Dealing with those emotional velociraptors.

How's your anxiety level these days? Off the chart? On the chart but off the grid? On the grid but off the chain? On the chain but off the hook?

Lord knows there's a smorgasbord of triggers out there right now. It's like the instant we wake up, we take our place in the buffet line of dreadful delights. We slide our tray down the rails, accepting warm plates heaped with gun violence, war, climate catastrophe, inflation and more varieties of COVID-19 than there were soft serve toppings at Roy's Chuckwagon. 

And for good measure, who's down at the end of the buffet line carving the roast beast under the heat lamp, but this dude:

The mysterious creature above was photographed just outside a zoo in Amarillo, Texas. I swear to God, these days if it's not hitchhiking clowns, it's a damn chupacabra in search of a hookup.

I've always been an anxious person. Like I've swallowed a stiff, unwashed hankie that never digests, my anxiety lives wadded up inside my chest and stomach. Its crusty, gym sock-sized wad seems to swell and shrink with unpredictable regularity both day and night. 

I've employed various strategies in an effort to tamp down my anxiety—things like self-medicating with a six-pack of Bodhizafa and box of Double Stuff Pop Tarts, Now With Real Pork! shortly before bedtime. Typically, this approach is effective until around three in the morning, when I wake up in a self-loathing hot flash with a throbbing headache and the aftertaste of Satan's dingleberries in my mouth. 

As it is with depression, mindfulness can be a very helpful tool in combating anxiety. By challenging our thoughts rather than swallowing them, it's possible to step over the rabbit hole instead of plummeting into it.

I mentioned that morning is my most anxious time. Here's an example of an average day's waking thoughts:

1) Shit, I need to address that work thing, that thing where that guy's asking for that thing that's not really a thing, but I have to convince him it's not a thing, and that's the thing. 

2) The world is burning up (except for Yellowstone, site of Noah's Ark II).

3) Democracy is doomed because Orange Ass Face is going to run again and win.

4) My kids are out there somewhere, completely defenseless and unprotected (by me). Because of this, something terrible could, and probably will, happen.

5) COVID is mutating again, and it's coming back with wings, hooves, teeth and a spinal column.

6) My arches are cramping and there's not quite enough milk left for the proper Grape Nuts to milk ratio. 

Therefore, I'm screwed and nothing's ever going to be okay—ever, ever again.

So yeah, that's my typical morning medley of horrors. But here's the good news: it doesn't have to take an answer ending in "_anax" to put out this fire. In fact, it can be as simple as devoting just an additional smidge of thought to each worry and formulating a reasonable, factual response.

1) Yes, I do have to figure out that thing, but I will, the same way I have been for the past 30 years. In fact, chances are that I won't even remember the thing a couple of days from now.

2) It's true, and it's frightening. But I can only do what's in my control, like recycling, composting and taking my styrofoam to the forest rather than burning it.

3) This is also a terrifying thought, and one that isn't going away. But worrying about it and/or demonizing the "other side" won't change a thing. As convoluted as their thinking may seem, it's based in fear the same way mine is.

4) Step off, old man. The kids are fine. 

5) Perhaps, but at least it'll be more challenging for it to enter my nasal lining. Plus, I'll be able to use a baseball bat against it instead of a mask.

6) I'll stretch out my arches and heat up last night's spaghetti. Mmm...last night's spaghetti.

See? Not hard at all, and it normally keeps those issues from lingering like a banana peel in a tube top. For most of us, anxiety isn't something we can eliminate from our lives, but like the dinosaurs of Jurassic World, maybe we can learn to co-exist with those emotional velociraptors.

Shock Doesn't Make an Appearance Anymore.

I've always had challenges labeling my emotions, especially the subtler, more nuanced feelings. Titles like aggravation, anticipation, envy and amusement are not easily accessible on my emotional bookshelf, so I've been working on that. I try to be mindful in anxious situations, to think about what I'm thinking about prior to allowing myself to escalate into that popular loop of fear, anger and shame. Despite those efforts the cycle is triggered every time a mass shooting occurs. 

Fear predictably floods in first. Thoughts of my family. Could this could happen at the elementary school where my wife teaches? Or at my daughter's college, or the high school where my other daughter coaches? 

I know the answer. The fear has a purity, a validity, now a familiarity. It's not the childish terror of an imaginary bogie man who enters when the lights go out. It's the fear of a real one who bursts in and destroys the world a little before noon on a Tuesday. 

