Yeah, so I took the long way. But let me tell you that there is nothing more soothing to the soul than driving down Highway 61 along the Mississippi, with all the hills and bluffs slowly drifting by, while listening to the latest Sigur Rós album.
I decided to take the “long way”- Highway 61 to LaCrosse and then Highway 14 to Madison- because I had an experiment to carry out. I set out with a goal of driving about 60mph the whole way and seeing how far I could go on a tank of gas. I figured that if I took Barack Obama’s advice and properly inflated my tires and didn’t drive like an ass, I could really make this happen. And I did. I’ve gone 402 miles on this tank, which will end me up somewhere in the neighborhood of 34mpg, which is about 5mpg more than the EPA estimates I’m supposed to get in “realistic” conditions. So, my nerdlike tendencies aside, I’ve saved a few bucks to spend on something else. Huzzah.
The other reason for taking the “long way” is that I wanted to drop in and surprise my parents. Which I did, quite successfully. And I even got a bonus out of it- steak was for dinner, and seeing as my family seems to eat at 8pm every night, arriving at 8:30 was close enough to earn me a steak. Not like the store-bought Cub stuff, but the small-town Wisconsin stuff- my family just bought an entire side of Angus beef, as in half a cow, from a local farmer. Yum, steak. And for dessert they also happened to have two pies from Michael’s Frozen Custard, which is pretty much the best frozen custard ever. My Minnesota friends will insist that Culver’s frozen custard should carry that distinction, but that’s okay because, well, they don’t know any better. And my Milwaukee friends will insist that Kopp’s frozen custard should carry the day, which I agree it is a close match… but I’m sticking to my guns.
As long as we’re talking about food, I’d have to say that if Minnesota is the Land of 10,000 Lakes, then Wisconsin has to be the Land of 10,000 Frozen Pizza Brands. Seriously. On top of the Jack’s, Tombstone, Bernatello’s, Freschetta, DiGiorno and Tony’s that you find in Minnesota, you’ve got Roma, Orv’s, Palermo’s, Connie’s, Home Run Inn, as well as Uno, Gino’s East (!), Infusino’s, and scores of little ultra-local mom-and-pop brands. What’s a hungry dude to do at 2am? Which begs the question: what’s a dude who just ate an amazing steak doing still hungry at 2am? And why is he up?
Because he’s on vacation.
Anyway, here’s some pictures. We just bought us a new camera at the National Camera Exchange Tent Sale, so I was able to mess around with it some:
The moon was really bright, and this picture turned out well.
Catching everyone offguard...
My little sister Audrey is amazing. She won 15 blue ribbons, 2 red ribbons, some super-important trophy, and two other top-notch awards for her 4-H projects at the Dane County Fair.
I really do miss my family. And my wife.
But tomorrow is the real fun, and the actual "road trip" begins. Stay tuned...
After a long, hot summer (actually, it wasn't so bad, but still... summer's summer) I shall be cashing in some vacation time, hopping in the Focus and taking off across the country. Two countries, to be exact.
My friend Dustyn (college roomie, best man, and veteran of numerous shared hole-in-the-wall apartments in Minneapolis and Milwaukee) and I will be driving to Portland, Maine, where we'll meet up with our friend and (my former, his current) roommate Adam, who chickened out on a road trip and decided to fly. Not that there's anything wrong with that. But there will be much merry-making, and between here and Portland, many delightful side-trips and other such nonsense.
All of which shall be recorded right here, on my blog.
I personally don't care if the Vikings get Brett Favre to be their quarterback. It'd be fun to see him in Purple for a year or two, and to see what becomes of all the Favre-4-Ever shrines in Wisconsin once he commits against the Ghost of Lombardi the unpardonable sin of becoming a Viking. On the flip side, I'd rather he not waste his time with my team, dabbling in his ridiculous habit of self-inflicting wounds, namely game-ending interceptions in overtime with the Super Bowl on the line.
On second thought, what a perfect audition to become a Viking. We'll take him!
