June 5, 2010-Dirty Dancing

OK, here’s a hypothetical: “You’re a professional doubles tennis player, but you break your leg and can never play the game again. Your former partner goes on and wins Wimbledon without you. How do you feel about it?”

So, if we were answering honestly here I think most of us (not all mind you) would be a little jealous, right? It’s funny; jealousy is a familiar experience in human relationships. It has been observed in infants five months old and older with some anthropologists claiming that jealousy is seen in every culture across the globe. I don’t think I am a particularly jealous person, maybe envy works better for me. Actually, I think the definition of envy sounds WORSE-an emotion that "occurs when a person lacks another's (perceived) superior quality, achievement, or possession and either desires it or wishes that the other lacked it." Yikes! That last part really bothers me…

For those who know me this will come as no surprise, but I really dislike singing IN PUBLIC. Get me alone behind the wheel of my car or soaping up in the shower and look out American Idol, but in front of others… NOT. This brings me to some of my new friends who treat Karaoke as a kind of new national pastime. For those of you who have been living under a rock and missed the 90s craze, Karaoke is a form of interactive entertainment or video game in which amateur (note the term) singers sing along with recorded music (and/or a music video) using a microphone and public address system, sometimes there is scoring involved…UGH!

Recently we had one of those singing sessions where I was determined to be the “good guest” and participate willingly in something I consider more torturous than water boarding. Keeping in mind, that I can’t carry a tune with two free hands and wheelbarrow one of my new buddies steps up and promptly starts crooning “Livin’ La Vida Loca” like Ricky Martin! (He did lose a few points for his Karaoke artist and song selection, but who’s counting?) In this case, I did not feel jealous of his singing abilities, I simply wanted to remind everyone in the room that WASPs are not what I would call “musical people.”

Later on that evening, when the band finally decided to play, the dance floor began to fill up and my heart sank with dread, because my dancing makes my singing sound like music to your ears. (For those who are Seinfeld fans and would like a point of reference on my dancing prowess, see Elaine’s wild gyrations during the office party scene.) Actually, I am the reigning “White Man’s Overbite” dancing champion-a disgusting display which no person should be made to observe. As best I can describe, it is an expression of what could possibly be described as enjoyment (on the part of the white man dancing) except it scares children to tears. Suffice to say, watching me dance is like staring at the sun, it will make you go blind (‘cause you will want to gouge your own eyes out or at least spend a couple extra months on the couch with a good shrink or hypnotherapist blocking that tragic memory.) So up steps my other friend, who has clearly been practicing for his upcoming gig on “Dancing with the Stars.” His smooth moves-spins and dips and twirls and bends drive the crowd wild, well maybe not WILD but they were diggin’ what he was doing. For the second time in the evening I realized I was “over my head” with the styles and skills of the new ‘crew’ (but hell one thing I can do is swim). Once again, I attempted to remind everyone that WASPs are not what I would call “dancing people.”

The next day, after one hard night in between, I was talking with yet another new friend who is so optimistic and organized his name, if he was born a girl, I am sure would be “Rosy Scenario!” Just a tremendously upbeat and together guy, I think it is fair to say, no one, at any point in my life on this Earth has used those two terms to ever describe me. This guy has mapped out his life with great detail, has a plan that includes his career path, additional graduate school work and what he will eat for breakfast the next 5 days. Every “i” is dotted and “t” crossed…twice. Now I have never been one to pay attention to detail. More like a big picture, fly-by-the-seat of my pants guy. For us WASPs planning best left to assistants or administrators and optimism is held in reserve for when the market rallies or the Euro falls (yeah, I’ve been smiling a lot ‘cause of that last part).

In each case, I truly stand in awe of these gentlemen, since not only can they do it, but they make it look so frikkin easy too. I wouldn’t say I was jealous, because I am not sure I would want to do what they are doing (its great to watch, but for me not as fun to do) and see you have to WANT it for it to be called jealousy. I wouldn’t say I was envious either, because I would never long to see them fail or lose their incredible skills as is the case of with envy. Actually they teach me something new every day, little life lessons that hopefully can and will make a difference over time. In fact I believe American author and humorist Mark Twain summed it up best, "Dance like no one is watching. Sing like no one is listening. Love like you've never been hurt and live like it's heaven on Earth."

