“I drive by the homeless sleeping on a cold dark street

Like bodies in an open grave

Underneath the broken old neon sign

That used to read ‘Jesus Saves’”

–Brett Michaels, Something To Believe In.

By: Chris Warren

Last summer on a weekend trip to Chicago, my friend took me to Michigan Avenue. For the unfamiliar, Michigan Avenue is the place to shop in Chicago and is a huge tourist spot. It was a warm summer night; the weather was stunningly beautiful. Prior to this outing, people who know me well might (correctly) say I would rank visiting Michigan Avenue slightly higher than a nine hour flight sitting next to a screeching baby. My buddy had to do some nagging and arm twisting to get me down there. I must say, once I arrived, I had a great time. Keeping in mind it’s not as much about what you do as it is who you do it with, I knew I was there with the right guy. I still had no interest in shopping. But the the whole experience of being there and soaking in the vibe wasn’t just ok. It was a total blast.

As a first-timer, I quickly picked up that it is a place where money flows. All the shops are upscale. There are no Walmarts or dollar stores on Michigan Avenue. The food, the parking, everything, is priced for the conspicuously self indulgent. Anyone who would buy a purse that costs more than the average Walmart shopper’s monthly rent does not think too much of laying out $15.00 for a cheeseburger or $35.00 to park for a few hours.

The other thing that was glaringly noticeable was poverty. Lots of it. Right there in the middle of bling-dripping Michigan Avenue. Up and down both sides of the Magnificent Mile, there were panhandlers looking to snap up a buck or two. Even if 90% of them are lying hustlers, that still left a lot of legitimately hurting people. Being around them is the classic trope of an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other: If I walk past a beggar and give them nothing, can I feel ok with that because they are probably scamming anyway? What if they are the real deal and sincerely do need a hand? Many of them brought small kids along, or had pictures of their kids. My slightly naïve non-city background inclines me to believe that only someone who was truly out of options would drag their kids with to beg on the street. Yet, I wasn’t born last night and know that, yes, people really do use their (or someone’s) children as props for cash. So if I give the shabby old lady sitting in a doorway few bucks, am I a dupe or a disciple? If I stare straight ahead and walk right past her, am I street smart or self absorbed?

My religious and moral background clearly insists without any wiggle room that I am obligated to help the poor. If the recipient of my kindness is deceitful about their need, then I still did the godly thing and the wrongdoing is on them. The Lord will mete out justice for everyone’s sin at a future time and place. Still, I am a practical guy and I’m not going to give away my hard earned cash unless I have pretty good assurance that it will be used for its intended purpose. The Creator of the universe may ultimately own everything, but us ordinary carbon-based life forms have a finite number of dollars to give away. I want some bang for my mortal buck.

I obeyed my faith and gave a lady some money. A half hour later on the other side of the street, we came across another woman dressed in similar cultural attire with a similar sign explaining her tale of woe. Within another block or so, we passed yet another. It was obvious they were a cartel. I looked at my buddy and said, “I think I’ve been played.” I would have rather not known at all. A tiny spark of unconfirmed hope that I actually did make a small difference would have meant something to me. I felt cheated out of more than just an amount of money I could afford to lose anyway. It was a three-way sin against God, a deserving stranger, and myself. My friend, who had a similar religious upbringing as me, sensed that I felt like a fool for trying to be kind and assured me that I did the right thing. When I got home, I sent donations to the Salvation Army and a local homeless shelter. My spirit is not broken and I still believe in helping the poor, but from here on out I’ll leave it to the professionals to figure out who’s authentically needy and who is a very convincing street performer.

Now it’s deep in the winter of January and warm summer nights on Michigan Avenue are just wishful thinking. It’s not likely that anyone who was mooching tourists for cash last August has since hit the jackpot and doesn’t need to beg on the streets anymore. The frigid weather chases the crowds away and the few brave shoppers who happen by are in too much of a hurry to get out of the cold to notice the panhandlers, who themselves are few in number. Where do the poor go in the “off season”? They still have needs. They still have to live. They still have kids. They are still people. They are still out there, somewhere, probably not warm and cozy, looking for a way to scratch by in harsh weather that is an inconvenience for most of us but a very serious problem for them. Few seem to care when these lost souls put themselves on display on a very public street with nice weather and thick crowds; how much less are the poor thought about, cared about, prayed for, in the middle of winter when the streets are empty and poverty is out of sight?

by: Chris Warren

Is anyone shocked that Justin Bieber finally got arrested for something? In a few short years he has evolved from cute singing kid to the mugshot heard ’round the world. And there was a lot of mischief in between. For his virgin arrest he did it up good: A nice fat felony. If we accept that hardly anyone gets busted the first time they do something, it’s safe to say he’s been headed in the wrong direction for most of his teenaged life.