Anyway, I digress. At least if he became a Viking, he wouldn't need to be sending around these ridiculous text messages. Keep in mind, this is two grown men, one the head coach of an NFL football team, and the other one of the Top 5 quarterbacks of all-time... I laughed so hard.
I’ve been meaning to write this particular blog for a month or so now, but it’s simply gotten away from me. So here we go…
Last month, our government released to us our “economic stimulus checks”, or more accurately, the largest infusion of Chinese-loaned money ever to land in our pockets and leach into our economy. Now, don’t get me wrong- I am not against doing business with China, or any other non-American entity, as we operate in a global economy and to cut ourselves off from the rest of the world would be foolish. To a point, I’m not even against BORROWING money from China, though someday I will write a blog about my thoughts on the unfortunate “debt culture” we find ourselves in. What I do find to be a crappy deal is when we are giving money that we don’t have in the form of “tax cuts” or “stimulus checks”, with no well-thought-out means to pay it back. That’s a no-brainer. Anyway, I digress from my point.
I believe, being the hook-line-and-sinker Obamanian that I am, that WE are the solution to our economic problems, but not in the way you might think. The other day, my wife came home and told me about a bumper sticker she had just seen. It read:
“CLASS WARFARE …Brought To You By Yuppies Who Don’t Tip”
I thought about this for like two seconds before it affirmed my feelings about this whole economy going in the toilet thing. Not that yuppies are the root of the problem or anything; it’s the people who don’t tip period, regardless of class or status, that really irk me (though in my 5 years of coffee shop experience, it seems as though the people who have less money and status tip better). I guess I view a tip as a thank-you, a hang-in-there, and one of the few concrete signs in the service industry of how much you actually mean to the person you are serving. To give me a tip is to tell me that you appreciate my service to you; that you believe it is not your birthright to be served by another human being, but a privilege that you pay for. And I will do my best to insure that you get fast, friendly, “legendary” service (in Starbucks-speak), not just a simple cup of coffee. So aside from the philosophical aspect of the whole deal, I think this tipping thing is one of the keys to turning our economy around, without cramming another tax down our throats.
The shortened version of my theory of our current economic problem is that peons like me don’t have enough money to buy stuff. That the top 10% of the population controls like half the wealth in this nation. Don’t quote me on that stat, but I’m sure it’s not too far off. Here’s my overly simplistic solution to the problem: tip. Tip well. Wherever you’re at, if they accept tips, tip well. I’ll share with you my rule: at coffee shops, a dollar in the tip jar, or whatever change is left in my pockets (leaving myself just enough for a refill if they charge for them, and if I won’t have enough for a refill, it all goes in). At restaurants, 20 percent is my minimum. Up to 25 percent for good service, and sometimes as high as 30 percent for great service. I know the classic minimum is 15 percent, I was taught that. But I think, at least in the case of tipping, crappy service should be rewarded with the bare minimum, not below that. I don’t give out many 15 percents, because I don’t often get crappy service. Call it karma, what-goes-around-comes-around, whatever… but I think the best way to guarantee your own security is to give security to others. And if financial security is what this country needs right now, then there is no better time to be tipping like it’s going out of style.
Here’s my case study. At the drive-thru Starbucks I work at, we earn tips by taking the total dollar amount of tips we’ve earned throughout the past week, dividing them by the total number of labor hours we’ve worked, and then are assigned a dollar amount based upon how many hours we worked that week. So in any given week, it usually comes out to somewhere between $1.30 and $1.50 per hour (non-drive-thru stores make a lot more; draw your own conclusions). Now imagine this scenario: out of the 500 or more customers we serve every day, just half of them, 250, tip us a dollar. That’s $250 a day, multiplied by 7 days in a week. That’s $1750. Divide that up amongst us baristas, and you’ve got somewhere between $4 and $5 dollars per hour, which is 4 times what we make right now. So, a person working a part-time, 20-hour work week (as most Starbucks employees do), makes between $80 and $100 per week. Now multiply that $100 by 120,000, which is my approximate number of people working hourly for Starbucks in the U.S. (8,000 domestic stores times an average of 15 employees per store), and your dollar a day becomes $12 million per week, $624 million per year. And that’s just using part-time hourly numbers. Even running with 100 customers tipping a dollar every day, you still arrive at an extra $250 million per year of cash money floating around in the economy. And that’s just Starbucks employees. Imagine that extra dollar or two tipped in every restaurant in the country. We’re talking billions, easily… maybe even trillions, I don’t know. But you get the point- it’s probably more than any economic stimulus package can provide.