June 2, 2010 – “Who are you?”

For those who didn’t know, I used to cover American politics for a living and being a fan of film, television and the stage let start by saying there is no greater theater in the world than a U.S. Presidential campaign. I mean come on, consider the plot—the stakes couldn’t be higher, the daily twists and turns through the battleground states, the scandals, the name-calling and of course constant polling (where else in the world can you get feedback from your audience WHILE you are performing on the grandest of stages? It’s Improv on steroids!)

One of my favorite (and incidentally one of the most famous) campaign moments actually happened during a VICE-Presidential debate (and no, it’s not the Quayle/Kennedy line from Sen. Bentsen, although that is a DARN good one too). Actually, the one I am talking about occurred on October 13, 1992 when General William Stockdale infamously opened the debate by saying, "Who am I? Why am I here?" Initially, the rhetorical questions drew applause from the audience, seeming to be a good-natured acknowledgment of his relatively unknown status and lack of traditional qualifications. However, his unfocused style for the rest of the debate (including asking the moderator to repeat one question because he didn't have his hearing aid turned on) made him appear confused and almost disoriented.

I mention this because it’s important to know “who you are.” For most of us there are at least two or three “us” amalgamated into one. There is the public “us,” the person we show the world-at work and at play. Then there is the private “us” the person we are when we are with our family and close friends, and for some of us there is a third “us,” the person we are when are by ourselves, alone with only our thoughts to guide us. People who are comfortable with themselves and truly can answer the questions “Who am I and why am I here?” with confidence are home free. I would venture to guess they have only one “us.” Meaning they are the same regardless of who they’re with or where they are. Remember any constant in life is hard to come by; something that can be counted on time and time again to perform consistently is indeed a rarity.

The personality “chameleons” are much more difficult to gauge. Randomness by its very nature encourages chaos and leads to uncertainty. The now famous Forrest Gump quote comes to mind, “Mama always said life was like a box a chocolates, never know what you're gonna get.” Well, that may be fine for chocolates, but it sure ain’t for friendship. The question is this: Can friends who “change” truly be counted on? True friendship isn’t for the fickle or faint of heart, it’s for the dedicated and devoted. People come in and out of our lives for a reason, those who pitch a tent and stay… those are the ones we should make sure we work hard to keep.
Friendships should be treasured, held precious, as they are apparently more valuable than gold. According to a 2006 study by the American Sociological Review, Americans are thought to be suffering a loss in the quality and quantity of close friendships since the mid-eighties. The study states 25% of Americans have no close confidants, and the average total number of confidants per citizen has dropped from four to two. Friendship it seems is a dying art, or at least on life-support.

It’s said the best time to make a friend is when you DON’T need one and the quickest way to lose one is to be dishonest. Honesty, perhaps in situations where it may be difficult to speak the truth, especially in terms of pointing out the perceived faults of one's counterpart is the mark of true friendship. All of this takes me back to my point-in order to be a good friend you first have to know yourself, to be yourself and be willing to give yourself freely. As the great warrior/philosopher Sun Tzu once wrote, “Know thy self, know thy enemy. A thousand battles, a thousand victories.”

This brings me back to our story’s protagonist, Admiral Stockdale. He most definitely knew who he was-a highly decorated Navy pilot who inspired fellow prisoners of war in North Vietnam and later ran for vice president. Now I know Stockdale's name has become a buzzword in this culture for a doddering old man, but that’s not what the record SHOULD reflect. He taught philosophy at Stanford University, and was a brilliant, sensitive, courageous man (he passed away in 2005). And yet he committed the one unpardonable sin in our culture: he was bad on television (a thing or two I know something about). In one quick moment, his public “us” or persona tarnished everything else about him, transforming him into the butt of jokes from late-night comedians. If it can happen to him it most certainly can happen to you. Leave the “us”-s behind and become ONE with yourself. Don’t put yourself or your friendships at risk because the mask or appearance you present to the world gets in the way. Take the mask off, and just be yourself.

