Autoblogging While Otherwise Engaged

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Just an update … this blog will be posting a post-a-day from posts that I have previously written for about a week.

The aunt for whom I regularly care was hospitalized on Monday night, and is gravely ill in a guarded condition.  I am focusing on “my calling” to ensure she receives all the care required.  

No more original content for a while until she’s stable and I have time to think.

Keep her in your prayers.  “BHD’s Aunt” will do just fine.  God knows… 🙂

Life is short: show those you love that you love them.

PS:  I say that all the time, but I mean it!  Pay a visit, give a call — show those you love that you love them.  You never know what may happen, so live each day to its fullest and have no regrets.

Are Harness Boots Gay?

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Here we go again, google searches of the most inane type:

These questions keep showing up regularly, and Google directs them to this blog and my website.

What the person from Fontana, California, probably intended was to inquire about the perception of others his age was about wearing harness boots. What I learned from a blog post (no longer in print) is that the term “that’s gay” is used by kids these days to mean “that’s lame.” And not lame as in crippled, but as in “dumb” or “stupid.” And not dumb as in unable to speak, either.

Another (unavailable now) post provided a humorous explanation of the evolution of American English to get a glimpse of how calling something “gay” is meant as a pejorative — or abhorative — statement, but not having to do directly with the sexual orientation of the person doing something — like wearing harness boots. That post also explains how, in the mind of kids today, that “gay = lame” in their use of the language.

Nonetheless, it is not dumb, stupid, lame, or “gay” to wear harness boots.

A younger guy who enters a question into a search engine, “are harness boots gay?” is perhaps interested in the style of the boots, but afraid what others may think. Lots of research continues to show that young people are extremely concerned about perceptions of others, as they have not matured enough to be their own person, and have not yet learned to dismiss and not worry about other people’s perceptions.

So all I can say is, when you grow up and become a man, you may choose to wear harness boots because you like how they look and how they feel on your feet, and you have matured enough to care less about your peer’s opinions.

‘nuf said.

Life is short: be patient with the young, for they known not what they say.

Observations From Frye Boot Fan

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Note from BHD: This is the second of a two-part guest blog series from Frye Boot Fan. His previous post recalling how he got into wearing Fryes as a teen during the late ’60s in suburban Washington, DC, is here (link). Below, he shares additional observations.

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Footwear historians note that in turbulent and unsettled times (wars, etc.), for centuries, the unconscious trend is towards substantial boots, as they make us feel safer and more protected than foot-revealing, light-weight, low shoes. It’s all very psychological.

Look at that era, no more tumultuous or troubling times that I can think of in the 20th Century. As youngsters we lived in mortal fear of getting drafted and going to Vietnam, getting busted by “the pigs,” having to run away, or just let our “boot heels go a-wandering” at a moment’s notice to escape parents’ authority (e.g. the series of Kay Lenz hippie-hitch-hiker-girl movies, ‘Billy Jack’, troubled teen flicks, etc.)

Too close to home–remember the skies glowing red all night from DC in flames in the 1968 riots following the assassination of Martin Luther King? It was pure trauma to suburban kids–boots afforded protection.

Until Fryes hit the scene, really, the only alternative were cowboy boots. Those were uncomfortable and bespoke red-neck culture. Where I lived, those guys were pretty hostile to long-hairs like us. We dallied with surplus store combat boots for a while. Those were “cool,” but too grim a reminder of what might await us at 18–Vietnam service. Frye boots were just the right things at the right time for our generation. They were not hold-overs from any previous generation, not borrowed from another sub-culture–they belonged entirely to us. We made then culturally-charged icons, pure and simple, not a style with any stigmas to overcome like cowboy boots.

Dress has ever been all-defining. In the halcyon heydays of Fryes, for all of the propaganda about non-conformity and free-thinking, a more rigid and “uniform” dress code enforced by peer-pressure I cannot imagine than what we endured. Official public school dress codes mandating: neatly cropped hair, collared dress shirts, and prohibiting blue jeans, boots, etc. in the classroom had only just been rescinded in local junior and senior high schools in ’67 or so, and this new-found freedom began the whole sartorial “fashionista” trend for school kids–the excesses of which are now causing a return to dress codes in U.S. public schools (nobody I heard of ever got killed over their Frye boots, as some have been for popular sneakers).

