The Perils of Tunnel Vision

This past Sunday brought us the season premiere of the twentieth season of what is the best reality program on television, "The Amazing Race."  None of this season's teams are ones that I want to root for instantly but there were a few that either creeped me out (here's looking at you, Clown Couple) or made me wish our nation's obsession with New Jersey was a distant memory, like that skank Snooki's healthy liver (here's looking at you, Jersey tools).

The episode ended with an epic bungle by one team - a pair of hard-driving athletic sisters, who, by their own words when they filmed their walk of shame, said that they had "a lot of heart."  What they did not have was a lot of sense or even a clue.  They were literally a few feet away from the finishing line of the first leg and they never even saw it.  They claimed they were stuck by this:

TUNNEL VISION
All they had to do was to look to the right and they would have seen the show's host, the unflappable Phil Keoghan, and they would have coasted across the mat for the final position. Instead, they freaked out, looking straight ahead and screeching that they couldn't find Phil.  Even when they turned around and ran out to keep up their futile search, they still didn't see Phil.  It was all over for them at that point as the two tools from Jersey (seriously, Governor Christie, I think the theory that any publicity is good publicity no longer applies to your state - make it stop) made it across, thus subjecting us to at least one more episode of their ridiculousness.

This televised undoing of a team got me thinking - how often have I been guilty of the same?  Being so blinded by tunnel vision - the things unfolding around me - that I didn't see the solution right smack in front of me...as I pondered that, more than one example from my own experience came to mind.  I'd say we've all been guilty of it at one time or another, but mercifully it's not been on television or cost us a chance at $1,000,000. How often has that tunnel vision caused me to do something rash, unkind, or to judge harshly? Sadly, more than once.

While when He was on the earth, the Savior never mentioned 'tunnel vision, He did talk about the things that block our vision.  At the conclusion of the Sermon on the Mount, He admonished us to "Judge not, that ye be not judged." Why? Because the judgement we unload on others will be the same yardstick by which we will be judged (ouch!).  He then went on to teach:

Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye.

Who knew that an episode of an Emmy-winning reality series could be so instructive?!  Turns out it was a good learning moment for me.

22

A few highlights from February 16's of yore per my favorite arbiter of all things true on the 'net, Wikipedia:

• 1804 - U. S. Navy Lieutenant Stephen Decatur led a raid to destroy the captured U S S Philadelphia in Tripoli, denying her use to the Barbary States in the First Barbary War.
• 1977 - Archbishop Janani Luwum of the Church of Uganda, a leading voice against the regime of Idi Amin, was arrested for treason and murdered the next day. (P.S. - for those of you who don't remember, Idi Amin was the maniacally bad, despotic leader of Uganda)
• 1990 - Utah Valley Regional Medical Center hosted the birth of one Our Lady of Awesome.

Yep, it's another birthday here in the Den.  Technically, she's out of the Den, married to Awesome and making an exciting new life, but our oldest daughter, like all of our children will always be a part of the Den.  We could not be more proud of our oldest and the choices she's made.

It hardly seems possible that she was born 22 years ago today.  Her mother and I were ridiculously young, but not Appalachian cousin-marrying young, mind you, when we welcomed our first-born daughter.  She's been a joy to us ever since that snowy day in Provo, UT when she came into our world.  She survived the testing lab of family life that is being the first-born child.  I think it's more than funny that she's majoring in family development. I figure her growing up years, particularly with a dad like me, have proven to be fertile ground for class discussion.  Our first-born continues to thrill us and teach us.  I wouldn't want it any other way.

Happy birthday, Princess.  You may be married but I still get to call you 'Princess.'

Delivering on Valentine's Day

My disregard for Valentine's Day is widely-known and has been chronicled here for the last three years (read here, here, and here for a bitter recap), so I'll not pen another diatribe about it today.  I'll just say that my sentiments about this day have not changed.  I'm sure this will come as a shock to many of you, and by many of you,  I mean no one.

That said, I did do something to bring people happiness today.  A very smart friend of ours opened her own cupcake bakery without the benefit of a storefront.  She has marketed her business almost 100% via social media and she's done really well.  The marketing is super-smart and the product is delicious.  She found that she needed help with deliveries today and so I signed up to be a delivery man.

