Baby on a Leash: A Primer

At this point, most of us have witnessed a Baby on a Leash (BOAL) at least once in our lives. In my personal experience, the most common milieu for a BOAL encounter has been the airport. For some reason, I have always had more than a passing interest in the BOAL phenomenon. I have actually spent countless hours studying this and have even created a field of research which I have dubbed BOALogy. At this time, I would like to share some of my findings with you.

The initial concept of the baby leash was conceived by Frank and Mildred Coopersmith of Des Moines, Iowa in 1950. Frank and Mildred were model citizens and very active in their community as members of the PTA, the Rotary Club and the Society for the Advancement of Bondage and Discipline – Des Moines Chapter. It was during a bondage demonstration held in the tornado shelter on the couple’s home that Frank forgot of the couple’s “safe word” (it was petunia). The act the couple were demonstrating (which I will not describe here) and Frank’s forgetfulness led to the accidental impregnation of Mildred. Soon thereafter, the couple’s first son, Frank Jr. was born. Frank Jr. was an active child and what Mildred often referred to as a “little handful.” After several embarrassing public incidents with Frank Jr., most notably one involving a calf at the Iowa State Fair, Frank Sr. and Mildred sought to avoid future embarrassment.

While Frank Sr. earned his livelihood in insurance, he was also a “tinkerer” and he would spend countless hours in his garage creating anything from doll house accessories to chafe-resistant ankle cuffs. Frank Jr.’s debauchery had Frank Sr. spending countless hours in the garage looking for anything that would remedy future embarrassment for the Coopersmiths. With necessity being the mother of invention, Frank Sr. had an idea and, much to the dismay of Mildred, he. modified her favorite toy, a leather leash with a jawbreaker muzzle option, into one of the first rudimentary child restraint systems; the neck leash.

Believing in the commercial potential for the neck leash, Frank Sr. sought and received a patent for the restraining device and launched the Coopersmith Restraining Systems (CRS) line of child neck leashes. Unfortunately for Frank Sr., this story did not end happily. As it turns out, the stiff design of the neck leash coupled with the inherent fragility of most children’s necks resulted in numerous severe injuries. Ultimately a successful class action lawsuit against CRS was brought forth claiming negligence and Frank Sr. was left penniless.

As fate would have it, however, this was not to be the end of the child restraint system. On a trip through Iowa in 1955, a very successful entrepreneur happened upon a parent with a child in tow being secured by a CRS neck leash. Intrigued by the concept but immediately seeing the faulty design, the entrepreneur patented the revolutionary harness system that has defined the BAOL standard still in existence today. While the entrepreneur was not sure how popular the device would be, he felt the harness system could be modified to serve as a delivery system to help advertise his company. With the addition of a popular character to the back of the harness, this new baby on a leash system could be the marketing tool to take his growing empire to the next level. And the name of the entrepreneur? Walter Elias Disney. You may know him as Walt Disney. And now you know the rest of the story.

Cycling Crashes and Chief Niwot's Curse

For me, suffering has always been more of an obsession than a hobby. As an avid cyclist, I consider myself extremely blessed to live in a place where I can express my duel passion for cycling and suffering in numerous ways. As cycling is not a risk free sport, every cyclist has at least one story of a memorable crash. So for the next few moments, please brew yourself a nice cup of chamomile tea, put on your cozies, turn on the fire and sit back and enjoy the story of my most memorable crash, won’t you?

The ride from Boulder to St. Vrain Canyon towards the Peak-to-Peak Highway and the back to Boulder via Ward is among the many classic road bike rides surrounding our bubblelicious town. The ride is a 65 mile round trip ride featuring an elevation gain of 4,000 feet and almost continuous climbing of 25 miles.

Twas a hot summer day in Boulder with the mercury tickling 100 degrees and St Vrain Canyon, which is just 12 miles northwest of Boulder is a stream-lined and rocky canyon, provided little relief from the intense heat. St. Vrain is named after Gunter Vrain who emigrated from Germany to Boulder in 1890. Gunter is also known as the patron saint of lycra and was known to frequent the local coffee shops in Boulder always decked in his lycra cycling shorts. Carrying 300 lbs on his 5’ 7” frame, many at the time considered lycra a poor fashion selection for Gunter. But, as Gunter liked to say in his German accent. “Zere iz nothing zat keepz ze boyz in check like mein lycra!”