Anyway, I think I heard somewhere that between 10 and 15 percent of U.S. citizens work in food service jobs. Imagine 15% of us having extra money… money to pay off credit cards, loans, mortgages. Money to buy food, clothing, gas (ha), pay our electric bills. Money to buy some stuff we don’t need, sure, but isn’t that what the economy runs on, anyway? As tight as times are right now for most of us, we need to be okay with giving more. And tipping is a good place to start. It makes sense to me. So next time you get the check after your dinner date, or you eye that tip jar at Starbucks, consider that one extra dollar out of your pocket might just be a dollar toward your own financially-secure future.
I had an eye doctor appointment this past weekend. First one in five years. I normally go more often than that, but 1) my eyes haven’t gotten much worse in these five years, 2) I like my glasses and 3) I did not have vision insurance until the past couple of years, through Starbucks. Anyway, five years is a long time to go between medical examinations, so I said, what the heck.
After getting lost trying to find the place, and reading old copies of magazines in the waiting room, I was taken into a room full of all kinds of widgets and gadgetry. The nice lady, who sat in the middle of this revolving chair thingy that spun around four or five place-your-face-here machines, had me place my face in all of them, and then took me to another room, where the Good Doctor entered. I was promptly told that I need a backup pair of glasses. And also a pair of sunglasses. Prescription sunglasses with some kind of special UV coating. Do I wear contacts? No. Do you want them? No. Have you ever had Lasik? No. Do you want to have Lasik? No. Okay, but keep in mind, it's a great option for you. Okay.
I was then read a laundry list of orbital diseases that I could contract, and how serious each and every one of them was. I then read the letters on the wall, followed the pen with my eyes, and was asked if I would rather have my eyes dilated, or use their big, fancy Opto-Map machine that takes a picture of the inside of my eyes. I told him I would like neither today, as I had to work in an hour and would rather not have dime-sized pupils and bright, blurred vision while I run a shift on the floor. And at the moment, I could not afford the extra fee for the Opto-Map machine, as it was not covered by my insurance, so I would like to pass today, please, thank you. Well, you need to do one or the other, so choose. No, thank you.
At that moment, I felt my name being entered into the “Shit List” database.
I was told he would come back to me, and sent out to look at new glasses. I was helped by a very friendly lady, who, after going over the plethora of options available to me- lens density, frame type, coatings, polishes, clip -ons, backup pairs, etc- explained to me quite nonchalantly that my new pair of glasses would cost me somewhere in the neighborhood of $300. After insurance. Even after I deleted some of the options, like glare-resistant coating and a special polishing procedure, they still would cost me almost $200. After insurance. I thanked her for her help and explained that I would pass on the glasses today.
The Good Doctor then called me back into another room. So what’s it going to be? Neither, I can’t do it today. You know, I was just telling your wife that… (insert horror story here) and well, it’s like going to the dentist and not opening your mouth, and (insert horror story here), and we really care about you here, we don’t want you to end up like (tragic horror story victim), and all the diseases that are out there (insert laundry list here), and some things in life you just have to suck it up and do it.
After checking my breath to make sure I hadn’t swallowed this guy’s firstborn or anything, I sucked it up and said no, thank you. I will do it another time. I promise.
The Good Doctor then proceeded to insinuate that I was hopelessly doomed, and then he checked my eyes and from what he could see, they looked great. Awesome. On my way out, I set up an appointment for an Opto-Map scan, because in a few weeks, we won’t have a rent check that needs to clear as urgently and we’ll have recovered some from putting another $500 into car repairs. Walking out to the car, I felt like I had just been to a fire-and-brimstone revival meeting and rejected Jesus to his face. Quite honestly, I felt guilty and crappy.