Making fun of young Justin will without a doubt be the flavor of the week on Saturday Night Live and the late night comedy shows. Living large off young girls’ birthday and babysitting money lends itself well to mockery, even without the arrest. In my January 11 blog post I discussed at length the consequences of young men who grow up with no direction. Bieber has all these handlers looking out for his money but not for him as an individual. No one was concerned about the personal issues that led to the serious and growing legal issues; you can bet someone will start caring now that the cash flow is at stake. Where were these responsible adults four or five years ago when Justin was just some kid they found on YouTube? Even his mother, whom he is apparently close to, seems to be missing from all this.

Why is it so funny that a young person is arrested for a felony, particularly a kid with so much going for him? If one wants to lampoon Justin Bieber for his talent, or lack of it, ok cool. There’s no room for him on my iPod either, so I can totally understand that. But celebrating the decline of a young life is more abrasive to my sensibilities than the hysterical screams of teen aged girls in the front row of one of his concerts.

by Chris Warren

Recently my area received about fourteen inches of snow, with high winds, drifting, and below zero temperatures. That kind of weather does not go unnoticed around here, but it’s not considered world-stopping either, or at least it should not be.

Local news reporting about the weather invariably includes “man on the street” interviews of people digging their cars out and boasting about how hardy we are in the northern Midwest. Yes, we’re real badasses up here: We put our boots on and dig out with a smile. We fill outdoor NFL stadiums on sub-zero wind chill days. Even the pizza delivery guys keep truckin’, although don’t expect thirty minutes from order to doorbell. Facebook is full of swagger about how we denizens of the North brave the winter while mocking places like Atlanta because they close the schools over a quarter inch of snow. There is a certain proud vibe, a cool factor, about living in a place that gets hard weather.

One would think that people who talk big about their ability to live in the Land of the Frozen Chosen would be a little more circumspect, anticipating heavy weather and preparing themselves for the likelihood that at least for the short term they will be on their own. But the freak-out that unfolds at the grocery store every time Old Man Winter craps on us would make the Atlanta folks look like Eagle Scouts.

I stopped at the store, not as a would be participant in any hoarding party, but to simply go about my usual business and pick up the same items I normally do. The cars in the parking lot were not lined up in neat rows. The snow obscured the painted parking spaces so everyone made their best guess. The guesses were mostly wrong; had the cars not been nice, newer models, the place could have been mistaken for a junkyard of vehicles dumped at random. This was foretelling of what was inside.

It was easier to discern the situation by what was not there than by what was. The bread and milk sections were thin, as they always are when bad weather hits. What is it about snow storms that makes everyone have a craving for milk and bread? Almost all the other stock was visibly run down, especially the canned soups and other heat-and-eat foods. The deli was so crowded people were standing in line to take a number. The supermarket was not totally bare, but it was obvious the place needed to reload. The evil twin of just in time inventory is stores having almost nothing more than what is on the shelves. The weakness is usually invisible to consumers, until delivery trucks are delayed or everyone suddenly decides at once they need milk and bread and canned soup.

All this chaos was triggered by one weekend snow storm that by Midwestern standards was fairly common. The irony of those who freely boast about their mettle yet become unglued when faced with the possibility of not being able to go out for a day or two is both amusing and unsettling. The unwashed truth is that there are a lot of people who themselves practice a form of personal “just in time” restocking: They keep very little at home and don’t buy anything until it’s needed.

Knowing I live amongst people who are one roll of toilet paper away from a second career as zombies when “shit hits the fan” is nothing to take lightly. As recent history has repeatedly shown (Hurricanes Katrina & Sandy, public water outage in West Virginia, banking collapses in Greece, Cyprus, and Venezuela), interruptions in the supply chain or the banking system turns otherwise sensible, law-abiding citizens into desperate criminals. This is not tin foil hat pining. I personally know folks who do not have even one working flashlight in their house. Their idea of “preparing” is to change the batteries in the smoke detector…after it’s been chirping for a week. Am I supposed to believe that when the last ramen noodle is gone they are going to sit quietly in their houses and wait for the government to save them?

Popular TV shows about those getting ready for doomsday go out of their way to feature people who are on the edge of the bell curve because, of course, it’s TV. The “preppers” may be over the top themselves but the root idea of what they are doing and why they are doing it make perfect down to earth sense. I get it that not everyone has a hundred acres in the woods and their own well. Is it out of reach for the average suburbanite to have enough food, fuel, and firearms to hold out for at minimum a week or two?

