Not Everyone Likes Getting a Good Tip

I’m tired of chewing….I want to sleep.  The moon is high and almost full, but a platoon of clouds keeps the night more dim than bright.  The chill in the air is a welcome escape from the day’s heat.  A symphony of nighttime sounds from thousands of critters I have never seen are another reminder that it is time to sleep.  I close my eyes and wait for a new sun.   I hope I’m not last to the hay tomorrow.

It’s quiet….a lovely quiet. 

What was that?  A noise?  Now?  At night?  What is that commotion I hear over by Jackie?  I hear a loud thud.  Why is she yelling?  None of us yell at night…more yelling.  She sounds so scared!  I’m scared!  What is happening?  I can’t quite see, but it looks like she is on the ground.  Why would she be laying on the ground?  Did she fall?  We never fall.  I think I hear humans.  Oh thank goodness….humans are good.  They must be here to help Jackie.  Wait, why are they laughing?  I don’t understand!  Why are they laughing when Jackie needs help?

Jackie is my friend and we always sleep close to each other.  She never pushes me or cuts in front of me when we are moving as a group.

Now some of the others are yelling.  I hear something else.  It sounds like something running from the other direction.  It’s close and getting closer fast!  I turn to see where the sound is coming from.  Ah!  It’s another human and she’s running right at me!  She has a crazed look in her face!  Stop!  Stop!  I try to run, but it’s too late.  OUCH!  AAAHHH!  I’M FALLING!  WHAT IS HAPPENING?  I hit the ground hard.  I have never felt this kind of pain before.  I yell as loud as I can.  Why are they doing this to us?

I’m on the ground and too scared to get up.  The human is laughing and pointing at me.  Everyone is yelling now.  Am I going to die?  I thought humans were good, but these must hate us.  Did I do something wrong and they are punishing me?  I just want this nightmare to end. 

Why couldn’t I have been born a pig?

What you have just read is a dramatization.  It’s not real, but the trauma experienced is.  This is the horror that countless cows face every single night.  Cow Tipping; it’s not a game.  It’s real and it hurts.  No one speaks for the cows….until now.  Join my organization, “End Cow Tipping Now”.  If we work together I believe we can end cow tipping abuse in our lifetime.  I know it sounds crazy, but I envision a day when every cow can live a full and peaceful life until the day of their slaughter.  It’s the way it should be and I for one intend to see that vision fulfilled.  Join me in this noble fight to protect those that cannot protect themselves.  Join or donate today at www.endcowtippingnow.org.  Becoming a member is free, the donation is not.  If like me you are former cow tipping abuser, then tell us your story.  Have the courage to make a difference.  “I just want this nightmare to end.”  Together we can end her nightmare.

Christmas is Only About Love

Intro: I wrote this about this time 2 years ago when I knew my daughters were going to face their first Christmas without their parents being together.  I was depressed and felt like a failure as a father.  So often when I write, it feels like someone else is writing for me and to me what I need to hear.  This is a good example of that.  I needed this and it helps me everytime I read it. 

Christmas is only about love:
This season fosters an amazing atmosphere that is so wonderful. It's my favorite time of year. I love the warmth and intimacy that seems to be everywhere. This amazing atmosphere is produced by the lights, decorations, the focus of buying gifts for others, the music, the yummy food, the feeling of free flowing affection, etc.

All of these things are wonderful, but the first Christmas didn't have any of those. The first Christmas only had love. The wise men didn't arrive with gifts until Jesus was a toddler and living in a house. That first Christmas eve and the next day, it was only a man, a woman and a newborn in a borrowed barn. There was no drummer boy. No joyful music. They didn't know anyone, so there were no friends or family to visit. Well, there were a couple of shepherds that were strangers to them. They told an odd story and smelled as bad as the barn because they had been living with their sheep for days.

The animals weren't cooing and snuggling with the baby. They were pooping and peeing all around them. It wasn't warmly lit like the manger scenes we see today. It was damp, cold, and dark. The atmosphere was anything but warm and intimate. In fact, it was miserable. And I suspect that Mary and Joseph felt like terrible parents that night. I wonder if they felt like they had failed their new son. In their eyes they had absolutely nothing to give to their baby, but they gave him what they did have -- love. They couldn't provide a warm Christmas atmosphere, but that baby was loved. The place and circumstances were horrible, but that baby was loved.

It's almost as if God wanted to strip everything else away so that the only thing left was love. He wanted it to be the only thing there that first Christmas because he knew what we often take a lifetime to learn, that the only thing that really matters is love. Christmas is about love. From the very first one it was always about love. So let's enjoy the warm and joyful atmosphere, but if we can't have a perfect atmosphere, that's ok- as long as we have love.