June 1, 2010—“The Beach”

Everyone has heard the expression, “you never know what you’ve got until it’s gone” right? Heck, many of us have lived it more times than we care to recount to ourselves and others. Well, in my opinion if you muttered this phrase to yourself then you have gone through life with more than a few regrets.

However, this entry is not about regrets; it’s about living IN THE MOMENT. Trying hard to appreciate life as it happens to you, because whether you like it, or not once that moment passes, it’s gone forever, alive only in your memory. Recently, I was lucky enough to experience one of those wonderful moments, well actually it was closer to a whole day. It wasn’t perfect mind you, as I capsized the sailboat multiple times and as usual my mouth “wrote a few checks my body just couldn’t cash.” Those missteps aside, it truly was a great day at the beach.

One of the great constant joys in my life has been “The Beach” (not that awful Leonardo DiCaprio movie) but that geological landform along the shoreline of an ocean, sea or sometimes even large lake. I grew up a stone’s throw from the beach in New Jersey, USA. Summers there were idyllic and make up the majority of the moments I treasure from my childhood. Right now, the beach I am referring to is along the Persian Gulf (sorry, ARABIAN Gulf apparently they can’t seem to agree on that either). Down by our compound’s yacht club (using the term loosely).

We were lucky enough to settle in with a real party planning crew who thought of and planned for just about every contingency imaginable. When I say EVERYTHING you could have ever wanted or needed was there for this picnic, I am not kidding… Picture a Williams-Sonoma, Toys R Us and Chili’s all rolled up into one. Being the slackers we are, we brought… hummus. (This actually might have been considered original in the WASPy circles we used to travel in back home, but in this neck of the wood is the very definition of passé.)

It was a day of food, folks and fun-celebrating each other’s company and just living life. Let me say that again because it’s important-JUST LIVING LIFE. Not a second of that day on the beach was spent worrying about tomorrow, fretting over yesterday; it spent just enjoying the moment for all it’s worth. One of the few things I learned at my last job (more on that in the future) was from their corporate cultural training. It was very extensive and actually worked. It was a multi-day course that could basically be boiled-down to one phrase-“Be Here Now.” It’s a great way to live your life. I see people around me do it each and every day with the greatest of ease, and boy are they blessed.

It’s these new friends that I want to stop and thank. (They know who they are, I guess I could “change the names to protect the innocent” or in this case the very guilty). Albert Schweitzer, the famous medical missionary in Africa once said, “At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us.” Many of the people I have met here “on camp” have lit flames in me already-to be a better father, to be a better husband, to be a better friend, to be a better athlete, to be a better professional, to be a better person. Already, I owe them a lot.

Most of us can’t help but take things for granted, especially the people closest to us. We assume that good times will roll on and on and that people will never leave us. It’s an assumption that causes us to devalue the people we hold so dear. Eventually, sometimes for specific reasons or just because of relationship “drift” they slip away. It could be a quick, easy departure or a long, slow agonizing divorce that poisons everything between you. Regardless of which it is, when they do leave you'll realize that you wished that you valued them every second they were with you.

Live in the moment as much as possible and hold dear to you the people that matter most. I promise you will be happier. I know I am.

May 31, 2010 – “Some Kind of Wonderful”

Wow, two days in a row, now that is cause for celebration! I thought I would stick with the John Hughes/80s teen angst themed movies and talk about my own foibles, faults, and failures and boy is that a long list…

Some Kind of Wonderful is set against the strict social hierarchy of an American public high school. In a nutshell, a young tomboy, Watts, finds her feelings for her best friend, Keith, run deeper than just friendship when he gets a date with the most popular girl in school: unfortunately, the girl's old boyfriend, who is from the rich section of town, is unable to let go of her, and plans to get back at Keith. This is a movie about teenagers, which is also about life, about insecurity, about rejection, about learning to grow. But essentially it’s a "don't judge a book by its cover"(DJABBIC) story. Something I tend to do all too often, and to those closest to me.

