2013 – The Year of Alien Invasion

As I sit here in my downtown Seattle apartment, watching the revelers in NYC celebrating the incoming New Year, it is difficult to not become nostalgic about the year that was, and wonder what is to be in 2014.  In retrospect, I am not sure that I can top 2013 for a lot of reasons, for it seems that aliens inhabited my body for 2013.

Aliens must have entered my body because I look back at 2013 and can’t believe what was jammed into a mere 365 days.

“Get busy living, or get busy dying” – Red

In January of 2013, I decided that I was sick of feeling like shit and feeling heavy.  I was about 205 pounds, ate healthy during meals, but ate excessive crap including Cheetos, Cheez-Its, Reese’s peanut butter cups, starburst, soda, mint chip ice cream and basically anything I damn well pleased.  My body mass index was about 35%, which means that I was 70 pounds of fat and 135 pounds of muscle and bone.  I cut all the crap, including soda, from my diet, continued to eat healthy during regular meals, and ate fruit in between.  I then went to 70 ninety minute hot yoga classes in 75 days.  The end result was 195 pounds and a body mass index of about 18-20%.  This means that I lost 40 pounds of fat and put on 20 pounds of lean muscle, at age 44.  More importantly, I felt great.

“If you think you can’t, you are probably right” – Henry Ford

In February of 2013 I picked up roller hockey again and still play once a week, and will begin to referee games this coming session.  It was my first roller hockey game in 11 years.

In March of 2013, I flew to the Dominican Republic for 10 days to vacation with my parents and also to celebrate my Father’s 63^rd birthday and their 45^th wedding anniversary.  My Aunt Carole and Uncle Don were there as well.  While I was sad that I didn’t have a personal travelling companion, it was an amazing trip, replete with cigars and all the virgin pina coladas I could stomach.  I am blessed to have parents that are only 63 years old while I just turned 45.  It helps that they are the best.  It is a trip that I will cherish more than any other.

In March of 2013 I resurrected my volleyball career and played in 4 different leagues throughout 2013.  It was the first time I had played competitive volleyball in 12 years.

In March I ran the St. Patrick’s day footrace, 4 or so miles.  Was in horrible pain for a week but had incredibly fond memories of running with my Uncle Don right down to the beer tent after the run.  It was my first footrace in 20 years.  I also had my head shaved for cancer research at an Irish Pub in downtown Seattle.

In May of 2013 I resurrected my ice hockey career, and still play, once a week.  It was my first ice hockey game in 9 years.

In 2013, I continued to practice the piano for as much as my schedule would allow.  Hanon is now my best friend with Czerny a close second.  Practice, practice, practice.

From January to April 2013, I was enrolled in the Executive MBA program at Washington State University, and endeavor that began in January 2012.  I completed this program, with a 4.0 average and graduated in May 2013 with my Father, Mother and Brother in attendance in Pullman along with 15 or so of the finest individuals that I have ever met in my life, my classmates, and in particular the people that travelled together on the China trip.  You all know who you are.  I was never more fulfilled than walking to get my diploma with my family in attendance.  School always came easy to me and for my entire educational life I never really had to put forth any type of effort to pass.  I didn’t put forth much of an effort in high school, and little to no effort in my undergraduate studies.  It took me 6 ½ years and 4 different schools to get a degree in Finance, mostly because I was running around with a rather severe undiagnosed drinking problem.  For the graduate degree, I worked for it, 30 hours a week for 18 months straight, and turned in a 103 page thesis on a reinvention of the aluminum baseball bat.  I intend to eventually bring this product to market.  This degree was accomplished while working between 60 and 80 hours a week as a corporate Controller and COO.

In May of 2013, just before my official graduation from WSU, I enrolled in yoga teacher training.  At the time I had no idea why I did this.  It was a 6 month intensive program that would require me to practice and learn yoga for 10 hours a week and simultaneously upkeep my regular practice.

In June of 2013, I flew to Minneapolis, rented a car and drove through the Midwest.  In 9 days, I attended 8 baseball games in 7 different stadiums in 7 different cities.  The highlights of this trip are outlined in detail on this blog, but in short:

·         I got a speeding ticket in Southwest Minnesota whereupon hearing about the nature of my trip, the state trooper ended up calling his friend who played third base for the Omaha Royals.  (The officer was an ex minor leaguer).  The player for the Omaha Royals left me a free ticket at will call with a seat right behind home plate.  I thanked him in person when he was in the batter’s box.

·         I got to meet and spend quality time with a friend in St Paul who took me to a place where they shared the experience, strength and hope of lives touched by the grace of God.  I am grateful that we got to meet in person.  In between I saw the Twins beat the Mariners, twice.

·         Sitting in the front row at Kauffman Stadium in Kansas City, I told the young newlyweds next to me that I had never gotten a baseball at a pro baseball game despite attending close to 200 games in my life.  They said they were at their first game, on their honeymoon, and would love to get a ball.  I said that if I got one, I would give it to them.  In the first inning they got up to get a drink and Ryan Doumit of the Twins hit a foul ball right to me.  I gave it to them when they returned.  Have a happy life together, and congratulations.  I also ate pork ribs in KC, in the ghetto.

·         In St Louis, I ate alligator at a bar outside of Busch Stadium and at the stadium had a couple stare at me for 20 minutes until the husband finally asked me if I was Jim Harbaugh, coach of the San Fran 49ers.  They said I had a stern jaw because I was chewing a pretzel aggressively.  Paul Goldschmidt of the Diamondbacks hit a grand slam in a D-Backs route.  The game was rain delayed 2 hours.  I also went up in the arch.

·         In Chicago, a very hurried soccer Mom rear-ended me on Michigan Ave before I even checked into my hotel.  She said it was my fault and that I should have pulled my car into the oncoming pedestrians.  I practiced in a bikram studio down the street from my hotel.

·         I sat in the stands at Wrigley field, with the sun on my face, and watched people stack over 200 empty beer cups into a tower.  Oh, and the Cubs were playing the Pirates.  Liriano threw a two hitter.  I also went to Comiskey Park and made it out alive.  I took the subway.  Everywhere.

·         I fell in love with baseball.  Again.  For the 100^th time.

In July of 2013, I was fired from my job.