If period advertising is anything to go by, the current chronology of Frye styles is messed-up it seems to me. Frye marketing claimed that the “Campus” boot came “first” in the “mid-’60s”, as a revival of some “1863” boot. I cannot find any ads for the “Campus” style until c.1973, even among the copycats like Sears, who only lagged a few months in ripping-off popular styles. Double H Boots’ website says they came out with their “Snoot Boot”(TM) (harness) in direct competition with Frye, around ’70-’71, but HH never copied the “Campus” style. The square snoot toe and harness, I think, came in first, but what year exactly? Some bloggers claim to have worn Frye harness boots to Woodstock (Aug. ’69). Is there a really a pair shown in ‘Easy Rider’ (1969)? Maybe we need to look more closely at album cover photos of the day. Others say Jim Morrison (d. ’71) wore Fryes to boost his height, but no reference to which exact style.

If my memory serves, the harness boots appeared on the suburban DC scene c.1970 at the earliest, and the Campus boot followed in c.1973. All of the Frye Co. ads I have found pre-1970 only show cowboy boots, and the older ’40s-’50s ads shoe just the “Jet” boots, all mail-order only. My theory is, Frye underwent some changes when they decided to wholesale boots to retail stores, and that this coincided with the new styles of the harness and later the “Campus”. The square toe harness style was quickly co-opted by long-hairs, and bikers, so Frye came out with the more clean-cut and neutral “Campus” style for the general youth market, by then trending towards bulbous toe shapes, thick platform soles and the straight chunky heels that reigned supreme during the Disco era. More research is needed here.

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BHD comment: My recollections about Fryes are the same as my Guest Blogger’s memories — we grew up in the same geographic area, and are about the same age. I recall comments about “only rednecks wear boots” and thought those slurs were part of an ongoing repertoire of commentary that was hurled at me by other guys who picked on me — typical grade-school bully stuff (though we were in high school at the time.) To me, I just liked to wear boots, and I did. I began back then to emerge as my own person, and with the encouragement of my family, I didn’t let negative comments make me change my mind about what I chose to wear on my feet. Plus, having strong ties to Oklahoma, wearing cowboy boots in Maryland was a way to demonstrate some pride for my mother’s family roots and my Choctaw blood.

One more word: I realize that about half of my blog visitors live elsewhere in the world, and do not know what a “redneck” is. That is a term for someone who works out in the hot sun, such as a farm worker. Thus, their neck would get red from sunburn. It was usually a term of reference to someone from the U.S. South, and in the north, calling someone a “redneck” was deemed an insult.

Frye-ography

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Note from BHD:  the following post was written by “Frye Boot Fan,” a guy with whom I have been corresponding lately.  He grew up in the same county that I did and during the same era, though we did not know each other. With his permission, I am posting his recollections of wearing boots in the late 60s and early 70s in the suburbs of Washington, DC, in one of the most wealthy counties in Maryland.

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Cool boots were part and parcel with bell bottoms and the urge to grow long hair, none of which my parents would tolerate until I entered junior high in 1969.  Junior High was a melting pot of diverse kid-tribes from several elementary schools — [well-to-do Suburb A] with Bohemian [Suburb B] and blue collar and collarless [Suburb C] — as diverse as the United Nations it seemed.  The “freaks”, proto-hippies in-training I fell in with; the “greasers” from the marchlands, plus the clan-less mass of collegiate clean-cut kids.  These three tribes were known as “click, soul, and rock-n-roll,” in reverse order given above, “click”=clean cuts, “soul”=greasers, and “rock-n-roll”=freaks.