Lots of people and I am no exception tend to determine the worth of something or someone based on its appearance. Come on people, if everyone were really being honest we would admit that most of us make these kind of snap judgments ALL THE TIME. In fact, the research says we do it in less than 7 seconds! Think about that, we can ‘size people up’ faster than it takes us to turn on our computers. The science here says that most of us have honed our instincts to the point that we ‘trust our gut’ over 90% of the time. Here’s the problem with my gut (besides being big and flabby), my gut tends to make three critical errors in this process time and time again:

1. I tend to make unfounded judgments during my sizing up process. It really should be a somewhat data-driven process.
2. Sometimes I find it hard to keep my results private (my mouth gets me into trouble). The rule should always be—keep it to yourself. Results from the sizing up process are often personal and based on one’s own ability to process information about how they perceive people.
3. At times I tend to confuse ‘the sizing up process’ with my own personal envious feelings and/or displays of inadequacy as an individual. A shrink would call this ‘projecting’ (attributing your own repressed thoughts to someone else).

So DJABBIC is probably one of the most common expressions used in the English language to convey vanity. It is often used in modern culture, to publically indentify people that just ‘don't seem to fit in.’ Let’s face it; it’s all about fitting in, right? There is a great line in Some Kind of Wonderful that goes, “You can't tell a book by its cover. No, but you can tell how much it's gonna cost you.” There it is… money.

This brings me to another one of my favorite quotes from actor/author Spike Milligan, “Money can't buy you friends, but it does get you a better class of enemy.” Money you see screws EVERYTHING up. Money makes the world go ‘round right? Money is how athletes have entourages and cult-like followings. Money is how our gut gets thrown off when making our ‘sizing up’ decisions. And money is how the geek gets the girl. (Anyone who has been to a High School reunion has seen firsthand the impact of money-it’s from all those Microsoft, Google, or Apple stock options right?) These class battles are everywhere: cities vs. suburbs, private schools vs. public, and the powerful vs. the under-privileged.

You see, Some Kind of Wonderful is fundamentally about socio-economic class distinctions. It’s about kids from the ‘wrong side of the tracks’ versus the preps who live in the gated communities up in the hills. The best example of this in my opinion is “The Outsiders” a classic coming-of-age novel by S. E. Hinton (also a fairly good movie).

I mention this, because where I am now, half-way around the world living the bubble-life that is the expatriate camp existence these class distinctions create an unlikely duality. You see here, class is dichotomous-it means everything and nothing at the same time. More to come on this… Oh yes, MUCH MORE…

May 30, 2010 -“The Breakfast Club”

Almost forty days and forty nights after my last attempt to restart my blog, I am going to try again. If at first you don’t succeed try, try again. (Heck, new month-new effort.)

Anyway, I have been thinking a lot about one of my generation’s (that would be Gen ‘X’ not ‘Y’) seminal movies, “The Breakfast Club.” Sure there are others, but let’s face it, if you are in your late 30s or 40s right now, then you probably saw a few John Hughes movies before you were eighteen! The Breakfast Club continues to be a classic because the issues presented in the movie about social class and acceptance remains hot topics not just for high school students but adults of all ages.

The reason my mind keeps wandering back to John Bender and the gang from the fictional town of Shermer, Illinois is that life, you see, is high school. My theory has always been that EVERYONE can personally relate to one or more of the characters. (Yes you can conduct the same exercise for the characters in Star Wars too. And no, everyone can’t get to be Han Solo either.) Interestingly enough, when you live overseas in a somewhat artificial (one might say surreal) environment, you might as well have stepped into a time machine and been transported back to those four fun-filled years at High School.