But I never knew there were so many things that they could SELL YOU at an eye exam. No wonder they only charge $10 for the office visit- they know that once they’ve got you through the door, you’re good for at least another $300. And this is only the optometrist. There’s so many other doctor-types out there, I can’t imagine the HORROR STORIES they must tell people, the THINGS they can sell, the MONEY they must make off of us poor, scared, unhealthy peasants! And this is on top of paying hundreds of dollars a month for the insurance.
I think this is why I want that dreaded “government-run” health care. I want someone who cares enough to keep me alive and healthy, but who has no vested interest in selling me all this extra stuff. I want a nice, clean, impersonal service, not a guilt trip and a sales pitch. Keep the snake oil salesmen out of the biz, keep it minimalist, and keep it inexpensive. I can handle the taxes- it’d probably end up being cheaper than monthly health insurance payments, anyway. They do this in almost every other country in the world, and every other country in the world is healthier than ours. Why can’t we create a unique, American single-payer health care system that we can all live with?
Anyway, I’m glad I went for an eye exam. I’ll probably even go back to this place. But the whole experience speaks volumes to me about why we need something different, something simpler, and something that’s much less of a drain on the psyche and the wallet.
I've tried to stay away from blatant political posts so far this election cycle (there is plenty of time for that later in the year!), but I have to say something to this one. For those of you who don't know, I believe that Hillary Clinton is waging a very negative, divisive, rude and pompous presidential campaign. While she herself has mostly stayed away from dropping the big bombs, folks within her campaign have consistently shown the nation the true colors of a politician who is desperate to win for the sake of winning. Whether they're digging into his kindergarten papers, suggesting that he is unelectable because of talking openly about his teenage drug use, or spreading false rumors about him being a fundamentalist Muslim, to name very few, they've been finding new and even more desperate and petty ways to sling poop at Barack Obama, who's been running a relatively clean and class-act campaign, despite the fact that it's been widely reported that she's had problems running even her own campaign, both fiscally and organizationally.
Anyway, whatever. It's politics, and they're going to go after each other. I understand that. However, until now, it's simply been the campaigns "drawing distinctions" between themselves. Then, the other night, a man by the name of Tom Buffenbarger, the president of a prominent machinists' union, gave a long introduction for Hillary Clinton's Ohio victory speech. You'd think he'd like to talk about the virtues of his candidate, why she's good for America, why he personally likes her, etc. He decided to take the opportunity not to talk about his candidate, but to attack Barack Obama. Attack he did, but not just the candidate… he went ahead and attacked the very people who support him. Take a minute to view an excerpt from his speech:
Wow. So… he seems to suggest that Barack Obama's only support comes from college kids, who of course are completely naïve and ignorant of real life. He attacks the beverage Obama's supporters choose to drink, the cars his supporters drive, their footwear they wear on their feet, and suggests that his supporters are rich people who don't actually work for their money. Well, as an Obama supporter- one who has supported his presidency since long before he ever officially announced, has donated money to his campaign, has volunteered his time, has stood for 3 hours out in the cold to see him speak, and has worked as a Precinct Captain for his Minnesota caucus campaign- I'd like to personally respond to Mr. Buffenbarger's remarks.
"Latte-drinking": I actually prefer to take my coffee black, as I would imagine Mr. Buffenbarger does, because he seems to be a straight-shooting, no-nonsense kind of guy. Every once in a great while I will indulge in a soy latte of some sort. Mainly, though, I don't have time for lattes, because I work for Starbucks, and when I have to get up at 4 in the morning to send his crabby working-class behind off to the factory, I need a straight shot of no-nonsense caffeine, and FAST.
