What the f@% did he say?

Gorgeous George

$h*#!
D#@*!
M#@#$% F#$$%!

I've got a problem with you.

You just read that blog title and then four words...umm scratch that...you just read a blog title and four jumbled-up, character-filled pieces of nothing. $h*# is not a word.

But what word did you say in your head when you read it? Did you say "bleep"? Did you say "shoot"? Did you say "S-word"?

I've got news for you, folks. You either said "shit" or you're full of it. You, dear reader, are a vulgarian.

But I either type the word or I censor myself with $$ symbols and you infer the word, right? Who the h#!! are we kidding?

Here's my problem:

By the time you're 13, you've heard pretty much every vulgarity in the book. We cross our fingers as your  parents that you haven't used them in practical speech. But that's what they are...vulgarities, pure and simple. Vulgar being defined as distasteful. Distasteful being defined by the mores and standards of society at any given time. Remember that for the first twenty years of primetime television, married couples slept in separate beds. Have you ever watched Desperate Housewives?  Golly, even the title of the show is vulgar compared to Ward and June hopping into detached bunk beds.

So we create words to describe things. We add words to the dictionary every year to keep up with the evolution of the English language. We label them. Some words are harmonious and peaceful. Some words are technical and necessary. We have verbs and abverbs, pronouns and participles. In the end, they're just letters strung together and pronounced in such a fashion as to evoke an understanding of the meaning from the speaker or reader. A meaning. That's really the issue, isn't it?

Walk up to your dog and get in her ear. In the meanest, most thunderous voice you can muster I want you to scream, "I love the daylights out of you, you beautiful wonderful dog! Can I please take you to the park later and buy you an expensive bone?!" I want you to channel the voice you used the day your dog ate your favorite pair of shoes. You should almost be throwing up.

Lassie should cower, tuck and run. If not, get her hearing and eyesight checked.

Conversely, compose yourself and turn on "sweetie" voice. Get all cuddled up with her and whisper, "I'm going to hack your f#*%* nose off with a rusty tin can, pretty girl!"

~As a side note, I'm reasonably sure that if we all sweet-talked our dogs at the same time and could somehow harness the energy in their tails, we'd never have to worry about Chilean miners hunting the world's necessary resources. (next blog idea...Dog tail wind energy saves trapped miners. Gold.)~

Back to Lassie...she doesn't speak English. She speaks inflection and body language. So do babies, interestingly. If you conduct the same experiment on your neighbor's five month old son, it will go pretty close to the same way. There are a few differences. For starters, you can count on a little jail time and some counseling, but not until you have your jaw re-attached.

So lets take the inflection and body language out of things for a minute and discuss something. As adults, we can agree that saying the word "shit" in the title of a television show would be classified as "vulgar" by the FCC, pretty much every parenting coalition in the world, religious and political leaders and anybody with a 20th century background in right and wrong. But...

CBS Executive #1: "We need this show. It's an Internet sensation. Shatner signed on. It's funny as heck."

Executive #2: "He's right. But we need to change the title. You can't call something 'Shit My Dad Says' on network television. HBO doesn't even swear in the title of their shows. Although Zach Galifinakis is pitching a show where he takes a crap every week and talks to a live audience during. There's gotta be a vulgarity in that title."

#1: "Let's call it "Stuff my Dad says"?

#2: "Meh, it doesn't have the punch. It sounds like your following your Dad with a tape recorder while he attempts to convince you he was in the Sharks or the Jets."

#1: "I got it!! We can call it '$h*# My Dad Says' in writing, and have the announcers call it "Bleep My Dad Says!!!"

#2: "Brilliant! Anyone with an IQ above the temperature in Arctic Circle will understand that $h*# means SHIT and we won't offend a soul because we haven't used a societally-named vulgarity in writing or in speech! It's code! And we've got the Right covered by casting Shatner, so even Christine O'Donnell will endorse the show."

#1: "Not so quick. Don't forget the Arctic Circle caveat."

#2: "Ah, shit. Good point. Palin, maybe?"


If 13 is the magic age we've all heard the vulgarities, then when is the age we've used them out loud? I remember swearing around my friends with some regularity in high school. It comes slowly, you learn to filter. You learn what sounds cool one day sounds silly and desperate the next. You learn not to swear in front of Granny and Pastor Bill. You get a filter. But you don't forget them, and if you are intending to be vulgar to be funny, you take the chance you'll offend someone.