That's right - I facilitated bringing people happiness on Valentine's Day. It was pretty straight-forward and incident-free. The majority of my deliveries were to businesses.  I heard a lot of things from receptionists like, "Well I wish someone would send me cupcakes."  I refrained from saying back to one of them, "Well I wish you hadn't worn that sweatshirt with the picture of your cat framed by a heart on it."  Today was a day to be nice.  I mean I even wore a red shirt to be in the spirit of things.  Like I said, it was incident-free with the exception of one awkward moment.

The one residential delivery I did was from a wife to her husband.  It was obvious when he got to the door that his day was just beginning.  He gave me a weird look as I stood at his door, carrying a couple boxes of smartly-decorated cupcakes.  I asked him to confirm his name and I handed over the goods.  I told him they were for Valentine's Day and he looked at me with just a hint of concern.  "Sir," I said, "they aren't from me.  I'm just the delivery guy."  We both laughed, relieved to have avoided what would have been a really awkward incident.

It was a good thing to do today.  Tonight will be good as well.  The Sacramento Kings are in town to play the Bulls, so we are going to that game tonight.  The Boy is convinced that if we get there early enough, he can make it court-side and shoot a few with  Jimmer.  Good luck with that.

An Open Letter to My Fellow Passengers

This past week found me flying five out of seven days.  It was a nightmarish recurrence reprise of the days when I was flying almost every week for work.  Being on the road again brought back a lot memories, some good and some bad.  It also reminded me of how the commercial flying experience is a disturbing thought-provoking mirror on humanity.  To that sea o'humanity, I pen the following open letter:

To My Fellow Passengers:
Good ___________ (insert appropriate time o'day reference here).  It looks like we'll be spending some time together today.

To those of you who elected not to pack the entire contents of your panic room/hoard into your carry-on; who elected to not fly in your pajamas; who have never bought a Bluetooth; who choose not to snap your gum incessantly; and to those of you who have opted to wear clothing that does not reveal your epic body art, thanks very much.  You appear to understand the flying experience, which is akin to Theatre of Cruelty, and are working to lessen that cruelty.  Thank you.

To those of you who are doing some, or in most cases all of the things listed above, a word.  So you've decided to skirt the charge for checking a bag by packing your entire hoard into your carry-on.  The zipper on your bag looks more strained than the zipper on your pants that are three sizes too small (based on what most of my fellow flyers wear today, they are living in homes decked out with fun house mirrors, but that's another post) and good for you.  However, just because you've figured out how to violate the laws of science, don't ask me to lift your bag into the overhead (do you see a pair of wings on my shirt?  No, no you don't and don't ask the flight attendants either - it's not their job to accommodate your crap) or to move mine so you can now try another law of space violation as you attempt to wrench your bag up there (now you know what your gut feels like as you try to get into those tragically ill-fitting pants you're wearing).  Speaking of what you're wearing, please don't wear your PJ's on the plane.  Please.  But I guess the PJ look is appealing for some as it allows them to show off their body art (tats, piercings, gauges).  This needs to stop.  As one who frequently sits on the aisle, I'm growing weary of the close-up views of tats and piercings that I'm getting as you lift your bag in the overhead or lean over to jam your bag under the seat in front of you.  I wish you luck in your pursuit of working out your 'daddy' issues, ladies, with all the body art, but stop the advertising.  And brethren, if you've got a 'tramp stamp,' there is no blog long enough to describe why you shouldn't be showing that off.  So stop.

Speaking of stopping, stop talking on your Bluetooth or similar device.  For those of you deluded enough to think it makes you look cool, it does not.  It makes you annoying.  Your fellow passengers thank you for not using them.  Text and go silent.   And on the topic of silence, if you can't chew your gum silently, then don't chew gum.  There is nothing more repellent to me than the sound of someone snapping their gum as they gnaw on it like a beaver taking down a tree.  I think it should be an offence worthy of capital punishment.  (Editorial aside - If that were the case, the lady in 13B next to me coming back from DFW Friday night would have been summarily executed - an action I would have stood and applauded.)

So, let's make it a good flight.  To quote Bon Qui Qui, "Don't nobody get crazy!"  Let's all sit back and make the best of our time in this flying petri dish.

Thanks very much.
A Fellow Flyer