As I lie in bed, I think about people like Ted Cruz and Greg Abbott. I wonder how they can live with themselves and what are they thinking about right now. Do they actually believe what they say or is it an act?  I conclude that Ted does believe it because he's a narcissistic douchebag with no conscience. Now it's anger's turn, time for dark sentiments to bury the fear. 

Finally, all that's left is the shame. We're all pretty good at that one, right? It's something we bestow on ourselves and each other with such regularity. In this case, we will share it, again. 

Setting the Record Straight About Seattle.

Seattle's been my home for around 40 years, and for most of that time, the town's flown under the national radar, nearly invisibly occupying its place in the upper left corner of the country. The place has always been the quiet kid in the back row who does well in science and dresses for the weather.

Throughout, the Emerald City's political sensibilities have leaned left, but it wasn't until the WTO shutdown of 1999 that Seattle catapulted itself into the "big league" of protest cities. When George Floyd was murdered in 2020, the Seattle demonstrations again drew worldwide attention, as Fox News portrayed the city as a flaming, dystopian hellhole, driven by a lawless mob intent on exterminating the police.

I do wonder sometimes what people who've never been here or haven't visited in a while, think Seattle is currently like. Do they believe it's nothing more than a weed-reeking nest of Marxist honkies who slow roast newborns on Webber pellet kettles in the Amazon employee picnic area while analyzing every vaccinated person's personal data as obtained from injected microchips?

Who knows? Maybe, which is why I'm here to answer your questions. Granted, I'm no expert, just a citizen of the Jet City intent on setting the story straight, but I've taken a deep dive into the mailbag and compiled your most asked queries:

Q: Is there a limit to the number of political and personal belief signs I can place in my front yard?

A: Yes, the limit is 36, but you can get around it by listing as many as 12 beliefs on a single sign. In stark contrast, you may have noticed that the other side prefers flags, with minimal or no words. Probably a good idea.

Q: Is it true that Seattle's radical leftist educators assault our children's minds with a non-stop barrage of critical race theory, LGBTQ+ lifestyle indoctrination and forced multiculturalism?

A: Okay, that's what you'd call a loaded question. It's like being asked if you've stopped spanking your cat, which presupposes the fact that you spank(ed) your cat. And while it's true that on occasion you've wanted to spank your cat with a confusing enthusiasm, you've never done such a thing, and therefore the question's basis is flawed. The same goes for the Seattle schools question. Love and acceptance are taught, as is history. Pretty simple, and not necessarily commie practices per se.

Oh, and before we move on, doesn't it seem like it would be difficult to spank a cat more than once? And chances are it would happen tail-up. No thanks.

Q: Is the Seattle freeze real?

A: Hell, yes, it is. And morning walkers in Seattle are a group of particularly cold-hearted assholes. For god's sake, I'm so careful about not getting any theatrical makeup on them during the hug.

Q: Why do you want to defund the police? Are you daft?

A: That's two questions, so I'll go in order. No one I know in these parts favors eliminating police. What's needed are supplemental, differently trained first responders. Police officers can then focus on honing skill sets that deal more effectively with their entire communities. As to the second question, yes, I have been daft for a preacher's fortnight. *

* Not a thing

Q: Is it true that there is one type of Seattle dog owner who is so annoying that this must be called out in your blog?

A: Great question! Yes, this is unfortunately true. The group consists of people who believe their dogs understand English language and sentence structure. The other day at Alki, here's what the woman on the left said to her dog as it yapped away at a passerby:

"Let's regulate. Take a couple of deep breaths, Meatballs."

Meatballs? If you're convinced your dog understands English, how insulting is it to name him/her/them Meatballs? Plus, have you ever seen a dog take a deep breath? Usually not a good sign.

Q: There's no debate that our city is facing some massive challenges, many with no solution in sight. With all that's going on in Seattle—the homelessness, the racial unrest, the crime, mountains of trash and endless blankets of graffiti on shuttered storefronts—is the city a lost cause?

A: I don't think so. But Seattle can't heal in a bubble. Until the rest of the nation addresses the same issues that Seattle struggles with—those originating in their own back yards—the Emerald City is in for a rough go.

I suppose for now, all we can do is regulate.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Hello and happy 2022! I say this even though we're well into February. It seems like wishing you Happy New Year at this point is like congratulating you on going Clear when really you've been an Operating Thetan for months! *

* Made this mistake while standing next to Tom Cruise at a urinal in 1988.

Right now, we're closing in on both Super Bowl Sunday and Valentine's Day. Blech, it gives me a tummy tornado just to say them both in the same sentence. This year they're perversely falling on back-to-back days, so all those football fans withdrawing hard from the end of another season will now have 24 hours to get their shit together and turn into Mickey Rourke by Monday.