At any rate, I had set a rapid early pace on up the canyon and soon I was starting to show the telling signs of “pre-bonk syndrome.” This occurrence displays itself in various ways. Some have stated that they have seen they have encountered the twins from the Shining. One individual said he recognized comedic genius in Benny Hill. For me, this occurrence begins when I start to look for meaning in bad 80’s songs. On this day, the Tiffany song (see video below) “I Think We’re Alone Now” held me captive as pondered the plight of Tiffany and her lover and their quest to find solitude in a world which encroaches on their attempt to enjoy the simplicity of their right to personal freedom.

Trying to overcome the unfortunate melodic 80’s haunting and Tiffany’s dilemma, I finally made it up to the small hamlet of Raymond, CO which is a lovely creekside, log cabin community nestled by a stream. It is a peaceful village with simple nature loving folks and probably at least one axe-murderer. Raymond is also a key landmark along that ride as it signifies the point where only 12 miles of climbing remain. The town also possesses a small General Store where I often refuel and top off my water bottles. At the store, I attempted to engage the clerk in a dialogue on how we could be more sensitive to Tiffany’s quandary but he argued that given her young age, she deserved the exact supervision that she so sought to avoid. I commended him on his wise perspective and purchased two Cokes. Forsaking hydration benefits to pacify a strong caffeine and sugar Jones, and putting Tiffany behind me, I tried to get myself psyched, both mentally and chemically for the 12 mile ride to Ward. This section includes several long climbs and what seems like an ever-present headwind. At this point, my legs where jelly and my mind soon began acquiescing to the pain with Chamberlinian-like appeasement.

Ward at last, Ward at last. Extremely dehydrated and with nothing left in the legs, I finally made it to Ward. Ahhh, soon I would be at the Ward General Store where I could rehydrate and get prepared for the ride down to Boulder. I had never been so glad to be in a place where I felt so unwelcome. The previous comment requires some explanation. For those who don’t know about Ward, here is a brief summary of the town: Its inhabitants are people that don’t really care for outsiders (even the dogs in the town seem to have an attitude and to this day I swear I actually saw one flip me off!). Hubcaps and broken-down cars and buses decorate their front yards. I’m not saying that the town is a completely Spartan, but even Ted Kaczynski stopped Summering there as he felt the town was lacking in certain amenities.

At any rate, I stopped off at the General Store in Ward which, much to my sincere dismay, was closed. So there I was, standing over my bike in a bonk-like state in front of the store. The store’s closure had left me cursing and preaching of conspiracy theories. How could this happen? Why didn’t I hydrate better? They closed this store to personally penalize me for riding up here. What is the minimum number of vegetables needed to make a vegetable medley? Why in the world would anyone ever buy a ferret? Once my tirade had ebbed, I got back on my saddle and headed home. Fortunately, I had thought, it’s pretty much all downhill from here.

It is true, the great majority of the 19 mile ride from Ward back into Boulder is downhill. The steepest part of this descent is the first mile-and-a-half drop from Ward down to Lefthand Canyon. The deceptively sharp turn at the bottom of the section is affectionately known as “the turn of events.” This moniker stems from its proclivity to claim many a road cyclist. Having cleared this infamous turn, I checked my speed, 40 mph, and fruitlessly grabbed for my already empty water bottle. After returning it in disgusted fashion to the water bottle cage, I returned my attention to the road in front of me and realized I was heading off of it.

Wham! The events that followed are somewhat clouded. I remember being on the sandy shoulder of the road and trying to steer myself back onto the road. I also remember their being a ditch above a creek directly on my right. Then, WHAM (and not the good Wham featuring George Michael and Andrew Ridgeley) I was down hard on my left shoulder and sprawling in the same line that I was trying to travel.

The aftermath. I lay there dazed and writhing in pain on the street with my feet hanging over the shoulder of the road and my face resembled that of Mary Decker Slaney after being tripped up by Zola Budd in the 1984 Olympics. An oncoming car that witnessed the accident stopped to assist me. I looked for my bike and saw it some twenty feet back up the road. Another oncoming car belonging to a Wardite rushed up to Ward to summons their paramedics. Ward paramedics? No! These people are probably still administering leaches and practicing bloodletting.