Now don’t get me wrong, I liked HS (at least what I can remember of it). But there is still no better lasting visual reminder of how human beings rationally, routinely and robustly divide into self-selected groups or cliques. Admit it; it’s all right there on display at lunchtime in the cafeteria. Here on “camp” it is absolutely no different. People cluster together around like interests – sports, scrapbooking, Scrabble, etc. But interestingly enough, the ties that bind them together are so strong, they rarely wander outside their immediate social circle for very long. The world, it seems, has very few “floaters.”

I have always liked “floating.” You get to meet more people, expand your horizons, and life rarely gets boring. Let’s remember that life is always about clever dialogue and interpersonal questions. The downside is, you tend to “connect” with people a little less, and unfortunately it’s harder to improve your skills/talents in each area, because you are simply unable to focus your energies in specific areas. (Of course it could be that you are simply out-of-shape and lost ANY athletic ability you ever had - RE: Softball)

So life = high school. Cliques = clubs or groups. What, if anything should be done about it? I have often thought a great research experiment about social situations would be to use an elevator, which is one place where people from different social groups could be forced to bond. My hypothesis is this; an elevator on a normal day has hundreds of people go in and out of it without exchanging a single word. But if that same elevator suddenly stops due to technical problems, well suddenly the group is mentally forced to start talking to each other. Consider a foreign expatriate camp a very large elevator.

Now back to our story…as anyone who has seen The Breakfast Club knows, the movie ends with the fade up of a terrific song – “Don't You (Forget About Me)" – by Simple Minds; the “club” going their separate ways (Will they ever interact again outside this artificial environment? Acknowledge each other in the hallway? Sit together in the lunchroom?); and a voice-over by Anthony Michael Hall reading the group’s letter or essay to Principal Richard "Dick" Vernon. The end letter is as follows:

Brian Johnson: Dear Mr. Vernon, we accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong...but we think you're crazy to make us write an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us... in the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is a brain...
Andrew Clark: ...and an athlete...
Allison Reynolds: ...and a basket case...
Claire Standish: ...a princess...
John Bender: ...and a criminal...
Brian Johnson: Does that answer your question?

Sincerely yours, the Breakfast Club.

My question to you is, “Which one are you?”

A Brave New World - Dubai, UAE

All I can say is WOW! I have lived pretty much all over the USA in great cities of the world like New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, & Washington DC and let me tell you Dubai is right there with each and every one of them. What an amazing place! Huge.. Massive Skyscrapers (we went up to the top of the Burg Kalifa..very cool). Great hotels, restaurants, golf, beaches, etc. To think this modern paradise is right here!.. More to come on this later!

February 14, 2010 – “The Minority Report”

Today is Valentine’s Day, kind of an auspicious date to restart blogging but I did have an unexpected bout of inspiration from an erudite and erstwhile source.

Having been “in Kingdom” for over six weeks now, I can say without hesitation to all my good black and Latino friends, “I get it.” It’s tough to be the minority. Living over here has been much better than I expected. Let me state that one more time for the record, “it has been good, very good.” Most if not all of the Saudis I have encounters are genuinely kind, good-natured people. The men that I work with, the guys at the gym, the fellas, all of them are a great group. But they are still a DIFFERENT group.

Do I feel like an outsider? Yes. Does it bother me? A little. Will I get over it? Probably. Will it take some time? Sure. Everything worth doing takes time. Let’s face it, this is a very different place than the good ol’ US of A, and I have never spent any time outside of my homeland. But I do feel like I am trying… I try to meet someone new every day. Strike up a conversation with a person on the lunch line, in the gym and at the office in a sincere attempt to get to know each individual as people.

Unfortunately, there is a reason stereotypes exist, because at a very basic level there do contain some “truth.” I guess I would define a stereotype as a standardized and simplified conception of groups, based on some prior assumptions. Now few of us would knowingly bases our opinions of others either individually or collectively on "prejudice" but in reality that’s exactly what we do.

I will simply use myself as an example; I have often been accused of being an “Ugly American” and a “WASP” (for those playing the home game that stands for White Anglo-Saxon Protestant). My people’s “gifts” to the world come down to two areas: we can make a mean Martini and we keep retail economy afloat. (Come on, stores like The Gap, The Bombay Company and Starbucks were made for people “like me.”) But just because it’s true for me, doesn’t mean it’s true for everyone that looks like me, acts like me and has a similar background.

