Shock and Awe

As a prologue to the following story, I need to disclose a couple things up front.

First, as much as I would like to take credit for being the protagonist (and I promise, it's not something that I would hide...frankly, I would shout it from the mountaintops...), it actually happened to a good friend of mine.

Second, this story is 100% true.

Lastly, with respect to my friend and his family, colleagues, loved ones and acquaintances who may recognize him in the local Von's, in order to protect his identity, let's just call him something like... "Smilin' Jack."

Smilin' Jack was a dapper young gent back in our glory days at UCLA in 1990. Like every other 21-year old male growing up in modern day America, he lived the campus high life on the cusp of his newfound manhood, alternating his lifelong dedication to studying Atmospheric Sciences with weekend volunteer work for underprivileged kids, and somehow balancing it all with his deep-seeded desire to (someday) get laid.

One day, Smilin' Jack met a young co-ed...oh, let's call her something like... "Dirty Diana."

It was love at first sight.

The two lovebirds spent the next few weeks getting to know each other, discussing the implications of the Lithuanian Cold War, and sharing evidence about their combined life passions: proving that Paul McCartney had been killed in the late 1960's and replaced by an impostor.

The concept that life could have ever been this fulfilling was...new to Smilin' Jack. And the possibility that it could get even better was insane.

Until one day...while studying together at the UCLA URL (University Research Library) in the late afternoon in preparation for a wicked upcoming test on Synoptic Scale Meteorology.

Smilin' Jack and Dirty Diana were in mini cubicles facing each other; he was deeply immersed in creating fluid flow equations to map weather patterns on Andromeda B...when suddenly, a toe came crawling up his leg...

Smilin' Jack lost his train of thought as the toe crept toward his nasty bits, and he found he suddenly and surprisingly just didn't have the interest in debating the merits of employing elements of scattering theory anymore.

That's right: Smilin' Jack was engorged.

Of course, Dirty Diana knew exactly what she was doing (thank god), and, being responsible young adults in the presence of others, decided to quickly find a private place in which they could allow Satan's lust to overtake their every desires.

"And where did they go?" you so appropriately ask? "A storeroom? An empty office? That ladies restroom with the locking door?" No, friends, they went to the safest and least risky place in the entire north campus: the friggin' elevator.

Smilin' Jack quickly corralled up his papers into his backpack, stood up and held his thick "The Phase-Dependent Infrared Brightness of the Extrasolar Planet Andromeda B" textbook against the circus tent in his crotchal region, walking hand-in-hand with Dirty Diana to the elevator. They both looked around nervously as they pressed the "down" button, and then disappeared behind the closed doors...alone at last.

Instantly, Dirty Diana pressed the red "STOP" button, and the elevator screeched to a halt.

Without a word, she was on him.

The next thing Smilin' Jack knew, his pants and tidy whities were around his ankles and Dirty Diana was on her knees...attempting to make a mess.

Smilin' Jack slumped against the back wall.
Smilin' Jack dropped his backpack and book.
Smilin' Jack couldn't believe his good fortune.
Smilin' Jack couldn't wait to tell his friends.
Smilin' Jack suddenly realized that the doors were sliding open...and that there were half a dozen people standing at the entrance waiting to get on...

Dirty Diana, with her back to the doors, quickly turned on her knees with a half-ducking motion, stood up and was instantly gone.

Unfortunately, Smilin' Jack's brain was in a remote part of his body at that particular moment. He was...unable to compute this unexpected turn of events that quickly.

Which meant that Smilin' Jack was standing in the empty elevator with his underpants around his ankles, his hands against the back wall behind him...and his cream spritzer standing at full attention.

Four women and two men stood with mouths gaping in pure shock (and let's be fair to the ladies, because this is Smilin' Jack were talking about here: awe).

Of the possible sights that any of them were expecting to be met with upon the library's elevator doors opening, I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that NOT ONE  of them had, "nude man with raging hard on," in any scenario...

For the longest five seconds of his entire life (seriously, count out five seconds and imagine yourself in this predicament), Smilin' Jack's brain travelled upwards until it finally reached it's currently-preferred destination, at which point he calmly reached down, pulled up his pants, grabbed his backpack and exited the elevator - unobstructed (because you've never seen people who were waiting to get on an elevator part as quickly as the red sea to allow someone to get off quite like this before....).