My point? Intent is everything. Tell a homeless guy bumming a quarter off you that he's a worthless pile of $h*# with venom in your voice and you're gonna sound vulgar. Inform your neighbor that his dog just took a shit in your yard, and would he mind coming to clean it up...well you're being neighborly.

Name a television show "Bleep My Dad Says" and even Lassie is gonna be insulted.

Oprah's Gonna Roll This For Me

Dear Oprah Winfrey LLC.-

Um, remember when Tom Cruise jumped on the couch on your show? That was awesome. When you invented the book club, did you envision idea how popular the idea would become? How about when you invented talk shows and daytime television? Did you think how those would still be around? When you invented the term "billionaire" did you think it would stick? Me either.

I'm sorry you're retiring from TV and running for Congress, on the count of* that's going to free up lots of women each afternoon to yell at their husbands. I prefer giving peace a chance, but you have to do what's best for Oprah. We all get it. Power calls...

Before you go, (and I know you'll reserve your last show to give away each of the 50 States to 50 lucky audience members, so in the show before that) could you do me a favor? Let's be clear...I'm going to need you to introduce, wholeheartedly endorse and pay forward all credit and monetary gain from this directly to me. Kapeesh?

Would you please roll out the Music Appreciation Club© (or MAC) to the world? I'm a co-creator and it's going to be a pretty big deal, so I figured you'd want to go out on a high note. Text me or FB friend me...better yet, just follow me on Twitter and we'll work out the details. It's gonna be bigger than Oprah's Book Club, so put that in your pipe and smoke it. (Or whatever magic it is you do to make people like what you say)

Thanks, babe.