"True faith is not the expectation that everything will turn out well, but rather the certainty that things will make sense no matter how they turn out." - Vaclav

In August of 2013, I was hired at Nike for a 60 day contract.

In August of 2013, I was also bored and decided to build a yoga studio.  I put together a comprehensive market study on the yoga business in Seattle, market metrics and dynamics, competitive analysis and business plan including financial projections and chose the up and coming South Lake Union neighborhood.  God said to me, go build a yoga studio.  I listened, and now understood why I enrolled in teacher training some 4 months earlier.  I found a space to lease in 2 days.  Within a week to finance this project, 4 cosmic events happened.  I was overpaid for student loans, I settled a consulting contract with a former employer, I got a severance package from my recent firing, and Nike hired me to tide over regular income while the studio was built.  I didn’t have the money to do this in July 2013.  Nowhere near the money.

“Somewhere over the rainbow, Way up high, there's a land that I heard of once in a lullaby
Somewhere over the rainbow, Skies are blue, And the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true
Someday I'll wish upon a star, And wake up where the clouds are far behind me
Where troubles melt like lemon drops, Away above the chimney tops
That's where you'll find me, Somewhere over the rainbow
Blue birds fly, Birds fly over the rainbow, Why then oh why can't I?
If happy little blue birds fly beyond the rainbow, Why oh why can't I?” – Harold Arlen

In September of 2013, I started a non-profit yoga practice in the Greenlake neighborhood of Seattle.  It didn’t go very well, mostly because of the poor venue (a gymnasium).

In September of 2013, I had elbow surgery on my right arm to relocate the ulnar nerve.  This is the same surgery I had on my left arm in 2012.  I missed one day of yoga.

In October of 2013 I finished yoga teacher training.  In our final practice together, we all got to teach a class to each other, together.  In dragon pose, I wept openly with happiness, and the bittersweet knowledge that most of these people, who had touched my life more deeply than they could ever imagine, would never cross my path again.  That is the nature of life.  The dragon pose picture is one of my profile pictures on Facebook.

“Just do it” – Nike ad

In October of 2013 I built the yoga studio, by my own hand, with a deep internal purpose that I was just beginning to understand.  When writers and artists are asked how they create what they create, they often say they don’t know, as if the end result was a manifestation created through them by a higher power.  This was the sum total of my experience from August through late November 2013.  I cannot begin to write the experience of building the studio because it was done in a dreamlike state where I seldom realized in the moment what I was doing.  I have attempted on many occasions to journal the process of building the studio but consistently draw blanks in my mind as to what I should write.  I just did it.

In November of 2013, I moved, and also turned 45 years old.

In December 2013 I opened Ripple Yoga.  My masterpiece.  My heart, soul and spirit, personified into its physical manifestation.

“Love and fear cannot exist in the same heart at the same time” - Anonymous

In 2013 I tore down my mental and spiritual foundation.  I actually razed it to the ground like a demolition crew takes down a dilapidated stadium.  Some of this was started in 2012, out of necessity, out of severe emotional trauma from my past.  I had to find out who I really was, and humility and acceptance were the keys.  I learned that my inner child has been quite displeased with me for most of my life. I decided to spend the rest of my days dancing in the rain with my inner child, becoming one with my true self.  Teaching, loving and learning.

Who are you?  WHY are you here?  I am a teacher.  I am here to inspire.

“Love, Service and Unity” – Dr. Bob

I attended about 200 twelve step meetings and shared the pain, suffering and horror of active addiction with anyone who would listen.  I tell them that from 2007 to 2009, I didn’t think my life was worth living, and that I tried in vain, to drink myself to death.  But I also offered the hope and beauty of recovery, and the story of a sober life well lived.  I offered my hand out to strangers, new to sobriety, served as a chairperson for 6 months at a lunch meeting downtown.  The pain of addiction will never go away, it is built into my being, forever.  I cried in that pain in 2013, often, even after almost 5 years of sobriety.  Being an addict is an illness, much like cancer as it slowly kills the inflicted, unless help is sought.  Being in addiction is a disease centered in the mind, a state of constant hopelessness and spiritual bankruptcy.  Being in active recovery is a miracle offered by finding the grace of God through humility and acceptance of the world as it is.  It is, however, a daily reprieve based on the maintenance of my spiritual condition.  If you know anyone in active addiction, pray for them, as they can only help themselves when help is sought.

“We realize we know only a little. God will constantly disclose more to you and to us. Ask Him in your morning meditation what you can do each day for the man who is still sick. The answers will come, if your own house is in order. But obviously you cannot transmit something you haven't got. See to it that your relationship with Him is right, and great events will come to pass for you and countless others. This is the Great Fact for us.  Abandon yourself to God as you understand God. Admit your faults to Him and to your fellows. Clear away the wreckage of your past. Give freely of what you find and join us. We shall be with you in the Fellowship of the Spirit, and you will surely meet some of us as you trudge the Road of Happy Destiny.  May God bless you and keep you - until then.” – Bill Wilson

I have asked the aliens to leave.  I have cleared away the clutter in my mind, created the space in my heart, filled my cup with love until it is overflowing.  Instead of letting it spill out into the streets, it is time to give it to another human being beyond the love of my friends, students and family.  I have enough for all of them, everyone that is important to me, and then some.

After living in Seattle for 9 years, I finally feel welcome here.  Sort of J

“It's raining in Baltimore, baby, but everything else is the same
There's things I remember and things I forget, I miss you I guess that I should
Three thousand five hundred miles away, But what would you change if you could?” – Adam Duritz

In God’s grace,

Your humble servant,

Gary

Dog Gone It!!!

So I was sitting at my computer the other day, writing about yoga in Seattle, and my dogs were fighting over one of the 35 tennis balls that are on the floor.  Apparently this particular tennis ball was the one that oozed filet mignon flavored juices and was more worthy than the other ones.  Fletcher, the fat one, stopped long enough to come over and stick his head on my leg asking for a walk.  He is not as much fat as he is big boned, although it has been remarked that when a 55 pound dog gains 20 pounds, that he may in fact, be fat.  Fletcher will maintain that the bit of unfortunate weight gain is my fault, in that I am the one who insisted that he become a eunuch at the young age of 5.