My grandmother said never judge a book by its cover. Nowhere has that axiom been truer than here in the Middle East. Good friends and fun acquaintances come in all shapes and sizes here and closing yourself off to new opportunities because you ignorantly and shamefully cling to “old world” stereotypes would be stupid. After all, I am the guest in their homeland. I am the minority living in their culture. I should not (or cannot) expect them to change; while a little bit of well-placed change will do me good.

December 31, 2009 – “Springtime for Hitler and Germany”

All I can say is curse Mel Brooks and his hilarious musical “The Producers,” because as soon as I stepped off the plane into Frankfurt that song just got locked in my head. (I know it’s extremely offensive to the German people, but the mind does what the mind wants, at least I wasn’t goose-stepping around the airport.)

I immediately took note of the vast size of this facility. No I realize this little excursion was my first experience outside the Western Hemisphere, but this damn airport looked BIG! I mean I thought O’Hare, LAX or Atlanta was big… this collection of runways and buildings in Frankfurt should most definitely have its own area code.

It took 45 minutes to walk from my plane to the Business Class lounge (and I walk pretty darn fast, since I am from the NYC area). And as great as the service and experience was FLYING Lufthansa, it was equally disappointing on the GROUND. The club was just plain awful, nothing of substance to eat, a horrible selection of drinks (both regular and alcoholic… and let’s face it I was in the mood to drink since I was counting down to the arrival in my new, dry as teetotaler workplace.) The capper on the whole thing was….drum roll please… no FiWi at all? WTF?!?! Did Europe just miss the last decade of the wireless internet revolution?

My mistake was not trying to catch a some shuteye and sleep through the whole disappointing experience, but I was too afraid that I would sleep right through my flight and make a wonderful first impression the folks flying me over 10-thousand miles to work for them.

Finally, I have to say that German friendliness is kind of like English haute cuisine, it hasn’t been recorded in the over 10,000 years of human existence. They are polite, but as you know being polite doesn’t mean you are being friendly. Just ask any woman who has ever shopped for cosmetics at a department store. The young ladies (using the term loosely, like their boyfriends hope they are) behind the counter are polite, but not really nice. Where else does the spoken word “ma’am” seem to sound more like “bitch?” As in, “Yes, ma’am (bitch). Of course you look like a summer ma’am. (dried up wrinkly bitch). These colors work well for more senior women with a winter complexion ma’am (stupid old bitch).”

December 31, 2009 – “Up in the Air”

My mother always told me to make a good first impression (well her and that stupid Head & Shoulders shampoo ad, “you never get a second chance to make a first impression”), so I have always considered them pretty important. My first impression of Lufthansa was “Damn these Germans sure know how to run an airline!” (Of course flying business class didn’t hurt either).

Boarding the plane at O’Hare was like stepping into Disneyland for adults. I was greeted with champagne, some nice cheese and crackers and then seat for the next nine hours that reclined flat and included a delightful massage feature. Now a smarter man than I would have simply eaten and gone to sleep, but alas I am not that man. It was my first trip outside North America; yes I had left the country (several times) to visit Mexico, Canada and several Caribbean islands (face it, those places count too). Besides, it was New Years Eve and since I was headed east, I could celebrate pretty much every hour along the way.

Dinner was served on fine china with polished silverware, the wine selection was wonderful and the food was simply superlative, and for more than a moment I forgot what I was doing and where I was heading. After polishing of my second glass of a delicious Portuguese red wine along with dinner and dessert, I glanced out the window just in time to see the Labrador coast disappearing off in the distance. So as Canada slid into the rear view mirror I scrambled for a map to try to determine our flight route. (Yes, the pilot had announced it but I was too busy listening to my iPod, drinking and eating to have paid close attention.)