Dress, musical tastes and overall demeanor defined one’s tribe, and there was no inter-tribal fraternization, especially between freaks and greasers, amongst who there abided the greatest animosity.  The “click” kids were seen largely viewed as potential recruits for both groups, though some of their more intrepid girls were fair game, dating into either tribe, but I digress. The “greasers” amused themselves with hot-rodding older buddies’ ’57 Chevys, wearing black leather blazers over white tee-shirts, or pastel yellow Banlon polo shirts; cuffed khaki trou worn too short in the legs, and black high-top “Chucks” (Converse All Star sneakers).  They maintained ’50ish coiffures with plenty of hair grease, hence the name I suppose.  They listened to R&B soul music music, and hosted the occasional chain-fight rumble.  Nobody messed with these dudes–bad news.  The “freaks” of course listened to rock, formed garage and basement bands, chased hippie chicks in all their sartorial splendor, and discovered pot.

As 7th graders we of course looked to the 9th graders for fashion guidance in everything cool.  They were two years ahead of us in hair growth, as they had fatigued their parents into accepting a level of hippie dress our parents were still resisting.  This was soon to change as the pressure for hip back-to-school wardrobes and plummage was overwhelming, and parents relented in most cases.  After assorted un-cool boots all my young years, the first cool boots I had to have were Flagg Brothers chocolate brown suede, back-zipped, pointed toe, 8″ Beatle Boots, with an instep strap and antique brass buckle.  These were pure crap, and only available from a Flagg Brothers store in the mall.  With all the walking we did, in all sorts of nasty weather, one pair was blown-out in three months, but they started us on the road to that loose-fitting, clunkity-clunk heel walking soon perfected.  The next boot du jour was a Jarman fashion boot, a pull-on, with a wide square toe, and likewise an instep strap and buckle. These came from a store at the mall too, and were as crap-tastically made as the Flagg Bros. fashion boots.  Snoot toed harness boots, Fryes and cheaper Sears knock-offs for the kids on tighter budgets appeared on the scene overnight it seemed in late ’69–or maybe for back-to-school in ’70-’71.

My first pair were Frye, sans harness, snoot toed, antique stained reddish-brown color, with an added leather 1/2 sole in the front, 3 tacks across the toe and a few at the sides.  These, like all my subsequent Fryes were bought at a Western Wear store in Washington, DC.  Why mom drove all the way down there I have no idea.  Now correctly Frye-booted, and in faded Levi’s “Big Bells,” frayed away at the back from being overly long and trodden under boot heels, from the waist down I was “cool” man! I recall Fryes cost $70 a pair then, a princely sum, so I only got one pair each year for back-to-school.  Consequently, we devolved a taste for beat-up Fryes, to match our beat-up everything else.  The 9D was too short, but the 9-1/2 D boots were always a bit sloppy on me, so the clunkity-clunk heel noise was accentuated. I ran the counters over badly, the heels down, and the snoot toes mushed into amorphous shapes after several months’ hard wear. For us nothing was quite so cool unless it looked like it was about worn out–brand new Fryes were the exception, but they did not hold their shape for long.  It amazes me how many vintage Fryes on Etsy and eBay today have managed to keep in such good shape, especially those snoot toes, as they were usually the first things to go soft.

In 8th grade pair #2, same again, but this time with the more dangerous harness–“Dingo Rings” we called ’em.  During a favorite pastime–dodging gym class by feigning to have no gym clothes–the coach chided me: “if your mom can afford those expensive Frye boots, she can afford to buy you sneakers!”  What an asshole he was–Fryes were cool, high top black Chucks for gym were greaser-gear.

The 9th grade was passed in the harness boot, but it was off to High School in a more daring saddle tan pair.  When that pair were about shot I experimented pulling the heels off and wearing them that way. What a rube. It was back to basic antiqued reddish brown harness Fryes from then on, some with the 1/2 sole added, some without, whatever the store had on the shelf.  After high school, more of the same.  By then I discovered that an spare pack of smokes would slip down in the leg for those long weekend over-nights, parties, and forays with some exotic “B-Town girl” or another.

