Choosing Up Sides

Whose side are you on? Are you a Republican, Democrat, Conservative, Liberal, Independent? Are you upper class, middle class, poor white trash? Have you been to college, Europe, Alcoholics Anonymous, jail? Can you dunk a basketball, play the piano, sell a car, wire a house? Labels are necessary and useful, but there is a dark side to them.



People are being bombarded with divisive talk and behavior from our elected officials. They want you on their team. They also want you to know all of the other teams are bad and wrong. If you disagree with them you are either stupid, without compassion, or evil. Too often complex issues are not discussed because the two sides are too busy calling each other names and using intellectual dishonesty to try and make their opponent look bad. Whatever happened to polite discussion? When two gentlemen disagree they are still gentlemen. It seems the tactic of choice today is to attack the person not the issue. Diversity is traded for unanimous agreement on several talking points. The two major political parties hire pundits more for the attack than to "get out our positive message." They go on news shows and tell lie after lie without challenge from the host.



It is going to continue until citizens become better informed and demand better behavior from their elected officials. We are all on the same team. We have various interests and concerns, but we have more in common than we do different. Resist looking at things in "black and white" ways. Try to gain a legitimate understanding of what the opposition is saying. Do the various sides agree on the problem? What solution do they offer? What are its benefits and drawbacks? Ask questions to gain better understanding. This approach would work to solve complex issues if that were the aim.



Unfortunately, I believe the drive of many of our politicians is to stay in office. If you are in office tell the people things are great and getting better. If you are out of office talk about how terrible things are - run around screaming "the sky is falling." There is no drama in debates or interviews anymore. I check to see if there is a "D" or "R" by the participants name, then I know exactly what they are going to say.



Ignorance and laziness leads to choosing "sides." We need to be about the process of working together on the problems instead of putting up obstacles.



I am making an effort to turn in all of my team jerseys in exchange for one - team mankind. I will take care of me. See what you can do about you. Then let's demand better behavior from our elected officials. I want to see them working together to solve problems instead of being problems.



It could happen



Until the next time

John Strain

Making Them Laugh

I have always enjoyed making people laugh. I studied jokes as a kid. I read Mad magazine and joke books for material until I learned to manufacture my own. I compare telling jokes or attempting to be funny to baseball. One may swing the bat several times before the ball gets hit. Many jokes may return blank stares before one fosters a chuckle. To tell jokes one must risk embarrassment. Especially in big groups. A lot of people are wanting to blend in, but I am always looking for the right opportunity to unleash a funny line. The laughter is the treasure I seek.



In thinking about what makes people laugh, it occurred to me that some of my biggest laughs were completely unintended. At times I would be dead serious, but the reaction I got was hysterical laughter. I suppose the biggest laughs I ever got were when people witnessed me in some sort of pain.



The psychology of the thing is people really identify and relate to you, but they do it by laughing their ass off. Think about it. Have you ever watched someone hit their finger with a hammer? It is hilarious. Especially if they get mad because you are laughing. That makes it worse - trying to hold it in. Talk about torture.



I remember my mother telling the story of my step dad. You would have to know him. Warren was a no nonsense kind of guy most of the time. He was retired military and expected the rest of the world to run his way. Of course it did not so he was angry a lot. He was efficient and did everything the instructions told him to do. After all he was used to taking orders. Not following orders would make one a Communist or undisciplined or something really bad. Whatever impression you get from my description, I liked Warren. This is a description not an indictment.



Anyway, my mother traveled with him in his government (post military) job. In the morning before driving to the next town, Warren always checked the oil, water in the battery, power steering fluid, brake fluid, transmission fluid, tire pressure, and radiator fluid. This routine was set in stone. If a volcano were erupting and lava was flowing toward us - he would not alter the routine. Well, on this one morning my mother was getting impatient. She was sitting in the car and Warren was going about his pre flight inspection. So she reaches over and lays on the horn. I am sure Warren was concentrating on his work, the horn blast came as a big surprise to him. His reaction of course was to raise up quickly banging his bald head on the underside of the hood. From inside the car all mom heard was, honk, thud (head hitting the hood), and "blankety blank blank, what the - beep beeeeeeeeep." It sounded like the Happy Gilmore soundtrack.



That is an example of how pain is funny. Now be honest. Who among us has not laughed seeing someone fall down? I don't care if it is a 90 year old man, one of my first reflexes seeing arms and legs flying everywhere is to bust out laughing. I would not laugh if they really got hurt - I am not sick like that.



