My 2016 in review

2016yearinreviewHow did 2016 go for you? For me, it was a year of lots of changes including an exit, a re-entry and a rough touch down resulting in an acute need for pain killers and Jack Daniels.

My personal highlights:

  • Perfect timing–Two weeks before my scheduled retirement from Fiat Chrysler Automobiles we were informed our Italian boss, away on “personal business” simply wasn’t coming back, having been reassigned to a position in his homeland. Having been through this sort of sudden transition during my television days I knew the timing of my exit couldn’t have been more perfect. In fact, I could hear several of those I left behind begging, “please sir, won’t you take me with you?” Not really. I was trading the turgid bureaucracy of Corporate America for long, leisurely lunches and happy hours laced with Jack and Crown Royal  with my wife and bumping shopping carts with fellow retired guys in the super market.
  • That was fast–After roughly three months of full retirement, the good people at Automotive News offered me a part-time job reporting for the paper’s video unit and anchoring their daily online newscast on occasion. It was a chance to return to journalism after 11 years, work limited hours and once again have the opportunity to apply makeup in front of other men, sparking all sorts of rumors and accusations, such as the photo of my wife and kids was really a beard. I told them to get over it and call me “Caitlyn.”
  • With only moments notice I suddenly ditched my Facebook account and the 783 “friends” I had accumulated over the 6 years I posted on the site. After a couple of days I began to receive urgent texts, emails and even Linkedin messages inquiring about my health, welfare and mental state. Some were very sweet, saying they missed my jokes and puns, others simply wanted to know if I was in hospice. After all, how could someone simply disappear from Facebook with virtually no notice, considering comments or taking into consideration the possibility of scads of “dislikes?” It was easy. Couple of clicks and I was gone. I’ve now retained some degree of privacy, lots of time to do other things, like measure the distance between fire hydrants in my neighborhood, and speak with actual people…with my mouth…not a mouse. Try it.
  • Our family summer vacation took us to both Hershey and Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. Quite a contrast. One day it was death by musket. The next, death by chocolate. But perhaps our most startling discovery was a regional restaurant chain with the high tone name, “Hoss’s.” Where you eat like horses. For about 12 bucks a person you get an entree, such as a million fried shrimp, unlimited access to a saladandotherstuff bar then a dessert bar just to top off the summit of the mountain of food you just ate. Sadly, the nearest Hoss’s to Detroit is in Erie, Penn. about a five hour drive. Hmm…Erie is the gateway to…um.. Buffalo. Perhaps our next family vacation?
  • Finally, while playing pickup ice hockey at the ungodly hour of 6:30 a.m. a member of my team who has not yet mastered looking up while skating, slew-footed my left skate, sending me down to the ice performing a complete split with my left leg. I heard some sort of noise that is probably what it sounds like when a building falls on a street vendor’s head. My teammates helped me up and I limped back to the locker room vowing to be back by the next game. Actually, I was out for a month, walking around like one-footed wallaby. I eventually returned and immediately scored a goal…before the goalie showed up. I was encouraged by my progress.

I look forward to 2017 and all the nonsense, adventure and discovery it’s sure to provide. Then again, there’s the inauguration of our next president…a businessman/reality show host who I’m sure has all sort of big ideas, if only he can wrap them in his tiny hands. Happy New year everyone! Health, happiness and sanity!

Falling House of Greeting Cards

cardwreathWe once had one of those green, plastic wreaths with a bunch of slots that held all the Christmas cards we received. There usually weren’t enough slots for all the cards that filled our mailbox. That actually was helpful because some of the uglier cards that didn’t make the cut for wreath display were handy coasters and bookmarks.

No use for the plastic card display wreath anymore. Hasn’t been for years. This year we received two cards and a calendar from an insurance guy. One card was a family photo, the other was from someone we hadn’t seen since the 1970’s. We were happy to hear she’s still alive and able to lick a stamp. We sent a few cards, but not enough to warrant investing in an entire box. In fact, we kind of cherry picked extras from past years in hopes the few folks still on our list won’t remember they had previously received the same card in some past decade.