It seems nothing great lasts forever.  My “last” Fryes were bought in 1977 for a trip to Britain, and it seems the snoot toed harness boot was being supplanted in local popularity, as well as the store stock selection, mostly by the dreaded “Campus” boot.  This pair was an unappealing burgundy-red, with natural colored sole and heel edges, all of which I over-dyed black.  After suffering shin splints because of the 2″ chunky heel, I had the heels lowered.  Other footwear was by then rotating through my young adult wardrobe, but that pair of Fryes held on in occasional wear, clumping through Austria, the Czech Republic, and the UK several times into the late 1990s.  I finally made a gift of them to a 20-something pal who was obsessed with the ’70s cultural revival and dress, and they are still going somewhere up in Connecticut. Interestingly those less than desirable broad blunt Campus toes, and the heel counters, held their shapes better than the 9 or 10 previous pair with snoot toes.  The latter crushed down and looked every bit like the Campus toe eventually, but it was the principle of the thing.  To me the Campus boot hinted of Disco music/culture (I deplored) and platform shoes, and they had none of the danger or cache of the harness with snoot toe in ’70.  Levi’s stopped making those “Big Bells” by 1980, too, and I even cut my hair off short, at shoulder-length, and had it layered.  What were we thinking?

The final chapter–I chanced upon some ’90s vintage used Frye 9-1/2D harness boots in an antique shop in Pennsylvania about four years back, and bought them for $35.  Oh how the mighty had fallen.  The insoles were foam padded, and it took the heaviest socks I could find to even keep them on my feet, meaning they were cold weather boots at best.  They were finally gifted to my ’70s-obsessed young friend too.  Last week on my birthday my wife presented me a nearly-new pair of saddle tan, 15″ Campus Fryes, “Black Label”, and I’ve been clunkity-clunking all over the house ever since, and scoping Etsy and eBay for some antiqued brown harness boots with snoot toes.  The Campus boots still whisper Disco-era to me, and I need to go back to the headier days of Led Zeppelin, Zappa and the Stones, underground comics, and maybe some Levi’s big bells, if I can find them in 33 waist now.

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Frye Boot Fan apologizes that the photos of him do not show him in his Fryes.  Image blurred on purpose, to protect the identity of the guest blogger.  If you wish to comment, you may do so with this post, and he will see it, or you may send me a message and I will forward it to him.

Be sure to read “Observations from a Frye Boot Fan” — Part II of this guest blog series posted 24 January, 2011.

Making Lemonade Out of Lemons

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One of my blog readers brought up a point that I thought that I would address on my blog.  The point was more of a pondering related to what choices someone makes when life deals you a blow.  Man, I’ve had that happen.  Not lately, but when it has happened, one goes through several stages of emotions before arriving at the outcome.

When something bad happens, one can choose to wallow in self-pity and blame everyone and everything else.  Sometimes, someone else is truly at fault.  But the situation is what it is and you have to deal with it.

Unfortunately, I observe all too often that people stop at the stage of blaming others and continue to dwell on the “they did this to me” position, taking things very personally.  Then wishing ill on “them” and crafting ideas to get back at “them” while really doing nothing to change the current state of affairs.

Certainly, when I have been dealt a blow that I feel was undeserved, unwarranted, or just plain wrong, I have expressed emotions about how I feel.  I am human.  I get hurt — sometimes too easily.

But if life has taught me anything, it is that revenge is best served by living well.  Instead of wallowing in blaming others, I make lemonade out of lemons.  That is an American expression by turning matters around to a positive rather than a negative.

I guess that is how I am wired and how I was raised:  not to let bad things get me down for too long.  Plus, I credit my partner and my family for not letting me get that way.  From listening to me rant, then reminding me that I am “better than that,” to asking me to tell them what I will do about it, their encouragement helps me find a positive way of dealing with a negative situation.

Sometimes it is not easy.  Sometimes I feel that I have been truly wronged, and that “they” are total assholes who need a proverbial kick-in-the-butt.  But I also realize that sometimes things happen for reasons that I am not fully aware of, or due to politics, or that I am not the universally well-loved guy that I make myself out to be.  Yeah, there are some people out there who don’t like me, and never will, and who look for ways to make me uncomfortable.  That happens in real life, in real jobs, and in the real world.  Life stinks sometimes.

But the outcome doesn’t have to be crap.  I have learned that if you focus on the negative and look for ways to spread the negativity by making lives miserable of those who have made your life (temporarily) miserable, then you are only dwelling in everything that is bad — for your psyche, soul, and sense of self-worth.  Bad-breeds-bad, negative-breeds-negative.  One can lose his mind and his soul by continuing to let this happen.

