Talk to Me

I propose we reframe the "language" debate in America.

The two sides have seemingly been whittled down to: "Speak English, it's America's language" vs. "America's culture is that of all the world's cultures."

I think each side has valid arguments. But I also think this language/culture war has buried the true goal of language... to connect people. A short story:

* * *

Last Friday, I parked my car in an $11 lot (they do exist... South Boston across from the courthouse). I planned to leave it overnight but wanted to check the rates. Not seeing a sign, I asked the attendant.

"Top of the building. I can't talk to you," she said, seemingly pointing to a garage across the street. There was no one around besides us, so "I can't talk to you" didn't mean she was busy. Needing to know the rates, I ignored her lack of English proficiency and pressed on.

"I have to park there?" I asked after making her repeat "Top of the building" 3 times to be sure that's what she said.

"Top of building. I can't talk to you," she continued, more annoyed each time she had to open her mouth.

Finally, I smiled, waved, and walked around the back of her booth only to realize what she was trying to tell me. The SIGN with the rates was on the back of the booth.

So I got what I needed. But because we don't speak the same language, both of us squandered an opportunity to connect with another human being and, on the contrary, started our day pretty annoyed with one.

* * *

As we become more isolated from one another by self-checkout lines and touch-tone dial menus, I'd like to think I can still share a moment with a stranger on the street, gain a little knowledge, shake hands, and walk away feeling better about living on this rock. But to do that, it helps to decide how we can best converse. 

So to all you non-English speakers out there (and obviously, you read my blog) I apologize that the vocal fringe in our society has arrogantly told you to speak English or turn around. I'd like you to stay and chat. And since most of us are more versed in English, would you mind trying it out? Tell me how much it is to park in your lot. I'll tell you how to find Downtown Crossing. Maybe we'll share a bar top, bitch about the weather for 10 minutes, and exchange cards. No matter what, we'll both be happier for having met. 

I know that hanging onto your language for whatever reasons is your choice... but it's certainly not bringing us any closer.

Size Matters

Subway Restaurants... you're on notice.

I walked into my Franklin Street hookup today, geared up for the one "Daily Sub on Wheat" I allow myself per week when I realized the 6-inch sub special sign was nowhere to be found. In its place loomed a bright, triumphant banner announcing a NEW special: $5 Foot-long Subs!

Now granted, I seldom accept change immediately. I was late coming into the world. I wore diapers until I was 14. And I refuse to purchase a PDA. But my annoyance with foot-long sub specials is rooted in my displeasure for the general health of our nation's populace.

I believe one of the silent culprits tipping scales across the country is deceiving serving sizes and astronomical restaurant portions. "Hey, these cookies are only 50 calories a serving!" (18 servings per cookie) And now Subway, a diamond in the rough industry of fast & fat food that once encouraged sensible eating is now making it easier to fill up on enriched carbs.

Sure, some people NEED their calories. But these people know who they are. They're eating consciously. It's those who don't think they have to, due to lack of an immediate and known medical condition, that are gonna walk in and say "I get an extra six inches for another buck? Aww hell. Make it a foot-long." (But instead of the triple-chin, can I get the love handles aaand some extra napkins?)

I'm sure some of you are saying "Lose the soapbox, Jayme. Subway's doing what's good for business. People wanna pay more and buy the damn thing. Let 'em eat it." And so I shall, but not without lamenting the truth that Americans are never going to collectively wake up and say "we need to be healthier." And the burden of our apathy falls on us all. A buddy of mine involved in public health says that three conditions that are often voluntary--obesity, smoking, and teenage pregnancy--account for 30% of our annual healthcare costs (insurance rates, tax money, you name it, you pay it).

At the counter, I coughed up the hiked $5.24 for my six-inch sub meal. The foot-long meal behind me came to $6.32. "Buy in bulk," I mouthed silently as I walked past a cardboard cut-out of Jared holding up his size 108 jeans. "God Bless America."

Spring Cleaning

I feel like I'm at the starting line. In a very good way.

"Operation: Shippin Up" is in full swing. I intend to live in Boston before the college kids rush back in. I've got feelers out in Cambridge/Somerville, Brookline, and East Boston. I've starred places in Allston, Medford, and Revere. For those who know the area, I'm obviously casting a wide net. I plan to narrow my search in the next month. If you'd like to share any advice... I am all ears.

This weekend, I'm finalizing my taxes and choosing my retirement plan, which activates on Wednesday... my 6-month anniversary at JFF.

Speaking of work, my new boss starts later this month. My old boss left 2 weeks after hiring me, at which point I was adopted by one of his No. 2's. I'm excited to hear some outside ideas, what the new VP thinks of mine, and a general spreading out of our team's workload, because lately, our approval process is a bottleneck.

* * *

But before my Spring fun begins, I'm spending the last 7 days of winter in New Mexico. Everyone here asks me "Why?" as if I said "I'm getting a sex change" or "I hate commas." I just smile back. I think golden visors, free 1st rounds, Thursday nights, All-Ins, and 381s speak for themselves.

It's an incredible feeling to know you can travel 2400 miles and not need a hotel. And for you down there... you've got a crash pad in Beantown once "Operation: Shippin Up" is completed.

* * *

In the meantime, folks. Please sample some my friends' music (links on the right).

CONGRATS to Jarrett on his group's CD release tonight! Can't wait to get my hands on it.

Rube

E... S... A...

Whenever tragedy reenters our lives, someone nearby always laments that "it took this to remind us how fragile we are."

Fewer people, it seems, would choose to ponder solemn thoughts on a sunny day versus a rainy day. And since death and sickness are widely considered "solemn" topics... they usually take a back seat when you're in a park or at a beach.

It may seem odd, but I find these the perfect times to consider our frailty-- not to bring down my happiness but, on the contrary, to maximize my appreciation for what we have.

It is in that spirit (of taking stock in everything we have while the weather's fine) that I recommend a movie to you, my 2nd favorite movie of all time: The Diving Bell & the Butterfly.

It's a real-life story of a man who loses everything but his mind--and one eye--and still squeezes every ounce he can out of life.

Like the other movies on my proverbial top shelf, The Diving Bell challenges you to look inside yourself and decide if you could do what he did. If the only ability you had left was the ability to dream, could you? Would you? And why?

I suggest you stake out some time to experience this film. Usually, if we feel like a movie-night, it's because we want to unplug our reality; we'd rather someone else do the thinking (make me laugh, make me cry, etc.) You'll get more out of this film if you engage with it, so I'd set aside a movie-night, rather than save this film for one.

I left the theater on my own two feet, re-inspired to do/feel/taste/see as much as I can while I can. And it hit me shortly after: Jean-Dominique Bauby just touched someone else from across an ocean, 10 years apart, and with a blink of an eye. 

Your story, Mr. Bauby, no matter how close to "real life," has breathed new life into me.