Since we celebrate both Christmas and Hanukkah in our house, it would seem the odds would be greater in favor of receiving a card for one holiday or the other, but that’s not the case. I’ve read one of the reasons people and businesses don’t send many cards anymore is because we’re greeting each other more often through social media–Facebook, Snapchat, Instagram, Face Time and others. Well..you can’t hang a Facebook message over your fireplace, unless you print it out, which is frankly, less homey than receiving a card in the snail mail with handwritten signatures or personalized greetings. I want to know the person wishing me a merry or a happy actually touched the card, wrote on it, thought of me and my family and trudged down to the post office to send off a stack of Hallmarks to those near and dear to them.

I think I know the real reason people don’t send cards much anymore.  Every time I go to the store to look for a card there’s usually someone with a butt roughly the size of Saginaw standing in the exact spot in front of the rack holding the greetings for the occasion I’m seeking. They not only park their avoirdupois in such as way as to block me from examining the cards, they slowly open and read every freakin’ one of them before languidly replacing them in the rack. At first I patiently waiting for the person to move, but Mt. Protoplasm refused to budge. That lesson quickly learned, I became more aggressive. I started with the “American Greetings thrust.” This is where I stood sideways and thrust my arm in the small space between their body and the card that had some promise. Sometimes the human barge would take the hint, but often I received a personal greeting in the form of a scowl or grunt. If not successful, I would escalate to the “Hallmark Heave.” This is where I silently say “screw it” and “excuuuuuse me” aloud, and lunge, full body, in front of the two-legged blockade and start grabbing  cards. This will generally result in a major push back accompanied by verbal abuse. I always thank the person for the sincere greeting but hold my ground.  One of my more subtle approaches is reading over the shoulder of my nemesis and mumble “that’s pretty stupid.” They become frustrated and move on…after telling me to screw off.

Yes, I still buy cards for occasions such as birthdays, anniversaries, but the truth is, they’ve become pretty expensive and good ones are hard to find. Who wants to send a birthday card with the witty greeting, “You’re not getting older, you’re just beechwood aged.”

I think it may just be time to take a permanent Hallmark holiday.

The Electoral College, Lamar, and Me

electoralcollegeThe Electoral College is this nebulous “thing” that no one ever really sees and the members seem to come and go in relative anonymity. So I appreciated very much the opportunity to cover for CNN Tennessee’s Electoral College vote after the chaotic 2000 election that saw Al Gore lose his home state to George W. Bush.

The night before the vote we met with several of Tennessee’s 11 electors at steak joint not too far from the state capitol in Nashville. It was December and it was unexpectedly frigid with the prospect of snow on the day of the actual vote. They were mostly down to earth folks who felt the gravity of their task and a devotion to the unique method the nation’s Founding Fathers conjured to basically ratify the election held a month earlier. None of them had any desire to flip their vote to their state’s native son. I don’t recall any of the electors using the term “rubber stamp,” but that’s pretty much the way they saw their responsibility. One even went to far as to say “that boy ain’t really a Tennessean anymore…he’s long gone D.C.”

The next day we showed up early to do our morning live shots but had the opportunity to eyeball the chamber where the 15-minute process would take place. We were told, very sternly, to remain in the visitor’s gallery and not to wander onto the floor. No problem. We were set up outside on the capitol steps to do our live shots and could only hear, vaguely, what was happening. At one point the anchor asked me to describe what was going on at that second even though I was 20 steps and at least 200 feet and a couple of doors away. No, I did not have a monitor to see the feed from the floor.

Check out the transcript from that liveshot    I think I faked it pretty well! The magic of preparation. I’m certain it all went down just the way I reported it since no one called to correct me and the producer didn’t yell at me through my earpiece.

