Often when faced with a dilemma, I say, “I don’t care”. Not because I don’t care about anything at all, but because I often identify what I think to be the right or decent course of action, and believe that the fallout, to whatever extent there will be any, is irrelevant on principle. In such instances, I am happy to say that I don’t care, because I really don’t. Debatably though, that’s generally not the right way to do it; but certainly it’s generally not the right way to express it.

To say “I don’t care” indicates incomplete thought or a complete lack of thought. The decision should be (and should be communicated as having been) made because ample thought HAS been given to the matter, and on balance, we will continue with our course of action only because it is the best one – even if it is not popular. We may (and should) do things that are not popular with others, as long as the scale tips “right”. This idea is not foreign because we often do things that are not popular even with ourselves or defy our own feelings, in favor of the longer term or more resounding good – we know this familiar concept as “will power”.

I am going to keep “I don’t care” in my back pocket for the same reason that I believe in “The Redemption Of Bad Words” – see 9-9-13 blog post. However, instead of saying “I don’t care” (as much), I hope to start saying “I have given it thought” or something that communicates the ideas and their implicit protest more clearly, maybe even more persuasively, certainly less dismissively. Instead of making it a cryptic statement of emotion, I can more consistently transform it into a statement about reason, and being reasonable.

When I first brought Kiba home he was 7 weeks old; so already walking around, even if with uncertainty. I rested him down on the elevator floor minutes after first meeting him and saying goodbye to his siblings. Forever.

When we got in and as we rose through the stories, his feet slowly and evenly slid across the smooth marble tile, each one pointing to a different corner of the elevator as if being drawn by magnets. They slid until he was flat on his tummy, or maybe just “on his tummy”, because that thing was quite round to begin with. He whimpered a little which would soon contrast with his boundless confidence one day, and abysmal apathy the next.

The puppy at :19 looks almost identical to Kiba at that early age, in all regards. Seeing that puppy was heartwarming and heartbreaking at the same time. This video for me is very lighthearted and heavy, very appropriate for whatever mood.

The first time I saw snow was 15 years and four days ago, almost to the hour. It was November 9, 1998, on what would have been my brother’s 13th birthday. Having at that time recently transplanted to Denver from the Bahamas, I was excited to see the ground covered in tranquility. Everything was still. At that time the Magness Arena was being built, so all the equipment, materials and mounds of dirt hid like little children crouched mischievously, ready to spring out from under a white quilt. What made it even more special was that I had no specific expectation of seeing snow that day. At the end of the day after dinner, we played football on a field by the dorms. In short measure, I had had my brand new, and only, winter coat ripped at the pocket. I eventually had it repaired, and I still have that jacket. Good times.

People celebrate and make a fuss about their birthdays for myriad reasons. I do not. I find the expectations of others for my excitement and joy, to be both inflated and a burden. “What are you gonna DO for it?!”. “Are you having FUN!!!?”… Not only must I transmit the colorful type of person I am through what I have planned in honor of myself, but I’d better also blow my own mind (until others tell me I can stop). “You don’t look like you’re having fun, you need another drink?!” *implication – sad face. That’s right, let’s alcohol poison my neutral state so that you can feel like a better friend; I knew that there was a reason I’d been born!

From a religious perspective, nothing good seemed to occur at the birthday celebrations on record. Further, the most well known and commonly accepted birthday celebration is actually a pagan holiday, as many of its celebrants readily admit. When Jesus was alive, there is no evidence to suggest that he celebrated it. To be honest though, thinking about Jesus today is really depressing and makes me feel old because he saved the WHOLE world (and every world since) by the time he was 33! He was turning water to wine in his twenties, which is a talent I’d kill for even now.