There are soldiers in harm's way that will not get to enjoy a warm Christmas atmosphere, but I bet they love someone and are loved. There are families who have lost a child, a brother or sister, a mother or father. There are families who cannot afford to make the Christmas season all it could be. There are people who will have someone they love in the hospital or struggling with a frightening disease. The difficulties of life do not stop for Christmas. But the difficulties of life must always bow to love. Love conquers all. So regardless of what we have lost, if we have love, then we will have Christmas. If we have love, then we will have Christmas the way it was always supposed to be.

Merry Christmas to us all.

Ireland Story #3: Belfast, Oh The Irish!

Do not read this story unless you have read "The Longest Elevator Ride" Ireland Story #2.  That story was an earlier post on this blog so you should be able to find it.  There is a significant chunk of this story that will not make sense unless you have read it.

Ireland Story #3
Belfast, Oh The Irish
Well, with dinner and the whole "Grunter" incident behind me, it was time to think about what the options were for experiencing Belfast at night. After all, I only have one night in this town.

Armed with a couple recommendations from Michael the Super Guide, a half dozen or so of us head out into the street. Ok, I admit the first place we stopped was the club that Tim Robbins and his band was playing in, but the tickets were 18 pounds a pop ($28). The decision not to go in was a no brainer, at least for me. If you don't know, I am cheap. Enough said. So we head to one of the pubs near the hotel. We ended up at Robinson's Pub (see attached pic).

What I found interesting about most of the pubs we visited in Ireland was that they were similar to the Irish bar chains found in the States, except you can tell these pubs are not trying to look....well, Irish. They are just plain bars. To us, though, they are distinctly Irish in nature. They tend to be darker in atmosphere, with lots of old wood and lots of mismatched stools and tables and chairs. But, they don't have lots of old wood because they like it. They have it because they don't see any need to replace it with new wood or even more modern decorating styles. The original wood is still doing its job. It's still wood. I'm sure if I asked them why they haven't redecorated in the last 200 years, give or take a century, they would give me a look like I was insane for even asking. Actually, out of pity for my obviously diminished mental capacity, they would promptly pour me a stiff shot of Jameson Irish Whisky, on the house. Of course, over there, they just call it whisky.

This pub happened to have live music this night and was crowded. After some standing, we did manage to get a table for 4 for the 6 of us. Another thing I noticed was that the tables are about 8" apart, instead of the necessary 2 feet for a comfortable pass through. So with most tables holding more than the allotted 4 people, it seemed like we were sharing one long table with 20 people. Another surprise was that 8 out of 10 songs being played were American. They were mostly American classics from John Mellencamp, John Denver, and whoever sings "Bye Bye Miss American Pie" and the like, they even played dueling banjo's. Albeit with a guitar and violin instead of a banjo, but it was still cool.

But I must tell you that the atmosphere was electric. These Irish people knew how to cut loose and enjoy the night. Every song brought enthusiastic participation from the crowd with everyone singing along. And of course we were no exception. I noticed during one of the John Denver songs that the lad sitting next to me (technically, he was at the next table) seemed especially enthusiastic about singing along. He was an older gentleman- I would guess to be in his mid/late 50's.

So when the song ended, I slapped him on the shoulder, and quite hard since I figured that's how a drunk Irishman would do it, and said, "You really enjoyed that song didn't you."

He whipped around, and without a second of hesitation, replied, "Of course, I wrote that song for John Denver!"
I laughed with a hearty skepticism.

He then said, "I'm serious! I also wrote 'Featherbed' for John, too! The bastard stole them from me."
We continued our conversation, and I found out he was from Scotland and was visiting friends in Ireland. So there you have it folks: The untold story of the true writer of at least 2 of John Denver's songs, as spoken by a genuine Scott- and we all know they never lie, especially when drunk.

Well, it had been a great night, but we decided to head back to the hotel. As we were getting up we said our goodbyes to the Scott and his friends. On the other side of us at the "next table" was a young couple and their male friend. We had not talked to them during the night, but as we were getting up I said, "Have a good night." That's all it took. Instant conversation. That's what I loved about the Irish people. A simple hello so often turned into a 30 minute conversation between friends. I love this place. So my "Have a nice night" turned into the three of them following us to our hotel lounge for a final drink before night night. James and Clare were the couple and Tony was their third wheel who ends up being a bar owner from another town. At the hotel lounge, he buys the whole party a drink. It is fun talking with them. We have pulled a couple of tables together to facilitate our now larger group. The lounge is nice, much fancier and modern than the pub we just left. Tonight it is mostly empty, so it is quiet- a nice atmosphere to sit and enjoy our drinks and new friends. After a while of visiting, I notice someone across the room who is also enjoying a drink with some friends. Someone in our group told me the next day that at that moment my eyes suddenly got big. Well, it was The Grunter. Yes, you know who I am talking about and of course I know his name, but I prefer to refer to him as The Grunter. After all, that is how HE chose to introduce himself to me. So be it, The Grunter he will be- now and forever.