Afterwards, the deed done, we retreated to the visitor’s gallery, ostensibly to do a live interview with Lamar Alexander…an elector and former Tennessee governor, U.S. Senator and onetime presidential candidate. Nice man. As we waited for our slot to come up we made small talk, discussed the election and had a great old time. He didn’t seem to be in a rush. After about 30 minutes of this my field producer called down to the Atlanta control room to find out if/when we were going on since we were hanging onto a prominent politician who must have had plenty of better things to do than sit around jawing with a reporter awaiting a two-minute live interview. I got the word through my earpiece and immediately turned redder than Memphis barbecue sauce.  “Um…I’m sorry Senator. The producer just informed me something else in the world has happened and our spot was dropped. I’m extremely sorry for holding you up for so long. It was a real pleasure to meet you.” Guess what? Sen. Alexander cracked up, shook my hand and said, “Honestly, the pleasure was mine. If you hadn’t kept me here I’d have to go back out in the cold and figure out what the hell to do the rest of the day.”

 

 

Office Christmas Party…Pooper

officechristmaspartyIt usually goes down like this. Bing! New email. Subject line: Company Holiday Party. Your mental reply for the RSVP demand, “oh shit.” It’s a Hobson’s Choice. Don’t go and the boss, HR drones, and the POS who wants your job will construe you are worthless malcontent who disavows Christmas, New Years, Hanukkah, office morale and teetering on the edge of tweeting negatively about Boxing Day.

Do go, and you subject yourself to stilted small talk, worked into a corner by the guy who has no friends but thinks you’re open to a relationship, handcuffed by your attempt to balance a drink, plate of bacon-wrapped rutabaga and mini parfaits while being forced into giving high-fives as a form of holiday greeting.

Can you tell I’m not a fan of the office holiday party? Oh, don’t get me wrong. I absolutely believe in going out to dinner or lunch or even just drinks with your immediate team as a way of celebrating the holidays and reveling in all the things you accomplished together.

Before I retired last July from Fiat Chrysler Automobiles, I made it a tradition to treat my team to a celebratory activity. Sometimes I bought them a meal. Other times it was a fun activity like bowling or curling, plus I’d spring for food. It was a personal gift to thank them for their hard work. Plus, honestly, if they performed well, it helped me make a better case for that big bonus. Did I say “big bonus?”  Sorry, I just made myself reverse digestion.

The big company party is where I draw the line. Sure, there’s sometimes pretty good food and maybe even some booze, but it’s generally late in the day or completely after hours, and frankly, by about 3 p.m. each day, I’ve seen enough of everyone. Love ya…during work hours. Then I’m Fred Flintstone, hopping in my car singing “yabba dabba doo!” as I swing onto the freeway and realize that tomorrow I’ll have to re-learn everyone’s names. 

Now don’t get me wrong. There are elements of the office holiday party I enjoy. It’s especially entertaining to watch the clutch of ass kissers in full pucker mode as they attack some boss they think will be receptive to all their verbal hickeys. We often place bets as to when the poor schlub will give the silent signal for a lackey to ring their cell phone and fake an “urgent” meeting as a means of escape.  Then there are the office hot chick and hunky guy who seem to attract the attentions of the opposite gender who have been secretly taking cell phone photos of them from across the office and posting them in their health club lockers. Not wanting to make a scene in front of their peers and supervisors the hotties cool their jets while being hit on harder than a jockey’s whip on Seabiscuit. Of course, then there’s the guy playing Santa who’s costume not only bulges from his belly full of jelly, but an overflowing ostomy bag. 

The truth is, I love the holidays, the customs, the music, the celebrations… and I appreciate the opportunities, friendships and rewards of the workplace. I also appreciate the attempt by bosses to spread some holiday cheer by tossing a little soiree’. It’s a nice gesture. Aw, OK…I’ll RSVP that I’ll attend. But don’t hold it against me when I give that silent signal.

Happy holidays everyone!

Intersecting orbits with John Glenn

glennOn February 20, 1962 I was in second grade at P.S. 186 in the New York City borough of Queens. Our teacher, a bubbly little delight with curly, dark brown hair, Mrs. Kantor, rolled in a TV set and we watched John Glenn become the first American in space orbit.

Once he touched down, our assignment was to write a “composition” relating our feelings about Glenn’s accomplishment.