So, with this in mind...did you watch Survivor last night?

Did you see Rob's exposed erection?

Perhaps the single greatest tribal council scheming and ensuing vote EVER. Truly incredible.

The initial posturing between Russell and Rob ("You'd better watch your back..." "And you'd better watch yours too...!"). Russell's idea to give Parvati the idol and target Tyson, Rob's henchman, in the deflected vote. Rob's ensuing strategy to pre-empt Russell's pre-emptive strategy by splitting the vote equally between Parvati and Russell in order to flush the idol out, causing a three-way tie, and then crushing whoever is left with the 2nd vote. Russell's declaration that the only way to get him would be to do exactly what Rob had considered, "It would be genius if they did that, GENIUS." Then, Russell pulling Tyson aside and telling him that he was voting for Parvati too, effectively planting the seed for Tyson to change his vote at the last minute, resulting in his own incredible demise.

If you didn't watch, this is all completely nonsensical. But it was like a chess game between raging hard-ons and elevator doors that open unexpectedly at any time. Wow.

And when the dust settles, Russell had saved Parvati and himself, and sent Tyson home in yet another example of Russell's incredible ability to not only stay alive, but in control.

Again, wow.

So you see, just like Smilin' Jack, Rob thought he had it all figured out. He was thinking a couple steps ahead...but he allowed himself to get comfortable at precisely the wrong moment. Rob, like Smilin' Jack, managed to escape fairly unscathed (although quite embarrassed...), but the real question is, has he learned from his mistake?

I'll tell you this: Smilin' Jack only uses the stairs these days...

Until next week,

PB

Soft Serve Vomit

Have you ever been so intrinsically afraid of something to the innermost sanctum of your core that you lost the ability to think or act rationally?

I can think of a few times I've been caught in such a maelstrom - just off the top of my head...

9/11. A broken BC at 80 feet down in strong currents in a remote area of the Indian Ocean. That time in the early 90's when there were rumblings that a "Perfect Strangers" movie had been greenlit, potentially launching Bronson Pinchot's Balki into superstardom...

We've all been there. We all know how it feels.

Now, how about that specific moment when you realize that your fears definitively will not come to fruition? That palpable relief. That all-consuming and tangible relaxation of body and mind. That absolutely perfect sense of happiness that everything will be OK...for example when Bronson Pinchot instead signed on to star in another crappy, doomed sitcom, The Trouble With Larry.

When my daughter, Reese, was nearing her second birthday, she had already had a long and frightening history of some pretty nasty ear infections. The fact that she was clearly in constant pain with a seemingly unending supply of phlegm, equally distributed throughout her sinuses, was frequently compounded by her aversion to medication.

Now look, whoever thought it was a good idea to flavor baby medication, clearly has zero experience with children.

The first time Reese got an ear infection, her doctor prescribed an antibiotic, and when we picked it up at the pharmacy I was confused to see it was "Wild Cherry" flavored. I couldn't actually believe that this was intended for infants, and asked the Pharmacist for confirmation. "Yes, that's the only flavor they make," I was told.

Unfortunately, at that point in her existence (mere months old), the breadth or her diet had been mother's milk and powdered rice cereal with a little water. Talk about your flavor spectrums. Suddenly, we were sticking a funnel of viscous, tart, hot pink wild cherry liquid into her fleetingly trustworthy mouth. That look of pure shock on her face, followed by an instant decision that has lasted through today - nearly nine years later - never again to trust medicine occurred on that day at that moment.

Why don't they make plain flavored medicine for infants? Or better yet, Breast flavored? (Clearly this idea has applications well into the male adult years as well...)

So Reese didn't trust medication. And we had to fight her each time to attempt to help her ears improve. And we repeated this horrible cycle throughout the next year.

Finally, we saw an ear, nose and throat specialist who determined she needed to get tubes in her ears to allow drainage and end her pattern of infections. As many of you know, this is a fairly routine procedure; however, there's nothing routine from a parent perspective about watching your tiny young child be wheeled into an operating room on a gigantic gurney to be dosed with anesthesia - completely outside of your control.

But as scared as we were, Reese was absolutely petrified. The countless visits to the doctor leading up to this moment. The shots, pokes and prods - all of which she had fought from the beginning. The thick, runny, chalky, sour, unnaturally fluorescent antibiotics... She hated everything about this.