But there he is sitting with his 2 buddies. No sock cap, no glasses, but yes still sporting those amazing boots.
Apparently, unknown to me the words, "There he is," escaped my lips, because Tony, my new Irish friend asked, "Who is he?"

"Tim Robbins" is my zombie like reply.

Clare on the other side of me says, "Who is Tim Robbins?"

"Shawshank Redemption," I quickly reply.

Tony looks at The Grunter and asks me the not so obvious question, "What is Shawshank Redemption?"
Ok, this breaks me out of my trance like state and I look at Tony with surprise. "You don't know the movie Shawshank Redemption?" With not an ounce of insecurity, and looking back to The Grunter he replies, "No, is he an actor or something?"

I say a hearty, "Yes, a famous American actor!"

Hmmm, where have I heard those words before? There seems to be a ring of brilliance to them.
Now Tony is on his feet and heading toward The Grunter. I get Michelle's attention to get her camera out and follow Tony to get a picture. I have already determined to stay put. I have already had enough of this, this, Texter! Michelle seems confused, but has her camera out and moving toward this latest of Belfast adventures. So now Tony, James, Clare and Michelle are all moving toward the target. The rest of the group, including me, stay in our seats. I have legitimate reasons not to go. Why the rest are staying put, I can only guess. Tony is the first to approach The Grunter. He kneels down beside his chair.

I can't take it any longer. I rise and proceed to the now small crowd of people; his people and my people, squaring off. We will see who has the last grunt. As I get closer, Michelle has snapped a picture (see attached pic). Tony is engaged in a conversation with Tim that I can't quite hear. The rest of us are talking to the other two men, who we correctly assume are part of his band. I inquire about their music style. I care not that they will realize that I don't follow their music. Who gives a..... Ok Shawn, just relax- these guys were not in the elevator with you. They are just dudes who play in a band. Ok, so we have a nice, but short conversation. Then I happen to pick up something Tim says to my new buddy Tony.

Tim says, "So, if you don't know who I am, why are you talking to me?"

I chuckle at this, because Tony was completely clueless about who Tim was and yet, leaped into the scenario. I LOVE the Irish.  Tony couldn’t care less who Tim was, he was just trying to get him to take a picture with his new American friends, because he knew we would like that.  Tim politely says it’s not a good time.
Well, we head back to our table and it's only then that I find out that Michelle thought that I was only pretending it was Tim Robbins to trick our Irish friends. Even when she took the picture, she thought she was just "going along" with her cousin's prank. She really didn't think the guy sitting in the lounge was the same guy in the elevator with us. Well, Tim and his friends promptly left the lounge. Can you blame him when there is a soon to be notorious Irish/American gang running wild in the hotel? In the infamous Europa, no less.
What a night. The Grunter, John Denver's long lost song writer, Tony the young bar owner and then The Grunter again. I hope James and Clare find couple bliss. I hope Tony finds success with his bar, and I hope I never see The Grunter again.

Goodnight to The Europa Hotel, Belfast, United Kingdom. Thank you for a night to remember.

A Wordless Musing

Words….what a great gift to the planet.  What would we do without them?  They say most communication is non-verbal, such as body language, or more dramatic gestures like when a woman throws her drink in a man’s face.  Now that’s communicating!  But, if most of what we “say” is without words, then would it make little difference if there was no such thing?   All of us walking around communicating with our facial expressions and hand motions.  Maybe we would get our feet, hips and shoulders involved.  Having long hair would be an advantage since we could fling it this way and that.  What would a Presidential speech to the nation look like?  We could just mute the TV and absorb the brilliant monologue of body motion.  I bet the stoners would love it.  No doubt they would watch a lot more news and be so much more informed.  A raving Saturday night would be spent sitting in the 31 flavors ice cream shop mesmerized by the patron’s acting out their favorite flavor.  Life would be so much more entertaining.