I was already astounded by the pioneering sub-orbital flights of Alan Shepard and Virgil “Gus” Grissom, but this one rocked my world and touched my 10-year old heart. Instead of simply a summary of the event, my composition turned out to be a letter to Col. John Glenn. I told him how brave he was and how scary it must have been hurtling back down to Earth in a little capsule that had a suspect heat shield, leading TV commentators to wonder if after everything Glenn had gone through, he’d be burned to a crisp on his way back home. I told him how proud the country was of him and that I hoped, one day, to do something in my life as significant as he had just done.
That day stayed with me as I watched Glenn cruise down New York’s “Canyon of Heroes” in Manhattan during a celebratory ticker tape parade. I rooted for him during his down and up and down and up political career and hoped his bid for the Presidency would be successful.
Fast-forward to June 14, 1990. I was the CNN Detroit Bureau Chief and correspondent. There had been a terrible rainstorm causing a massive mudslide in a little Ohio River hamlet called Shadyside. 26 people died. My crew and I were quickly dispatched to cover the story. We hadn’t been on the ground more than 30 minutes when a couple of familiar looking figures arrived. I don’t often become starstruck since reporters often come in contact with celebrities. But I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of awe at my first site of  Sen. John Glenn . Along with fellow Ohio Senator Howard Metzenbaum, he had arrived to survey the scene and give comfort to the citizens of this devastated little burg.

They both came up to our camera and agreed to a short interview. As February 20, 1962 came roaring into my brain, I was suddenly shaking hands with the man to whom I’d written that letter, but never sent, all those years ago. I was looking into the eyes of a genuine hero and he was looking at me. Given the tragic situation that triggered this encounter, it was no time for small talk or any sort of personal discourse. I asked my questions related to the story, which he answered directly and respectfully.  I detected a glistening in his eyes that had moments ago teared up on hearing of the extent of the loss of life and structural damage to the town. What struck me was that unlike some other politicians I had interviewed over the years, the only reference to “I” in his comments related to his profound concern for his constituents and the promise to get whatever emergency services and funding they needed.
The interview probably lasted less than two minutes, but to have shaken the hand of my hero, spoken to him, well, in that short moment, a part of my life had come full orbit.

Holiday Turf War

side-by-side-the-menorah-and-the-christmas-tree-640x426It happens every few years. Christmas and Hanukkah occur at the same time leaving families like mine with the vexing issue of how much surface space to grant each holiday’s symbols.

At first blush, the Christmas tree has a built-in advantage being taller and broader than a menorah, unless, of course, one installs a traditional candelabra that’s roughly the size of street lamp. Such a flaming behemoth is possible, but if it’s anything like the street lamps in our community, there’s no chance they’d stay lit for 8 crazy night, or even a long weekend.

Christmas seems to require a lot of hanging stuff. There are ornaments and tinsel on the tree, wreaths on the front door and smaller ones on the walls. I’m guess one of the Three Wisemen worked for the power company, because who else would gin up a scheme to bump up their Christian customers‘ bills by finding a reason for them to burn up megawatts by hanging a billion little lights on one’s dwelling and tree.

At one time, as a Member of the Tribe, I took umbrage that Hanukkah was totally overshadowed by Christmas. As my Protestant wife constantly reminds me, “you keep telling me Hanukkah is a relatively minor holiday, so stick a latke in it and relax.” Well, that’s totally true, but my riposte reminds her how the world goes bananas with over the top decorations, songs, sales, commercials and fruitcakes over a holiday celebrating the birth of a person in December that actually occurred in the summer. Apparently, this is done because who ever dreamed of a sunny Christmas? Indeed, celebrating Christmas when its triggering event really happened, would screw up a songbook full of odes to winter and snow and sleigh bells. Besides, Santa would have to change his mode of transportation to a Ski-doo, putting innocent reindeer out of work, in favor of a pod of grinning porpoises.