Chris Keefe
CO-CEO South Plaza Music Appreciation Club©
~~~~~~~

Maybe it'll work. Maybe just talking about it here will get it going...who knows. Truth is, I am shocked that there aren't Book Clubs for music all over the planet.

You (in your head): "What a moron. Thinks he invented the "music club" where people get together and make mix CD's and listen to vinyl and drink wine and laugh and share great music with friends. Those kind of groups are everywhere."

Me (in my head last night during our first "meeting"): "There aren't any of these...are there?"

Well, now there's one, and I'm hopeful that after you read this (all 26 of you) that there will be a lot more.

The MAC- What it is.

Your chapter of the MAC can be any color, size, shape and tune that you choose. Reader 18...you already have your name don't you? The CWMAC (Central Wyoming Music Appreciation Club). Nice work.

You chapter should contain the following elements:
-People who enjoy somewhat similar taste in music.
-People with a library they are willing to share (legally) with the group via Mixtape or CD.
-People who love music.

We have three founders in our in the South Plaza chapter. Three weeks ago, we knew each other about as well as you know the lady who cleans your teeth. Now, after brainstorming the idea on Facebook and at an Avett Brothers show, we're in a club together for crying out loud. I envision this chapter growing soon and meeting with regularity and gusto. One of our founders plays the clarinet, so we're going live soon with the jams. (I don't want to embarass Sandy by naming her, so I'll just use the code name, "Wirtel".)

Our other founder (who shall also remain nameless) brought a fantastic and stretchy CD of his musical idol, Bruce Springsteen with some great rare live tracks and accoustics. I said to Rob after I saw it, I said, "Mr. Smith...this is beauftiful." Hearing it in my car today was even better. I dropped three Wilco mixes on them, "Happy", "Jam" and "Dark". Creating those playlists was one of the most fun things I've done in years. Explaining the tracks and your joy for them to rookies...priceless. The people who introduced me to Wilco last year should have a great big parental grin right now. (Your chapter invite is in the mail, kids).

Anyway, start forming your MAC soon. When O.W. rolls this idea out it's gonna pop. You don't want to be a coat tailer and you certainly won't have a book club anymore since they cease to exist without Oprah's reccomendations, right?  

Rock on, America.

*I laughed while typing this because I haven't heard it used since Opie Taylor or Beaver Cleaver. I'm all over using this saying on the count of how cool it counds.

Like a Fox

Imagine that you're 19 again, and that instead of the world being your oyster, its your prison.
Imagine that instead of being given the keys to a new car, you have your right leg amputated at the knee.

Imagine that instead of being told how bright your job prospects were, you were informed that your chances for surviving this type of cancer were 50-50...up from 15% a few years before thanks to new (but expensive) research being done.

Imagine that instead of being wide open to your first job, you were suddenly confined to your first wheelchair.

Would you crumble?

Or would you win three Canadian National Wheelchair Basketball Championships?

Would you waste away from the cancer?

Or would you run? I mean, literally. Get up. Get a prosthetic leg with a clunky, late Seventies metal foot attached and teach yourself to run.

Would you cry about your plight?

Or would you attempt to raise $1 from each of your fellow Canadian citizens for cancer research by, get this, running across Canada?

Need a new hero? His name was Terry Fox. He died after his cancer spread to his lungs and robbed him of the ability to breathe. He died after dipping a gallon jug into the Atlantic ocean in St. John's Bay and setting out with a best friend driving in a donated Ford van alongside him with two goals:
1. Raise money for cancer cures and awareness.
2. Don't stop running until he could dump that water into the Pacific.

He died after running for 143 days in 1980. He ran with a painful gait on technology we wouldn't permit today. His right leg cut off at the knee would bleed and blister as the prosthetic went on grinding against his stump. His height changed with the limp. His back grew tired. He ran 3,339 miles. That's a marathon every single day. That is not a typo.

A few years ago, my wife started running. It was for a cause, but it was for herself too. She was good at it and found solace. An injury has forced her to tone it down and swim for cardio now, but I know she misses it. Running under streetlamps that would go out or come on just as she passed beneath them. The sign of her running angel.

I took her lead and started to run. Not as far and not as frequently, but I started. Then I quit. Started again. Quit for a while. It was like watching a bad last thirty seconds of "Intervention":
           (Fade to black)

"Chris ran for three months. His family visited him once after running and were elated."

        (Fade to black...new frame)

"In June, after a particularly long weekend at the lake and some pretty hot temperatures, Chris relapsed and stopped running."

        (Fade to black then show fat, slovenly Chris sitting on the couch eating a Ho Ho)

"He hopes to restart running some day. We just don't know."

I'm 40 and a little chunky in that, "well I'm 40 and don't always eat salad" kind of way. I want (and now have) exactly the inspiration I need to run far. Chugging up and down Ward Parkway for three or four miles ought to be less of a chore than I make it. I mean, I have two legs, and although I'm carrying a couple of extra chins (4), it's not as if there are any other physical restraints keeping me from going really far.