Instead, I stop, look, and listen to my expressions of how I am feeling.  I begin with one step.  I ask myself, “what is one thing I can do positive for the day?”  Likely, for me, it is finding a way to help someone else.  Making a phone call to a senior bud asking, “how are you?” or “I have to go to the grocery store, and I would like some company.”  Seldom do they refuse.  I find that by being in a position of helping someone else eases my tension and negative feelings.  I deliberately choose NOT to tell the other person about how I am feeling because it results in a non-ending discourse of “woe is me.”

I begin with what I can do to relieve my tension by focusing on someone else for a change.  It’s not “all about me.”

Depending on how bad the situation was, I may continue to do this “one-step-at-a-time” thing for days or weeks.  Then, with the passage of time and its ability to heal-by-distance, I reassess and evaluate, “where do I go from here?”

My next step is to write down these steps: Network here.  Update my profile there.  Discuss professional activities with X, Y, and Z.  Put in a public speaking proposal for a professional conference.  Sign up to testify before our local bodies politic (there is always something to testify about!)  Build something.  Fix something on our house or one of my rental properties — or better yet, for one of my legion of senior pals.  Exercise more (such as list how many days this week I will walk 5 miles, 8 miles, 10 miles).

I will make a list of positive things I can do for myself.  I do not change my other “duties” such as my regular care for my aunt, my partner, and my senior pals.  I just make sure that I have a list of positive, focused, accomplishable and measurable activities that I can check off and say, “things are better for me because I have done this, that, and the other thing.”

Life can be rough.  You have a choice to live in the muck, or (speaking in analogies): enjoy getting your boots dirty for a while, hose ’em off, and climb out of that hole.

Life is short:  lemonade is much sweeter than lemons.

Attitude: Confidence vs. Arrogance

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I had the unfortunate experience of receiving a “present” — a ticket — on my first day at the new job back in November.  Like a lemming, I followed cars in front of me into the parking garage under the building.  I didn’t know then (but certainly know now) that where I went in was actually the exit, and my ticket was for making an illegal left turn.

Okay, I did that — first time, ever, have I received a citation.  I haven’t even gotten a parking ticket in my entire 37 years of having a driver’s license.

What bothered me most was that the cop who cited me behaved in an arrogant manner.  He laughed in my face and said, “you made an illegal turn, and I’m gotta getcha for that.”  With an evil grin, he gave me the ticket and said that I could follow any of the options listed on it.

I am very understanding of the tough job that cops have to do, and am usually forgiving when a cop expresses his annoyance with the dumb things that a lot of people do.  I read a number of cop blogs and learn quite a bit from what they say and learn about their perceptions of us “citizens” (though one’s country of origin and U.S. citizenship has nothing to do with it. That’s just “cop speak” and they, like verbal lemmings, repeat what they hear and follow the pack.)

I would have just accepted the ticket and paid the fine if the infraction for which I was cited didn’t involve having points assessed to my driving record.  Points are bad things, which can lead to higher insurance premiums for years.  I am very proud of my spotless driving record.  I really do obey the law when I drive, go the speed limit, park legally, and so forth.

Therefore, I decided to exercise my right to go to court. The court appearance was yesterday.  I pleaded “guilty with an explanation.”  I admitted that I followed everyone else, and shouldn’t have.  I even said that I was “guilty of being a lemming.”  The judge laughed, but the cop stood there and continued to sneer. (I mean that. His nose was wrinkled and his face was in what seems to be a permanent grimace.)

I showed the judge a copy of my clean driving record, explained that it was my first day in a new location, and I was disoriented.  I apologized for my error and promised never to do it again.

The judge gave me “probation before judgment,” made me pay a fine and court costs, but did not assess any points on my license.  That’s really what I wanted, so I accomplished what I set out to do.

However, at the very end of my few minutes before the judge, he asked, “do you have anything else to tell me?”  With that, I told the judge that the attitude of the officer was less than professional, laughing at me and using a threatening tone.