When I called over to the little one, Brody, thus letting them know that they would soon be getting their tenth walk of the day, he didn’t respond.  Not only did he not respond, but he stood there, staring at the floor, like there was a delicious advertisement running on the carpet for the most delicious dog food ever invented, and that if he looked away, this treasure of a dog food would be removed from his life forever.  I thought he was hurt, or at the very least, emotionally traumatized that Fletcher again wouldn’t let him have the tennis ball for the 600^th day in a row.

I moved in my chair getting a better angle and called again.  Still nothing.  He just stood there, looking like he had already taken that magical, yet creepy trip to the taxidermist.  I was about to call him again, in my sternest “you are a dog and I am the alpha male in the household voice” when in mid lip movement I saw the cause of the problem.

Brody had a red rocket.  In human terms, he had a raging, engorged erection, the kind that 18 year old young men get when they are with their first college girlfriend.  However Brody was having the same reaction that that same 18 year old would have if this was happening on a public beach.  He was not moving.  There was a reason he was not moving.  It was stuck.

It was probably wrong that the first thought that went through my mind was from the Viagra commercial:  “If you have an erection lasting longer than 4 hours, please call your doctor.”  Personally, I never put much merit in that commercial.  My doctor is a 74 year old male Vietnam veteran.  I don’t see him helping me much with my erection issues, no matter how long I have had them.  I would probably defer to the professional opinion of an escort.

Brody was neutered, so he had no testes and no ability to be sexually aroused.  Yet, he clearly had an erection.  And not just any erection, it was engorged; sticking straight down to his shaking knees with what was left of his testes was stuck out as well.  No wonder he was terrified!

So between trying to get the dog to move and fumbling for my phone, and laughing myself to tears, I was able to dial my veterinarian.  At 6:00 pm on a Friday, the vet was not in the office but I did have a great time trying to explain to the receptionist what was wrong with my dog.  The conversation had the same comfort level as telling my mother about my most recent sexual encounter.  She suggested that I take him to the animal hospital.  Meanwhile, little Brody hadn’t moved and was still staring at the floor.

I next called the backup vet, the one that neutered the fat dog Fletcher.  I figured they would have answers.  There was no doctor there either.  Apparently veterinarians all knock off work early on Friday’s to hit the dog park to troll for new clientele.  So I again was left explaining the mechanics of a dog penis that is stuck in erection mode to a receptionist.  In hindsight, I was being much more descriptive and mechanical than was probably necessary and the intermittent chuckling in between statements was not helping the matter.

After 15 minutes of phone calls, Brody was sitting at my feet looking at me, the issue resolved.  He had licked it and it went away.  All men should all be so lucky.

As a follow up, my vet called me on Monday to discuss Brody’s condition.  She mentioned to me that there is a medical term for it and that Brody had Paraphimosis.  This would have been some useful information when I was trying to explain to half of Seattle’s veterinary community that my dog had an “engorged hard on that was stuck and he was so terrified he couldn’t move”.  She also had a “solution” to the problem.

She suggested that the next time it happens that I apply some KY jelly to my dog’s penis.  I suggested that the dog can suffer or get a little further along the evolutionary chain and grow thumbs so that he can apply it himself.  I also wondered how she knew I kept KY jelly in the house.

So if you see me at a local dog park, say hello.  I will be the one walking two black labs, a fat one and one with well lubricated genitals.

The Man in the Alley

Another day buzzed to life and all the characters were all in place on Third Street in Seattle between Pike and Pine.  A man appeared from the alley, squinting through a light drizzle misting the buses that endlessly drove by, clearing the ringing in his eardrums from the blaring siren that awakened him from a restless slumber of fears and delusions.  His parched face sagged off his bone structure, yellowed and pitted teeth last knowing the taste of real food 3 days past.  Vomit stained the front of a ragged brown sweater, recently given to him at a shelter, with the distinct odor of stale whiskey.  His ragged khaki pants, also gifts from the homeless shelter, hid his spindly legs and reeked of stale urine.  The man did not own socks and his shoes were only shoes in a sense that they were on his feet, but 3 sizes too big.  The blisters wore his feet to the bone, yet he could barely bleed as the scabbing from repeated blistering had hardened his skin to a mix of cartilage, pus and callous that prevented blood and oxygenizaton.  He raised a shaky, blood spotted hand to wipe the rain off his face and his first thought of the day entered his mind.  It was the same first thought he had every day and had had every day for as long as he could remember.  How was he going to get high or drunk?

The man remembered a dream a few nights back, or was it a month back, he did not know. Time had since stopped and had become as meaningless as his existence.  In this dream, there were people who didn’t have to live like this.  People that went to work and had a family, and smiled with each new day.  People that weren’t ravaged with the constant mental obsession to escape reality and to put the world on hold while squeezing every last ounce of the mind bending tilt of whatever drug he could get his hands on.  He asked himself if he ever had this life.  He was not sure and frankly, with all the problems that God had laid at his feet, a bit of drinking and drugging here and there seemed reasonable enough.  He was certain that it wasn’t his fault that life had dealt him this shitty hand.  He vaguely remembered it was the government’s fault for him not being a very smart man, and certainly he had tried to please his boss when he did work.  Was that last year?  If he remembered correctly, his boss had it in for him because he would not allow him to come to work at 11:00, after he was able to sleep off a normal hangover.

He stood there for a moment, people moving around the ant farm of the city, as oblivious to him as he was to them, pondering the word obsession.  The word had no meaning to him, not the way it had been described to him.  What he knew was that he needed to be high, to live and to survive in this world that had wronged him.  There was no other way.  Was that an obsession?  He thought not, for others needed air to breath and water to drink.  Although he must admit, that he felt that something was wrong today, obsession or no obsession.  The dim light of the day was refracting through the raindrops causing a faint effect on the people around him, like they were apparitions unable to hear him speak or notice his presence. 

