Ramshackle

(I wrote this back in August, but lost track of the file and just came across it again tonight)

Ramshackle

Some background: I’ve had various back and hip injuries over the past two years, which sometimes render me unable to do anything at all for a few days until the meds kick in, often interfere with basic functioning, and always have me extremely cautious about whatever I do, because I can’t afford to be out of commission. I have a two-year-old who needs her daddy to be able to pick her up. I’ve been doing PT, chiropractic, anti-inflammatories, massage, all the stuff you’re supposed to do. There’s progress, then there’s setbacks, it’s a pain in the ass (literally), it never seems to end, and the less said about the whole mess the better.

But the point is, my two-year-old is old enough (and smart enough) to notice when Daddy is using a cane or crutches and to be inquisitive about why.  So she understands that sometimes Daddy’s hip hurts and he needs an ice pack and medicine to feel better, and that sometimes Daddy can’t pick her up but Daddy still wants to spend time with her and hug her, and that Daddy has to be careful with his hurt hip.

She has, for the past couple weeks, been demanding the same bedtime story every night (The Caboose that Got Loose by Bill Peet), and it includes among many other things a line about the “ramshackle barn” the caboose would pass every day.  After the first 800 readings or so, I figured the kid had most of the story memorized and I’d make her help tell the story, so I often stop and have her supply the next word (pointing to the picture if there is one)… as in: “Ramshackle…” “BARN!”

Today, we went to visit a farm (which she enjoyed, but that’s another story), and on the way there and back she started pointing out barns and saying “That’s a ramshackle barn!” Most of the barns were, indeed, pretty ramshackle, but some were new. Just to see if she’d get the difference, I asked her if she knew what “ramshackle” means. (Naturally, she said she did, and she didn’t). I told her that “ramshackle” means the barn is old and rusty and broken down, so some of the barns were ramshackle and some were new.

Later on that day, she saw a house that looked sort of barn-shaped and said “That’s a ramshackle barn! Sometimes, people have new barns, and then they become old ramshackle barns, and then the people fix them so they will be un… um… unshackled!”

Again: My TWO-year-old is at that level of linguistic sophistication. It’s a grammatical error, of course, but only because English is the bastard offspring of a dozen different languages and therefore has no actual consistent rules of grammar. This leap was perfectly sensible, and would have totally been right in any language that made sense.

Later on, as we were brushing teeth and beginning the evening routine, she asked me, “Daddy, are YOU ramshackle? Are you old and broken?”

I shit you not.

As I laughed my ass off, I told her “Sometimes, hon… sometimes. But Daddy’s doing exercises to help fix that.”

By the way, I was only guessing at the definition of “ramshackle” myself, since I’d only ever seen it in her book and maybe once before in a similar context. I looked it up in the dictionary just now, and apparently it means “Loose and rickety; likely to fall to pieces; shaky (A ramshackle old building)” So in fact, the kid’s absolutely right – Daddy is indeed ramshackle.

 

© John M. Munzer

Haice-ku: Haiku about ice cream

The ice-cream cometh.

Cold vapors from box promise

Relief from the heat.

I scream, you scream, we

All scream for ice cream. You know

The words. Sing along!

Ben & Jerry's: NICE.

But it’s hot, so any ice

Cream will quite suffice.

I’m dying of heat!

Someone fetch some ice cream, quick!

Ah, cool, sweet relief!

Tinkling bells – grating,

But effective way to get

Your kid’s attention.

A D D kid gives

FULL ATTENTION to the sound

Of that ice-cream truck.

The ice-man cometh.

Hear the bells that tinkle to

Herald his coming.

How I learned that Chick-Fil-A exists

Company CEO: We’re opening a whole bunch of restaurants this year, and we need to bring in the customers. I want our name to be as famous as the big boys. Everyone knows KFC, but there’s still people who haven’t even HEARD of my restaurant. I want the biggest publicity stunt ever.

Marketing exec: Well sir, people seem to respond well to commercials that involve sex, music, or computer-animated talking animals. How about singing, dancing chickens in bikinis?

Company CEO: How much would that cost?

Marketing exec: With all the programmers involved, plus getting the rights to use a popular song, plus paying the networks to run it nationwide…  Sir, a conservative estimate would be several million.