Not long ago, my son had some sort of muscle strain from lifting weights. He kept complaining about it so I gave him this cream someone gave me for the same problem. I cannot remember what it was, but it was an analgesic cream. The guy I got it from said it came from the VA Hospital and was supposed to be really good. They should have called it "creamed fire" because it was hot. Being a father, I gave it to him with few upfront instructions. John slathered it on his ribs and in about five minutes he forgot all about his muscle pain and was looking for a fire extinguisher. "Dad, this stuff is really hot," he said. "Yeah, I know, that is how you know it is working," I said acting like I knew what I was talking about. He kept on with the complaining, "this stuff is killing me." "OK," I said, "go take a shower and wash it off." Still taking my advice, John got in the shower little realizing things were about to get even hotter. I heard him scream in the shower. "The water is making it worse." By now I am rolling on the floor laughing, because I remembered I had a similar experience with the fire cream, but had forgotten about it. I came to the same conclusion as John when I took a shower the next day. Somehow the water reactivated the fire cream. That fact had slipped my mind. John accused me of setting him up. I told him that I did not set him up, but would have if my memory had been better.



One night at someone's house after dinner we were sitting around the room and someone came running from outside. They did not realize the sliding glass door was closed. We all sat there watching this person run face first into the glass door. It was the kind of thing you ask yourself, is he going to stop? Surely he is not going to run into the - WHAM! We all laughed until some peed on themselves and others had sore ribs and sore throats, all courtesy of someone sacrificing their body unintentionally.



If you are going to laugh when someone else bumps their head or falls remember the rules. Others get to laugh at you when you are taking the pain - it's only fair.



I have provided folks with lots of laughs thanks to my unintended pain. The older I get I will be entering my prime for this sort of thing. I have bumps on my head now to remind me of the joy I gave someone else. My friend Debbie in Missouri will recall a good laugh she had when I raised up and bumped my head on a heater protruding from a wall. One of many incidents.



What does this mean? I have no idea, but I think part of it is people just like to laugh. I know I do. Have a nice Monday.



Until the next time

John Strain

Oysters On The Half Shell

The leaves are falling. The local high school band marches past my house as they practice for Friday performances. Colors are more vivid. Humidity is below 97%. And oysters are in season again. In honor of oyster season I am displaying a picture of my sister eating her first raw oyster 12/01. To my knowledge it was also the last one she ate. Becky will try anything once, I have to give her that. The rest of my family is a bit more discriminating when it comes to ingesting strange sea creatures. To be honest I have only been eating raw oysters for three or four years myself, but now I can throw them down like a native.



Here is what you do. Go to a restaurant that sells oysters - this is an important first step. Order a beer. If this is your first time order a second, third, and possibly a fourth. I guarantee no problem with the oyster if you have a couple of beers. Order a dozen oysters on the half shell. You could order a half a dozen, but very few people do so go for the dozen. If the restaurant is any good, the waitress will bring you the fixin's so you can prepare for their arrival once the guy behind the bar shucks them. For those of you in Nebraska, shucking in this context is not what you are used to. The fixin's consist of a little basket of saltine crackers, some cocktail sauce, and horse radish. Dump the little container of horse radish in the little container of cocktail sauce and stir with a fork or whatever you have handy. Extra napkins are recommended since you will have drips of water, oyster fixin's, and cracker crumbs all over the place where you eat. It is considered bad form to eat over the oyster tray.



Make sure you have everything so when the waitress brings your oysters you can ask for whatever else you need. Most of the time you tell her to bring you another beer. She will bring your dozen delicious delectables on ice in a round tray. Round trays with a 1 or 2 inch lip are a must in Louisiana. They are perfect for crawfish, boiled shrimp, or to use in the cooking process. I fill them with breading and bread shrimp or catfish in them.



When the waitress puts the tray in front of you take a few seconds to thank God you have it so good. Now pick up a cracker in one hand and a fork in the other. I hold the cracker near the oyster and with my fork scoop the oyster onto the cracker. Once the oyster is positioned on the cracker I dip the fork into the cocktail / horse radish sauce then spread it on top of the oyster. Now let instinct take over. Open your mouth and put the whole thing in there. Chew and swallow. Take a sip or two of beer and repeat the above instructions until the oysters are gone.



They taste even better when you are sharing them with friends. We have food here that requires help eating sometimes. Some folks do not know how to eat a boiled crab, oyster, shrimp, or crawfish. That is OK, there are a lot of people who are too happy to share their knowledge with you. Oysters are a part of our yearly cycle here. Tonight were my first of the season. They were good and I can't wait until next Friday night at our favorite seafood restaurant - St. Roch. One day I will write about this place and the colorful owner Tony.