Maybe it's my equipment. Let's see...I have a shirt. Got some shorts and socks. SHOES! That's my excuse. They were like $12 at Target last spring after I finally blew out the sole in my $11 Target shoes I bought in 2003. Nope. They hold up just fine. In fact, I see plenty of people running barefoot all-ninja style these days. That dude from Discovery Channel's dual survival climbs volcanoes and kicks cactus without shoes.

No excuses.

I have a loaded iPod and a dog (named "Trotter" for cryin out loud) that starts to gnaw on his own leg if he doesn't run for an hour a day.
I have the perfect trail for running 20 yards from my front door.
I have a healthy body (with 4 extra chins) and pretty fair lungs.
I have a role model named Terry Fox.

He intended to raise $1 from every Canadian when he began his quest. There were 24 million of them at the time. He died having raised the eyebrows and hearts of every citizen, and his foundation has subsequently raised $500 million for cancer research.

There are 32 roads and streets names after Fox. There are 14 schools, 14 buildings and 9 running trails with his name in Canada. He has a mountain named after him and a Canadian Coast Guard ship.

A mountain.

Time to take these chins for a really far run.

A Common Sense of Humor

Things I Should Do More Often

-Run far
-Make tons of money and spend it/give it away each day
-Get up ten minutes earlier and pack a damned lunch
-Partake in "drawing contests" when my 8 year old begs it
-Go to soil service and find out what kills my grass every summer
-Listen to my own advice and leave my moody 13 year-old alone
-Watch the Daily Show with Jon Stewart

I've been preaching centrism and moderation for most of my adult life, and, thusly, have never really felt much of an allegiance to either political party. About a year ago, I wrote:

"Conservatives spit at Liberals...Liberals spit at Conservatives. Whatever doesn't hit one side in the face falls into the middle, and I make it my politics by sifting through the mud in the middle to find some rational understanding of the human heart and brain. Most of the time, I find solace in the middle. I can rationalize and empathize with the greatest rationalizers and empathizers in history...Most notably musicians, poets, comedians and huggers (not trees, but huggy people)."

That was in light of the big hubbub over schools not airing Obama's speech to school children. I could be wrong, but I think more and more people are joining me in the mud. The proverbial Pelosis and Palins keep on spitting across the political Mason Dixon line. Increasingly, the mud somehow seems the cleanest place to stand.

Nudging the muddied troops in the ribs with a big shit-eating grin is Jon Stewart.

Stewart plans his D.C. "Rally To Restore Sanity" as a not-so tongue in cheek tip of the cap to Glen Beck and is laying the common sense ground rules with sign suggestions that make me grin, really big.

-"Take it down a notch for America"
- "I'm not afraid of Muslims, Tea Partiers, Socialists, Immigrants, Gun Owners or Gays ... but I am scared of spiders."
-"Got Competence?"
-"I disagree with you, but I'm pretty sure you're not Hitler"
-"9/11 was an outside job."

Doesn't it make sense to step back and filter from time to time? In the same vein that 20% of the world has 80% of the money, 20% of the county has 80% of the venom, hatred and time to be a "winger". Those same people rile people up and give their respective Party a bad name with muddy centrists; creating rifts that lose elections by cutting off their nose to spite their face. I'm not going to even type the name  Christine O'Donnell.

I think a good sense would save our country. Sense of duty, sense of responsibility to self and others, sense of humor, and the ever fading and not-so-common common sense.

George Bush did not plan the 9/11 attacks to win an oil war. Obama is not a Muslim terrorist.

Depeche  Mode said it well back when I had hair, (a sweet soccer top swoop-mullet with badass bangs in case you're wondering):
~"People are people so why should it be, that you and I should get along so awfully?"

The answer, of course, is pride and ego and cowardice and envy and greed and sloth and every other reason that people argue, fight and divide. So no, I will not sit here and type Lenny Kravitz said it best in his lyrics to the song "Let Love Rule a bunch of lovey-dovey crap about turning the other cheek and loving thy neighbor...err..wait? When did that become uncool?

Anywho...I like Jon Stewart. He's smart. He gets the story straight, or tries to. He picks on everybody and demands sense where there is none. To top it off, he's damn funny (or his writers are) and that's why I need to make it a daily habit to watch the Daily Show. Maybe the country could save itself with a little common sense of humor.

Sticker Shock

A recent survey conducted by the Midwest Institute of Fabricated Surveys has revealed the top 5 experiences people most want to avoid, but cannot according to rules of society.

Number 5: The Awkward Office Hallway Head-Nod.
You know, the one you share with everyone in your office you either don't care for, or that you've never met, or that you've already said the Office Hallway Hello-To on that particular day. And heaven forbid you get the Head-Nod from someone you've already said Hello-To and you forget and say Hello-To for a second time in the same day. There are only so many shades of red.

Number 4: Renewing your tags