Guns are a touchy subject only to those with an irrational phobia of inanimate objects. Get over it while you still have the chance. Thugs will be totally comfortable with killing your children over a can of Spaghetti-Os. How comfortable are you with stopping them? As the saying goes, “when seconds count, the police are minutes away.” And in a widespread emergency, they might be hours or days away, or never come at all. The biggest barrier to getting prepared is coming to the very nervous admission that civilization could go poof in the first place, and that by default means you will have to provide for most if not all of your own needs, including security. If you cannot get that concept firmly planted in your brain, then you wasted your time reading this far.

Our grandmothers used to maintain a full pantry not only for lean times but also because back in the day it wasn’t easy to run to the store three times a week. In just one generation, being prepared has gone from a sensible, normal lifestyle to television spectacle. I can’t speak for everyone’s elders, but my grandma would probably keep a gentle outward countenance while chuckling inside at people who, when faced with any modest threat, will run out and grab up all the milk and bread, then cuddle in a warm blanket at home and deride television preppers who are not too crazy to see that grandmother was right the whole time.

by: Chris Warren

Violent crime has become so common that it barely rates a mention on the news unless it’s something horrifically over the top. The politicians, mental health professionals, law enforcement, television pundits, and pretty much everyone else will weigh in. Only a few of the ideas offered are legitimate. Most of the “experts” are merely grandstanding, or have ulterior motives. The tragedy ultimately fades into the news cycle. Repeat as needed. Given that violent crime is the almost exclusive franchise of young males, there are two hypotheses that override every other explanation.

Too many, and according to what study you believe, most, boys grow up to be men with no positive male role models in their life. Call it a cliché if it pleases you; it does not negate what will certainly be the perpetuation of destroyed lives. Lack of male leadership is like an otherwise correct algebraic expression with one element removed: Without it, the entire equation is wrong, even if the individual parts are true.

The dangerous constant in the expression is that if a kid gets mixed up with people who value crime and sociopathic behavior, he will almost certainly go along and end up in trouble. Young guys are very impressionable. They seek approval, and thugs are just as capable of giving approval as anyone. Wherever there is a vacuum of positive influence, gangs are ready and very eager to fill the void.

One of the few things that will keep a boy in line is the fear of being called out by a superior, usually older male the younger one respects. In a perfect world, that would be the father, but we aren’t in a perfect world and the kids who need a dad the most seldom have one. A coach, scout leader, uncle, or church pastor can also fill the role if they aren’t already worn out from trying to mitigate the damage done by the baby daddy messes dumped on them. Many guys are launched into adulthood having absolutely no idea how to be a man of honor because they’ve never met one they could emulate. This is why so many young men have a felony record before they reach voting age.

My dad is a US Marine (note: There is no past tense in regard to membership in the Marines), and as kind and devoted as he was and still is, while I was growing up the message was unequivocally clear: “Son, I love you. But step out of line, and I’ll put your ass into orbit.” Dad held me accountable. I cared about what he thought of me, and being dressed down by him was something to be avoided at any cost. The “cost” was good grades and gentlemanly behavior. Skipping to the present, me and my siblings are now decent, productive adult citizens with solid jobs and no criminal record. Even now, the guy still has the capability to intimidate the hell out of me. There’s no deep psychology here. Males respond to threats & consequences.

The second barrier boys must face is more controversial, but nonetheless just as simple: The world hates them. They are conditioned early into thinking their normal instincts are deviant. They aren’t allowed to play aggressive games such as dodgeball. They can’t play “cops and robbers”. They can’t keep score. There can’t be any winners because that means there would also be losers, and we can’t hurt anyone’s delicate feelings by letting them lose. They are kicked out of school over drawings of guns. They are drugged into sitting still. Natural, healthy male competitiveness is not only discouraged, it’s forbidden except under a few very controlled conditions. Boys are punished simply for being…boys.

Boys need less prescription drugs and counseling and long lists of do’s and don’ts that go against everything they feel is inherent to who they are, and more freedom to figure out among themselves who can run the fastest or jump the highest or be the strongest. They need to invite some buddies over and take turns kicking the shit out of a punching bag in the basement. They need to fart loudly, make goofy noises, take stuff apart, and occasionally crack a tasteless joke. They need to feel what it’s like to win, and to lose. And most importantly, they need assurance that there is at least one guiding male in their life who completes the equation; someone who will teach them what it’s like to be a principled, responsible man. When the games are over and the injuries have been treated, boys need to know there is an older, respected male who loves and cares about them, is watching their every move, and will send their ass into orbit if they drift off course.

by: Chris Warren

There was a time in our young lives when the playground was the place where all was right in the world. Rules were simple and disputes passed without too much drama, even if it involved an occasional “do over”. Everybody (usually) had fun; all discord was resolved by the end of recess and everyone went back to class feeling that, for the most part, they got a fair deal.