I found the Flight Progress feature on my personal entertainment center which when you think about it looks a lot like how Indiana Jones used to get around in the movies. And hey if flying around the world by line segment and red dots was good enough for Mr. Arc of the Covenant himself then it was fine by me too. This luxurious five star hotel in the sky was headed over the tip of Greenland (cool), then just south of Iceland, through over Scotland and on into Germany. Now this was exciting stuff!

December 31, 2009 – “Superfriends”

Standing there in the freezing cold weather, I paused to consider why Chicago really SHOULD be called the Windy City (that whole “urban legend” about their politicians is a crock) and went to grab my jacket, but alas it was stowed in this story’s central character, my carry-on bag.

But here’s where it gets rather interesting, because just when you think you have people figured out to the point where it justifies your cynical approach to life, someone will go and do something that will shock the shit out of you. The pilot of the plane, a woman no less (a point I make not to be sexist, yet again, but because deep down I am just not sure a man would have done what was to follow. See that ladies, I just threw my whole gender under the bus. The guys are going to “pull” my man card for this…)

This wonderful pilot, let’s call her Captain Shara, spent the next 45 minutes on her personal cell phone tracking down my carry-on. She called back to the Indy airport only to discover my bag had been left right where I put it, at the end of the jet way At one point in the conversation, she had to power down the commuter plane and then physically push up the jet’s door stairs. (I helped her with that, and boy is that door heavy to lift over your head!)

She walked into the terminal with me and stayed with me until they completely remedied the solution, all the while giving the baggage handlers back in Indy a real earful. My carry-on would be flying American Airlines to Chicago and catch up with me in Frankfurt, Germany. Sounded like a plan for sure, but as any frequent (or even non-frequent) flier knows, a promise made by an airline isn’t always a promise kept.

But United made me a believer that day, because while my bag didn’t quite catch up with me in Frankfurt as planned, it was there on the carousel at my final destination in the Middle East. It was truly remarkable. What I thought was sure to be a negative turned into quite the positive, and along the way renewed my faith in humanity-that people at their core are inherently good.
Oh there are villains out their wanting and needing to do evil, (you know Justice League versus the Legion of Doom type stuff). But today was not their day, this time Aquaman got into Wonder Woman’s invisible jet and helped return a precious carry-on bag back to its rightful owner-me. At least that’s my story and I am sticking to it.

December 31, 2009 – “It’s a Small World After All”

After my not-so-tearful goodbye, things immediately got better starting with a very helpful United Airlines check-in attendant helping me with my four huge pieces of luggage. (Seriously, my golf bag was so big I could have been hiding the body of Jimmy Hoffa in there. Who by the way might finally get a proper burial when they tear down the old Giants Stadium at the Meadowlands in New Jersey and find his corpse beautifully preserved in the concrete.)

Unfortunately, things took a turn for the worst when United reverted to type and promptly lost my carry-on bag. Now, I am sure you are wondering how can a carry-on bag get lost, when you CARRY it onto the plane? Inexplicably, these sorts of things always seem to happen to me, especially when luggage is concerned. Here’s proof, I am the only person you will ever know that lost their luggage while flying on the private jet. Somehow my bags got sent with some executives headed to Mexico for a corporate retreat, while I went to off with the CEO to meetings out in Silicon Valley. Well, at least my Samsonite enjoyed a few killer margaritas while I was bored off my butt in San Jose.

Now back to our story, anyone who has watched the evolution (and I use that term loosely) of plane flight in this country over the past 20 years can remember the first time they boarded a “commuter” jet. Simply put, it’s a vehicle that a few Smurfs and most Garden Gnomes (they do have those tall red cone hats) would have to bend over to enter.

So now that we have established they are SMALL planes, you won’t be surprised to find out you can’t so much as store an iPod in the overhead bins. Therefore, anything larger than a plus size tampon has to be checked and stowed in the cargo hold under the plane.

Here is how the whole process works—a gate agent walks around the waiting area before boarding begins handing out little green luggage tags. My fellow passengers received these little items with all the enthusiasm one might muster up for a pink slip from HR. Attach it to your carry-on bag, rip off the matching stub (which I almost didn’t do, but this would become critically important later) and then carry it down to the end of the jet way for a baggage handler to retrieve and place in the belly of the flying metal beast.