He remembered a woman, a woman slight in build, dark hair flowing over her right shoulder, almond shaped face red with anguish, yelling at him, crying and begging him pathetically to stop.  She kept asking him how he could do this again, after he promised he wouldn’t.  In his mind, she asked this question a thousand times replaying the scene until the man’s head wanted to split in two, the pain of the question searing his soul.  “Stop what”, he would innocently ask, while sitting at an oak dining room table in a sunlit room.  He noticed his face in this vision was not the face he had today.  It was fuller, healthier, if not a bit red from good cheer.  He was wearing a tie, loosened at the neck, and stained.  There was lipstick on his collar.  He faintly remembered that this was nothing; he had been hugged by someone at an office party who had given him a quick kiss.  But she kept accusing him of ruining everything, and even had the nerve to call him a drunk.  He immediately felt a rush of self-righteous anger at this thought and buried it completely.  There was no such woman, and if there was, he certainly wouldn’t be answering to her caterwauling. 

The rain now was worsening and he wanted a cigarette, and just a sip of whiskey.  The voices and imagery in his head was moving in fast forward, or fast backward, he couldn’t tell, and he needed a drug for it to stop.  There was a glaring set of fluorescent lights blinding his eyes as the man gasped for air, searing his lungs as if he has never breathed before.  Men and women in white were bustling about, their voices in a muffled din.  The man in white said, “We saved him, he is alive again.”  A woman in white asked why they bothered to keep saving him, that he would just be back in the same condition next week.  She had the same sad eyes as the women who called him a drunk.  He hated himself and wished himself dead, that he seemed to be wasting these people’s time.  They could let him die, that would be OK and would show everyone once and for all that he didn’t matter.  The next day, he found himself sitting in front of the downtown hospital in Seattle, in a wheelchair, where the nurse had so unceremoniously dumped him.  He would be drunk again by 1:00 that afternoon.  The dreams never seemed to end, even on awakening.

In scanning Third Street, he saw the usual suspects:  the dealers, the users and the people actually waiting for buses.  The buses were the key.  This is where the drugs would come with the runners and would quickly change hands so that the dealers only had possession for minutes at a time.  But for the madness of this economic cycle to work properly, it was necessary for an endless amount of loitering.  This always shocked the man, because the police were often seen but did nothing, other than write an occasional jaywalking ticket to an office worker.  It seemed that the mayor of this city was far more concerned with honest citizens getting hit by the number 7 bus than fixing the scourge of the city.  The constant loitering led to the constant conversations about power, control and the endless ego and self-importance of the dealers and the relative pecking order of the users.

Two of the dealers were arguing about the same bullshit they had been arguing about for 2 years.  Pride and street cred were flaring up as one dealer was defending one of his ho-es (whores) right in front of her.  She was pregnant, her teeth in disrepair from significant methamphetamine abuse and teemed with a sense of controlled insanity that was fueled by her man sticking up for her.  It made her feel good that it seemed she was forgiven for getting out of line last night.  She deserved the beating for not having his beer cold when he got home from work, work being a day standing on Third Street dealing death.
A few of the users were having the same conversation that they had been having for 3 years running.  So and so was screwing them out of a fix and they would pay, dearly, for this oversight.  The government was screwing them because they were considering taking away their welfare checks if they kept spending them on drugs, alcohol, cigarettes and lottery tickets.  They had a lot of nerve telling them how they could spend their money!  Did everyone hear that Tanya was in the rehab hospital again?  That Tanya, she is a trooper.  Not sure why she keeps trying to quit, everyone knows that all of us our locked into this fate, this lifestyle.  There is no escape.

The man approached his two friends to bum a cigarette, and was considering how to finagle a hit of meth or crack, or just a sip of whiskey.  His nerves were frayed and the din of city life this morning was especially head-splitting.  But he could not shake the feeling that something was wrong.  He approached his friends and noticed that Jerry was holding a bottle of Jack Daniels in a paper bag.  Super nice, the premium stuff.  Hopefully he would share.

Jerry took a swig straight from the bottle and looked at Kelly; his red eyes already glazed from the sauce, and said “It’s a shame about Toby, choking on his own vomit last night and dyin’.  They found him in the alley this morning.  I took his $15 secret stash before they found him though, figured we could celebrate, and toast him.  He would have wanted it that way.”

Kelly added while taking a hit off his pipe, “Yeah, dumbass should know not to drink and fall asleep where he can’t puke out freely.  I also told him last night not to be mixing the crack and the booze like that, but he wouldn’t listen”

Jerry raised the bottle for another swig, “Well that’ll never happen to us, we is much smarter than that.  I knew that smart rich boy would never make it on the street.”

The man approached his friends and in a fog, the refraction of the rain on the city life getting progressively worse, making everything seem distant.  The noises of the buses racing by and the throngs of people heading to work were becoming more muffled and the man sensed that he could no longer smell, anything.  He reached into his pocket and in a final instant of clarity realized two things:  He was missing $15, and his name was Toby.

Delta Airlines -

I thought that this recent letter that I passed on to Delta Airlines customer service was blog worthy.  They suck.  Period.

Delta Airlines Customer Service:

This is the third trip on Delta this year and my last ever.  I would like to tell you about my 360 customer experience on this round trip flight from Seattle to Minneapolis.  What I tell people now when they ask about my vacation is the same as I told them about my last vacation.  It was a wonderful time bookended by 2 crap flights on the worst airline in America.

I always know that the lousy Delta customer experience begins right upon arrival at the airport and Delta did not disappoint.  I was asked to check my duffle bag, so that Delta could collect the $25 bag fee, even though it was smaller than the ten people who had not checked their rolling luggage.  When I complained to the Delta employee at check in, she said and I quote "I just work here".  The other Delta employee told me that if I continued to complain about the bag check fee, that he would get TSA and get them to kick me off the flight.  It is nice to see that Delta now utilizes the government for customer service complaints.  This is quite possibly the most shameful customer service behavior I have EVER experienced.  I almost forgot to mention that I paid $400 for the airfare and that the next day I saw the airfare advertised for $270.  Delta, of course, would not refund the difference.

I then spent 3 hours crammed in a seat designed for someone 5 feet tall.  My six foot-two thin frame would not fit in the seat, even remotely.  One day I am going to consider suing Delta for the long health risk that flying in a cramped position causes me and the 2-3 days of pain in my legs and back that follow every flight.  But you do have the shareholders to consider and those fat executive compensation packages to consider.  I get it, I am a CFO.  You see, choosing and rating customer service on airlines is like picking the better looking pile of dog crap.  They all suck, some just suck worse.