I was able to finally get up five minutes later and was led to a shaded area by the creek. At this point I began to assess the damage. My left shoulder hurt like hell. The skin on my left hip was raw as well as the majority of my back, my left elbow and both sides of my knees. My head was sore and my helmet was cracked above my left ear. An empty water bottle that I had stored in the back pocket of my jersey had the bottom sheared off of it! The damage to my bike was also severe as the front wheel was tacoed and there was an indentation on the top tube of where the handlebar had swung around into it.

I felt nauseous when the Ward paramedics arrived. I was extremely dehydrated and the flies by the creek were demonstrating a fetish for the exposed areas of my skin. Much to my surprise the medics seemed to have most of their teeth and looked like ordinary people. Further, not one of them commented that I had a pretty mouth which, for some reason, made me feel unattractive and self conscious. Upon cutting off my jersey it was revealed that in addition to losing massive amounts of skin, I had also probably suffered a severe shoulder separation (AC III separation). This revelation required hospitalization in Boulder. This was good news for the flies feasting on my wounds as it meant that the buffet would be open for another half-hour until an ambulance from Boulder showed up. Upon hearing this, the flies quickly ordered out for a keg of beer and called for a DJ. When the ambulance finally arrived I felt a great sense of relief. Even though I attended the University of Colorado, this was my first experience with morphine and upon its being administered, the pain quickly began to subside.

Chief Niwot: Badly injured, pleasantly drugged and admiring the drive down Left Hand Canyon to the hospital from the back of the ambulance, I began to think about the Arapahoe Indian Chief for whom the canyon was named; Chief Niwot. Niwot in Arapahoe Indian language means “left hand.” Chief Niwot earned his nickname (Chief Lefty) as a short-reliever pitching for the Cleveland Indians AA farm club, the Arapahoe Indians. While Chief Niwot never realized his major league dreams (he never developed a change-up to complement his 90mph plus fastball), as leader of the Arapahoe tribe, he would lead them up this canyon every summer to avoid the summer heat. In those days broken down carriages and wagon wheels adorned the homes in Ward, which even then, promoted its unwelcome demeanor. Chief Niwot told many tales of this journey through Ward and even referenced a local dog the he affectionately gave the Arapahoe name, “Dog Who Gives the Bird.”

Unfortunately, in the summer of 1858, the peaceful Arapahoe Indian tribe had their first encounter with outsiders in the form of gold seekers who arrived in Boulder. It is said that these gold seekers were drawn by the breathtaking landscape and a potential for prosperous gold mining. Understanding how the region would soon be overcome with trust fund babies, wannabee hippees and helicopter moms (stay tuned), Chief Niwot placed a curse on the region. (To this day there are some that speculate the origin of the curse had more to do with his lifetime of frustration of not being able to find a pair of scissors that suited his left handedness). The curse was:

“People seeing the beauty of this valley will want to stay, and their staying will be the undoing of the beauty.”

Little did Chief Niwot know that this curse would not only plague the people and the beauty of Boulder, but ultimately, it would become the mission statement for the town of Ward.

Reflections on a Recent Loss

It hit like ice water. I was so absorbed in my morning until I got the call. “It says that he is no longer with us” said the voice on the other end of the phone. “No, no it can be” came my reply. “He has three kids, a wife, he is a picture of health and they are a picture of perfection.” “His family, his family”

So comes death and loss. Everything which at one moment seemed so important is overcome by the rawest sense of reality.

So often in life, we get so caught up in living for the future that we lose focus of our present blessings. This statement of course is nothing new. We are aware of this behavior yet the struggle to overcome this mindset is, at its core, the constant battle we face in trying to balance the material versus the spiritual world.

By living a life that fully integrates spirituality with the material world, and thus entirely connecting us to our creator, we can live a life of love, generosity and compassion and we can nurture our eternal soul. On the contrary, and as Rabbi Simon Jacobson says, “If materialism rules your life, then you are bound by its laws.” For this person, death indeed represents “the end.”

