The McCollumn - 11/26/10

'Where everybody knows your name'

Thanks to my Bar Food Night crew and the good folks and patrons at Grown Folks Blues and More, I can cross an item off of my “Bucket List”: sing the theme song from “Cheers” in a bar and have the bar sing along with me.
In many ways, Grown Folks that night was a place where everybody knew my name, if only because the owner, the indomitable Ms. Nancy, introduced me to everyone as “the nice young man who wrote that newspaper article about us.”
Well, Ms. Nancy, here’s another one.
Admittedly, I had been in a bad funk as of late.
The usual “sturm und drang” of college-age life has been beating me down.
The real world and my exodus from graduate school rapidly approaches.
Real life is coming, and I’m still not sure I’m quite ready for the transition.
The battle between teaching and journalism has been going on for some time, and neither side seems to be willing to give in to the other. My subconscious looks like the Battle of the Somme at this point.
Enter my friends Adam, Jordan and Stephanie: staples of the Bar Food Night crew.
“Ms. Nancy’s tonight around 7:30 if you can make it,” Adam’s text said.
“Of course,” I replied. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
As I walked into the familiar and oddly lime green building, I could feel the stress actually leaving my body.
I was greeted with hugs and well-wishes from Ms. Nancy and the rest of the gang, and we were quickly informed that Wednesday was Karaoke Night as the bar.
“Heaven help us all,” I said.
We quickly poured over the songbooks, each picking songs suited to our various personalities and quirks.
Adam favored country, save a lovely duet of “I’ve Got You Babe” with his girlfriend Stephanie.
Stephanie threw some soul into the mix, giving Gladys Knight’s “Midnight Train to Georgia” a go with yours truly as her backup Pip, helping me practice for another eventual McCollum lifetime goal: becoming the first white Pip.
Jordan brought the house down with his rendition of Weird Al’s parody song “White and Nerdy.”
And me?
Well, bolstered by the courage of one of Ms. Nancy’s famous Pink Flamingos, I struggled my way through a Sinatra staple or two, a Sheryl Crow/Kid Rock duet with Ms. Burnett (a homecare worker who can throw down vocally), the aforementioned “Cheers” theme, and, yes, even Biz Markee’s 1989 classic hip-hop comedy song “Just a Friend.”
Yes, dear readers, I can rap … if it’s slow, comic rap from the late 80’s.
Ms. Nancy’s rendition of Tina Turner’s “What’s Love Got to Do With It?” was a favorite of the night, and as she sang it, it dawned on me why her place was so special to us.
There, we can let our hair down and just be.
We can sing our little tune, even if it’s horribly out of key (me, ninety percent of the time).
We all need a place where we can see that our troubles are, indeed, all the same.
We all occasionally need to go where everybody knows our name.
This week, I’m thankful for family and friends, but, most of all, I’m thankful for these little worlds within our world where we can just be.
Let’s all take some life advice from the great Ms. Nancy: “You’re too blessed to be stressed, baby. Just pray on it and it’ll all be OK.”
Amen.

On Christmas Music: Another Plainsman Throwback Column

Am I gravely mistaken or is it not still the month of November? I realize I'm slightly cuckoo, but I can figure out dates and times.

Why, why, why in the name of all that is holy am I being inundated with Christmas music on my radio on not one, but at least three stations.

Last year, while still at The Plainsman as Opinions Editor, I wrote a little piece on how I feel about Christmas music.

Carol of the Hells: Thoughts on Christmas Music

I realize I'm in the minority on this one, but I'm just not a fan. Never have been, never will be.

Maybe one of you Christmas music loving folks can turn me around on this one, but I don't see it happening. My stubbornness is legendary.

The McCollumn - 11/19/10

End of entitlement

“You can be whatever you want to be. You can do whatever you want to do. The world is yours for the taking”

Those phrases could be what I think is the downfall of my generation, the grouping of Gen Y Americans that now stand poised to enter the workforce and begin the careers and dreams we’ve always been promised by our forebears.

Well, guess what?

We can’t be whatever we want to be. We take what jobs we can to get by and make do.

We can’t do whatever we want to do. That sort of hedonistic claptrap has lead to the most overinflated sense of self-worth I’ve ever seen. My peers, and myself, are guilty of becoming accurately labeled the “Entitlement Generation.”

Our grandfathers fought bravely to preserve this country’s freedoms at home and abroad, storming beaches in Normandy and planting flags in Iwo Jima. They came home to dreams of college provided by the G.I. bill and raised solid, middle class families content with their lot.

Their children, our parents, were made to work for what they earned. A car was a privilege that was earned when you had taken the responsibility to get a job and earn the money to help buy it yourself, if not buy it outright.