Hanukkah? It happens the same time every year on the Hebrew calendar on the days the defeat of the Maccabees and the miracle of one night’s worth of oil lasting 8 really happened. But since that calendar is based on the orbit of the moon around the Earth, the months are only 29 days and you add an entire month during leap years, so that’s why it seems to jump around our Gregorian calendars.

Getting back to the original premise, the holiday that’s celebrated months after the event   it marks gets lots of stuff and is a major contributor to the bottom line of millions of businesses. Hanukkah, is celebrated when it really happened, but gets a candle holder and maybe those cardboard letters that spell out “Happy Hanukkah” you string across a window. Merchants selling said cardboard letters and boxes of candles make a few shekels on the day, as well as delis hawking potato pancakes

We do our best to give each holiday its proper due in our house. There’s no disputing Christmas, regardless of spiritual and commercial timeshift, is more demonstrative. Hanukkah, with its eight flaming sticks of wax, has a potential to be more destructive. Nevertheless, it make perfect sense for our menorah to live peacefully next to a Christmas symbol that, in another language, could very well be a landsman…you know..Tannenbaum. Nooooo?

Our internal self-help book

imaslcA few weeks ago I gave a presentation to a room full of Millennial MBA students who are aspiring management accountants. The subject was how to communicate across the generations in the workplace. My best advice was to work harder on creating a cogent message that anyone could understand, rather than drive yourself crazy wondering how to convey the same thought to a Baby Boomer, Generation Xer or Millennial. After all, if you’ve constructed a clear, simple communication that’s well focused, even a pony should understand.

What made me sad was a question I received asking what book would I recommend that could assist a young person in the workplace better communicate. A book? I abhor self-help books. Oh, they may offer some useful hints but as someone once said “there’s no manual for living life.” I believe that. I smiled at the young man and told him “you already have the book. Everyone has it. It’s in two volumes–your heart and your head.” Working in concert your heart and brain process a person’s personality, social cues, truthfulness, motives, attitude, aptitude, openness, aggressiveness or timidity. That process works both over time where you have had experiences with that person or have observed their behaviors, and in nanoseconds during a particular interaction. Using both “volumes” of your personal self-help book you can make informed decisions about how to approach or respond to another human being. I especially love the “chapter” on common sense.

By the time I finished my unexpected response, the student took a deep breath of relief, as did others in the audience of about 200. My questioner then smiled with a new air of confidence as he thanked me.

So much has been written about the self-absorption Millennials may display, but in their defense they were victimized by so-called helicopter parents who did everything but go to the toilet for them, although I’m sure one such parent may be working on a tandem toilet adapter they could use. They were not encouraged to leave the nest quickly after college and had little need to think for themselves.

In my presentation I urged managers and supervisors to counteract this learned neediness by simply treating young employees the same as more seasoned staff. Those who are mature and talented enough will snap out of their stupor and become valuable team members. Those who do not have the capacity to get beyond their hovering parents will fade.

But in the end, regardless of age or experience, if we all effectively refer to our internal two-volume self-help “book,” relying on our heart and head to guide us, or risk finding ourselves on the shelf.

 

Why I Ditched Facebook

no-facebook-meIt didn’t hurt a bit. With a couple of clicks I deleted my Facebook account after roughly 6 years. I had a good time using it. It was a platform to crack some jokes, comment on the news, tell some personal stories, support my friends during tough times and promote my work. In the end, though, it was also a place to waste time and open myself up to, at times, unwanted contact.

I didn’t spend big chunks of time on the site, but I did expend a lot of mental energy dreaming up posts that I thought (sometimes foolishly) that would be entertaining, put a smile on some folks’ faces, be a little controversial, or heartfelt. Sometimes posts would come to me in a flash, other times I blew 10, 15, 30 minutes scouring news and other websites for Facebook post fodder.

This isn’t what I intended when I opened my account. I thought it would just be a fun way to keep up with my friends and maybe reconnect with those with whom I lost touch. The problem began when I started receiving very favorable comments about some of my posts. Gradually I started accumulated followers and was expected to be somewhat entertaining. People would tag me so as to bait me into coming up with a funny comment. Some suggested I go into standup comedy. I appreciated, very much, the kind words but then I placed pressure on myself to come up with something witty or emotional or meaningful or inspiring or, ofttimes, idiotic, at least once a day. It became work. I didn’t need more work.

