Self-Help Yourself

The other day I was talking with my brother on the phone. He had started Steinbeck's East of Eden that week, and I was asking him how it was going. He said, "Well, I think I'm going to finish it today." I was stunned. This is not a quick read kind of book. This is a thick, involving, 600-plus page journey.

I asked Chris where he found the time to get through this novel so quickly, and he told me that he learned how to speed read. So, a few days ago when I was in Columbia visiting, I had Chris show me how to do it. He pointed me here.

I'm not a huge fan of self-help trends, so I was a little skeptical at first. I tried it anyway, and about 20 minutes later I was reading fast. Really fast.

And it is awesome.

The basic principle behind speed reading is that you re-train your eyes to read more quickly than you thought possible. Your brain at some point will catch up.

I've never read the Harry Potter books. At first it was a pride thing, but now it's more of a time thing. In my mind, to start The Sorcerer's Stone means to finish The Deathly Hallows (yes, I had to look up the names). And that's a big commitment. Now, though, it doesn't seem so intimidating.

Speed reading might change my life.

Hello, Neighbor!

A few nights ago, my roommates and I were sitting out on our front porch enjoying the unusually cool August weather. We quietly watched as a large white conversion van attempted to maneuver out of a driveway across the street and scraped up against a car parked in the road. It was one of those situations when in order to get out of the already bad situation you're in, you have to do even more damage first. So we listened to the sound of metal on metal as the van inched forwards, then inched backwards, and then came clear on the third try. It was painful to watch. We waited for the driver to hop out, assess the damage, and leave a note.

...Nothing.

We decided to give the benefit of the doubt, hopeful that the van driver's conscience would eventually get the best of him.

That was before Saturday night, when we watched the same van back out of the same driveway and ram into another helpless victim parked on the street during our friend's bachelor party dinner. This time, a couple of my roommates decided to take some action. They calmly walked across the street to confront the driver: 350-plus pounds of African American man.

I'll spare you the details of what was said (yelled, really) by our neighbor, but it was not pleasant. Cooler heads prevailed, the police were called (still waiting for them to show up...) and my roommates walked back across the street to rejoin the BBQ. There was another failed attempt to communicate about 15 minutes later. Finally, we all retreated to the back yard, convinced that this was going nowhere. Besides, we were here to celebrate with our friend, not argue with our neighbor.

Another 15 minutes went by, and we all stood at arms as our neighbor-turned-nemesis hustled across the street and made his way up the driveway into our back yard. By this time, there could only be one reason for this bold move. This guy was big, but we had numbers.

Then it happened.

He stopped, looked at us, and said "Guys, I'm sorry. I'm having a really rough day. I know you were just trying to help, and I don't want to cause any trouble." He shook our hands, specifically pointed out one friend with whom he had had most of his exchange with and said "I'm sorry for what I said to you".

We were floored. Here was a real man. Yes, things were tense. Yes, we were angry and ready to dismiss this foolish man who didn't want to have a civilized interaction or own up to his mistakes. And then, against all odds, he apologized. And this was a REAL apology. It was not the kind where someone says "I'm sorry you feel that way", but the kind where someone says "I was wrong. I hurt you." We spent the next few minutes in sheer admiration of this neighbor-turned-nemesis-turned-neighbor.

I love moments like Saturday night: moments when against all odds, when things seem totally hopeless, a new reality breaks through. There is something so raw about those moments, like our hearts are not used to experiencing something so good and right. After all, why should any of us expect someone to apologize? What is it that can bring a proud, large-and-in-charge man to walk across that street and into a group of 12 young men and take ownership for his actions and words?

Perhaps more importantly, why don't I recognize these moments more often?

The Corner Table

Over the last few years I have had a longing to be a local. The guy who walks through the doors on Saturday morning and the chef has your breakfast burrito with glorious little seasoned potatoes, and the pineapple that drips freshness waiting at the table. Where it always happens that all your friends (who happen to be locals) are sitting, coffee mugs in hand, waiting for you to join.

It's the kind of place you show up unannounced, and they are always expecting you.

There is a deep nostalgia to these places. We connect with them. For me it started with Saved by the bell: The Max. Everything happened there. Laughter, secrets, love, frustration, dance parties, all of life seemed to center around this weirdly bland diner. It soon become apparent, even to an eight year old, that it wasn't the fries, the odd tuxedo clad manager, or the Top Forty parties that Casey Kasem was throwing that made the Max...the Max.

Living in Kansas City I have finally found my place. It is just a few blocks from my house. They serve some of the finest brews in town, and they have this porch. The porch is covered by the sprawling arms of a huge maple tree, and is illuminated by the soft glow of lights woven in and around the branches.

The porch is a gathering place. It is the place that we sit and breath in the aromas of Coffee stouts (Broadway coffee, and McCoy's came together to change my life tonight), and breath out our understanding of why life is weird, hard, annoying, awesome, exciting, painful, and so damn boring some times.

Actually that last one if from my and Dave's gchat conversations at work...

The realization from The Max, and from McCoy's porch is that being a local isn't about the place, it is, will, and has always been the people. The porch can be transported and transformed. It can move cities, change jobs, and if you are willing it can change your life.

This place (our virtual porch) is an overflow of some of the conversations, dreams, and adventures from our place. It's local to you. And to me.

Welcome to the stories from our Porch.

In the Beginning...

We have arrived, ready to make our presence felt as part of the online community. Oh man, just typing that out feels a little bit odd. An online community? Give me a break. But here we are, nonetheless.

Really, this has been a long process for us. We (Ben and Dave) have been talking about starting a blog for the past two years. Last week we decided to kick it into gear and get this thing going. After three different deadlines ("Let's have a name for it by Tuesday. Ok, by Friday. Better make it Monday.") and a countless amount of possible names (still mourning "Pillow Talk"), allow us to introduce you to...

"The Pub House Porch"

We think there's a great story behind the name of our blog, but I'll let Ben fill you in on that one. At this point, you're probably asking yourself, "what should I expect?". Good question. And, really, we don't have a good answer. We're asking ourselves the exact same question. Probably, we'll just write about what we're experiencing and thinking.

Here is a short list of things you'll probably read about:

We like to think, and talk, and explore, and write. In some way, this is an effort to invite you into what we're thinking about, talking about, and exploring.

We live in Kansas City, and we love it. Expect entries about this city. Its people, its places, its history, its food, its good, its bad, and, yes, its sports.

Of course, like any good blog, you'll get your fair share of "I'm sitting here at _______ Coffee Shop, thinking about _______." Isn't that the point of a blog? To relay the happenings at the local cafe? Expect multiple entries from and about coffee shops.

...And then there's you, the reader. We want to make our "online community" a community. The intention here is not just to keep us thinking and writing, but to invite our readers into this little thing we have started. That means guest bloggers, comments, conversations, and suggestions. So, if you have something you'd like to write about or hear our thoughts on, send us an email: thepubhouseporch@gmail.com.

Cheers!