Touching down in Chicago a mere 45 minutes later, my bag was nowhere to be found and let me tell you I was PISSED. Once again, how can you lose a goddamn carry-on bag?

December 31, 2009 - “Gone in 60 Seconds”

So how did this all start? Don’t worry I’ll cover all of that in due time. Rather than simply starting at the very beginning (a very good place to start), let’s cut to the end of the beginning (which hopefully won’t turn out, in retrospect, to be the beginning of the end).

Outside the new-ish Indianapolis International Airport, I said goodbye to my family with getting too emotional, which is odd since I am more than capable of crying. Evidenced by my need for tissues at the end of “Saving Private Ryan,” whenever Syracuse loses during March Madness, and of course when I stub my toe. (Have you ever slammed your bare foot into the bottom of your bed? Those metal mattress frames really can leave a nasty bruise!)

So what does it say about me that I shed more tears hugging my 11 year-old black lab than when I kissed my son and daughter goodbye? I guess it means I know I will see them again, but with Bonnie at her age, you just never know. God I love that dog!

Anyway, Brayden (age 7) gave me a big hug, and then realizing he was bored jumped back into the car. ShaiAnne (age 9) looked deep into my eyes as if to determine if I was ever coming back at all, decided that in fact I was, and hugged me tight. Then realizing she was too cold jumped back into the car to join her brother.

Finally, as predicted my wife pretty much lost it. Kitty after all, cries during Grey’s Anatomy and movies like “Desperately Seeking Susan.” So without acting too much like a sexist pig, the crying “game” actually gets worse, MUCH worse when her monthly “friend” comes to visit (thank God I have a penis, they work much better). When it’s that time of the month, a sappy episode of “Family Guy” might cause quite the waterworks show.

After checking in with my buddies, I realized my wife isn’t the only one, reported to have this particular affliction. Apparently, many if not most husbands have to suffer through this condition with their wives. So much so in fact, we are banding together to petition the church to amend the wedding vows to read, “in sickness and health, through long sobbing phases and silly crying spasms often brought on by “chick flicks” or inane primetime dramas.” (But don’t worry ladies once we open this thing up for editing, I am sure you can think of a few items to add too.)

December 31, 2009 - “Journey to the Center of the Earth”

Truth be told, I am not sure I ever really appreciated exactly just what I was getting myself into. After all, I knew I was headed off for a “once in a lifetime opportunity,” but only when a person actually faces a situation, not simply the idea of it, does true enlightenment brighten the dark recesses of an otherwise ignorant mind.

So flying over Iraq looking down at Bagdad (yes, THAT Baghdad), the Wizard of Oz’s fair-haired heroine’s trite utterance somehow suddenly seemed completely un-corny. In fact, Dorothy’s clichéd observance, “Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore,” hit me like a ton of yellow bricks left over from the construction of that pedestrian superhighway built to go from Kansas to the Emerald City.

It was at that moment when I glanced at my in-flight magazine (my intention was to find a video to take my mind off my ever growing anxieties but fate, it seemed, had other plans for me) when the pages fell open to Lufthansa’s very impressive worldwide route map. It was only then when I fully came to terms with the scope and grandeur of my predicament.

I thought to my self, “Idiot it’s called the Middle East because it’s in the middle of the damn map.” Mr. Rand McNally had made this part of the world the geographical equivalent of the bull’s-eye on a dartboard. Just about everything I had ever known or loved was far, far away on the other side of the world, what would have been the furthermost outer ring (the area of the board most of the darts I throw seem to always find).

So for the first time in my life that I can truly remember, I felt completely alone. It was just me, myself and I now, and in keeping with my newly minted resolutions, in this case the one to be more honest with everyone, including myself. I had to admit that I was more scared than excited, more filled with worry rather than wonderment, and concerned for the first time since this whole thing began if I really was making the right decision…