I will admit to liking my birthday though for one main reason: I always get a thoughtful, meaningful, well-written and very moving email from my mother. We speak just about every day, often twice, but those emails are personal and touching. A couple years ago, she recounted our family history for me from slavery to the establishment of a settlement in Acklins by Maximus Darling, the great-grandfather of my grandmother. This year she shared new and newly recognized reasons that she appreciates me. I feel grateful for my family and friends. As my father put it this morning in further support of my reasons to be glad, “you have seen others come after you and go before you.” I do not take this life, or the people in it, for granted.

A short while ago I was searching Netflix for the movie As Good As It Gets, and I came across a documentary called A-Sexual. For as peculiar and low budget as the film was, I heard something that was meaningful and thoughtful. The gist of it was: We should treat our friendships with the same respect that we (would/should) treat our romantic relationships. Particularly in the context of an absence of sex or it’s potential, that’s really something to think about.

http://nyti.ms/1hCjWSh

This article was thoughtful and indicative of some hard work in proving its various hypotheses. It will take a long time (maybe a life time) to correct the presuppositions associated with race, class, and success in the NBA, and by extension so many other things. Those assumptions have now been made less justifiable, though probably no less convenient. In spite of likely remaining steadfast, work like this is a start.

One minor criticism of this presentation relates to a common issue with presenting this kind of data. Any time a relative change is presented (“doubled”, or “increased by 200%”, for example), it doesn’t give us the truest perspective on absolute change. Is it from one million to two million, one thousand to two thousand, one to two?

It is critical to understand those distinctions and their extended impacts on the ideas the data is meant to support. This is especially true in the discussion of changes in a population over several decades. Still, none of this detracts from the article’s overall intent, and the fine job that it does.

Several months ago, the CEO of a not for profit for which I volunteer on average 4 to 5 hours a week, asked me to join a group of them to run the NYC marathon. It would be a fundraising event and a way to promote the organization. I went out the next day, bought running shoes and ran a mile or so to test the waters and gauge my investment in the idea. I’m happy to report that today, the marathon is finally upon us!! Yet, I’m sending this update (and positive vibes along with my full support) from the comfort of a warm bed. I’m a sprinter baby, we don’t do distance!!

Just turn on the news and now, apparently, everyone is a “hero”… This has often been my feeling and this week has been no different.

As children we were conditioned to see a “Hero” as a man. Not just a strong man, but a man with superhuman strength and abilities – in many ways a SUPER man. He handled SUPER problems, wielding solutions beyond what mere mortals could physically, and often mentally, grasp. He eschewed thanks with otherworldly humility – “I’m just doin’ my job.” Even in “dork mode”, he was likeable, perhaps pitiable, but never unlike us at his (solid gold) core. We rooted for him and he always came to our rescue, undoubtedly on a global scale, even in our sleep. He was always fit, usually white, usually tall, usually young, usually good looking, and occasionally spent time in the sky. THIS was a hero. Clearly, not everyone could be a hero, because after all, what would a hero be (most likely, not you)? And so began the propaganda, spread generously over time and space.

The thing about propaganda is that it rarely feels like propaganda. It even sometimes involves cartoons. Nevertheless, very few things have been tied to propaganda as much as what it means to be a hero. When the media began its liberal crowning of heroes though, something felt forced. It always has. Perhaps it needed to compensate for slow news cycles, or it could be a way to mollify the faint of heart and keep them interested in a show that is a nightly recap of the day’s murders and human discord. Either way, heroes make us feel good and we will settle for them in myriad forms; bus-drivers, fat kids, drunks, accountants, people in wheel chairs, nuns, even criminals, so long as they are being heroic. Anyone could be a hero because any one could fill this feel-good slot. I never cared for these impostors because it all seemed too convenient, too easy. I was both nostalgic for my childhood, and a product of He-Man. The ubiquity of the word “hero” and its frivolous application, seemed to dilute its meaning with every use. It was being applied to all and sundry. If everyone was a hero, who would there be to save? If everyone was a hero, that would mean that I was a hero. It would also mean that some of the people I know, who are afraid of their own shadows and snore themselves awake with a start, would be heroes. But finally I realized: the only thing that I hate more than being told what to do, is being told how to think. Just as I had been a product of He-Man, I had also been his (and Hannah Barbera’s) victim.