But, we got through it, and her ears began improving immediately.

Unfortunately, her disposition about doctors did not.

Every few months we needed to have her ear, nose and throat doctor give her a checkup, and every few months she was a trembling mess of nerves. She would scream, cry, beg, throw tantrums, mimic Balki...anything she could think of not to have to go to the doctor, as she was convinced she was signing herself up for pain, fear and hot pink medication from hell.

Thankfully, by the time she was four and a half, she hadn't had an infection in over two years, and we hadn't had to visit the doctor in over 18 months. So when we got the call that he wanted to see Reese to ensure the tubes had fallen out as she'd grown (the normal process), I sensed doom. It had been a long time since her last visit - true. But Reese's memory was solid. And her ability to overdramatize things was...Pinchot-ish.

But I was optimistic as well. I knew this wouldn't be a bad experience because this time all the doctor wanted to do was take a quick look in her ears and nothing more.

No prodding.
No poking.
No needles.
No choking...on medicine with an antifreeze glow.

I was confident this would go fine and that Reese would, for once, have a simple, positive experience with her doctor.

Unfortunately, Reese did not share my open mindedness.

The second she realized our car was heading in an unusual direction, she raised her voice with an accusatory tone, "Where are we going?"

I had no intention to hide anything from her (as if I could anyway), so I responded in a happy tone, hoping that she would be able to use my optimism and support to handle this challenge and not immediately decide to go down the path of panic.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! NO - PLEASE!!! I DON'T WANNA GOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

She panicked.

We got to the hospital, parked, and through hot, passionate tears, she adamantly refused to get out of the car. Of course, this was not an argument she was going to win, but I commiserated with her fear as I negotiated the choppy waters of parental responsibility. I wanted to make her feel better, end her pain, make her tears go away...."

"You are getting out of this car immediately!" Hmm, clearly intent and execution were being muddled by the heightened emotions...

I needed a different approach. Taking a deep breath, I sat next to her and calmly explained exactly why we were here and what was going to happen. I promised no needles, no medication, no discomfort at all, and most of all I promised that I would be with her the entire time - she could sit in my lap throughout the entire 5 minute checkup.

Her puffy, red face, staring straight ahead at nothing as I clumsily wandered through my soliloquy, finally turned toward me. She realized this was a battle she could not win - there was no way around it, no alternative solution. Without a word, and completely defeated, she got out of the car and took my hand as we walked to the doors.

A couple minutes later we had checked in and were sitting in the waiting room, about ten minutes early. I was secretly hoping that we'd be able to get in and out as fast as lightening; no need to prolong her both rational and irrational fears- get it over with.

But, of course, the doctor's office had no intent whatsoever to speed things along. We waited for over 40 minutes as Reese's disposition continued to become more and more frenetic. She was shaking, sweating uncontrollably, unable to speak at all, in the pure grips of deep, all-consuming fear. Forget about the countless colorful toys strewn about the waiting room or the half a dozen kids her age gleefully hopping around and having a wonderful time, she was a frazzled ball of anxiety.

She wouldn't speak, she wouldn't move, she wouldn't acknowledge my frequent attempts at support and levity. She was catatonic.

Finally, mercifully, we were called in, and you've never seen such a look of pure sadness on a child in your life. I picked her up and carried her in - shaking so hard I was having a difficult time holding on to her. And yes, once inside, the doctor took another ten minutes to come in. This was just plain brutal.

When he finally arrived, Reese couldn't answer any of his questions or acknowledge any of his attempts to help her relax. Shaking uncontrollably, sweating so badly that my own shirt was now changing colors, and looking around the room like a cat cornered by a rabid dog, she was an absolute mess. But all the doctor did, literally, was look inside each ear for two seconds, then proclaim she was doing great, and told her she could pick up a toy on the way out.

As I carried her out to the front desk, her mind clearly couldn't compute what had just happened. The receptionist offered up a basket of small plastic toys, but Reese was incommunicado. I selected one for her and we left with her still in my arms.

"Honey, you were so brave - great job!" I told her. "See - it wasn't so horrible, was it?"

She looked in my eyes as we waited for the elevator, slowly and finally starting to come back into the here and now. Her mouth struggled to move, "Y-y-y-y-ou m-m-m-mean it's over?" she squeaked.