On my flight home, I was scheduled for a 7:30 pm flight from MSP.  I asked Delta if I could fly on one of the 5 earlier flights to Seattle that day.  I was charged a $50 stand by fee to fly on the same day on a plane with plenty of available seating.  When I complained about this to the gate agent, she told me to "get medallion status so you won’t be charged or sit in the airport for 4 more hours to take your original flight".  Stellar customer service there.  My solution is to continue having awful flight experiences until I have flown enough that my flight experiences can become just a little less awful.  I naturally had to pay another $25 to check my duffle bag.

I rejoiced in the fact that this was the last $50 that I was giving to Delta in my lifetime.  I also am rejoicing in the fact that I am changing the travel policy where I work, and manage a $2 M annual travel budget to exclude Delta Airlines from an option on our travel site.  I estimated that in 2012 we spent $400,000 on Delta Airlines, and given that we are a consulting firm with people constantly travelling, I will not ask our consultants to continue to experience the customer service that I have experienced on 3 Delta flights in 2013.  I might add that the Delta flight to and from China in 2012 wasn't much better.

Regards

Gary R. Beebe Jr.

Former Customer

Coffee, It Must Be a Seattle Thing

So I walked into my local Starbucks recently (actually that is like saying I met a Japanese guy in Tokyo, you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting a Starbucks in this city) near my office in downtown Seattle. Truth be told, I went to the one that is actually in my building but I could have easily walked across the street out any door of the building and gone to one as well.

I ordered a Venti Decaf Caramel Macchiato, triple shot, double pump vanilla, soy milk extra hot, extra caramel with room and paid for it with my Starbucks preloaded gold card. Actually that wasn’t me at all, that was the woman in front of me. I just sat there and gawked, eyes glazing over, as confused as if she had just casually explained the theory of relativity to the bright eyed and bushy tailed 18 year old barista. For those of you that are unaware, people that work in coffee shops in Seattle are not waiters and waitresses, they are baristas, and don’t tell them otherwise, and they expect tips.

I ordered a large decaf. I tried to order a large decaf. The same barista who was smiling and happy and got the previous order exactly right was now looking at me as if I had summarized Immanuel Kant’s The Critique of Pure Reason and was asking for her take on the western hierarchical thought process. I now had a 10 minute conversation about what type of coffee I wanted to drink. She asked me:

• Do you want room? I answered that I have plenty of rooms at home, confused.
• Hot or cold? I said, it’s coffee, not a beer.
• Americano or drip? My jaw slacked. She explained, at least I think she did, I had tuned out completely at this point.

This is not exactly the deep thought process that I need to delve into before even hitting my office. If I wanted this level of difficulty first thing in the morning, an 8:00 a.m. calculus course at the local university would be more appropriate. I did not have a Starbucks gold card and was summarily frowned upon by everyone in sight. There was genuine disappointment among the throng of office workers waiting for me to finish my order. The people directly behind me were visibly alarmed at my inability to get this right. I felt the same level of discomfort that occurs when accidentally passing gas in an empty elevator only for it to stop halfway up to my floor to allow 4 more people to get on. I then forgot to tip the barista.

Since that day, I have ventured into many coffee shops in and around this city and have had the same experience. Tully’s, Seattle’s Best (owned by Starbucks, but with no market differentiation – it is still $4 for a latte, $2.50 for a drip, just slightly different coffee), Top Pot (unreal heavenly donuts that sit in your stomach for a week), Vittoria, etc. There are hundreds. My personal favorite is Vittoria on Capitol Hill and Top Pot, also on Capitol Hill. Top Pot is truly jet fuel, but tastes great. I don’t like Starbucks house as it is too bitter for me and is probably at least half of the cause of my ulcers. What I find interesting is that most of these places have their own lingo as well so when ordering, it is an entirely new learning process.

Tips on tipping: I personally don’t think that someone that pours me a decaf cup of coffee or takes 30 seconds to make me a latte should be tipped after they charge me $4.00 for it. Call me cheap, but in general the tipping in this country is out of control. They don’t have to wait on us, they just have to move less than 3 feet and operate the machine. Now I am sure that I will get a lot of flak from some people when reading this and you know who you are, but that is my humble opinion. Asking the people that serve me my morning joe this very question; they said that since 75% of the people that get coffee pay with their Starbucks card the tips end up being immaterial. Some may disagree and I only surveyed one place and one person so this is by no means a good statistical sampling.

So next time you are in downtown Seattle and see someone ordering a Venti Decaf Caramel Macchiato, triple shot, double pump vanilla, soy milk extra hot, extra caramel with room and paying for it with a Starbucks preloaded gold card, stop and say “hello” to me. Oh wait, that won’t be me, I will be the confused looking guy holding up the line ordering the large decaf.

Gary R. Beebe Jr., Seattle, WA (January 15th, 2011)

I Am

This is a story from a couple of years ago that is also posted on my web site about life in Seattle sometimes.  Well unfortunately most of the time.  The original publish date is included.

I see you in this coffee shop each week.  You are there, but distant, aimlessly searching your iPod, periodically glancing at your phone.  Eye contact with a stranger emits a strained smile and a nod.  It is fleeting, as fear and distrust have imprisoned you in your own mind.  The stranger passes and I feel a sense of relief warming a chilly soul.

Your tires come to a slow halt on a rainy day for the gentle lady walking her wiener dog, shuffling across the street without bothering to check for traffic.  Her shawl is tucked tightly about her head as she struggles to lead her dog and manage the puddles.  Wonderment creeps into your brow as you ponder the meaning of the elderly woman’s life, why she is walking her dog in this miserable weather.  How often has she crossed the street like that with no expectation of being hit? You start tapping the dashboard impatiently for the women to move along, even though you have nowhere to be.  When she reaches the other side of the street safely, your car begins to move slowly forward through the intersection and I sense faint recognition in you, that just as quickly passes. You fail to recognize your neighbor of two years.

I hear the roar of the stadium, shaking me to my foundation.  Seeing you both at the game, I believe that you are old friends, sharing wondrous moments of times past, reliving the glory days of youth and the shared birth of your sons (what a coincidence, each having a son born on exactly the same day and year).  Drinks are bought, high fives exchanged.  On this crisp and clear Sunday afternoon, the realities of the world are forgotten and only football and friendship matter.  You both depart the stadium alone, you had never met before, and will never meet again.  An opportunity for friendship wasted.