You know, the longest line ever, regardless of how many people are in it. I've been the second person in line before at the DMV to renew tags and still waited 4 hours to be helped because 1. everyone except the person helping the old lady in front of me took the day off, and 2. because the old lady in front of me was required to ask every conceivable question about tag renewal know to man in the slowest, loudest possible voice. Now I would never punch an old lady...again.

Number 3: Jury Duty
You know, the human gene pool meeting at City Hall. You're the only normal one there, and you get to sit in between people who are employing the Stanislavski Method for mental illness/incompetency to try for a pre-coffee excusal.

Number 2: Public Speaking
You know, everyone finding out you're a fraud and an idiot, and that you say "bowlth" instead of "both". People who die from this fear, and there are thousands of them per year, usually soil themselves front and back before kicking the bucket.

Number 1: Buying a Car (in a freaking landslide that makes the Stevie Nicks version look like a, uh, I don't know, a really small landslide.)
You know, the experience where you have your IQ reduced by 75 points the minute your feet hit the sales lot, and everyone wearing a name tag inherits those lost points. You know, the day you go home and scrub your hands harder than a brain surgeon with OCD to get the filth of being swindled from under your nails.

Well, sometimes fear is nothing more than a big old nasty lookin' self-fulfilling prophecy, that doesn't quite swallow you whole for one reason or another. I just went though meat grinder number 1 from above, and while I make it a point not to be overly gracious to anyone who hasn't endorsed or sponsored my blog, I did want to say a public thanks to Mike Williams and Molle Volkswagen in KC.

Two days of talking, test driving, education, haggling and getting to know him have changed my mind about the fear of buying cars. Don't get me wrong, I did lots of homework and tried to be as educated as possible, but there isn't a trick in the book that could have swerved him off the path of simply being an honest guy selling people a car. You can tell he loves what he does and that probably makes all the difference. If you're shopping for a Punch Dub in the KC Metro, go see Mike.

I think you'll leave with a car and without feeling lighter in the wallet. Who knows, perhaps you'll get the strength to leave the diapers at home the next time you have to give a presentation at work...

In the Mail: Honk if you're horny vs. Have a good day

I don't have many readers per se, but some of you are vocal enough to warrant reprint of your comments to me, both personal and public, regarding past blogs. In a sense, I'm ripping this idea from Bill Simmons, who ripped it from Dave Barry, who stole it from me during my days as a Branding Iron columnist in Laramie, Wyoming when I wrote a fake advice column under the pseudo-pseudonym "Dear Fred". In other words, these requests, discussion points and criticisms are mostly made up, but lend themselves to more funny fodder for me to expound upon.

Mary R. in Chicago emailed...

"A blog entry every three weeks? That's a little skinny, no? Maybe you could spend less time on Mario Bros. Wii and more time with a pen. You're the one calling yourself an aspiring writer."

Mary, thanks for the inspiring words. Also, thanks for somehow installing a web cam in my house and watching what I do when I'm not writing. How many fingers am I holding up?
To your point...I'm trying to be more energetic with words. I want to be profound and topical. Unfortunately, I have to go to work every day and make donuts. I'm tryin. You'll see.

Dave from Denver Co. emailed...

"I like your blog. It's insightful, creative and inspiring. It gives me something to talk to my friends and family with every day. You are a true wordsmith. Keep up the great work, Cory."

Hey Dave! Thanks for the note. However, I think you meant to send this to Cory Feldman. The full text you sent also refers to "Dream a Little Dream" and being "sorry for my loss...it's tough to say goodbye to your best friend" and things that make me think you meant to send it to Feldman. In fact, Feldman forwarded the one you intended to send me, and it read:

"Your blog is weird. I'm afraid I don't get it. Get linear."

Thanks for that Dave. If by linear you mean making reference to Eddie Vedder's beard gristle in the same sentence whereupon I'm trying to relay my disdain for Fyodor Dostoyevsky...I hear what your saying. It's a slippery slope.

Lisa from KC messaged me....

"Um, I kind of liked the blog about hackneyed phrases in the English language. I'm definitely not saying I like your blog. I don't. At least, not yet. It's not linear and it doesn't have enough, you know, content. But you could expand on that list of horrible phrases that need to go away and it might make me like it a little more. Maybe."

Lisa, you frighten children. But, I'm a sucker for even the most backhanded compliment...anything to make you happy.

And now for more non-linear and thinly sliced looks at anachronistic sayings we need to purge from our popular speech!

There have been moments when I caught myself saying or repeating something that made me wish I'd included it in the 2010 Banned List of Words and Phrases. There are simply hundreds of things we say to each other that are lazy and trivial and need to be sharpened and thought about or discarded. It's basically like having a clutter purge and grarage sale of the overused expressions we overuse without expression.

"A watched pot never boils."

Something someone says to you when you are anxious.
Imagine being 12 years old and waiting by the front door for your best friend to come and pick you up to go camping. Imagine your crusty old man walks into the room and glares at you and your backpack...glancing at his bare wrist to imply that he sees you have twenty minutes left to wait for the scheduled pickup time...