"Prius-driving": Okay, I admit it… I REALLY want a Prius. Or at least a super-fuel-efficient car of some sort. I hope they start coming out with more soon, so I have more options than just the Prius. I tend to be one of those greenie, let's-stop-wasting-resources-so-we-can-keep-the-Earth-livable kind of guys who hates burning gas and wishes he had more gumption and self-determination to ride his bike to work in rain or shine. But alas, Mr. Buffenbarger, you've caught me in my hippie daydream; I'll give you a break and come back to reality. In actuality, I drive a Mexic*AHEM*American-made Ford vehicle, probably not too far removed from the Dodge or Chevy that Mr. Buffenbarger drives. It gets 30mpg and I wish it got more. I'll be honest, though… it's not because it would be better for the environment, but because I am incredibly CHEAP. I am a penny-pinching fool, and would love to spend less of my miniscule paycheck on things like gas. I am sure that Mr. Buffenbarger understands this working paycheck-to-paycheck mentality, and might forgive me if I explained my situation.
"Birkenstock-wearing": My apologies, again, Mr. Buffenbarger- I own a pair of Birkenstock sandals. They are incredibly comfy and durable, and I've owned them for the last 5 years, the same pair, wearing them about 8 months out of the year. This year, though, I might need to replace them, because they've become worn out. Actually, they were probably worn out 2 years ago, but I didn't have the money to replace them. Mr. Buffenbarger, do you own anything that might be considered "above and beyond" what would be considered a necessity? A Snap-On ratchet set, maybe? Or a Makita saw? They're a little more expensive than the Sears Craftsman brand, but they last longer and are much more durable for everyday use, and you use them almost every day, so why not spend up a little bit? It's the same thing with my choice of sandals: I wear them all the time, and I'm going to spend a little more so that I can have a good product that will last for a very long time. I could buy the Target brand, but then I'd be spending $40 every year or two, when I could spend $80 one time on a good pair of Birkenstock sandals that will last me 5 times longer. Again, Mr. Buffenbarger, it's a matter of money for me, like it is for you; I don't make much, so I have to be careful with what I have and not spend much.
"Trust-fund babies": I assume by leveling this accusation, Mr. Buffenbarger seeks to depict us as wealthy, out-of-touch liberals who financially set themselves up by cheating the system. I don't fully understand the function of trust funds, but might look into them as I would any other legal financial savings plan. And as for being financially set and cheating the system, let me tell you a story: once upon a time there was a 3-year-old boy whose mother died of leukemia at the age of 31. This boy was privileged to live in a country where its government believed that investing in its people, especially those who may have fallen on hard times, was the most noble of tasks, and it established a national savings plan to ensure that everyone could live a financially stable life and not have to worry about going under because of a hardship, and could even retire in peace and comfort, being financially set after a hard life's work. This savings plan was called Social Security, and for the next 16 years, they cut this boy and his brother a check every month so that he might have good clothes, participate in public school and church activities, and save some for college. When this boy grew up and wanted extras like cars, his parents told him to go get a job, and so he did. When he left his parents' house, his went out into the world and blew that money on a year of failed college, and then 2 more of living the high life, working a full-time job while buying cars and lots of toys, taking road trips, learning to budget a little bit for rent and groceries, health care, and car insurance. This money dried up, however, and as he had no more cushion for his paycheck, he learned even more about living within his means, the value of each and every paycheck, the value of savings, and the value of penny-pinching. He's now stabilizing and learning to build a decent little life with his wife on $30k year.
The boy, by the way, is me. Someday I hope to make a lot more money than I do now, maybe even hundreds of thousands of dollars a year. My candidate has proposed taxing these people, those who make more between $97.5k and $150k a year, a bit more out of their paycheck, not because he's out to steal your hard-earned money, but because the Social Security fund that helped give me my life might not be around for other 3-year-olds, or for me when I retire, 30 years from now unless we start putting more money into it YESTERDAY. (I watched a news clip about this one time, it seems to work: check it out) Your candidate has railed against this plan, scaring up votes by calling it a "10-trillion-dollar tax increase on the middle class", while proposing no specific plan of her own, and accusing my candidate of being naïve for even proposing this idea. I would gladly pay more to ensure that what Mr. Buffenbarger's candidate referred to as "one of the greatest inventions of American democracy" remains intact for as long as I am still alive, and certainly as long as this country still stands. Because, Mr. Buffenbarger, it's not about who makes more or who makes less, it's about the opportunity that each of us is afforded by our government.