The Super Bowl makes me feel simultaneously hungry and queasy. It's an event that lasts a long time, and there's typically a massive spread from the get-go. People bring enough homemade peach cobbler and Costco Hogs in a Lovesack for 90 people, and, yes, go ahead and open that third box of Chicken in a Biskit on your way to the pulled pork station. All day long, it's:

a spoonful of this
and a forkful of those
and a plateful of pie covered with Oreos.

By the end of the third quarter, I've consumed enough sodium and nitrogen to constitute a live explosive, should I merely opt to eat a smidge of lawn fertilizer. Oh, and while we're on the subject, the other night I was watching the Olympics and two commercials came on. The first was for a colitis medication, followed by an ad for Chipotle. I found this a curious juxtaposition, and if anything, shouldn't the Chipotle spot have been first, based on nature's laws? 

Well, enough of the scatological bullshit. Let's talk about Valentine's Day, an event I'll call VD for simplicity's sake. I don't know about you, but it's one of those holidays that hasn't ever gone very well. I've never been much of a romantic, nothing even approaching such legendary standard bearers as Patrick Swayze in Ghost or the guy with the perm who played Luke in General Hospital. 

During my dating years, VD always caused discomfort, like an itch that was impossible to scratch. I found myself constantly guessing, wondering if I was doing enough or maybe going embarrassingly over the top, seemingly "too committed" to a relationship. And by the time this happened, VD and self-esteem had become nothing more than two shiv-waving cell mates. Ultimately I found a partner who lovingly shares my intolerance and scorn for this holiday. We may disagree on the allure of Wordle, but thank the Lord that we're no Kellyanne and George Conway when it comes to this. 

But please understand, this is my own personal hang-up. Just because I'd rather little spoon with Marjorie Taylor Greene than plan a VD surprise for someone, doesn't mean you're not entitled to your own mental scrapbook of wonderful holiday memories, both mental and physical. Knock yourself out.

Because I'd rather knock myself out than do Valentine's Day.

2021: It was no 2020, but still...

Happy holidays! Is it just me or has this year gone by about a trillion times faster than the last one? Seriously, if years were movie names, 2020 would have been Night of the Day of the Dawn of the Son of the Bride of the Return of the Revenge of the Terror of the Attack of the Evil Mutant Hellbound Flesh Eating Crawling Alien Zombified Subhumanoid Living Dead, Part 5 (real movie, by the way). 2021 would've been closer to Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (still long, but airier and more optimistic).

By the time we'd gotten to last December, things were looking up for sure. After nine months spent locking down, masking up and wiping off, we watched as the first vaccinations found their way into the arms of America's front line medical workers and highest-risk populations. Science was poised to purge our cootie-ridden meat jerseys—again.

The past 20 months have underscored the fact that we're a nation as divided as a Spears family clam bake. Even so, how could we have guessed that just a year later, with shots available pretty much everywhere but My Pillow Liquidation Outlets, 30 percent of our population would still be holding out? And "holding out" assumes that there's a chance these folks might change their minds. Seems mostly to be a hard nah at this point.

Since the overarching mission of this blog is to inspirationally annoy, I don't expect to convince anyone to jump ship and enter the light (Tweeeet! Mixed metaphor foul—loss of down!). Let's look at some of the big news of 2021 and see if we can at least agree on some of the high-level stuff. 

January 6, 2021: Following the ex-president's rally and speech at the White House Ellipse, pro-Trump rioters storm the US Capitol as members of Congress meet to certify the Electoral College results of the 2020 presidential election. A total of five people die, including a Capitol Police officer the next day.

What we might disagree on: This was one of the darkest days in our country's history, and had it not been for some well-placed decision-making, Son of Mussolini might still be orangeing up the place.

What we may agree on: MAGA merch sells big among the faithful. All those flags and beanies and noose kits are a freaking cash cow. Crazy about those "We Shall Overcomb" Christmas sweaters, and the American flag is a such a clever and unexpected weapon of choice against police in gun-free zones.

January 7, 2021: Congress formally affirms Joe Biden's 2020 victory, completing a final step in the electoral process.

What we might disagree on: Biden won. 

What we may agree on: The same people who tabulated your presidential ballots also counted your Councilwoman Schitzenfurer's victory over socialist upstart and small business owner, Jimmy Yoplait. 

July 20, 2021: Jeff Bezos and a crew of three go to space and back on an 11-minute ride aboard a penile rocket developed by his space company, Blue Origin. He exits the capsule wearing a cowboy hat.