Of course the election brought out the worst in people. Shallow, narrow-minded people who can’t take a  joke or poke a little fun at themselves or who threaten to unfriend you if you don’t believe every moronic thing coming out of their keyboards. Who needs that?

The sad part is I love to write and  I  do love to entertain. I’ll be doing here on this blog for now on. I hope you’ll check in every now and then and find something worth the detour.  I can also be reached via Linkedin at https://www.linkedin.com/in/egarsten and Twitter @EdGarsten. Thanks very much. Ed

 

The Castro/Khrushchev Costume Party

fidelWhen we were kids in the 60’s we probably didn’t understand what a bad guy Fidel Castro was, although we knew he wasn’t our friend. Sometimes guys would dress up as him for Halloween, complete with military style ball cap, olive drab jacket, fake beard and bubblegum cigar.

nikitaThen again, kids would sometimes imitate Nikita Khrushchev’s tantrum at the U.N. by donning bald wigs and rapping their shoes on their desks to get attention. Even though we were subjected to air raid drills and were taught where to find the nearest fallout shelter in case the Commies came after us, we tended to believe we were invincible and guys like Castro and Khrushchev were simply faraway villains that made for scary talk and useful Halloween costumes. castroconvertibleWhen Castro Convertible sofa beds started advertising we were really screwed up, thinking the Cuban despot had found a way to make a buck via our guest or living rooms. They’re still selling Castro Convertibles, but now it’s their unintended namesake who’s taking the big sleep…finally.

No, thank YOU!

thanksNot as popular as New Years resolutions but more popular than anything on the CW Network, there are the annual lists of “what I’m thankful for” on the day those eating a nice slab of prime rib are thankful they’re not stuck with turkey.

Since this year marked a big change for me as I retired from fulltime corporate servitude  to a part-time return to news, I find the more I think about it, the more reason I have to give thanks.

A brief list:

*Now semi-retired, I was able to push the shopping cart for my wife, which is part chivalrous, but more about sneaking stuff into the cart like craft beers and Cap’n Crunch.

*I’m thankful that at my age the only way you grow is either shorter, fatter or slower, thereby reducing all expectations by others that I can reach things, become a vegetarian or hurry.

*I’m grateful my daughter and BF’s dog weighs only 4 pounds making it light enough to fetch itself.

*I’m thankful that each time I attempt to shop at the new Aldi grocery store that opened up nearby I have a quarter with which to ransom a shopping cart.

*I’m sarcastically thankful Donald Trump won the election because it was obvious all along he did NOT want to win the election and now the turd is stuck being miserable doing the job he didn’t want and doesn’t pay nearly what he’s currently making and that annoying checks and balances thing in the Federal government will frustrate the hell out of him to the point where he tries, in vain, to sell the Capital to the Chinese.
*I’m thankful I’m healthy enough to continue playing hockey, kayak, ski and able to explain to Millennials you don’t get a participation trophy just for living. Life, itself, is the reward.

*Thanks to the Detroit Pistons for deciding to become the DETROIT Pistons, moving back into the city. Now all four major league teams are a couple of blocks from each other…not only a great perk for fans, but saving precious steps for scalpers.

*Since retiring from Corporate America at the end of July and returning to journalism part-time, I’m happily covering the news again, enjoy my new team, have attended only one meeting, witnessed no turf wars, was not told why I couldn’t do something that made complete sense, could ask any question of an executive I desired and did not have to complete nonsensical and totally irrelevant “goals” to document my accomplishments with the main goal of snagging a bonus decided upon by totally subjective opinions of an evaluator with no knowledge of my work.

*Mostly, I’m thankful for my family, a beer store I can walk to, and the Amazon Fire Stick that lets me watch stuff I’m not entitled to.

I wish you all a wonderful Thanksgiving!