To the individual that can live their life seeking spiritual gains, their legacy of good deeds will live on through their family and friends. The realization of this influence, unfortunately, is the most profound upon the departure of an individual who lived their life this way.

For Kevin, it is obvious that the impact that he left on so many will continue to live on through his inspiration.

The Dark Underbelly of Bubbles

Whether we admit it our not, we all long for bubbles. Because bubbles manifest themselves in so many different ways, we may never be completely cognizant of this fact. As children we were consumed for hours by blowing bubbles. (Well most of us, unless your parents insisted you use a diluted mixture of Dawn Dishwashing Soap and a makeshift paper clip because it was cheaper. It never really worked mom! Never!)

When we want to relax and get away from it all, we all enjoy a nice Calgon bubble bath complete with candles, lavender incense and the calming ambience provided by the jazz stylings of Kenny G which is sure to leave you feeling silky smooth all over.

Even in the movie The Wizard of Oz (which CNN talk show host Larry King reviewed in 1939 as the best movie since The Birth of a Nation), Glinda, the Good Witch of the North, arrived to greet Dorothy upon her arrival in Oz in a bubble.

If bubbles are timed correctly, they can also create prosperity. For example, market and housing bubbles provided this in the late 90’s and the first five years of 2000 respectively.

Unfortunately, over time, bubbles burst and saying that the bursting of certain bubbles is bad is like saying that the movie the Hindenburg was a movie cautioning of the risks of unsafe dirigible travel. In recent times, we have seen the negative outcomes brought by erupting bubbles. While the results can be devastating and far reaching, being in a bubble also brings out complacency and a false sense of reality that leads to less than desirable human behavior. In my experience, no place that I know more demonstrates this unfavorable behavior as Boulder.

As for me and the other denizens of Boulder, we are mostly fortunate to live in a bubble. A recent piece in The New York Times dubbed my bubbalicious home town Twenty Five Square Miles Surrounded by Reality. While I don’t feel like I need the Times article to substantiate my point, the bubble that we live in has led to, as well as attracted, many different incarnations of people that are out of touch with reality. In an earlier Blog, I introduced Windsong. (As a reminder, Windsong was the Boulder wannabee hippie chick who taught me how to get good parking spaces). Windsong, however, is just one of many characters whose sheltered life in Boulder has allowed her to be detached from any semblance of reality. In order to get an understanding of whom some of these people are and what makes them tick, I will be interviewing many of them in the coming months.

Today, I am sitting down with Jeremy. Jeremy is in his early 30’s and is what is referred to as a Trustafarian (Boulder lingo for Trust Fund Baby). Jeremy has never really worked since graduating in seven years from the University of Colorado. He is originally from New York and he majored in Economics at the suggestion of his Wall Street dad with whom he hasn’t spoken with in years. We caught up at the Pekoe Tea House for a chat. When Jeremy arrived he was wearing faded designer jeans, a grey, ribbed cotton turtleneck sweater, the smell of cigarettes and three days of growth on his face. His black hair was short and uncombed and he wore thick black-framed glasses. Jeremy speaks in a montone voice and rarely moves his lower jaw when he speaks.

Bocomike: Hey Jeremy, how are things going right now?
Jeremy: My life is so hectic right now.
Bocomike: I can imagine, with the deepening recession and…
Jeremy: If we are in a recession this is the first I’ve heard of it. In case you didn’t know, they just hired a new barista at Vic’s and he can’t make my cappacino for sh#t. It’s like all fu#*!n foam.
Bocomike: Wow that’s awful.
Jeremy: Yeah, tell me about it. I have to drive all the way to the one on 30th Street. Plus, have you tried parking at the Whole Foods lately?
Bocomike: I have a good story about that…
Jeremy: That place is a fiasco. Good luck parking my Hummer there.
Bocomike: It sounds like things are really rough for you right now. So what gets you out of bed in the morning?
Jeremy: A number of things, apparently my maids don’t have the decency to show up until after 10:00am.
Bocomike: Have you entertained any ambitions of career for yourself?
Jeremy: Dude, there is way too much drama in my life right now for something that drastic.
Bocomike: What do you mean?
Jeremy: Well let’s see…I just lost my Blackberry for like the third time this year. It took me all last week to get my new one set up. My girlfriend is totally harping on me to make up my mind on whether we are going to Aspen or flying to Hawaii next week. Apparently First Class is totally full. Plus my car lease is up next week and I’ve had like zero time to research new cars. You get the picture?
Bocomike: I can only imagine. Work could really only complicate things.
Jeremy: I know, right? Plus my dad has me pretty well invested.
Bocomike: Good for you. That is definitely a challenge in today’s markets.
Jeremy: Fortunately we have all out money with this one hedge fund dude so we are in good shape.
Bocomike: Not Bernie Madoff.?
Jeremy: Dude, that is totally him.
Bocomike: Good luck Jeremy.
Jeremy: Have you seen my Blackberry?