What would our hand written letters have been replaced with?  Perhaps photocopies of our face folded up and mailed to our loved one.  In the modern age we could have a library of face and body pictures to email to our coworkers or friends.  Those with exceptional facial flexibility would be the brilliant and revered communicators of our day.  Jim Carrey would be the President’s Spokesperson.  Actually, he would probably be President.  Think about it.  If you watched several of the past Presidential speeches while muted, they would all look the same with very little clarity of the content.  But watch an Ace Ventura movie on mute and you follow everything just fine. 

Ha, see, every time you start reading something in my blog you think, “This guy’s an idiot”, but by the end you realize that I have a brilliant point. 

Since we actually do get to use words and I don’t have to rely on my face and body to convey my genius, I will go ahead and be the first to say what you are all thinking.  “Shawn Baker for President…..anything if it stops him from writing this stupid blog!”

Ireland Story #2: The Longest Elevator Ride of my Life

The longest elevator ride of my life:

So I'm in the hotel, yes the Europa, the most bombed building in the history of Ireland’s violent past. It is time to head down to floor number 1 for our group's dinner. My cousin Michelle's room happens to be on my floor (10th floor) tonight so we meet in the hall. As we walk up to the elevator I notice a man is already waiting. There is something that catches my attention about him. He seems familiar to me. He reminds me of an actor. I have little to go on because he has a sock cap on that covers his hair, forehead and ears. He is wearing stylish glasses that further hide his face and his head is down, focused on texting with a blackberry. So all I see is a side view of his partially blocked facial features. Still there is something about him, but I have 3 problems at the moment. First, I can't remember the name of the actor I think this might be. Second, I have precious little time to determine if it is indeed him and then what to do about it. And third, my sweet, but unaware cousin is jabbering away at me, clueless about what is going on in my head.

I have been staring at his face long enough. Now I scan him up and down looking for clues of stardom. He is carrying a much worn, tan leather briefcase that I can tell was pricey when originally purchased. He is wearing stylish, black jeans and the coolest black boots I have ever seen on a man. He is also carrying a hanger with a black dress shirt. And finally, he just has an aire of prominence about him. That feeling of presence someone has when they have big money or power. I continue to study him as the 3 of us wait for the elevator. I wonder if he is sensing my stare? I don't really care, but likely the answer is yes he does. Is the texting real or is it to keep us from talking to him? Let me say that I have spent countless nights in hotels over my career and ridden the elevator with hundreds of strangers and I have said a polite hi to the vast majority of them. This one feels different. I continue to work this out in my brain as fast as I can. The clock is ticking "He is too tall and too old to be the actor I am thinking of" I reason. But the movie I saw him in was released 15 years ago, I am guessing so looking older makes sense. Plus the camera removes 10 inches right, or does it add 10 pounds. Ugh! I just can't think right now! Plus Michelle just asked me if I called my mom. Oh my god, did she really just ask me that while I am standing next to this movie star? I don't break my fixation on this stranger as I reply a terse, "yes".

I add up the evidence and come to an initial conclusion that this is just some well to do Irish lad. After all would a movie star carry a shirt on a hanger? But those could definitely be movie star boots. The elevator door opens. We all enter and I push floor one which is where our dinner room is. He pushes nothing. I politely tell him he will need to push G if he wants to go to the Lobby floor. It must have been my confident, but calm tone that commanded his obedience. But he pushes the button without saying a word or even a glance or nod of thanks. Michelle is still jabbering at me and I have no clue about what. I am still staring and studying my subject. He is still texting. Time is almost gone. I must do something, but I still cannot think of his name. I have the movie....Shawshank Redemption, but what is his damn name? I must say something to him to find out for sure if it is indeed him, but what? What can I say when I don't even know his freak'n name!?!  I don’t know exactly why, but I am now 80% sure it is NOT him. However, I must say something just in case.  Since I still don't know his name my words must be so brilliant that my ignorance of his name will go unnoticed. Think.....think! Ok, I have it. Yes, this is it, oh yes, I have the brilliant statement I have been looking for. Oh, finally I have something to say that is so clever that he will know that I know who he is, but he won't realize I am ignorant of his name. YES! Ok, now for the delivery. I must do it now, the elevator is rushing down. He is still texting, Michelle is still talking, although now I think she might be speaking in Japanese, but not sure about that, I am still staring. The time is now or the opportunity is lost. Ok, here goes. My incredibly astute statement is about to prove my brilliance.

"You know.....(pause for affect).....you look a lot like a famous American actor."