That generation, a generation that lost too many of its ranks to the misfortune of Vietnam, worked hard, saved, and put away money for their children, to give them better than the generation who came before them.

Then, came us: Gen X and Gen Y.

A generation whose grandpa worked on an assembly line to provide a nice living for his family, whose dad took a job as a financial analyst and broker to help provide more to his children than the opportunities he was given.

Our generation – well, we expect. We demand. We feel entitled to request whatever we want because you’ve told us we can have it.

Every generation wants to give the generation that comes after it a better and easier life than what they had.

My generation seldom earned their cars – they were a 16^th birthday rite of passage. If one wasn’t produced, all hell broke loose.

There are now shows on MTV that dedicate hours of programming to such nonsense, showcasing brats and spoiled princesses demanding everything from purple limo arrivals, couture gowns and rap star appearances all for a simple birthday party for a child.

It sickens me. It worries me that things like this might be why the terrorists hate us. They live on a dollar a day; we spend $50,000 on a birthday and broadcast it on national television.

Parents, please do your children a favor.

Don’t inundate them with the idea that they are the greatest thing to happen to the world.

Don’t tell them that they have the ability and spunk to be and do whatever they want to do.

Encourage them to pursue their interests and skills they seem to naturally possess.

Not every child will be an astronaut or a senator, but a good living can be made as a welder or plumber.

Let your children find what they want to do and encourage them to do that.

You may want them to be a lawyer or an astronaut, but they might just really want to be a social worker and help people in need or a journalist who just wants to help pass along people’s stories.

Part of the problem here, too, comes from the fact that the parents’ expectations for what a child is capable of might be too high.

Your child’s contentment and happiness should be your first concern.

If they want to be an artist, encourage them to be the best artist they can be.

If they want to cook, send them to cooking school, spurring them along the way.

Be their biggest booster and supporter when they choose their career, even if it isn’t what you may have dreamed for them.

Don’t force them to do what you think they should do. It can only lead to resentment and bitterness.

That, dear friends, is what your kids really need.

Let them choose their lives and destinies. Offer advice and consent, but know that it may not always be taken the way you’d want it to.

Just “Let it be.” I promise, it can and usually does work itself out within time.

The McCollumn - 11/12/10

A final call to action

I’ve never claimed the mantle of “journalist.” Truth be told, it wasn’t something I ever thought I was meant for, then or now.

I’m an Opinions man, through and through; I create commentary, the one part of a newspaper where you’re allowed to have a stance or to share your personal view of the world.

However, I must begin to claim that mantle now with my new promotion to be this paper’s city reporter.

Do not for a moment think that I take this title lightly or accept it with bad faith.

In my search for stories to tell, I promise you that any sort of personal agenda or bias will be checked at the door.

My role is to observe and report, not comment and speculate.

That is a new role for me.

Know that me not giving my opinion on something is a bit like me not breathing.

I am not easily separated from my opinions and biases. None of us are.

If you think you are, you either lack firm convictions or you’re just ill informed and blissfully unaware.

Nevertheless, the tenets of journalism, that noble profession which I now aspire to enter again, demands I write without bias or slant.

To the best of my meager abilities, I will do this.

Part of remaining unbiased and spin-free will be limiting what I write about here in my personal column.

Virulent rants about garbage dumpsters, downtown issues and city council decisions will no longer be a part of my repertoire.

Any story I cover, unless deemed appropriate for commentary by my editor, will be off limits as well.

I’m serious about what I have to do here, even if it means ending the spirit of no-holds barred opinions writing that I’ve been allowed to practice here these last few years.

If I can ask of you dear readers only one thing as I start this new phase of my life: share your opinions and views with us.

So many of you have come to me over the years with issues and opinions to write about, and I’ve gladly taken them and used them.

Write them yourself.

Give your thoughts and ideas life by putting them to paper and letting your community hear them.

If you’re embarrassed to have your opinions put in print, know that this paper has published far more embarrassing things about me that I myself wrote.

A year ago this week, I wrote a column about how I thought I might have mad cow disease. Anything the rest of you want to share now seems slightly less insane by comparison.

The only way that this newspaper can call itself a public forum and source of information in this community is for you, the community, to get involved.

Please send us story ideas.

Send us letters or e-mails about what you think about what’s going on in this town on any issue.

Give us feedback – if you don’t like something, let us know. Even if it’s me – actually, especially if it’s me – I thrive on negative feedback.

This paper can only continue to be a voice for the people if the people give it a voice.

My time on the soapbox is at an end, friends.

Who’s going to step up now?