And Mr. Buffenbarger, that's what college is all about. After learning from my wasteful spending mistakes, I've been able to save up a bit of money to begin taking college classes through a reputable institution. I used to be like you and was rather annoyed by the groupthinkish tendencies on a lot of college campuses. And why spend all that money on a degree to get you a job when all you'd have to do is work hard and move up in a factory or restaurant someplace to get the same effect? Just work a job, enjoy what you do, accept life as it is. I agree. That's why I chose to go back to school after 5 years- I enjoy learning. I enjoy learning about the way the world works, exploring different beliefs and the lives of other people outside of the four walls of my apartment. This exploration and belief that there's something else, something better out there is what brings many people to college, and what has also brought millions of people to Barack Obama's presidential campaign. This attitude is reflected not just in young college students, but in the college-educated folks in general who have been supporting him. Maybe I'm young and naïve, just like my candidate, but I think we can do this thing, and I think Barack Obama is a great start for people of my generation to begin getting involved in our public affairs again. We're excited, and maybe a little bit gullible, but my goodness do we want to leave this world in better shape than when we came in, something your generation might not, for the first time in the history of our country, do for us.
You're not against Barack Obama, Mr. Buffenbarger, you're against the very things that he is against; racism, classism, non-opportunism, left-outism, and societal biasism. I would suggest that your candidate is taking your anger and desire to change these things, and letting you loose against her opponent, for the simple fact that she wants to win this presidential campaign at all costs. She's already done it in New Hampshire, and those people are still very angry at her for misleading people into turning their anger against Barack Obama. Mr. Buffenbarger, before you get angry, make sure you're getting angry for the right reasons, and turning that anger into something constructive. It's hard to stay angry when you're a part of something big, broad and effective… it becomes a positive experience. That's why Barack Obama is such a huge "craze", and I'd invite you to join this craze. There's a lot of people involved in the Obama campaign… I'd never seen so many young people, old people, veterans, blue-collar, white-collar, green-collar, black, white, Latino, Asian, Somali… 20,000 people lined up outside the Target Center in Minneapolis, Mr. Buffenbarger. I think I even saw a guy who looked like you. Maybe it was you, I don't know. It's not all college campuses and college students, Mr. Buffenbarger: it's pretty much EVERYONE who's joined this thing. But if you don't want to, that's okay, too… just don't spend your candidate's time tearing people down. It makes you both look horrible.
Stand For Change Rally with Barack Obama 2/2/2008 Minneapolis, MN
There are a bunch of kids playing in a playground sandbox. They’ve played there for years, but now the sand in which they’re playing has become dirty and stale. There are sticks in it, and rocks, maybe a shard of glass here and there, and the kids quickly learn that it’s nearly impossible to play in. So these kids come up with three separate ideas of how to fix the sandbox. Kid A actually kind of likes the prospect of sticks and rocks in the sandbox, and while he’d like to rid the play area of glass shards, he decides that a sticks-and-rocks-box might actually be much more fun- rocks are a little easier to pick up than sand, after all, and more sticks means MORE SWORDFIGHTS! Conversely, Kid B believes that the sand is a great thing, but that they need to take a rake through the sandbox, and then go through and root out all of the rocks, sticks and glass by hand. It may get a little messy, some kids might get cut and bruised, but in the end, she believes it’s the only way to get their sand to be clean again. Kid C loves Kid B’s idea of clean sand, but believes that the sand currently in the sandbox is old and musty and irreparably tainted anyway. He believes that what the sandbox needs is a fresh batch of sand, clean and cool, and then they can continue playing in their sandbox.