A Cultivated Disdain for Vanity

I can’t recall the first time in my life that I became aware of my appearance. More specifically, I can’t remember the first time I demonstrated my independence for making statements of fashion. Like other young children, initially my attire selection was subject to the inclination of my parents. As time went on and I wasn’t reliant upon an adult to dress me, finally I was able to acquiesce to my nascent stylistic leanings constrained only by my limited wardrobe.

It can be said that revisionist history judges nothing more cruelly than fashion (it can be said by me anyway). Viewed from the lens of current style, what once seemed hip, now seems tragic. Understanding this, only time separates the judgment that what we are wearing now will some day in the future be deemed a catastrophe.

For the most part, I never deviated from the fashion norm and I certainly was not immune to trend conformation. Without hesitation I eagerly strapped on tube socks pulling them up to just below my knee. Though I never had aspirations of becoming a painter, I never hesitated to wear the pant of choice of these artisans . Further, while being extremely allergic to horses, I have previously donned a cowboy boots and a cowboy hat.

As mid 80’s fashion began to take hold, I began to find myself in a predicament. You see, the expression of hair as an accompaniment to fashion was particularly strong. As I was losing my hair (not so much losing it but just finding it in different places like the shower drain, and my pillow case and comb), my ability to compliment the latest fashion in my follicluraly challenged state left me on the outside. I felt like the instrumentless lead singer of a band during a guitar solo. Though I could go and lean against the guitarist and shake my head while offering a cool look of endorsement, I might as well have been out of the spotlight. Further I finally understood what it was like to be the page that reads “This Page Left Intentionally Blank.” Not only did it label me with having no purpose, but I felt that being told this using a split infinitive was adding insult to injury. Ultimately this feeling of alienation embittered me and morphed my resent for fashion and all things vanity.

Much like its fashion counterpart, health and beautification (H&B) techniques also have trend-like tenancies. I can recall a famous picture from Tour de France in the early 1900’s showing cyclists sharing a cigarette prior to a mountain climb. At the time, it was believed that the tobacco expanded your lungs. While the long-term benefits of tobacco use* are irrefutable and have stood the test of time, many other H&B fads continue to come and go.

* In today’s difficult economic environment, I have taken up second-hand smoking. It has all the health benefits of first-hand smoking without the cost. Simply stand outside any office building or a bus station, breathe deep and enjoy. Repeat as necessary.

Living in Boulder, the appetite for the latest H&B trends is insatiable. Given this, Boulder is ripe for the latest treatment or therapy. The other day I was walking by a Boulder spa adjacent to an outdoor ice rink that is in place for the Winter when I saw the sign below.

The sign reads.

While the kids skate, come in for a quick
• Focus Massage
• Mini Facial
• Foot Facial

Though my disdain for H&B trends is pretty strong, it becomes vehement when preached by a spa. First off, the advice to leave the kids as prey for local sex offenders while tending to one’s vanity is beyond reproach. Second off, what the hell is a foot facial? Was this just some new trend that has easily slipped under my radar?

As I always do, I turned to the Beacon of all Truths (a.k.a. the Internet) for guidance and I was in luck. As it turns out, not only did a reputable news source do a piece on the foot facial, they also blew the cover off of having to submit to spa treatment with their investigative expose, “How to Give Yourself a Foot Facial.” The investigative journalism came courtesy of ABC’s Good Morning America. Though I have not seen the piece, it has all the earmarks Diane Sawyer and I am almost certain that it earned her a daytime Emmy.