"Yes hon, it's all over - you are a total stud! I'm so proud of you!" I replied as we stepped into the elevator and the doors closed behind us.

The immediate sense of relief was astonishing. Her entire body relaxed, her entire being snapped back into existence as she took a deep breath, instantly determining that she was going to live, and all would be well with the world once again. She had survived.

Of course, all that crazy anxiety doesn't just dissipate into thin air. She had manifested her fears so deeply into her core, her entire body needed some type of release.

So it did.

She smiled weakly at me as I leaned  my head in to kiss her...and then she projectile vomited on me.

Well, let's be honest here. She vomited on my face. And all down the front of my shirt and pants. A pure, honest and physical response to reaching the end of her deeply disturbing dilemma.

And the beginning of mine.

Of course, I joke - although I have to admit it's quite shocking to have one's face vomited on. Especially if that face is mine. But even I could see the humor in the situation, and laughed openly as Reese instantly was back to normal and offered up a, "Sorry dad."

But I was just relieved she was back to normal, and knew this was something I could laugh about for years to come. The elevator doors opened to four people patiently waiting to get in, and the looks on their faces made me laugh even harder. How could I not see the humor in this? It was incredible. After a quick stop in the restroom in a feeble attempt to brush off the largest chunks of vomit with scratchy brown paper towels, we headed back out to the car, then stopped at Dairy Queen for some celebratory soft serves.

I would have to say it was at that moment that I realized how much I loved being a dad: happy child, fear conquered, soft serve vanilla in hands, anxiety-vomit crusting on my t-shirt...it's a moment I'll never forget.

Hey, I'm not saying I want to do it again or anything...been there, done that. But there's a lesson in here, right? It's just like what we learned as a kid (and, coincidentally the lost third verse of "Lean on Me,"): "We all need somebody to vomit on..."

...Someone to lend a hand. Someone to be there. Someone to shoulder their fears... (I was going to say, "face their fears," but I didn't want to get too literal...)

And of course that's exactly what Russell did last night with Coach.

I know, I know - there's endless wonderful drama over at the Heroes side of the island, what with James's knee bending the wrong direction and one of my all-time favorite Survivors (Tom) getting the boot, but nothing can compare to the triumvirate of tremendousness: Coach, Rob and Russell. And with Russell clearly putting a target on his back, his moves in this episode were absolutely stellar.

Coach - an entirely different player/person this season compared to his last - is riddled with fears. Fear of being disliked. Fear of the lack of integrity. Fear of disloyalty. Perhaps a little fear of Jerri (can't blame him too much there). And Russell played to Coach's fears perfectly, sharing with him the immunity idol, and telling coach he is 100% loyal if Coach will be 100% loyal to him.

Now look, of course we all know that Russell is full of bullshit, but that's not the point. The point is, he needs people on his side, and approaching Parvati first was the exact right move. She's smart, she's crafty, she's manipulative...and she needs someone to partner with. Done. But two's not enough. And playing Coach turns out to be the easiest thing in the world. He is physically unable to lie. His entire being is based upon loyalty, trust and integrity, and he doesn't have the ability to compromise any of them. If Russell asks for his loyalty and pledges his own, he MUST abide - even if it means his own demise. Better that than to compromise.

Kudos to Russell for making a move that seems so simple, so brilliant, but that nobody had ever thought to attempt before.  I loved it.

And like Reese, you could almost see Coach's fears dissipate into thin air. OK, it actually wasn't difficult to see - Coach friggin' bowed down to Russell for god's sake. But I wouldn't have been a bit surprised if Coach had simply vomited on Russell's face. Granted, I doubt Russell would have found the humor in it (or that the two of them would have gone out for some soft serves afterward), but I'm just saying...

So the next time someone vomits on your face, consider yourself lucky. You were there for them. You helped them overcome their fears. You gave the ultimate sacrifice.

...And maybe someday someone will repay you with an open invitation to their own face.

If they do, take it from Reese: vomit away. Vomit openly. But damnit, whatever you do, vomit proudly.

Until next week,

PB

Fan For Life

Last year I took my girls to an Oakland A's game. Actually, I've been taking them since they were old enough to share my disdain for Al Davis's horrendous remodel of the Oakland Coliseum, turning it from an open, airy, beautiful ballpark into an enclosed, confined, dank and dungeonous prison. But each year they get a little more excited, a little more into it.