But Kid C doesn’t just encourage the “sandbox crowd” to get in on the action. He walks over and asks the foursquare crowd if they’d like to help out. He walks over and asks the tetherball crowd if they’d like to help, and the basketball crowd, the hopscotch crowd, the jungle gym crowd… pretty soon, he’s got kids from each playground crowd willing to help him out. Some of them don’t really care much about playing in the sandbox, but want to be helpful to their friends. Others have never played in the sandbox before, because the sandbox crowd has always kind of been the “cool kids” and they never felt very welcome there, but they jump at the opportunity to play there now. And some kids have played in the sandbox before, but stopped playing after the sand got too dirty and dangerous; others got tired of hearing the cool kids bicker about who was the coolest. But no matter where these kids had come from, Kid C went after them and made them believe that the sandbox was important again, and that they each had a part in cleaning it up.
This threw Kid B for a loop, because Kid B really, REALLY liked this sand. She wanted to keep the old sand in the sandbox; after all, her and her daddy had donated this sand to the playground. They wouldn’t even have sand in their box if it wasn’t for her, she thought. Her daddy taught her all about the sand. She is an expert; she KNOWS this sand. That’s not the point, Kid C and his playground pals tell Kid B. The point is, this old sand is gross, and we could go through it and pick out all the little rocks and glass, but it will still be the same, stinky old sand.
“You’re stinky!” Kid B replies.
Ignoring her comment, Kid C explains that he and his cohorts believe new sand would be a cleaner, safer, much more effective way to allow the sandbox to continue to be a fun place, and to allow more kids to play in the sandbox as well. Hearing this, some of the sandbox crowd begins to agree, and starts to encourage Kid B to do the same.
“You’re stinky!” Kid B says again.
“Why are you being so mean?” the kids start to ask.
“Because he’s stinky!” Kid B responds.
The kids continue to ignore her chants of “Stinky!”, and begin making plans for how to get this new sand into the sandbox, what kind of sand it should be, what they might make out of the sand, etc. Meanwhile, Kid B begins dancing around and yelling at them, telling them all the icky rotten things that Kid C smells like, and how badly he smells of them.
“Stinky!” she screams, “Stinky! He’s stinky!”
Inundated with noise, a few kids finally start to question Kid C why she might think he’s stinky. As they get a little closer to hear his answers, they begin to ask themselves, does he really smell stinky? No, couldn’t be. But wait… *sniff sniff*… hmm. Maybe she’s right, but I can’t tell for sure… well, she’s been around for awhile, she probably knows what stinky smells like… but wait, she kind of smells like the stinky sand that she plays in all the time… wait, I thought this was about the sandbox, not what these kids smell like? I’m so confused! I think I’m going to go play tetherball again. Other kids begin to tire of being accused of hanging out with a stinky person. Some decide they actually think Kid B smells better, and begin to tell kids that Kid C smells so bad, he couldn’t possibly get new sand for the box, anyway. Some kids scratch their heads and wonder, like the first kid, how we got talking about scent instead of sand. Some stay behind to back up Kid C; others go back to the playground. Others stand around wondering what the heck just happened.
Meanwhile, Kid B has amassed just enough kids that think Kid C is stinky that they make up more than those who think Kid C isn’t stinky, and based upon what Kid B said about Kid C being stinky, they decide to keep the old sand. Kid B is happy that she got what she believed she deserved, telling Kid C no hard feelings. The kids on the playground go back to their usual business, the football crowd and the foursquare crowd, but they’re all very mad, both at Kid C for getting their hopes up, and Kid B for calling them names.
Sensing this anger, and seizing his moment, Kid A calls out across the playground,
I live in the north, where it's cold and we spend a lot of time indoors, steeping in our own turbulent thought lives.
Besides being cold, another thing about "north" is that all of the instruments we can conjure to find what "north" is, all point us in a direction that's *not quite* north. Indeed, our north-pointing compass will ultimately lead us somewhere *south* of north. And, standing at "True North", one realizes that the "directions" they've learned no longer hold their bearing, and the world becomes upside down. These are stories from one man's journey to find True North.