Company CEO: Oof. Just when I need the money to invest in those new branches. Any other ideas?

Marketing exec: I know - Let’s get involved in a divisive political issue, donate a couple million to one side of the cause, and tell people that they are supporting their party line by eating at your restaurant. People who approve of your stance will flock to you; people who disapprove will complain about you, and their Facebook friends who approve will flock to you and pass the word. The whole goddamn country will be talking about you for weeks. I bet you’ll even get people willing to stand in line for hours to eat your chicken, if you make a big “Support the Cause Event” day.

Company CEO: Sounds good, but Americans have the attention span of a goldfish, especially for politics. Hell, most of them have already forgotten we’re still at war. I want something even bigger.

Marketing exec: Well, people get passionate about sex, religion, and politics. What if there was an issue that involved ALL THREE?

Company CEO: Oh. HELL. Yes. The gay marriage debate.  You can’t even BUY publicity like that would generate. Every religious person in the country, AND everyone who resents religion, AND every gay person, AND every homophobe, AND everyone with any kind of political affiliation at all … EVERYONE will get worked up over this.

Marketing exec: Exactly. Do you have a preference about which side to support, sir?

Company CEO:  Meh, toss a coin. No, wait… Gimme demographics. Which side buys the most fast food?

Marketing exec: Well, sir, liberals tend to be more into eating local, eating organic, even vegetarian. Conservatives… well, have you ever seen a picture of Rush Limbaugh?

Company CEO: Right then. We’re now Team No Gay Marriage. You really think people are stupid enough to fall for this?

Marketing exec: Sir, people listen to Justin Beiber.

Company CEO: I told you never to speak the Evil One’s name in my presence. Still, point taken. Best $2 million I’ll ever spend. Hey, make sure you also write a couple articles about how outraged everyone should be about our stance and put ‘em up in some liberal blogs, to get the ball rolling.

Marketing exec: Exactly what I was thinking myself, sir.

Company CEO: Excellent. Meeting adjourned. Let’s sell some chicken, people!

On the Sarlacc, and the limits of suspension of disbelief

It’s amazing, the stuff in a story that makes perfect sense to a seven-year-old, but makes an adult stop and think “Hang on… even in make-believe world… that couldn’t work”.

The Sarlacc from Star Wars is a great example. When I was seven and seeing Return of the Jedi in the theater, I heard that the Sarlacc’s victims get slowly, painfully digested over a thousand years and thought “Right. Don’t want any good guys to fall into the hole, then. That would suck. Hooray, badguys fell into the hole! Serves you right, Boba Fett. Don’t f*** with Harrison Ford, is the lesson there.”

But… even granted this is a universe that allows for light sabers, hyperspace travel, and the Force… really a thousand years? The lifespan of a human who ISN’T being digested is 70 years, 100 tops. And that human would only live six weeks max without food of his own, 3 days without drinking water, ten minutes tops without oxygen… none of which are likely to be available inside a giant carnivore’s belly, in the middle of a desert that makes Death Valley look like a rain forest. Assuming he didn’t die instantly by getting impaled on the several rows of giant needle-sharp teeth as he fell in.

More important, how would anyone KNOW that the Sarlacc digests its prey for a thousand years? Who fell into the hole, interviewed some other victims (“Dude, 999 years so far? REALLY? How have you kept count? Where did you even GET an oxygen mask? And you’ve been eating WHAT?”), then somehow got out to tell people “Yeah, seriously man, you DON’T wanna fall into the hole… and if you ever piss off Jabba, beg him to feed you to the Rancor instead”?

Most of all, even granting all that other stuff: What’s in it for the Sarlacc? In order to keep a human alive for even a day, even if that human was not expending calories by struggling to escape or writhing in agony or moving at all, it would have to somehow pump at least a thousand calories into that human. Over the course of a thousand years, that’s… 365 days times 1000 calories times 1000 years… 365 MILLION calories expended to digest a meal that only contains about 150 pounds of meat. Assuming that a pound of human contains about as many calories as a pound of fatty beef, each pound of human meat gives the Sarlacc about 1000 calories – meaning that an average human contains about 150,000 calories.