We typically go a couple times a season, taking Amtrak from Sacramento right to the Coliseum itself - an easy (although not cheap) and very fun father/daughter bonding experience. Really, what's more fun for kids than trains, baseball, ice cream, hot dogs and Dot Racing on the jumbotron?

But last year was different. Suddenly, Reese, my oldest daughter (8 at the time), was...more aware of everything. Asking questions, memorizing players' names, commenting on the action and cheering at the right times. "What's a warning track?" "Why do they spit so much?" "The third baseman is obviously overpaid..."

When we returned home that night, she asked if she could get on my computer and see the Oakland A's website. Over the next two hours, she went through the entire site, writing down the players' names, reading about their history, and turning into a true "fan."

Afterward, she came to me and asked if she could write a letter to some players - she really wanted an autograph. So I suggested she pick out a few names, write each a letter and I'd help her with addressing and mailing them.

"I'm done!" she proudly proclaimed later that evening as she handed me a stack of six letters. I was impressed - she hand wrote each one, and included her own baseball card - autographed no less (from her softball team). The basic gist was,

"Dear ____"


I am an eight year old girl and I want to be the first girl to ever play on the A's. Is there any advice you can give me?


How do you like playing for the A's? They are my favorite team.


Well, I have to go now. Could I have your autograph? I'm sending you mine as well.


Thank you. Go A's!


Reese Farrell

This was just awesome - I loved it! It was exactly what I myself had done as a child, and I even still had a couple dozen autographed pictures from baseball stars of the late 70's and early 80's buried somewhere in a closet. I remember feeling so connected to the sport, to the teams and, obviously, to the players - it was a special feeling. I was excited that she was going to have a similar experience.

The next day the letters were off. But that didn't stop Reese from running in the door after school and yelling, "Did I get any letters today?"

Too cute. I tried to gently curb her enthusiasm by explaining that it takes some time for the mail to get to the team, and maybe even more time to get to the players. On top of that, the players are playing almost every day, traveling all over the country - they're super busy. She needed to have patience - it could take a month or more for a reply.

In all honesty, I was happy she sent a bunch of letters. With six out there, I was sure she'd get at least one response back, but in all honesty, I didn't expect any response from any of the players; I expected the A's to handle these types of correspondence with a form letter or something (the letters were addressed to the Oakland Coliseum).

Each day - literally - for the next month, Reese would excitedly ask, "Any mail for me today?!" And each day, I would have to gently tell her to continue to be patient. "I know," she would say, "But I just want one person to respond. Just one. That's all I'm hoping for...."

So she did not forget, and her excitement did not abate. She had told all her friends, her teacher, our neighbors, the garbage man, her Webkinz, the flock of wild turkeys that showed up in our front yard one morning... I sensed that this was potentially going to be an interesting life lesson for her - one way or another.

Time moved on. Soon, I realized that nearly three months had passed without as much as a peep from the A's. Unlike Reese (whom I clearly can learn something from), who had reserved a small amount of hope - even now -for a response, my patience had worn thin. When we actually hit the 90 day mark, my blood pressure was high - I was pissed off.

Who did these people think they were? I'm not talking about the players here - these guys are 20 year old meatheads who are playing 6 days a week, traveling constantly, and have likely prioritized "respond to fan mail" just below "find misplaced Cruex coupon." No, they were blameless in my eyes.

But the A's organization - this was absolutely unforgivable! How do they not have as a cornerstone to their customer service philosophy a system in which all fan mail that comes directly to their doorstep is categorized and responded to appropriately? How are there not a couple of interns who simply sort through the mail, fire off a form letter of acknowledgement/appreciation, and then route the letter to the respective player whom it was addressed to? On top of this, it's not like this is the Yankees or anything - it's the LOWLY A'S. How much fan mail are they really getting?!

I located the email address for the A's Director of Customer Support and wrote a calm, tactful email/plea from a father's perspective of his daughter's expectation/anticipation. I laid out that it was irrational for us to expect a player to respond to the likely scores of requests fans make of them. However, from a marketing perspective, why would the A's organization allow players to be the sole determination of how young fans perceived the organization/brand as a whole? Players come and go nowadays; attempting to form a bond with them is ridiculous when their sole motivation is typically to follow the money, and they will likely move from organization to organization throughout their career.

