of the routine.  For as “social” as this media is, it’s effect is the opposite.  People don’t talk anymore, they text.  Instead of making small talk with the stranger next to them at the DMV, they snap a picture of their bored face to a dozen friends.  Getting people to interact with each other in public anymore is like pulling teeth.  Why, though?  When did we become so detached?  When did what everyone else is doing become more important than the current moment?  It’s amazing how far technology has come in such a short length of time, but the faster it progresses the more I wish our reliance on it lessened.  Especially when it comes to the mindless filling of free time.  To sound one hundred percent trite, our time is precious.  Why waste it hunched over, eyes glued to a screen?

The next three months may be a struggle for me.  I’ll have to find other ways to bide my down time, but perhaps this is for the best.  While I doubt very much that my social media abstinence will make even a smidgen of a dent in the grand scheme of things, it just may – for at least three months, anyway – force me out of my comfort zone and the next time I find myself alone in public with time to kill perhaps I’ll make a new friend instead of a crick in my neck.

New Year, New "Blog"innings

“Regrets collect like old friends here to relive your darkest moments…Shake it out.” – Florence and The Machine

So it begins.  It’s the last day remaining in 2015 and here I sit in an oversized arm chair in the upstairs room of a crossroads coffee shop, gingerbread latte on the red end table next to me with a foamed milk heart floating in it’s steamy center.  For the last couple of months I’ve been struggling to corral my thoughts into a cohesive paragraph and have thus far been wildly unsuccessful.  ‘Today’s the day,’ I thought to myself as I rolled out of bed.  It has to be.  Tomorrow is the first day of the New Year, and if I’m going to officially launch my new year’s resolution it has to be on January 1st.  So, with a gung-ho attitude and the drive only a procrastinator can muster, I sought out the most appropriate location to be alone with a laptop in the corner of the room and collect my thoughts.

I suppose I should clarify a bit.  My New Year’s resolution for 2016 I have decided, is to create and maintain a blog for an entire calendar year.  I did the creating part with the help of Square Space and a patient husband, the maintaining part?  That ball is totally in my court.  I’m equal parts giddy about it and dreading it.  I’ve always entertained the idea of having my own little corner of the internet to fill with thoughts and rants and stories, but the idea of giving myself – to be frank – more shit to do in terms of creating fresh posts and maintaining relevance makes me wonder what I’ve gotten myself into.  It’s kind of like that moment when you join an organization in college to fill the “get involved” quota in your mental success checklist.  You feel good about yourself, but then you have to start volunteering to head up committees and help organize annual events and you think to yourself, “This is way to much time to be spending on something that I’m not even getting PAID to DO.”  Why sign myself up for this at all?  Because it’s a challenge.  It’s something different.  It’s a bump in your daily routine.  To me, it’s what the hype surrounding the New Year is all about, and here’s the thing…

I love the New Year.  It’s easily my favorite holiday.  Waking up on New Years Day is like waking up after you’ve taken the best shower of your life.  Everything is brand new.  Squeaky clean.  Fresh AF (as the kids say now-a-days).  There is nothing that can’t be done.  Treadmills are fired up.  Cigarettes go unlit.  Diets are strictly followed.  Everyone is on his best behavior.  It’s like we all accepted the extra credit assignment and are hell bent on completing it.  All too soon, however things even out.  Attitudes and outlooks return to normal.  Corners get cut and society settles back in to it’s old routine.  But for one day – 24 whole hours – everything is so positive.  It’s beautiful.  People are good.  They’re kind to each other.  Polite.  They go out of their way to do the right thing.  Optimism oozes out of every little corner of the world.  Empowerment abounds and for a time – however brief – disappointment and self-loathing and fear and cruelty are stifled.  All of the negative fades into the background and for a short while our cynicism softens and our inner warmth radiates.  As an inherent believer in the good in people, this makes my soul smile.  For one shining, fleeting moment the gooey center of the hardest of hearts is exposed.  For one day my naive ideal is indulged.

Along with all of this glowing positivity is the time honored tradition of the New Year’s Resolution - an open challenge to yourself to do something new or maybe to stop doing something all together. I talked to a chick one time who said one of her best resolutions was to “sing more.”  No joke.  In the shower, in the car, at work.  Wherever, it didn’t matter.  She just wanted to sing more.  However pointless it may have seemed at the time, as the months went by her disposition became brighter, her attitude toward the ordinary became more positive and she found herself with less “resting bitch face” and more “permanent pleasant face” – a shining testament to the power of smallest of changes, even the seemingly trivial.  If you don’t make them, you’re seriously missing out.  It’s good to shake things up every now and then.  One year my resolution was to wear skinny jeans.  For the longest time I had this complex about my knees.  They curve in and would do my best to hide them.  Skinny jeans pretty much do the opposite.  They highlight every curve and contour.  In a pair of those bad boys there was no hiding.  Over time my confidence grew and now, you know what?  I could care less about my weird, curved knees.  I even wear shorts now.  One year I resolved to read more books.  That year, my husband and I had some of the best conversations discussing plot lines and character flaws and writing styles – it was fantastic.  Another year it was to send birthday cards to friends and family via snail mail (another one of my favorite things that I suppose I can save for another post).  This year I resolved to make a quilt and ended up with not only a warm, snuggly finished product but also the added bonus of quality time spent with my late grandma who inspired the project and my mom who helped me add the finishing touches.

Who knows what the end result of 2016’s resolution will be.  Maybe I discover things about myself through my ramblings.  Maybe my grammar skills improve.  Maybe I increase my vocabulary.  Maybe someone reads one of my posts and finds inspiration to do something great.  Maybe all these posts go unread.  Whatever the outcome may be, I will relish the satisfaction and frustration along the way.  So, here’s to new challenges, new beginnings, and the power of positivity that the New Year brings.  Cheers.