I smell the fresh coconut bath soap lingering on your skin as you prepare for a date.  It must be special as gone are the torn jeans for a revealing sun dress, open at the neckline and bare shouldered, 2 dashes of perfume instead of the usual one.  Flipping your hair back, you smile and tell your roommate not to expect you back early.  I see you in bed, your chest heaving and breath heavy by 9:00 pm, but you are alone.  What I mistake for passion is tears.

I see everything in a wide panorama of our city and its society, my touch extends from the depths of the Puget Sound to the highest snow capped peak, the pungent aroma of my bars at closing time doesn’t escape me nor does the beauty of a fresh spring rain.  I sense all and nothing, but above all I sense it alone.  I am Seattle.

Gary R. Beebe Jr. - Seattle, WA (January 25th, 2011)

The Wrap

I am a stats geek.  Numbers interest me; they can tell a story and at the same time be completely meaningless.  It is all about perspective.  Some numbers from my recent trip.
 
Airplanes – 2

• SEA/MSP/SEA

Trains – 12

• Apartment to and from SeaTac
• MSP to hotel and back
• Hotel to and from ChiSox
• Hotel to and from Wrigley
• SEA airport terminal to terminal
• MSP terminal to terminal

Buses – 3

• MSP train station to hotel and back
• Seattle train station to home

Miles driven – 1,575

Speeding tickets – 1

Accidents – 1

Baseball stadiums visited – 7

Games seen – 8

• 7 Major league – Mariners/Twins could be classified as minor league
• 1 Minor league

Yoga studios visited – 1

Average hours of sleep – 7.5 – what a luxury

Pizzas eaten in Chicago – 2

Snobby hotel concierges – 1

• The Allerton, Chicago

Ribs eaten in KC – 12

Baseball hats purchased – 7

Average hat price - $24.50

Average hotel price - $90.38

Average star rating of hotels – 3.69

Airfare - $500

• Thanks to the assholes at Delta,
• $400 for ticket
• $25 times 2 to check a duffle bag
• $50 fee to fly stand by on same day
• Advertised price of airfare - $270
• Next time I fly Delta – NEVER
• Customer Service level of Delta Airlines – On a scale of 1 to 10, Zero

Bottles of Sobe vitamin water consumed while driving – 26

Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups eaten while driving - 36

Target stores visited – 2

• Corporate HQ store in Minneapolis
• Western Iowa

States visited – 8

• States new to me – 6
• States left to visit for all 50 – Nine (AL, HI, WY, MT, VT, ME, OK, AK, ND)

Nicest people – Toss up – Minneapolis/Kansas City

Rudest people – Saint Louis (but only at the stadium, very pretentious)

Favorite stadium – The “K”, Kauffman Stadium, Kansas City

Hottest women – Toss up – Kansas City/Minneapolis

Coolest tourist attraction – Arch, Saint Louis

Magical moments and memories - countless

Number of complete strangers that touched my life – hundreds

Simply put, grateful.  One day I will try to put into words my feelings about this trip, but for the time being I am just going to relish the wonderful memories made possible by living a part of a small dream and being able to share it with so many wonderful people, strangers; but brothers, sisters and families of America’s game.

Milwaukee, WI - Day 8 - Brewing Up a Good Time

A few days late on the post, I am already home in Seattle, but I thought relaying the events in Milwaukee would put a nice finish on stadium tour 2013.

People in Milwaukee like to tailgate.  A lot.  And for anything.  I arrived at the park 2 hours early and realized I was 3 hours late!  The tailgate was in full swing, with all varieties of barbeque, kegs, open bars, music, two live bands - the works.  There are 81 home baseball games a year and my first thought was that the rate of alcohol abuse in this state has to be astronomical.  My second thought was, how cool is this!  I can't imagine what it is like for football.

The stadium itself is really cool, with a retractable roof that looks like a spaceship opening, and the roof was open for the game.  The game itself was a 4-3 Milwaukee win over the Phillies with a nice home run by Dominic Brown of the Phillies, who is just killing the ball.  Not much else really, I am tired and back in work mode. :)

As I drove back to Minnesota from Milwaukee, I mentally planned two more stadium tours for the next two summers which will encompass all of the major league stadiums except 5.  A Northeast trip is imminent and doable and a longer trek from Houston to Los Angeles.  Back soon with a statistical summary of the trip. 

Yes, I am that type of geek.

Chicago, IL – Day 7 – Practicing at the Mecca

I finally practiced some yoga in a studio.  There is a bikram studio about 2 blocks from my snooty hotel in Chicago, “The Allerton”.  This place is snooty in all respects and really doesn’t market to my demographic, and not the gangsta persona, the average middle class dude persona.  When I asked the concierge which subway stop was the White Sox game, he chortled and visibly rolled his eyes before explaining to me in English with a French accent where it was.  I later heard him speaking French and it was obviously his second language.  The bikram class was welcomed as I think that the heat did my body good.

I rode the red line out to Wrigley for a day game against the Pirates.  The neighborhood around the stadium is incredibly well maintained and everything from the housing to the signage is about the Cubs.  The buildings on each street that are outfield facing have grandstands built on top of them that look into the stadium.  These are sold as seats to the game even though they are outside the stadium on the roofs of adjacent buildings.  After securing a ticket and taking the standard picture in front of the marquee that says “Wrigley Field, Home of the Chicago Cubs” it was game time!

It was a beautiful sunny day albeit a bit chilly and some stadium knowledge would have been useful on a day like today.  I was sitting in the left field lower box seats about 10 rows off the field (these are seats between 3^rd base and the outfield wall) and was soaking up the sun, even applying a bit of suntan lotion.  By the third inning, the sun was no longer available to this section of the stadium and would not be for the rest of the game.  However, the entire outfield bleacher sections all the way around and the right field lower box seats had sun the entire game.  This would have been good to know when purchasing the ticket.  Fortunately, there were enough empty seats that by the ninth inning I was sitting in the right field seats anyway.  The Pirates won the game 2-0, and on a food note I had probably the best hot dog I have ever had at a game.

I was thinking about the home teams winning on this trip, and other than the first two games where the Twins beat the Mariners, which isn’t much of a feat, the home team has lost every game!  I won’t go as far to say that I am a jinx, but maybe I am a jinx!

