I begged the photographer (one of those retro places you see at tourist traps) to let me be a rugged fence-mendin’, doggie-punchin’ cowboy but he insisted I didn’t have the face for it. Said I was more of the Brett Maverick type. Sigh.

To call it “begging” seems… harsh. “Panhandling” feels a little too cute. I don’t know the politically correct term for when someone asks you for money. I assume it’s pretty common in cities with lots of foot traffic but we don’t see it as much here in Hooverville. I believe I’ve previously mentioned the woman who stands on a highway off ramp I use frequently. Indeterminate age. Somewhere between 30 and 60. She stand there, very still and straight, in one of those ankle-length dresses some favored by some fundamentalist religions. I think she might hold a small cardboard sign but I couldn’t tell you what it says. Unless it’s going to hold up the drivers behind me, I usually give her a five or a ten, sometimes a twenty. She used to try to give a small religious tract but I decline and she eventually stopped.

On some days a different person has that spot but I rarely contribute. They put off a very different vibe. Some are almost jocular. Lots of eye contact. Ready to approach your car at the slightest encouragement.

There are a couple of guys that work the spot together. Can’t believe that’s very effective.

Another young man has a boom box sitting on the ground nearby. Boring ‘work’ no doubt, but I’d tell him to leave that at home. If I told him anything.

One man always has a cane but it doesn’t look natural in his hand, if you know what I mean.

Some of these men — and it’s men, mostly — only seem to show up when the weather’s nice. My lady can stand there, hour after hour, in the heat or the cold. Only moving when a motorist waves with a bill or some change.

So, is it shitty to be judging and evaluating like this? Are these people, in any sense, “selling” something? Do I need to know — or believe — anything beyond they help? Would it be a dick move to go buy some diapers (size 6) and hand it to the guy whose sign says that’s what he needs? I’d really like to know what she/they are thinking/feeling during the long hours at that intersection. Despair? Gratitude? Anger? Boredom?

As I coast up the exit ramp, trying to time the light, there’s little time for such analysis. If I can find a bill and my lady is there, we make our awkward hand-off. (“God Bless!” or “Jesus Loves You”)

We’ve all had this experience but it’s less common with mobile phones. You’re in your office and your “desk phone” rings. You can’t answer it for some reason. You’re talking on your mobile or you have someone in your office, but you didn’t set the phone to go to voice mail so it keeps ringing until the caller gives up.

This happened to someone being interviewed on a podcast I listen to and the phone rang 20 or 30 times. Still ringing when the interview ended. So here’s my question: what’s going on in the caller’s head?

He obviously believes the person he’s calling is ‘there’ or he’d just hang up. So. He’s there but not answering the phone. Why?

a) He’s in a coma
b) His office is being robbed and he’s duct taped to his chair
c) He’s doing something that prevents him from answering THE MOTHER FUCKING PHONE!

Am I missing something obvious here? I do that. As horrible as it is to contemplate, I always suspected the caller was thinking, “If I let it ring long enough, if that becomes annoying enough, he will stop what he’s doing and answer my call. Passive-Aggressive that I am (was?) I would usually just pick up and immediately hang up the phone.

I don’t get a lot of calls these days and I don’t miss ‘em.

“A Fox News guest has been forced to apologize for suggesting Britain’s second biggest city was off-limits to non-Muslims.” 

This story got me thinking about apologies. “I’m sorry” must be one of the first phrases learned by American children. Say you’re sorry.

Like everyone, I’ve done plenty of things to “be sorry” about but it sure feels like a meaningless expression. Even if you are sincerely contrite, so what? Does saying you sorry mean anything? Does it make a difference? It must because when someone fucks up, demands for a public apology are loud. But for the life of me I can’t see how it makes any difference. Certainly doesn’t unring the bell and more often than not it’s a half-assed apology (“I’m sorry if anyone was offended by seeing my johnson on Twitter. It was an error in judgement. My penis misspoke.”)

Let’s make it more personal. Your husband/wife gets caught sneak-fuckin’ and hopes to repair the damage with an apology. Is it somehow important to the injured party that the offender regrets his/her actions? (“Well, as long as you feel badly about what you did, okay.”) No. Not okay.

Maybe an apology is more about forgiveness than contrition. You won’t forgive me until I say I’m sorry. It just seem like bullshit to me. Maybe if I had kids I’ve have a better handle on this. They need to feel bad when they do something wrong. Is there no way to get there without an apology (genuine or half-assed)? And, honestly, I don’t have an alternative.

Reporter: The video shows you knocking the snot out of your girlfriend in that elevator. Are you sorry you did that?
Me: I wish I hadn’t done it but I did. Wish I had a do-over but I don’t.
Reporter: So, are you sorry or not?
Me: What difference would it make if I was. Wouldn’t change the fact I knocked crap out of her.

Maybe what I’m struggling with is after enough apologies, they become meaningless. A meaningless noise we’re expected to make. If I’m a dick, I’m still a dick no matter how many times I say I’m sorry.

There’s an image in my head of two long lines of people, stretching off in different directions. In one line are the people who believe torturing our enemies is okay. And that police officers who shoot unarmed black men are just doing their job. The people in the other line — let’s call it the Sob Sister line — think differently.

Few things in life are black and white but it seems I can only stand in one of those lines so here I am in the Sob Sister line and as I look around, I don’t recognize most of the people in this line. But there are so many familiar faces in that other line. People I grew up with. People I worked with. Of course I think I’m in the “right” line, but so do all those people in the other line.

Up and down the line people are shouting back and forth, pretending to have a “conversation.” (Boy, I hate that word) But that’s not what’s really happening. Here’s what I think is really going on.

If the people in the Other line are right, then I must be wrong. Being wrong about really important stuff like torture and shooting people goes right to the core of who I am. Scary stuff.

Here’s my dilemma: I’m having trouble meeting the gaze of people I know in the Other line. They want to talk. To explain why I’m in the wrong line and persuade me to join them. But I smile awkwardly and look away, convinced nothing good can come from such “conversations.” Ideas, and the words we use to express them, are losing their power and meaning for me. They’re just sounds. Like those dogs whose owners think they can speak or sing. I’m focusing more these days on what I do. Actions seem like real things to me.

Am I being cowardly? Maybe. And I haven’t pefected my Stand Mute strategy yet. It’s difficult to be silent. To be still. But here I am in the Sob Sister line, hands in my pockets. Lips tight, eyes straight ahead.

UPDATE: My analogy is flawed. We need more than two lines. Not a third line, maybe, but a place for people to stand who aren’t comfortable in the two lines I described above. Picture that big infield area at the Indy 500.

These folks believe there are times when a police officer might have to shoot (12 times) an unarmed suspect. You have to look at the facts of each case and try to put yourself in the shoes of the officer. And clearly there are time when torture is justified. If a kidnapper has buried your family alive out in the desert and the only way you could save them was to torture the guy, wouldn’t you do it? Of course you would. So, see? You have to take each case on its merits. I don’t belong in either of your lines. Life’s not that cut and dried. Now. What did I miss?