What we might agree on: Bezos is a douchebag.

What we may disagree on: How much of a douchebag Bezos is. 

September 1, 2021: A Texas law that bans abortions at six weeks goes into effect after the Supreme Court and a federal appeals court fail to rule on pending emergency requests brought by abortion providers.

What we might disagree on: It's hypocritical to assert your own bodily autonomy while denying others theirs.

What we may agree on: Should Roe vs. Wade be overturned, access to safe abortion will stop in many parts of the country. Abortions won't. 

November 19, 2021: Biden temporarily transfers power to Kamala Harris while he is under anesthesia for a routine colonoscopy. Harris becomes the first woman to hold presidential power.

What we might disagree on: Joe makes innocuous but slightly off-color comments to the medical staff while under anesthesia.

What we may agree on: Joe has a double bacon cheese at Ghost Burger right afterwards. I'm starving, man!

Here's to a peaceful finale to 2021. It was no 2020, but it's definitely a year in need of some counseling.

Skidding Down the Back Slope of the Learning Curve

As you may know from a couple of posts ago, I've been going through a lot of family slides lately. It's the perfect task for a sentimental guy like me. Put it this way—if nostalgia was hot fudge, people would be stopping by to dip their Oreos in me. Ew. 

I tend to immerse myself in things like this. At this point, I've combed through hundreds, maybe thousands, of images from the 1950s,'60s and '70s. Occasionally I'll come across a childhood photo of me and try to put myself back in that kid's head. What was important to him at the time (besides not wearing that suit)? Having spent just a handful of years on Earth, what did that boy believe was true? Or not true? 

The kid above believed that Santa came in the house when everybody was asleep, which in turn contributed to an already-robust fear of the dark. Holy shit, can you remember how scary it was when the adult in your house flicked off the light and shut the door? Everything instantly disappeared and random noises filled the void. It probably also didn't help that he'd been sent to bed halfway through Kidnapped and Buried Alive: the ABC Tuesday Night Movie of the Week. You know, school night and all.

I remember when this guy refused to believe that his friend's dad weighed over 100 pounds. Only upon returning home for lunch one day to scarf down a deviled ham sandwich was he informed by his mom that adults commonly weigh well into the triple digits. Also that lamp shade.

The dude standing here in his new fall school jacket firmly believed that babies are conceived with little more than a wink and a nod. I mean sure, this is sort of true since winking and nodding are involved at some level. Still, most of us don't know the full story until we're clued in one day at rainy day recess by a kid named Kenny or Billy or Julie Lou.

Finally, this young fella most likely believed that Jesus was a nicely-groomed white man with amazing hair that smelled like Pert, not unlike a Scorpions roadie. Only later when he'd received his own subscription to National Geographic and started reading the articles did he discover that JC had the biological makeup of a modern-day Iraqi Jew. 

We embark on our lives' journeys, perpetually sifting through the data and hopefully honing our understanding of the world around us. Along the way, we learn that, although the number 100 is indeed massive, very few full-grown adults weigh less than a hundred pounds. We discover that despite his sick fishing skills, it's highly unlikely that Jesus was Swedish. And somewhere around 2014 comes the revelation that darkness doesn't mean everything disappears; just that the room has transfigured itself into a glorious theater of the smart phone.

But I joke because I fear. At this moment in history, 30 to 40 percent of Americans are skiing down the back slope of a bell-shaped learning curve. Many are people I grew up with, folks raised in an era of moon landings, unquestioned election results and mass vaccinations in the school gym. 

The unlearning is well under way. For so many, science now equals tyranny and government is nothing more than the Illuminati's instrument of killing and eating all the White people except Joe Biden, Hillary Clinton and Tom Hanks.

I get it, I suppose. The government doesn't always have the best of intentions; Ronald Reagan and all that. And of course, you're scared, too. Society is changing before your eyes and you're afraid of being "left behind" in some manner. Sure is a hell of a lot more comforting to believe that your candidate's victory was stolen, that your opinions still fall among the overwhelming majority.

But they don't. Not anymore. Storming the Capitol was both stupid and criminal, and you know it. Trump lost, and you know it. Vaccines work. 

Let's get back to debating policy, not the facts themselves.

Right now, it's the best we can do.

Life can feel pretty helpless these days. After all:

1) We live on a planet that's drying out faster than day-old cornbread in a stoned man's pie hole. 