Kind of a short and boring post, but it was that kind of day.  Relaxing and enjoyable.  I love Chicago, a lot.

Chicago, IL – Day 6 – An Accidental Cold Shoulder

I felt completely refreshed leaving Saint Louis and heading up to one of my favorite cities in America, Chicago!  Given that it is about a 4-5 hour drive, depending on traffic and construction, I left early.  There are 2 full days to spend in this toddlin’ town, and my hotel is on Michigan Avenue smack in the middle of the miracle mile.

I wasn’t in town more than 5 minutes before being rear ended by a hurried and abrupt soccer Mom driving a minivan, one block from my hotel.  Why not?  The woman who hit me was not in the mood to take responsibility for hitting me, and told me that I should have pulled my car further forward into the right turn where the pedestrians were crossing.  I just smiled and let her vent.  I could just picture this one in court.

Attorney for the Insurance Company:  “So please tell me again why, when you rear side swiped this car, it wasn’t your fault?”

Frustrated and Hurried Soccer Mom:  “He should have pulled further forward around the turn into the oncoming pedestrians so that I had room to get around him.  Or at the very least so I didn’t have to wait 3 more seconds to get to where I was going.”

Attorney for the Insurance Company, flummoxed:  “I see.”

I had written earlier on this trip when I was cited for speeding that there is a difference between being in a hurry and driving fast.  Being in a hurry is a state of mind, almost a panic, where accidents can happen.  I stand by this analysis and both correct and prophetic.

“Money make a pimp, pimp hoes, hustlas sell dope, thugs gun smoke
What [echo]
Money make the world go round, as the world turns
Money make the world go round, as the world turns
Nigga I need money to main-tainn
Hustalin aint a gamee
Nigga go and gets the grainn
Gon' get tore out the framee
T.Vs in the Rangee
I'm in ta nice thanggs I slang weed (snort)
Coc-ainee and Herio-anee
50 Cent
Thats my namee
Nigga I bring the painn
You thought shit stay the samee
Nigga shit gon' change
Put a bullet in your brain”

-50 Cent-

This is what I was listening to when rear ended.  Of course the woman had no way of knowing that I was a gangsta going to later ride the el to Cellular One Field in the South Side, home of the Chicago White Sox, and that this was how I rolled.  She did, however, immediately give me her insurance information.  So far as I am concerned this is now between the rental car company and her insurance agency and if she don’t like it that way, I can arrange to have one of my homies pop a cap in her ass.

The home of the ChiSox is indeed in the ghetto.  I counted 14 police officers between the metro station and the stadium that weren’t there to manage traffic or to help people cross the street.  It was a 2 block walk.  The wind was blowing and while the sun was still up, it was going to get cold, and I was not dressed appropriately, nor did I even bring a jacket.  Not only did I not bring a jacket to the game, I did not bring one on the trip.  It is summer right?

I was sitting a row off the field in the right field corner, and there were maybe 10,000 people at the game.  The Oakland A’s ended up winning 5-4 late in the game and they hit 4 solo home runs in the process.  Adam Dunn made the last out of the game on a loud fly ball to the warning track.  Some fan remarked that was progress for a .169 hitter with a propensity to strike out 3 times a game.  The ballpark was not that memorable, but as with all the new ballparks, it is very nice.  Looking forward to old school baseball tomorrow at Wrigley on the North Side.  I am hoping that the weather improves and I don’t freeze my ass off like I did tonight.

Saint Louis, MO – Day 5 – Meditation is Sometimes Not So Grand

Incredibly tired today.  I suppose it is to be expected, it has been a grueling trip.  I wonder if starting the day out tired is an omen of a bad day.  Does being tired shift karma?  I know that in my case when I am tired, I have a very difficult time engaging and being in the moment.  It is not necessarily that I am in the past or the future, just nowhere.  It is like that old saying, the lights are on, but nobody is home.  The 4 hour drive from KC to Saint Louis was a blur of rain, semi-trucks and the cruise control set at 73 mph.  I did manage a short yin yoga practice working on my lower body before I left, still treating my upper body with respect until the shoulder and back feel better, but it didn’t do anything to shake off the doldrums.

I got a great room in the Hyatt Regency Saint Louis that one block from the arch and 3 blocks from the stadium and at check in had plenty of time to see the arch, get dinner and then go to the game.  Prior to doing that though, it was time to head over to the stadium to get a ticket.  I didn’t want to chance the game being sold out because the Cardinals have the best record in baseball.  The heat and humidity walking over to the stadium reminded of me DC in the summertime, which to me is totally fabulous.  It also felt like thunderstorm weather, which wasn’t so fabulous for baseball, especially considering the amount of rain that was left behind in KC.  After buying a Cardinals hat (I buy a hat at every stadium I visit), I went to get my ticket and !score!, another ticket in the first row, this time behind the visitor’s dugout.

Despite being exhausted I felt pretty good as I walked back to check out the arch.  To go up in the arch, you stand on a stairwell with 8 doors.  Each door contains a pod that holds 5 people in a little unenclosed circle.  It is like sitting in one of the old Mork and Mindy eggs, for those old enough to remember that TV show (Pod Here), except that there are 8 of them attached.  They move up the side of the arch like a roller coaster goes up the first hill.  It actually feels and sounds exactly the same and since you can look out the window and see the interior construction of the arch, it is a bit freaky.  The view from the top, once you get used to the swaying, is really cool, but cramped.  It looks west over the Saint Louis skyline and east over the Mississippi River into Illinois.

Once down from that adventure, I decided to relax on the lawn right under the arch.  Laying on my back and looking up at the clouds pass by while staring straight up at this breathtaking architecture is an experience that brought the focus and he moment back to the day.  It was energizing.  We were taught in yoga that sleep is not the only means of relaxation of the brain, and that by utilizing the proper relaxation techniques in the mind and body, the equivalent of sleep can be obtained.  One of our instructors walked us through a yoga nidra demonstration (Yoga Nidra) where we were in savasana (corpse pose, which is lying on your back, heels together, toes splayed, hands at side, face up, body melting to the earth) for 30+ minutes.  It felt as if we were there for 5 minutes.  This is the experience that I had lying under the arch, and yet another affirmation that and revelation that taking yoga teacher training has me on a wonderful path.