I know you cops out there defend that behavior and think “us citizens” are a bunch of whiners.  Look, I work with a lot of cops in my civic life, and I am accustomed to the typical “cop attitude” of being confident.  There is a difference between confidence and arrogance. When it comes down to laughing and saying, “I’m gonna getcha,” that did it.  So I told the judge.

I thought the judge would just dismiss it, as the judge always found in favor of the cops.  I don’t question that — cops are trained to record their observations and state them accurately.  Instead of being dismissive, though, the judge looked up and asked the cop, “did you say that?”  The cop admitted, “yes, sir.”  The judge told him not to do that again.  Then I was dismissed to await my paperwork, then pay the fine, and leave.

Honestly, I think the cop adopted this attitude because he is assigned to traffic enforcement, and usually operates a motorcycle.  (Easy to spot the motorcop uniform of breeches and boots). But in winter, on the day he was laying in wait in that parking garage to nab me, he was assigned a patrol car.  I read about and hear from some bike cops I know that they detest being assigned to work in a car.  To some of them — at least for that cop who stopped me — that assignment seemed to affect his attitude, big-time.  Surly, borderline rude, and not professionally representing the police agency for whom he works.

I am a professional myself, and I expect to be treated professionally.  I have to say, 99% of the cops with whom I have spoken or communicated have been nothing but the utmost in professionalism.  This cop, however, was the bad apple in the bunch.  Heck, even his boots were dirty and unpolished, and his uniform was wrinkled and sloppy.  He presents an image of someone who doesn’t care — about himself or how he represents his department.

So, bike cops reading this blog:  shine your boots, get your uniforms pressed, and remember that we, the public, judge you as you judge us.  Be professional.  If we are wrong, we’re wrong, and “us citizens” need to admit it when we err, but we don’t need to be told, “I’m gonna getcha.”  That’s childish.

‘nuf said, rant over.

Life is short:  admit your mistakes, correct them, and move on.

P.S.: When I was leaving the courthouse, I saw the cop who was the subject of this post leaving, also. He walked to his patrol car, parked next to the courthouse, in a specifically designated “no parking zone.” Not a zone saying, “police only,” but specifically saying, “no parking.” I know that cops get offended when the public thinks that we think they can get by with violations for which, if we did it, we would get a ticket. But when he pulled a dumb stunt like that, it only reinforces the public perception that cops think they are above the law. Instead, they should be setting the example for others, and obey the laws they enforce.

Smart Phoneless

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I am a throwback to the dinosaur age, I guess.  I have steadfastly refused to pay the through-the-nose charges the providers demand for a data package which would enable features on a smart phone to receive email, text messages, and surf the web.

Why is it that I am so resistant to adopting this technology?  I mean, it’s not like I don’t know what they are.  I had a Blackberry for a few years in my past job, and I realize that these devices can be convenient.

I am resistant for three reasons:

  • The cost — I strongly resent how much providers charge for data packages. At over US$60/month (least-cost plan fees & taxes included), it’s not worth it to me. In my opinion, paying those fees makes rich companies richer, and I can do without sending my hard-earned dollars to make these companies more wealthy. And while I love the county where I live, I resent that they impose among the highest taxes on wireless technology in the U.S. (but since this IS Snoburbia, I know the county is deriving a killing from these taxes, because everyone and her brother has two or more of these devices, each!)
  • The “tethered” results — while I like to think that my job is important, I am not.  I don’t have to read and respond to email instantly.  It can wait.  I feel so sorry for all those people I see who are constantly pecking away on their smart phones, reading and responding to email, everywhere they go (including at restaurants, at their own dinner table, at the movies, in grocery stores, and while driving. Come on, you’re NOT that important, either!)
  • The annoyance factor — face it, if you have one of those things, you’re very tempted to let it drag you into dealing with it (answering a text or email, for example) and most people admit that they can’t turn it off. In fact, a recent Press Release from CareerBuilder indicated that 71% of job applicants answered a cell phone call or sent a text during a job interview. Sheesh! No wonder kids these days are having trouble finding a job — they can’t put their toys down!

I also acknowledge that I have a computer available to me at home, at work, and when I travel. So when I need to check messages, I can do that. I do not need a device that enables internet-wherever-you-are because I am truly not that mobile.  Further, I truly believe in managing technology, and not letting technology manage you.