Here are some excerpts from the piece:
To keep their feet looking attractive in summer sandals, celebrities and other spa-goers are spending as much as $225 for 90-minute "foot facials," a procedure that used to be reserved to the face. – First, I can only say that it is about time that face-reserved procedures made themselves available to other body parts. I dream for the day when botox can be applied to all my extremities!

A podiatric surgeon at New York Hospital, Cornell Medical Center, appeared on Good Morning America to demonstrate foot facials, and to explain how you can try some portions of the foot facial at home — at a fraction of the cost. - Take that spas! From now on, all foot facials in the safety and comfort of my own home. After I drop my kids off at the skating rink, of course.

First you would massage a special paste onto your foot. Combine: 1/2 cup kosher salt (very coarse), 1 tablespoon Epsom salt, 1 tablespoon… - For those that don’t know, Epsom salt is the gentile counterpart to Kosher salt. While it can’t efficiently draw blood out of a chicken, it can help to provide a relaxing bath, a face scrub or a hair volumizer. Seeing these two salts, which are symbolic of the Judeo-Christian ethic, work together in harmony makes my heart happy.

At the spa, the second step would be to use microdermbrasion (a sandblasting machine that is used to blast off hard skin), which is also done in facials. - A sandblaster? Why not just use the Zamboni from the skating rink? At least you will be able to monitor your kids?

Additional procedures: Botox - Though it is normally associated with the face, on the feet, botox is not used for wrinkles, but to combat odor and hyperhydrosis (severe foot sweat condition). - Botox use now available outside the face? Dreams can come true!

Thanks for reading and Happy Holidays!

Capitalism and the Public Restroom

In mankind’s history of existence, our experience with capitalism can be seen as a relatively recent experiment. Though some economists trace elements of capitalism back to the Roman Empire, modern capitalism based on merchantilism spawned after the 16th century. While I view the benefits of capitalism to be far superior to other economic schools, I cannot deny the negative occurrences that do result from this system. While one of the drawbacks of capitalism is its propensity for the creation of asset bubbles (tulip bulb mania, Internet stocks and recently housing), in my view, one of the most offensive externalities is the perpetuation of fundamentally useless products. Examples of these frivolous goods include such marvels as the Flowbee, clothing for dogs and the tanning bed. Though I thought I had seen it all, nothing could have prepared me for what I witnessed yesterday…

Having squandered the majority of my adult life as a cog in the capitalist machine, I have spent a significant amount of time working in office buildings. Within this setting, I have spent the most of my quality time in the restrooms of these structures. While many have proffered that one can tell the most about a person’s character by how they react in times of crisis, I strongly feel that more can be gleaned about an individual by their behavior in an office restroom. In addition to being able to develop an insight into the hygienic practices of an individual, say who goes from the “dumper to the door” and who washes their hands, in my view, lifestyle decisions related to health and diet can also be garnered through simple auditory analysis.

As I entered the office restroom yesterday for a routine visit, I was immediately taken aback by new additions decorating the restroom floor: urinal mats. While I consider myself to be well-traveled with respect to restroom visitation, to my recollection, this was my first encounter with the mats.

My head filled with confusion as I slowly approached the urinal. As observed by the picture below, I was not the only one confused as the directional placement of the mat demonstrates inconsistency. The mat was also set out from the base of the urinal leaving uncertainty as to whether it was for standing or not. While I feel it important to boast that I am quite comfortable with my accuracy within a foot, I quickly surmised that a receptacle for errant urine was not a suitable place for standing. I successfully conducted my business, washed my hands and left.