2) A sizable wad of our populace has decided to team with the Covid Delta variant to give us Groundhog Year, 2021. I'm sure we all know someone who, while gloriously worm-free, has chosen to prolong this dismal plague based upon what some former reptile chiropractor says about RNA-altering microchips on their Parler channel.

3) After a twenty-year hitch in Afghanistan, we Yanks have peaced out. As a result, entire brigades of Afghani guardian angels and their families have been left in the lurch, getting by who-knows-how, living who-knows-where and doing who-knows-what to stay alive.

And those aren't the only problems that can make us feel helpless and depressed and angry—homelessness, racial unrest, the economy...

I'll just stop right there, because this is where I want to flip things. Segues have always been a challenge.

What if we were to squad up a little, to combine forces and take on Problem #3? Would you be willing to take a few minutes to enlist your services toward a collective effort? It may not succeed, but I know I'll feel better for at least trying and hopefully you will, too. Let me explain.

This is my friend, Roger. Some of you may already know Rog, but if you don't, here's a little background on a man who's devoted his life to the service of others, much of it taking place while being shot at. Here's a photo of him in front of the Afghan National Army (ANA) Court of Appeals. 

Having spent a twenty-year career as an army JAG, including multiple assignments to war zones in Somalia and Afghanistan, Rog signed on as a civilian contractor with the Department of Defense to perform “Rule of Law” work for a Provincial Reconstruction Team (PRT) in Afghanistan.

Roger: My last trip to Afghanistan was from September, 2018 to September, 2019. I worked in Kabul at a place called Camp Resolute Support (aka Camp RS), which was located next door to the US Embassy. Our job was to work with Afghan counterparts in strengthening their legal systems. 

And it's how Rog met Fahim Sabet, his interpreter during that final tour.

Roger: Fahim and I would ride together in up-armored cars to the Ministry of Defense (MOD), to meet with two ANA generals. One was the highest ranking lawyer in the Afghan Army and the other, the Chief Judge of the ANA. We met at least once per week, often times more. (Those were fun rides...not). 

I worked with Fahim every day. He would translate conversations and also translate legal documents for me. We would also spend some time—just the two of us—with Fahim trying to explain the complex social structure of Afghan society.  It was a real eye opener. Nobody had a bigger influence on my cultural awareness of Afghan norms. He always had patience with me and always steered me in the right direction. 

Early on in my tour, he and his wife had their first baby, a boy they named Mano. As the father of a newborn, Fahim was constantly worried about his son. He and his wife believed that Mano had a fever on a regular basis, and she would take the baby to the hospital or clinic nearly every day, only to find out that the baby was just fussy and did not have a fever. 

I mentioned using a baby thermometer. Fahim had no idea what I was talking about and he was blown away that there was such a thing. I got on Amazon and bought him one. He was so incredibly thankful for that small gesture. It's why I cringe when I hear him talking about how Mano is now not eating because of stress and lack of sleep. No little kid should go through that.

Which brings us to now. Having spent ten years working in support of the US mission, Fahim has become a prime target for Taliban retribution. Although he was able to obtain a Special Immigrant Visa (SIV) from the US State Department for him and his family, it's of little use. Numerous attempts to even approach Kabul's airport have failed, and three-year-old Mano has been traumatized by the chaos, often subjected to the random gunfire employed by the Taliban as a method of crowd control. 

Unfortunately, money can't help solve this problem, not as long as Fahim and his family are trapped inside Afghanistan. 

Roger: Many have asked what can be done for Afghans trying to get out of the country. The short answer is, not a lot or enough. That said, I had a thought: We can all contact four or five friends and request that they email their congressman/senator, inquiring what is being done to assist Afghan nationals who've supported the US over the past decade. Then keep contacting them. At least then we're doing something.

Isn't that the key? Doing something?

For those of us living in Washington state, Senator Patty Murray has two people assigned to the Afghan refugee crisis: alejandra_villa@murray.senate.gov and Anthony_Pena@murray.senate.gov. If you live elsewhere, Google makes it pretty easy to figure out who represents you. And to hopefully save you a little time, you can copy and paste the following message if you feel like it:

Dear Senator/Congressperson,

I implore you to do everything in your power to liberate Afghan nationals who have contributed to the US effort, but are now trapped inside the country following the Taliban takeover.

Fahim Sabet is such an individual. Mr. Sabet has spent the past 10 years working as an interpreter and assisting the US mission, making him and his family prime targets for the Taliban. He holds an approved Special Immigrant Visa (SIV) from the US State Department, yet has been left behind along with his wife and 3-year-old son. This is unacceptable.

I know the United States can do better. Thank you for your help.

And thank you.