I decided to go to a pre funk at a bar called the Broadway Oyster Bar.  I would best describe this place as a well-constructed shack except for the fact that other well-constructed shacks would be offended.  It had plenty of character including a sign on the front door that said “Leave your attitude at home.”  This is going to be my kind of place.  The bartenders were super nice and I had the alligator for dinner.  It was delicious, and not my first experience eating alligator.  I ordered the matching boots and tipped my Cardinals baseball cap to the alligator who donated this delicious meal.

From there things went a bit downhill, and I began to wonder if my good karma had run out.  Upon arriving at the stadium, it began to rain.  In Seattle we would define this rain as rain number 274, the kind that is steady and wet enough that you just need an umbrella, but with no breeze.  Only people from Seattle wouldn’t use an umbrella anyway, because they are {insert your own adjective here} like that.  I then went to my seat in the first row only to find out that it wasn’t in the first row.  It was in the 15^th row.  While my ticket clearly stated row one, the woman that sold me the ticket at the Cardinals box office failed to mention that there were 14 rows of letters in front of row one.  My inner child frowned on this and felt lied to, but learned a little something in the process. 

Since the game was delayed at least an hour due to rain type #274, I went to the batting cages in the stadium to take some swings.  This endeavor should have NEVER been attempted.  Ever.  The last time I tried to hit a fastball was 10 years ago.  Did I mention that my eyesight isn’t what it used to be?  Did I mention that this should have never been attempted?

Busch stadium itself is nice, but if you took Safeco Field in Seattle, Minute Maid Park in Houston, the new stadium in Philly and put the insides of all of them next to each other, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.  They were all designed by the same architectural firm and there isn’t much unique about it.  That is not to say that it isn’t nice, it is fabulously nice, it just doesn’t differentiate itself from any of the other new stadiums in baseball.  Anyone from Saint Louis who reads this will want me drawn and quartered for saying this and I have yet to get to the derogatory part…..

While the employees of the stadium are very nice, the people that work in the concession stands are extremely poorly trained.  In my interactions with them, they were repeatedly screwing up orders, making customers wait an excessive amount of time.  The entire operation looked like an unsuccessful venture into cat herding.  Lots of people running around, but not really accomplishing much.  On top of that, I was unable to sit in my “front row” seat because all the people in the rows in front of me had their umbrellas open and weren’t at all interested in considering that there were people behind them that wanted to watch the game.  I moved to a higher and dryer location.

The game itself was a laugher, for the Diamondbacks.  They got to the Cards starter and then Paul Goldschmidt of the D-Backs smacked a grand slam to make it 7-1.  Naturally I am playing against Paul Goldschmidt in fantasy baseball this week.  That was a nice touch by the karma gods allowing me to see that one in person!!!  The D-Backs went on to win the game 10-3.

As I sit at 12:15 a.m. and finish up this post, I am smiling to myself because all in all, it was a good day.  It is difficult not to be grateful on vacation and in a situation like this but also easy to complain about Cadillac problems, that is human nature I suppose.

I have concluded that the day was karmically twisted, for my pleasure.  Chicago, here I come.

Kansas City, MO – Day 4 - Royalty and the Noble Pig

Other than steaks there wasn’t much going on in Omaha so I decided to leave early and head to Kansas City.  There also wasn’t a reputable steak house that served filet mignon for breakfast.

Before going on any further, let’s take a moment of silence to reflect on the noble pig who sacrificed half his ribs for my tasty dinner.  His ribs were soaked overnight, then slow barbequed with a dry rub and served dry at Arthur Bryants (here) arguably the most famous rib joint in Kansas City.  I then added some BBQ sauce to them to make them both wet and dry.  They were meat-fall-off-the-bone succulent and I just thought it proper that the pig that donated them be recognized in this space.

Kaufman Stadium, the home of the Kansas City Royals, is my new favorite baseball stadium.  Having now been to about half of the major league stadiums, I am replacing Camden Yards in Baltimore with the K, as my new favorite.  While Camden Yards has more aesthetics in the surrounding city and its placement in downtown Baltimore, the K inside blows it away.  Every detail is tailored to the fan.  The entire outfield area is surrounded with rides for kids, miniature golf, pitching, hitting and base stealing and water attractions for when it is hot.  The seating is spacious and given the amount of ribs served in this city, it is a good thing!  The employees at the stadium were properly trained in customer service and were genuinely happy to see the people that came out for the game.  There was plenty to buy at the stadium but no pressure to do so.  I didn’t feel like I was being “marketed at” or asked to open my wallet every 6 seconds.  The stadium is clean and the entire outfield is adorned with waterfalls with seats mixed in between.  Getting in and out of the stadium is a breeze as it sits right on highway 70 next to the football stadium where the Chiefs play.  This also means ample parking.

I was fortunate I got a seat in the first row just past first base.  To my right were sitting a young couple who turned out were on their honeymoon.  They were psyched to be sitting in the front row and told me they hoped to get a ball.  They were Twins fans.  I told them that if I got a ball that I would give it to them.  So in the third inning with Ryan Doumit of the Twins at the plate and the couple up getting a beer, I got a ball hit to me.  I have been to about 200 pro baseball games in my life and have never gotten a ball.  I wanted to keep the ball, badly.  But, I didn’t need the ball.  I took a picture of it, put it on Facebook, and gave it to them.  Given the karmic forces that got me to the Omaha game for free (read here), I figured that I would pay this one forward.

As for the game itself, I am one of the few people in recent history that can say that they have seen the Twins win 3 games in a row.  The Royals, on the other hand, have lost 11 in a row at home and some of the fans were less than happy.  The Royals currently start 3 of the worst offensive position players in the league in Moustakas at third, Getz at second and the neverending Jeff Francouer experiment in right field.  Although today, only Moustakas and his .165 average were in the game.  The Royals were punchless and mustered 4 hits in a 3-0 loss.

The Royals were also kind enough to put my tweet on the scoreboard for all of Kansas City to see, or at least the 20,000 people at the game.  It said @garyrbeebejr, “First time at the K, visiting from Seattle, fab stadium. Go Royals.  #royalstweets”.

Four down, four to go, see you in Saint Louis.