"A watched pot never boils," the watch-less old crankshaft says to you.
(How many fingers is he holding up when I turn my back on him, Mary in Chicago?)

What a stupid thing to say. A watched pot never...Yes it does. A watched or unwatched pot boils at 212 degrees farenheit. It takes a while to get there. You don't just snap your flipping fingers and have a cup of coffee. If you turn the heat up and stand there it'll boil pretty quickly. Hell, electric stoves these days can boil water in thirty three seconds. If you dunk a live hand grenade in a pot of water, it will boil.

What you mean to say is, "Stop being so anxious...it's pissing me off as a relaxed person who doesn't share your enthusiasm to watch you wait anxiously. My blood pressure is rising to match yours and I need to chill out and make you do the same.  I, too, wish your friend would arrive and whisk you away for the weekend so I can watch football in my underwear for the next 48 hours."

"Never say never and and never say always."

So dumb. I can tell you a million reasons why this is completely false.
1. I never want to press a thumbtack into my eyeball.
2. I always close my eyes when I sneeze.
3. I never shared a doobie with Chris Farley or John Belushi.
4. You always smile when you think about Chris Farley singing Fat Guy in a Little Coat."

Do I need to keep going? I always win this argument, and conversely I will never lose it.

"You staying out of trouble?"

People say this to you after you say hello to them. People say this to you when they don't know anything about you or what you do in your spare time. People just batter the snot out of this phrase one and it's not always pretty...

Father McDonaghy: "Hello there."

Person: "Hey Padre. How you been? You stayin out of trouble?"

Father McDonaghy: "Why? What have you heard?"

And while I can't remember using this phrase, it ranks right up there with the

I don't know or don't remember your name salutations we revert to in a crisis.

They include referring to someone as:

"Hey... Chief*"

* The list is massive, but accordingly shrunken to these examples

"Bud!"

"Man!"

"Dude!"

"Kiddo!"

"Fella!"

"You!"

"Holmes!"

"Stranger!"

And so on. We all do it. It's a shame these conversations can't be more honest.

Person approaching me: "Hey Chris...how've you been?"

Me: "I have been fine, person I think I should know! What is your name? This is weird. You called me by my name but I've temporarily forgotten yours."

Person standing in front of me shaking my hand with a blank stare on his face: "It's me, Casey."

Me: "Oh right! Casey! Man, great to see you old friend! You look terrific, Casey!"

Casey: "Keefe. Your brother. Casey Keefe."

Me: "Uh, well take it easy there, Chief."

In the world of customer service, there are some really annoying ones we need to toss out.

"Have a good day."

Even at your angriest, have you ever uttered the opposite to someone?

You: "Well, your service here is awful."
Waiter: "Sorry dude, we're understaffed."
You: "Have a shitty day."

Wanting someone to have a good day is pretty much implied. Unless you're talking about opposing soldiers in the battlefield, two people in the same vicinity of one another generally want the other one to have a good day. Even after the Super Bowl, 350 lb. lineman from different teams slap each other on the ass and say, "Good game. Have a good rest of your day."

We gotta come up with an alternate "walk away" phrase, or better yet, about twenty of them to put into rotation that actually express some meaning. I don't know, like...

"Don't get hit by a bus!"
"Exit through the door there and go back to your car. Drive home and enjoy surfing the internet for pictures of J-Wow."
"Don't forget to brush your teeth later."
"Honk if you're horny."
"I hope you find a ten dollar bill in an old jacket tonight."
"That was a weird conversation we had about the weather just now...let's promise each other to never do that again."
"I hope you win a radio call in contest this month!"
"You have a goofy face, but you were fun to chat with."


That's all for now. Have a good day.

Are you it?

Remember playing "tag" when you were a kid. Do you ever watch kids play tag now that you're grown? I chuckle watching the kid who unwittingly becomes "it". He take the responsibility so seriously. When you get tagged, you need to get rid if "it" and pass it on to someone else, chop chop. Being "it" kind of sucks, but hey...you're the one who got tagged. Do something about it....you can't just stand there. 

So I was talking to my Mom yesterday when this idea hit me. An exemplary citizen, my Mom, and quite possibly the most conscientious person walking the planet. As such, I draw a lot of my strength and inspiration from her. Let's face it, resiliency is never easy, especially when it comes to growing older, learning from mistakes and trying to become a better person. Stiffness is much easier. Rigidity comes naturally. Doing nothing is much easier than bending over backwards.

To my point, my Mom has the joyful task of grandmothering my 4 month old niece lots of weekends this summer. She and Quincy Rose have spent some really good time together (I'm jealous) and you can literally hear it in her voice. It gives her deep and sweet peace to be in the same room with her newest grandchild. My brother and his wife went through a lot to get to this point in their lives. They have been so patient and determined, and they are excellent parents in complete love with their daughter. They are lucky to have a grandmother nearby to free them up...and I know they appreciate that fact. But it takes a lot to commit your time every weekend. It takes a lot and she doesn't feel even slightly obligated. She'd have it no other way than to pack a suitcase and drive an hour there and back through 1-25 traffic. Sounds like a standard grandparent, but not everyone is like that.