There it is. Oh yes, brilliant!! I smile, being fully satisfied with my genius. And the delivery? The perfect combination of fortitude and calmness. The tone was exactly what I wanted. Perfect! Now for his response. I realize that I will now have my answer as I enjoy my sheer genius still resonating off of the elevator walls. Is this him or not? He does indeed respond. He grins slightly, but he doesn't look at me, not even a glance, his face still buried in the blackberry, fingers still typing away and then comes his official response to my cunning statement.........a grunt. Yes, my friend that is what I said, a grunt. A friendly grunt, but a grunt none the less. Almost a half chuckle, but it certainly wouldn't qualify as a real chuckle. No, it is well within the category of a grunt. Michelle stops talking. Now we both are staring at this stranger still texting. Silence. I have no snappy comeback to the grunt. I used up every ounce of my genius with the American actor statement. I simply wasn't prepared for the response of.....a grunt. What does a person say to a grunt? Still silence. My genius is no longer resonating off of the elevator walls. It has been replaced. First with a grunt and now with awkward silence. The elevator doors open. And like well trained robots Michelle and I exit as if nothing has transpired here. I stop and turn to watch the elevator doors close with the grunter still inside. I look for some final response or clue or some revelation from above that will tell me if this is him or not. He still refuses to look up as the doors shut. Well, what can I do now? I turn and start walking toward the dinner tables to join the rest of our group of 45. The question I have been trying to answer for the last 2 minutes is still nagging me. Unanswered. But, fortunately I will soon have at my fingertips the perfect comfort.....free food. All is well.

I sit with several other new friends from our group and I tell my elevator story. The whole story is of course a revelation to Michelle until we get to the part where I reveal my superior intellect with my American actor statement. Which, as I say it out loud now to the group, it suddenly begins to sound shockingly un-brilliant. Hmmm, quite the opposite of brilliant, actually. The words lame and dufus come to mind. But, I continue the story and as I mention the name of the movie, Shawshank Redemption, someone says, "Tim Robbins!" Ok, where the hell were you 5 minutes ago? My self perceived brilliance is plummeting at an alarming rate. If I had any brains at all and could do 4th grade math maybe I could calculate the rate of it's decent. Well, my story leaves the entire table wondering if it was indeed Tim Russert, I mean Tony Robbins, no I mean Tim Robbins. Whatever the hell his name is, I really don't care anymore. To me he is just "the grunter". That is until someone mentions this to the waiter and he informs us that Tim is playing with his band at a club down the street tonight and he saw him the day before. Well, I guess it really was him. Hmmm...I wonder if our waiter got a grunt. I got a grunt from a movie star. Can he say that? Plus, as I eat my free food I am further comforted with the knowledge that Tim Robbins knows I love my mommy enough to call her. But, little do I realize that I have not seen the last of the Grunter. Welcome to the Europa Hotel, Belfast, United Kingdom.

My Most Embarrassing Moment

My most embarrassing moment; no it didn’t happen last year or even in the last few years.  A hard core most embarrassing moment can and should last a lifetime.  Mine goes all the way back to high school and Mrs. Knepp.  Ohhh….Mrs. Knepp, my English teacher; brains, beauty, sweetness, she had it all and I wanted it all.  Boy did she know how to wear a pair of polyester slacks.  But I digress.  First I have to tell you about my good buddy Randall.  We were juniors and hung out a lot, but even with that I never shared personal stuff so Randall had no clue about my crush on our teacher.  Nor did he know the day had arrived for me to make my big move on her.  Of course I had already been wooing her with special glances and charming smiles, but now it was time for me to let her know I was a man and I was serious.  It was time…..for a wink.  Yes, that’s right.  I would do it right in the middle of class while she is lecturing.  Gutsy I know, but that’s how we men do it. 

My plan for a wink was perfect.  The school gods had smiled upon me because...

The Egg

This poem is proof that I write what entertains me without worrying if others will like it.  I don't expect ANYONE to be entertained by this poem, but it was fun to write.  If you get a kick out of it then let me know.  I have a psychiatrist that I can recommend.  He has done wonders for both my personalities.


The Egg
I sincerely hope I am not the first
Not the only one in the universe

To declare their love and gratitude
If it is so I find it terribly rude

For who has given more and taken less
Go right ahead and take a guess

How can I keep my love silent any longer
To do so would make me a fan of needless hunger

Is there no limit to her many faces
Her variety of offerings is impressive

A pot, a pan, or even a wisked mixture
Or mixed with salad to add taste and texture

A rhyming doctor has long ago seen
They are so yummy even when green

Alexander the Great conquered and plundered
His success a sure sign he ate plenty of these when hungered

Despite her beauty she is not a diva
Sharing her plate with bacon or even pita