So Hannibal Lecter can get his nutritional needs met by eating people, sure. But when the Sarlacc eats someone, it expends 365 million calories to get 150,000 calories. Every meal the Sarlacc eats causes it to lose 2400 times more energy than it gains. At that rate, the Sarlacc would starve to death long before the victim did.

 In conclusion: I WAY overthought this.

Nevertheless, it doesn’t work, even in pretend-world where the laws of physics are more or less optional.

Dragons, I can buy into – it’s magic. Rings that make you invisible, no problem. Weapons that could destroy the world – hell, even in the real world we’ve had that since my grandparents were kids. Lasers that can cut through anything at a range of 3 feet then for some reason stop short and don’t continue traveling at 186,000 miles/second, and can be blocked by other laser swords, all controlled by a handle the size of a flashlight… sure, it’s all make-believe anyway. But if the Sarlacc eats you, my money says it’s not a whole lot different than if a giant shark or whale swallowed you alive – even if you somehow can manage without oxygen, you’ve got a few days, tops. And this is coming from a guy who’s still willing to believe that could have ACTUALLY happened to Jonah.

© John M. Munzer

Behavior is about hunger

Behavior – ALL behavior – is an attempt to feed a hunger.

The simplest protozoa engage in behaviors. They move around seeking food, water, other protozoa to mate with, shelter … things that they are HUNGRY for. And they engage in whatever behavior gets them the most food for the least effort.

More complex animals have more complex hungers, and more complex behaviors to meet those hungers. There is a hunger for companionship, a hunger for safety, a hunger for touch, a hunger for belonging, a hunger for stimulation, a hunger for control, a hunger for relief from physical pain.

Then there are the hungers which, as far as we know, are uniquely human. The hunger to be part of something bigger and more important than ourselves, the hunger for purpose, the hunger for a future that is better than the present, and the hunger for relief from emotional pain.

People do not begin eating out of dumpsters when they are full of good food. People begin eating out of dumpsters when they are hungry and don’t think they’ll be able to get food any other way. People who have had to eat out of dumpsters may even continue doing so after they’ve started living in a place where there’s three meals available every day, because they’ve learned that they can never trust that their hunger will be filled - they’ve learned that they will always HAVE to dumpster-dive at every opportunity.

Likewise, people do not engage in excessive drinking, theft, violence, unsafe sex, self-harm, manipulation, or other harmful behaviors when their hungers for stimulation, comfort, security, control, attention, and touch are already satisfied. People do these things because they are starving and don’t believe they can meet these needs any other way. Even when they live in a place where better options are available, the behaviors may continue quite some time, because they’ve learned that they will always HAVE to do these things in order to feed their hungers.

It takes a LOT of time to unlearn a behavior that used to be necessary to feed a hunger. And the one thing that absolutely will NOT help is to try and force the person to give up a behavior that they feel they NEED in order to feed that hunger. The only chance they have is to learn a new behavior that feeds them better, more reliably, more often, and with less effort.

Imagine a feral dog that has no food is chewing on one of your shoes. If you want that shoe back, do NOT try to pry it out of the dog’s mouth. He’ll tear your arm off. Instead, show the dog a chunk of steak. The dog will drop the shoe and run to eat the steak instead. If he runs back to grab the shoe after bolting down the steak, it doesn’t mean the steak plan was the wrong method. It means the dog still needs more steak.

In the fields that attempt to improve human behavior – psychology, social work, teaching, child care, ministry - our job is not to force people to drop the shoe. Our job is to show the person where the steak is. Show them a better way to feed their hungers, and they’ll drop the old way on their own.


© John M. Munzer

The bartender’s story

It was the craziest night. I have the receipts, I have the overflowing tip jar, I washed the glasses, I even tasted the stuff myself, and I still don’t believe it happened. But it did, in my bar.

There was a SNAFU with one of the orders, and the beer never got delivered. We’re supposed to have a dozen different beers. We’re down to the last keg, that one’s almost empty, and it’s 5 p.m. on a Friday. We’re all panicking, we can’t get hold of anyone to order more beer, and customers are walking in.