However, from the A's organization perspective, here they have an opportunity to secure a fan for life. And that fan is even proactively contacting them! If they can ensure a positive experience with this girl, she will likely be loyal to them for years to come - spending money on games, overpriced food, souvenirs, etc., and potentially even attempting to pass along that bond to her children (like me to Reese).

But if she feels the organization doesn't care about her - as exemplified by their cold dismissal of her attempt to make a personal connection with their brand...forget about it, she will move on to find another organization who does care about her. And in this case, a simple form letter - the cost of a photocopy and postage - could ensure that bond to the A's for years to come.

I signed it as a father who simply was trying to pass along my love and close connection for the A's to my daughter...and that I felt we both had been let down.

Overboard? I don't think so. Emotional and judgmental? Absolutely. Hey, this is me we're talking about here.

Sure enough, within 24 hours the Director contacted me with full apologies. She wrote that she completely understood and wanted another chance to make it up to my daughter. She was very thankful I had cared enough to share my experience with her and told me to look for something to arrive at our house soon...

A couple days later UPS knocked on the door with a package for Reese. The return address said, "Oakland A's." When Reese got home from school her face lit up like a spotlight. "They responded!!!" she yelled to the world as she tore into the box: trading cards, stickers, other knickknacks, and, the cherry on top:  a beautiful, fitted, very expensive knitted A's hat.

She didn't take that hat off for the next month.

You've never seen somebody so happy, feeling so appreciated...existence: acknowledged. The A's have a fan for life, and not only that, but she's now had such a positive experience, she shares it with as many people as she can: friends, school mates, Giants fans...

Look, the point is this: if you're in the business of needing customer engagement to realize your business goals, you'd better have a damn good plan to proactively anticipate every possible way to accomplish it. We've all heard the theories that when somebody has a positive experience with a brand, they might tell a couple people, but when they have a negative experience, they tell twenty. Nothing is more powerful than taking care of your customers before they ever realize they need it.

Do you see where I'm going with this with regards to last night's episode? Rob - little adolescent, annoying, childish Rob has this all figured out. Coach weeping and wallowing in a sea of self pity? Rob comes to the rescue, acknowledges his existence, gives him good advice, and, strongly and forcefully, dictates the path Coach must/will take to be redeemed. "Trust me, Coach. Just trust me."

Coach, of course, is instantly better. He's a Rob fan for life now. If Rob had ended his speech with a bunch of Rob trading cards and stickers and then playfully placed a Rob hat on top of Coach's head after lovingly mussing up his hair, it couldn't have been any more powerful. Tremendous job, Rob.

And by the way, when exactly did Rob get all growns up? He was an annoying, annoying a-hole in his first season, and an unexpected, but still annoying force his second. Can anyone truly say they weren't absolutely floored when breathtaking Amber proclaimed her love for this goofball a few years back?

But now - holy geez - the man is actually an absolute stud. I like him. And I am fully routing for him. Rock the fuck on Rob!

Of course, the underlying drama in the episode actually occurs on the other side of the island in a much-needed blindside, saving eye-candy Colby and jettisoning ear-hot sauce Cirie.

But in my mind, that's all secondary to Rob the Godfather. Granted, Coach crying was...so fulfilling in oh so many ways. But Rob...wow.

The postscript to my A's story is that only a month or so ago, Reese finally did get a response from one of the players she had written to: Gio Gonzalez. He - apparently - had selected a random picture from a already developed roll, a picture which he clearly wasn't going to put in a photo album because it was so blurry and totally off-center, where he is sitting in the stands of a ballpark somewhere looking to the side. But he did sign it to Reese, and wrote a personal message across the front of the picture in thick, dark black permanent marker, and she, of course loved it.

It doesn't take much to make an impression. But that impression can be powerful...and last a lifetime.

Of course, Rob could get booted next week and the Giants could send my daughter a hat and a glove, changing her allegiance...but that's life too, damnit.

So the lesson is: be fickle.

Whoops, I mean, be flexible.

No wait, the lesson is actually: be opportunistic.

No no...sorry, hold on... The lesson is: marry a hot chick.

Yeah.

Done.

PB