Post-playgound life is not nearly that simple. There are laws, regulations, and rules, all for the greater goal of making things “fair”. More laws are proposed and passed every year, presumably because the bazillion laws we already have are not enough to achieve a perfect state of fairness. Activists and political factions from the right, left, and upside down fight each other to claim first and loudest that we ordinary citizens are being hustled. Each side will claim the other is lying. Each side has a vested interest in keeping the concept of fairness as blurry as possible. All we need to do is vote for them, or give them money, or sign their petition, and they will fight the injustice and make sure we get a deal that is “fair”.

I have a buddy who was laid off from a good salaried job at a company he had given over fifteen years of his very best efforts to. After a long period of unemployment, he landed a new position that pays about half of what he previously earned and is only slightly better than the job he had as a college student. Professionally and financially, he was set back to the beginning of his career. The bonus kick in the nuts was that a coworker at his old employer, who had the same job title and by any objective measure was about as useful as mudflaps on a canoe, was initially spared the layoff axe and managed to keep his position for another four years before he too was whacked. Four years!

Predictably, the company insists both employees were treated fairly. Every day all across the business world, good employees are dumped at the curb while the professional cockroaches inexplicably survive. My friend’s dignity remains intact but his idea of “fair” will never be the same; the way he was treated is so far removed from the playground justice of his childhood that he’s no longer even in the same galaxy.

Anyone who has watched more than three seconds of network news lately knows that were it not for all the real and perceived unfairness in the world, the networks would have nothing to talk about. Whether it’s business, politics, or sports coverage, there is one common denominator to every single story: People who feel they have been ripped off in one form or another, and what they want done to settle the score. Most of these grievances are legitimate to a degree but the proposed fix often goes way beyond the scope of the original problem. What else explains the thought process of someone who spills hot coffee on themselves and believes in their heart of hearts that several million dollars is a fair settlement for the coffee vendor’s “negligence”?

Grown ups are well aware that the world beyond the playground isn’t so straightforward. Grade school justice works only up to a point. Complex lives require complex rules, although there is a lot of room for arguing about how complex the rules should be and how many of them we need. But for most of us, our sense of what’s right has a pedigree that goes straight back to the playground. There is a nuanced but very real sense of sorrow that the spirit of the playground is lost in the mix of modern adulthood. We need to come back into the galaxy. It should not be so hard to figure out what’s “fair”.    

by: Chris Warren

I wonder where and how long ago New Year resolutions came into being. I’m sure some sociologist has done the research. The backstory may be hard to trace but it’s not hard to figure out why anyone would make a resolution.

A little digging around produces anecdotal evidence of one glaring point: Those who make New Year resolutions have no sincere intention of keeping them. And those who are motivated for real to improve their lives don’t need to make dramatic declarations because they are already taking positive action, quietly, every day, without vainly calling attention to their goals.

New Year resolutions usually start getting tossed around at Thanksgiving, when the end of the year is near and self deprecation is trendy. After all, no one ever stood up at a Memorial Day picnic and said, “This year I resolve to ____.”  Resolutions are as much about renewing vows that were never honest in the first place as they are about whitewashing a year of wasted opportunities. 

Making promises for what will be accomplished later makes it easier to feel better about the failures of the past. It’s an adult variation on the gung-ho attitude a poor student has on the first day of school after returning from Christmas break: “Yeh, I know I really sucked last semester,” they will sheepishly admit. The hollow pledge immediately follows: “But now I’m going to step it up and pull good grades!”  For them, the scoreboard is reset to zero. Past screw ups don’t count, at least not for the short term. Yes, I’ve been “that student”. More than once. Those making New Year’s resolutions, like born-again scholars, are more likely to be concerned about feeling better than doing better.

It appears that feeling good has become the the goal rather than the reward for achieving a goal. Society schmoozes underperformers so their precious self esteem is not hurt. Everyone gets a trophy. In cultures where an expectation of success is rigorously enforced, failure is a huge embarrassment. The student and the CEO are both motivated to do better because the last thing they want is to be humiliated before others.

Shame is a strong incentive to excel, unless of course you live in a world where being protected from every little disappointment is almost a religion. One of the big differences between a high achiever and a low achiever is that the high achiever knows they will be called out for their screw ups; self esteem is an aside. Our takeaway: The good deed should come before the good feeling. Too many want to get all warm ‘n’ fuzzy on credit. And they almost never pay off the bill.

That circles us back to why I think New Year resolutions are ridiculous: If someone is sincere about making a big change in their life, why do they need a special day of the year to do it? Isn’t just as easy (or hard) to lose weight, go back to school, quit smoking, take that dream vacation, whatever, on any other day as it is on January 1? For the truly resolved, no calendar is needed. For the pretenders, a lazy excuse is never more than twelve months away.