This one guy – big guy, looks like he does construction – comes up to the bar, and says “I’m buying a round, what’s everyone want?” Everyone wants beer, of course; they all want the amber, and that’s what we have left, but I don’t know if we have enough. I take the order, and as I’m about to go try and fill it the burly guy says “Friend, you look worried. What’s the problem?” Funny, I’m always saying that to my customers; this is the first time in ten years that a customer asked me. I tell him “Well sir, I’m just hoping we have enough beer to fill your order, we’re almost out.” The guy says “Hey, don’t worry, friend, it’ll be fine. You just pour till it runs out. You’d be surprised how far a keg can go.”
Well, I think, whatever, he’s trying to cheer me up and it’s nice of him but there still won’t be enough beer.

But he’s got this grin.

I fill the order, and there is enough for the round. Then the burly guy, still grinning, orders another round, and says he wants porter this time. I tell him we’re out, and he says “Pour an amber then, but remember the dark chocolatey amber is mine.” He winks. I think maybe I’ll have to cut him off soon, but I pour everyone’s order – and as I stand before you, I swear – when I poured the last one, the tap ran dark and it was pouring porter. I damn near dropped the glass, but that guy sings out “That last one’s mine, dude, be careful with that one” and I recover enough to hand the drinks around. He calls me over and says “I told you, don’t worry. You just pour. Everyone will get what they need.”

That keg that should have been empty by 5:15 poured round after round after round, and that guy is leading everyone in songs. Some of them were drinking songs in other languages, but he managed to get everyone singing along anyway – Hava Nagila was one. He’s the life of the party, buying rounds, telling jokes, dancing with people, getting all the solitary drinkers laughing and singing and joking and dancing too. He’s buying food for people too, as fast as Manuel can cook it… and I swear there was more bread than there should’ve been, now I think of it. And whatever people order, it’s coming out of the tap. Just for the hell of it, when one lady ordered a margarita, I poured from the keg to see what would happen, and damn if it wasn’t a frozen margarita pouring from an empty beer keg. And I could tell from the smell – you own a bar for ten years and you can tell – that it was top-shelf tequila in there.

By 9 p.m. he’s stopped drinking, but he’s still got everyone roaring with laughter. And it’s not the laughter you get from people who’ve drunk themselves stupid, it’s the laughter you get when everyone’s just a little buzzed and genuinely having a great time. That’s another thing – he seemed to be guiding people’s consumption so no one overdid it. People who are about to order one too many, he stops them and says he’ll buy them some juice instead, and they’re feeling so great that they AGREE. Even Big Jimmy – last time I cut Jimmy off I damn near had to call the cops, but Jimmy THANKS this guy. That tap pours orange, grape, tomato, apple, whatever the guy orders. He grins every time he orders a Virgin Mary, for some reason.

By midnight, everyone’s been laughing so hard and singing so loud and dancing so long that they’re exhausted. So he runs to his car and grabs a guitar, gets everyone quiet, and starts singing these slow, gentle songs. I can’t begin to tell you how beautiful those songs were. People are in tears – not sad, not sloppy drunk tears, but the way you cry when something’s so perfect you can’t stand it, you know?

2 a.m., last call, and that keg is still pouring. He calls out, “Hey, everyone, have this one on me. You should have the best wine – it’s something special, my own father’s vintage.” I pour sixty glasses of this rich, thick, fragrant red wine from a beer keg that should be empty, and pass them around. Then, “La Chaim!” he shouts, and everyone shouts back “La Chaim!” and drinks. Me too – he insists. I’m not a wine-drinker, but this is far and away the best thing I’ve ever had, and everyone gets real quiet as they taste. It was like… it was… What the hell, some things are too good to be described with words - you can only know it if you experience it. The closest I can get is to say this: I felt like I wanted to be a better man, to somehow begin to deserve the privilege of even touching this wine… and I knew I could never be a good enough man to deserve it.. and, somehow, I knew he was okay with that.

Then he pays his tab, in cash, and he turns to leave. Everyone shouts after him to wait a minute and… and, well, everyone wanted to hug him goodbye. He’s there another half hour hugging people, and I hug him too, and it’s like being a little kid getting a hug from Dad, just gentle, strong, safe. Then he walks out the door.

After I’ve closed up, I try the keg. It pours one more glass of liquid heaven, wine thick and dark as blood, terrifying and beautiful and full of everything that the world ought to be.

Then the keg runs dry. Not even foam.

I don’t know, you tell me. But by God, that was a party worth being at.

© John M. Munzer