By the way, while my profession has something to do with emergency response, my day-to-day job does not require me to run when the bell rings. Therefore, I have no need to have a device to provide immediate alerts nor be used “in the field” during a response. I’ll let the younger guys do the responding, and for that, they earn my ongoing, deep respect.

“You have blocked texting on your cell phone, too?” … is a frequent question I am asked with great incredulity.  Yes, that’s true.  I don’t send or receive text messages.  I have no one to do that with, anyway, as my partner does not have a cell phone at all.  And I don’t understand what this texting business is all about, anyway.  I survive just fine with plain old ordinary email.

I am observing that about 10% of the visitors to my website come in via various smart phone devices.  That’s quite a jump in recent months.  I know that they are ways to make a website more “smart phone friendly,” but I haven’t a clue how to do that, and since I do not have one, I do not have a way to check it.  Oh well, one of these days, I’ll consider if website changes are necessary.

Meanwhile, I live in the quietude of being “smart phoneless.”  Let me tell ‘ya, the peacefulness of not being tethered to some tech-toy and not having to shell out a huge amount of money each month far outweighs the convenience of having one.

A note to SJ: Yes, I am revealing another one of my prejudices — or as I call it, one of my choices. 🙂

Life is short:  enjoy being unplugged and the quiet.

Bankers and Cowboy Boots

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The obsession about whether on not one should wear cowboy boots continues, as evidenced by this google search which landed on my “Cowboy Boots and Jeans” web page:

The question from someone at Wachovia Bank’s headquarters in Charlotte, North Carolina, USA, was:  “can I wear cowboy boots with a suit?”

Well of course you can… the question is, do you want to?  Does the corporate dress code say anything about it?  Probably not.  Corporate dress codes have relaxed a lot in the past decade.  As long as you’re not wearing flip-flops or crocs, you can wear anything you like on your feet.

So I return, once again, to the age-old mantra, it is not if you can but what you think of yourself and your fear of what others may say.

Get over it.  Dress cowboy boots look fine with a suit.  On those rare occasions when I wear a suit, be it to an office or a high-class social function, I wear nice-looking cowboy boots.  If the boots are well-shined and don’t have dramatic flairs like colorful inlays or contrasting colors of scales from snakes, or are not dyed unusual colors, then certainly, you CAN and you SHOULD wear cowboy boots with a suit.

But only you make that choice.  What drives the choice is usually not the quality of the boot or its appearance, but your own internal fears or concerns about other people’s perceptions.  Be your own man.  Boot up!

Life is short:  wear boots!

How Rich Are You?

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This was an actual question that someone sent to me recently.  I have not communicated with him before. His first email to me said, “nice boots… how rich are you?”  He was from somewhere in the United States.

How rich am I?

I will answer it this way:  I am richer than I could ever imagine….

I have a wonderful partner who cares for me deeply, and tenderly looks after me.  He is my rock.  He keeps me focused, strong, and positive.  He makes sure that I am safe, well, and protected.  He loves me unconditionally.  He is a testament to strength, fortitude, endurance, and faith.  He is the foundation of my soul.  What other words may I use?  How does one measure his richness by his blessings of his best half?

I am rich with the love and support from family.  They nurture me, care for me, love me, and keep me sane and well-grounded.  All of my siblings, nieces, nephews, “greats,” cousins, aunts, uncles … the whole fam-damily — as many as we are — we are who we are because of our bond of blood.  My siblings, in particular, are a testament to what love is all about.  We all are different in many ways.  However, overall, our bond is deep, enduring, and its richness is undescribable.

I am rich with strong bonds of enduring friendship with people who know what a real friend is all about.  They do so many things to show their love.  Some of my friends have done that for me for over 50 years, and some more recently.  It has been said that you can measure how rich you are by the strength of your bonds of friendship.  I do not take these bonds lightly.  I do what I can to extend myself to caring for my friends as they care for me.  Each and every day I am made richer by these wonderful, thoughtful, caring souls.