The historic definition of heroism is not only too narrowly defined as it relates to people, but also as it relates to acts. Courage takes many forms, as does the demonstration of one’s will, as does self-sacrifice. These are the three hallmarks of heroism; therefore, it only makes sense that heroism can take many forms. If that is true, it can only be concluded that we can all be heroes because we can all be courageous, willful and willing, and sacrificing on behalf of others. We all CAN be heroes. The guy in the dress suit never had to change his clothes or turn green, ripping his shirt to shreds to be a hero. It is not determined by how we look, who we are, Gummy-Berry juice or the Blue Pill, but on what we do on a case by case basis. This is also influenced by the statistical probability of being in the “right place at the right time”. Perhaps the person who runs into a burning building represents 30% of people who would, or 75%. Perhaps it is the rarity of people trapped in burning buildings that sets our perspectives further askew, not the rarity of heroism – perhaps fewer opportunities to exhibit heroism, not a dearth of the trait.

If you understand this, then you know that no one is consistently or even inherently a hero, just like they can’t BE a smile. We all have smiles (and burps, and frowns, and tears) within us that are “released” contingent on conspiring circumstances. We can be courageous, but we can’t BE courage. We can demonstrate courage, but not at ALL times, and not always in the same way or with the same intensity. Perhaps we should view heroism in this light – we can all BE heroes, but only through the exhibition of the traits. We can all show courage. We can all be willful and willing. We can all be self-sacrificing. Fundamentally, to be a hero is to be a good person and that should be our expectation of everyone.

I recall watching an hourlong special about Allen Iverson a few years ago, which I thoroughly enjoyed. Sadly, it did not feature his favorite word, yet least favorite thing – “practice”. Towards the end, viewers were treated to an analogy with which I was unfamiliar. An interviewee compared him to a duck in the water. On the surface it appears to be gliding smoothly and effortlessly, hardly creating waves. Under the surface, the paddling is deliberate, strong and often incessant.

I certainly believe that there are reasons to criticize the President. I believe that his responses are too often staid, seemingly too lenient, and I think that he has been too soft on Syria (I won’t even bother to discuss Israel – I hate that it even crossed my mind because it annoys me to that extent). However, I find it laughable, in the least funny way possible, for some to suggest that he doesn’t know everything that’s happening with phone taps of other world leaders including allies and the healthcare website debacle, when he could have delved more deeply into those issues had he not been inundated by momentum altering, but entirely unnecessary and fruitless hurdles such as… a government shutdown. Or a threat to the credit worthiness of the United States of America, which has prospective and global implications. Those issues were running in parallel only weeks ago, within this very month… as the most recent and grave examples. It should be obvious that he has been paddling incessantly, unyieldingly against the economic and political currents. With no sign of let up.

Having said that, the CEO of the country, as with the leader of a company, is ultimately held liable for what happens under his massive umbrella. He can not know everything, but he must own it all nonetheless. Ownership must also include pulling out the guillotine on occasion and not just for show. I hope that there will be more stories about culpability actually resting and residing where it should, though naturally I am hoping for a perfect world.

It’s been several weeks since I first came across this Op-Doc (think: Op-Ed as a documentary), and despite marking it, making notes to watch it, trying to remember without notes, and emailing it to myself as recently as yesterday; I never watched it until this morning.

I really enjoyed this, not in small part because I have lived in high-rise buildings for the last 10 years, and live and have traveled to cities featured in the documentary (New York, Beijing, Odessa etc.). I enjoyed it as an amalgamation of social and architectural history, and it is also likely to appeal to most people artistically. I did find the poetry and commitment to rhyming a bit forced at times, even distracting on occasion. Nevertheless, it is a job well done and worth watching.

http://www.nytimes.com/projects/2013/high-rise/?nytapp=true