Until the next time

John Strain

The First Job

The words came through the phone at my work, "Dad, you are talking to a new employee of Circuit City." My son's voice was cracking with happiness. He could barely contain himself and I felt the joy in his voice. A week ago he put in a job application at Circuit City. They called him for an interview a few days ago. His appointment was Friday and he got the job on the spot. "I might be selling TV's or CD's and DVD's," he continued. John went on to tell me about his job interview and what he knew about his new job. What a wonderful thing to get that first job on your own. He is excited about getting his own name tag and business card. I just listened and kept telling him how proud I was of him and happy for him. It choked me up listening to his enthusiasm, remembering similar events in my life years ago.



I had a couple of paper routes before my first real job - bus boy at Red Lobster. I lied about my age saying I was 16 when I was really 15. My first night was hard. I remember coming home after what seemed like walking one hundred miles. My feet ached and I wondered if I could take it. The managers were on the bus boys like strict task masters. I was not George and Esther's little boy, I was someone that better do a good job or they would get someone who could. It was unnerving in some ways, but when I knew I could hack it, I developed pride and self-assurance.



It is a shame so many people hate their jobs. They complain about their company, boss, coworkers, customers, and many other things. Quite a contrast from the joy they probably had when they were first hired. Work is a popular topic to bitch about, but think what your life would be like without that job. Do you remember what it felt like to be unemployed? Work provides a feeling of security.



Do you remember your first job? Do you like your job now?



Here is to work, may yours please you or at least not bother you too bad.



Until the next time,

John Strain

Discharge Planning

Today was another one of those glamorous days in social work. Discharge planning is a large part of what I do. Many of the people I work with cannot go back to where they lived prior to their admission. They have a way of wearing out welcomes. One patient of ours came in after trashing the mobile home in which he was living. It seems there were evil spirits in the walls so he had to tear the paneling off to let them out. He also had to stand in the center of the room and hold up the ceiling to keep the spirits from crushing the roof down on him. Suffice it to say, the land lord was not open to our exorcist returning to one of his properties.



Often our patients do not believe there is anything wrong with them. They are often entitled and demanding. They frequently blame their social worker for not being a genie just released from a polished lamp. The finesse of the job is working with the person and getting them to accept a choice before them instead of holding out for the impossible.



I have been working with a guy I have mentioned previously. He is the one who was mad at me because I would not let him leave so he could go to LA and become a movie star. Well, he is somewhat better. Better enough to look into placement somewhere. In our area there is a nice group home head and shoulders above the others. They have a caring staff who understands mental illness and works well with people who have it. They take one-third of the patient's social security check for rent, place one-third in savings for that person, and give the other third to them for their monthly spending money 98% of which goes to by smokes.



Many private group homes charge more, give less supervision, and have staff who are poorly trained. So, my guy had a shot at the good place. They had a vacancy. I filled out two trees worth of paper work. I spoke with my charge about the rules and expected behaviors. He seemed to understand. He could repeat everything back to me. I just knew everything was going to work out. The people interviewing him were familiar with his case and were set to give him another chance. I was looking forward to wrapping up his case. Then we went to the interview.



I will call my patient Jack. We went in the van (I did not drive it) to the group home located in a nice neighborhood a few blocks from Lake Pontchartrain. We had to wait about an hour while the committee was interviewing another prospective resident. Things went well, Jack was a little impatient, but since he could smoke at will, he was happy.



Finally, we were summoned into the meeting room. A small room filled with a table and chairs around it. There was a two drawer metal file cabinet with a nonfunctioning copy machine sitting on top. An old wall unit held a few books and various office supplies. It looked a bit out of place. Instead of a TV and VCR or DVD it was holding reams of paper, boxes of pens, and assorted forms for reasons only their staff knew.



The interview went well until Jack was asked about drinking or using drugs. Jack explained that marijuana was the tree of life and beer was necessary for him to live. I could not believe it - he was blowing his good chance at a nice place to live. We talked with Jack, but in the end he would not give up on wanting to drink or smoke pot at the group home. He went into all kinds of crazy things. Here are a few: The book of Revelation healed me. I was crazy for three years, but when I read the book of Revelation I got three headaches. When I came to I understood. The Berlin wall came down and the stock market crashed. He went on and on about all kinds of crazy stuff. He did not realize the committee had laid down their pens and were just waiting for the appropriate place to say "thanks but no thanks." We went back to the hospital with no plan.



I won't go into all of the technical issues, but there are no other good options. His family cannot handle him and he will probably just walk away from a group home - he wants to get a car and go to bars. He has considered working as a gigolo. Despite everyone's best efforts and concern I am afraid Jack is going to be a street person soon.



It has been a long day and I am frustrated. Maybe tomorrow I will receive an epiphany and will know what to do with Jack. I am not giving up on Jack, something will happen and he will be discharged, but the long term outlook for someone like Jack is not good.



Be thankful for a mind absent of a thought disorder, and say a little prayer for Jack.



Until the next time

John Strain