I am rich with learning patience every day. I care for my 96-year-old aunt who has Alzheimer’s Disease, as well as general old-age infirmities. Under the clouded thoughts and occasional blank stares lies a woman who has done a lot in her own life, and who loves me deeply. This experience of enabling her to continue to live on her own terms, in her own home, with activities and actions that keep her life meaningful enrichen me in ways that I cannot describe, and make me a better person. I have learned how to listen better, to observe better, and how to be a much more patient man.

I am rich with the ability to extend caring to a large network of senior pals. Helping them out, taking them to get groceries, fixing things and doing home repairs, preparing tax returns… these people are the net that sustain my life of voluntarism and my heart, which makes me richer than anything else: the ability to extend yourself to make someone else’s life better makes one rich in his soul.

I am rich with community.  I live in an exciting place.  Right outside the door (almost) of the Capital of the United States.  I live in a state (Maryland) that is thoughtful in its approach and acceptance of my partner and my relationship (and isn’t hateful, hurtful, and backward as some other states).

I live with rich diversity. My local government is provided by a county, not a city. The county is strong and vibrant.  Its government is inclusive.  It listens.  It responds.  It may take some whacks on the proverbial head to get some local elected officials and county leaders to listen … but they do.  We’re all in this together, and the richness of my community composed of almost a million residents who hail from all corners of the world demonstrates how diversity makes us all stronger and better as a people.

I am rich with strong faith.  I have deep faith and belief in powers beyond my own.  I have faith in humanity, civility, and what’s right — rather than what’s wrong.  I believe….

I am rich with a job that I love.  I enjoy working.  I enjoy the heck out of doing what I do.  Words cannot describe how rich one feels when one wakes each morning and says, “oh, goodie!  I get to go to work today!  Yippie!”  (Seriously, I am insanely happy with my employment….)

Materially, I have enough resources to live comfortably, in a nice house that we built, and to have things that make life fun, like my Harley.  I owe no debt.  I do not carry a balance on any credit cards.  I live life responsibly.  I practice financial responsibility.  Because I have managed my resources well, I have had sufficient discretionary funds to buy some boots and leather items from time to time.  But I do not spend money that I don’t have.

I am also rich by means of measurement with many other intangibles.  Seriously, to me, that is what makes life “rich.”  It’s not money or things.  It’s people.  As they told George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life, “no man is a failure who has friends” and he was “the richest man in town.”

Yep, I consider myself to be among the richest men in town … all because of the relationships with the people who make my life that way.

Life is short:  cherish your family and your friends.  They are, after all, what makes life rich and rewarding.

Grrrr: Web Hosting Changes Back!

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Here we go again! bootedman.com and my personal website that I use for my family and to represent myself professionally have both been switched back to the former servers that each of them were on.  If you had trouble accessing the website(s) yesterday, that’s probably why.

It turns out that the new-to-me web hosting service was trapping email that I absolutely needed for my professional job.  In a number of dialogues with them by phone, email, and on-line chat, they refused to acknowledge that it was their problem.  They insisted that they were not trapping email when I know for darn sure that it was sent, yet I did not receive it.  What was probably happening is that they have much more stringent filters on their servers and those filters trap a lot of stuff that they should not.

Further, there were other technical problems and concerns that I encountered.  I will not bore you with the details.  Let’s just say that I am happy that I did not cancel my old web hosting service, so I could just point the DNS back to them for my websites, make sure the files on each site were the most recent (restored from backups), and be back in business.

Grrrrr… I wish this stuff weren’t so complicated.  But it’s working.  That’s what matters.

By the way, if you sent an email to me at my BHD email address between 8 January and 15 January, then I regret that it is gone. I think that I have replied to all of my email during that period, but if I did not, then please accept my apologies and write to me again. I have not lost my email address book — just the actual emails that I received during that week. (And I have not lost any of my professional email as that is processed by a secondary anti-spam filter, which retains copies of all of my email before sending it to me through my web host.)

Life is short:  don’t point fingers at others when your company is to blame.

P.S.:  I am having fun with you — if you clicked on the link to “my personal website” above, I directed you to a spoof site.  That’s not my personal site.  Those who need to know what it is know where to find it.  I do not reveal that side of me on this blog.