You have to have giving in your blood. You have to work at it for a long time for it to seep into your veins. It gets easier over time. You get good at giving it all away and not feeling drained. You get back far more (silently) than you give. You don't get giving in your blood without resiliency and practice. You gotta do a lotta back bends.

As my Mom is telling me about her summer of repeated two and three day stays in Denver to watch QR, I'm wondering how impactful that intentional and quiet donation of your time could be if we re-directed it around our neighborhoods, workplaces and to strangers.

Here comes the liberal in me...tearing out from under my moderate summer skin.

You and I do not, as a rule, give enough of ourselves to others. You and I are selfish.

I know there have been countless national efforts to stir people to donate time or money to a charitable cause. I'm not talking about the (wonderful) Salvation Army or (fantastic) Habitat for Humanity. I'm not talking about organized volunteerism, not referring to any activity that yields you a T-shirt or a certificate of completion. I'm not even talking about Random Acts of Kindness. Those are terrific, but people could be overflowing with R.A.K if they were raised up right and taught to open doors for people and say "Bless you" to a sneezing stranger in the grocery store. Teach your kids to do that, please.

I'm talking about intentionally and specifically giving of yourself, your time and your effort all day every day on a conscious and subconscious level to people around you who are capable of doing the same once they see you mean it and it makes you feel good. I guess I'm talking about collectivism. And no, I'm not suggesting socialism.

I think we can live in this country and have progressive and capitalistic blood in our veins and still give it all away every single day...knowing that others would be giving it back in our direction. It would be hard work. It would require serious effort. It would be risky. (See Our Founding Fathers, Pioneers). And don't think I mean give away your fortune each night after a hard day of work. I don't think you should deposit your paycheck into a stranger's checking account. Moreover, I'm not advocating making the same deposit into a panhandling cup. But you owe somebody thirty minutes a day. After that, you can do what you want. If you still feel good giving after an hour, keep going.

I see it as three tiered, this notion of collectivism. On level one you've got Random Acts of Kindness. RAK's are quick, on the spot, and they feel good. Good to give and get. Few and far between sometimes, but evident in our culture and recognized when you give one or get one as going out of your way. On level three, you have full time selfless souls like Mother Theresa and a relatively short list of people who exclusively give without ever needing to receive. Most on this list refuse to receive anything in return for their full donation of self. So like any pyramid, there are very few people at the top, tons of people struggling to get up to and stay in the middle, and too many people piling up at the bottom doing little or nothing. TAG's are the way to get out of the cluttered basement. TAG's are your ticket to level two. Eat it, Abraham Mazlow.

I challenge you to commit a Targeted Act of Giving. It probably takes less than thirty minutes out of your life. TAG a person and keep giving to them unrelentingly and never ever question if they pass the TAG along. Intend to do all this silently and without them noticing. Trust that they will; like that insurance commercial where people see a guy hold the elevator open for a lady and then the lady from the elevator subconsciously passes on the random act of kindness and the world becomes more responsible...Except you do it on purpose. With all your heart and without expecting anything in return.

I can't tell you what your TAG is going to be. It would kill the spirit to try to list some ideas of what I think you might do, and I won't bore you with what I intend to do (or keep doing). But if you're having a hard time imagining what I'm suggesting, walk outside and look around you. Do you have a neighbor that could use some help with cleaning their gutters? Do you have a ladder and a free hour?

Go to work and look at your office mates. Does someone need an ear because they are having a really rough time with a spouse? Do you have an ear and ten minutes? Someone need $50 to get them through to payday? Don't expect it back, and put it in an unmarked envelope discreetly in their desk when they aren't looking.

Imagine your family tree as a giant mural...I can almost guarantee you that a phone call for no reason to someone on that tree would do some good.

Keep it going. Forge and don't expect thank you cards. Move on to giving to people who may not need anything. Be a pioneer about it. Give to those close to you...your friends, spouse or kids. Give them your time and energy. TAG them and see how they change. And be prepared to receive. Be prepared for people to return the giving in your direction. Accept it wholeheartedly and without guilt. You're "it" again, brothers and sisters.

Being "it" sucks, right? Not really. It is hard work and it means you have to go after people and leave your comfort zone. It means you feel alone, too. But if you smile, being "it" keeps the game going, and people keep playing.

Enough blabber. I got stuff to do.

I'm "it".