After my maiden urinal mat encounter, my head filled with questions. I had not been this perplexed since the first time I tried to recycle my plate, utensils and food scraps at Whole Foods. I needed answers and I needed them now so I consulted the Beacon of All Truths (a.k.a. the Internet). As a matter of bias, I am usually drawn to the domain name that I find the most germane to my search. With this, I quickly directed myself to urinalmat.com. Once at the site, I was quickly introduced to the complete WizKid line of products for the urinal and the commode. Navigating to the About Urinal Mat page, many of my questions began to be answered. While I will never be able to rationalize the need for a vessel to preserve urinary remnants, the page boasts that the WizKid is the “only urinal mat that makes sense.” This statement helped to calm me and provided satisfaction that going forward I may actually be the beneficiary of sensible urinary practices in my office restroom. Reading further, my bewilderment turned to inspiration as I realized that the prudent use of a urinal mat was based on scientific observation:

We discovered that when the WizKid is in place customers are more likely to stay docked until the procedure is finished and more inclined to assist in keeping the restroom clean.

Getting back to how I draw inferences from others from their bathroom habits, I never even considered the rudeness of the bathroomgoer that deliberately engages in premature undocking practices prior to completion of the procedure. Selfish bastards!!!

So is the urinal mat another useless product line and another negative externality of our capitalistic system? Is the WizKid, much like soap-on-a-rope; a product marketed more on name rather than an innovation based on science? While the answer remains, its acceptance in our economic system will ultimately be guided by what Adam Smith in his classic book The Wealth of Nations referred to as the “invisible hand of the market.” At least with the WizKid, while the invisible hand sorts this out, the other hand need not be pressured to assist with perfect urinal aim.

Maybe if You Just Open Yourself Up

I will never forget the day. It was a late summer Sunday afternoon in Boulder as I hurriedly pulled into the Whole Foods parking lot. At the time it was a relatively small lot which was shared with a Barnes & Noble and a six-screen movie theater. Finding decent parking was always a challenge and given the peak shopping hour, I understood that finding the mack-daddy space was unrealistic.

As I scouted the dregs of the far ends of the lot I observed white backup lights as a vehicle began to evacuate its space. I immediately took the on-deck position to fill the space and exclaimed my objective to do so with my left-hand turn signal. As the exiting car backed out in front of me, it unintentionally created an avenue for another approaching car to come in and take my targeted space.

I looked on is disbelief as late 80’s, faded-paint model Honda adorned with a Free Tibet bumper sticker snaked into the space. And then she, I will refer to her as Windsong, emerged from her vehicle completely oblivious of her actions. Windsong was the poster child for the early 20’s, Boulder-hippie wannabe. She wore torn jeans with an equally torn tee-shirt. Birkenstocks were her shoe of choice and dreadlocks garlanded her air-filled head. I immediately rolled down my window and addressed her. “Excuse me,” I said in a perturbed voice, “but I was waiting for that space.” And then, she spoke the words that have left a lasting impression on me to this day: “If you just open yourself up, maybe something will come to you.”

I realized at this point that rational argument was fruitless. I shook my head and crept forward towards the front of the lot as I gazed once more at Windsong who was making her way to the store. The smell of patchouli oil permeated the walls of my car as I drove past her. And then, a miracle happened. As I moved forward, I saw a space available right in front row near the entrance. Not to be denied, I hurried forward and pulled into the space. A brief smile fell upon my face. As I got out of my car, Windsong was just meandering by. She caught my eye, smiled at me and said in her hippie twang, “See, I told you.”

In my own life there have been great thinkers that have helped to influence how I have framed the reality around me. Immediately I recall the likes of Maimonides, Socrates and Mr. Miyagi just to name a few. I can say with conviction that these brilliant minds truly inspire me. Actually they only inspire me temporarily until I forgot the wisdom they imparted. OK, the reality is they actually make me feel stupid because I am not bright enough to understand them (this however, does not preclude me from garnishing my bookshelves with their works to impress others but I digress). My encounter with Windsong however, went beyond philosophy. It was a tangible demonstration of a belief system that played out right before my very eyes.

I am reminded by the confusion that exists in our lives on a daily basis. This reminder usually occurs when I take our dog out to go potty at night. As I watch her sniff every square inch of our lawn and repeatedly pace back and forth examining and reexamining the potential spots for her eventual urination, I consider my own life’s search for meaning. While my dog rarely heeds my advice to open herself up, like my dog I search and search but the answer is in front of me the whole time. Until I open myself up, I cannot find the meaning in my life, and more importantly, the best parking spaces. So how will I know when I have learned to live my life with this openness? The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the Windsong.

More on this to come…