Small differences. People will chalk a lot of their lives to small differences. It's as if to say small differences don't add up to much. Take the following phrase.
"Calling boss for our meeting."
It is a sentence fragment, but look beyond that. It is simple and cannot be misinterpreted by most people. In fact, it is exactly a text I sent to someone today at work. Let's apply a small difference.
"Calling boss four hour meeting."
Small difference, right?
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I wrote myself a note this week so I wouldn't forget, because I liked the sentiment:
"I don't bother keeping score- If I did I might find out I am losing." This is a good thing to keep in mind on the occasion that you feel you are doing more around the house than your spouse.
Whose turn is it to do the dishes? Well, if there are dishes and you've got a minute, it better be your turn. Besides what the hell is this, college?
It also lends itself to being a good country song. I don't like country music, but whenever I "write" a song in my head it comes out country. That's like when I dream in Spanish. What the hell?
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Big Shiny Car... is another song I "wrote" in my head while cleaning up Ruby. It also came out country. This is weird. Why, when I listen to every type of music but country do I think in country songs?
Maybe it's easier to write country songs. Maybe that's why there are so many country stations.
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Donuts! I got Donuts! Today is National Donut Day. As I said on my Facebook status:
Walk into a donut shop and take your clothes off and shout "Look what you did to me!" and then order a custard filled long-john with butterscotch filling.
I guess I was channeling George Carlin when I thought of that one. Thanks, Mr. Carlin. I hope you enjoyed your stay. come back any time.
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Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Friday, May 27, 2011
Long Weekends, Long Ago
It is a gorgeous day here in the west half of Michigan and it promises to be a mostly gorgeous weekend. I am looking forward to having Heather come for the weekend as has become our tradition. It is low key, but I always look forward to it. She tells us how to keep our landscaping, (because she's a brilliant gardener), and we ply her full of food and beer and big city livin' that she doesn't get too much of in her little town.
I am always amazed that people would want to come spend time with us for no reason. I mean, if there was an event we were going to, or if we were geographically convenient to something they needed to access, I could see it. But it's a pretty big compliment for someone to come just to come and stay.
We dropped for a long weekend (or a short week, whichever you want to call it) on the Milinovichs last year. Just to do it. Because we like them. We did the same last weekend with the Canadys; and we found out we like them, too.
It's a nice tradition, one I think doesn't happen as often anymore as it used to. I remember growing up, the Friars and Beckers would be out for a walk and just stop by. It was always a joy. My parents would do the same in return I'm sure, but since I wouldn't have been caught dead taking a walk with my parents, I'll have to infer.
Think about it now. How many people would you be happy to see if they just popped in? We are a different society now than we were then. I have said it before in these pages that our neighborhood, happily, seems to be caught in a bygone time where visiting is acceptable. Maybe even expected.
This long weekend of great potential, I encourage you to stop on by a friend's house. Just for a few minutes, just to say hi. Maybe that friend's house will be our house. And you will be welcomed as a joy. Just be prepared to stay awhile and have something to eat.
I am always amazed that people would want to come spend time with us for no reason. I mean, if there was an event we were going to, or if we were geographically convenient to something they needed to access, I could see it. But it's a pretty big compliment for someone to come just to come and stay.
We dropped for a long weekend (or a short week, whichever you want to call it) on the Milinovichs last year. Just to do it. Because we like them. We did the same last weekend with the Canadys; and we found out we like them, too.
It's a nice tradition, one I think doesn't happen as often anymore as it used to. I remember growing up, the Friars and Beckers would be out for a walk and just stop by. It was always a joy. My parents would do the same in return I'm sure, but since I wouldn't have been caught dead taking a walk with my parents, I'll have to infer.
Think about it now. How many people would you be happy to see if they just popped in? We are a different society now than we were then. I have said it before in these pages that our neighborhood, happily, seems to be caught in a bygone time where visiting is acceptable. Maybe even expected.
This long weekend of great potential, I encourage you to stop on by a friend's house. Just for a few minutes, just to say hi. Maybe that friend's house will be our house. And you will be welcomed as a joy. Just be prepared to stay awhile and have something to eat.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Thursday Miscellany
As you have no doubt seen on Emily's blog, we "downsized" and got her a less extravagant car. It is a Fusion, no leather, but it's got the good stereo, Sync and a moon roof. All for about $75.00 bucks less a month than her other car.
I liked the old car for about a week. But then I started to realize I was craning my neck to get in and out because of the "fast" windshield. It was loud! A lot loud! I like quiet cars, unless I'm in a sports car. The seats were never comfortable. The plus side was it was a very attractive car with a huge amount of room for its size. It was reliable (as I expect the new car will be since they share a lot of mechanicals) and got good mileage (ditto).
This new car has cushier seats and a more upright driving position. The color is okay, it's not my favorite. So, we welcome the as yet unnamed number 18 to the stable. May your 39 months with us be uneventful and pleasant.
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My head hurts. I have had a relapsing remitting headache for the last couple days. I want it to go away. I guess the colder wetter weather is to blame. I don't care. I want it to go away.
_____________________________________________________________
Tomorrow being a holiday Friday, I wasn't expecting to really work that hard. No one else got the memo, though, and I have three appointments in three cities, the farthest of which is 150 miles from home... and it's at 3:00pm.
The good news? I have three appointments, yo! I'll take it when and from where I can get it. And while I am taking it, I will be smiling and full of thanks for the blessings I have been given.
_____________________________________________________________
My grass is healthy, but not so green. I will have to do something about that this weekend. I wonder if it is because I have been bagging (so the crab grass does not spread) and treating it aggressively for weeds. Me thinks it is time for more nitrogen and iron to green it up a little.
I liked the old car for about a week. But then I started to realize I was craning my neck to get in and out because of the "fast" windshield. It was loud! A lot loud! I like quiet cars, unless I'm in a sports car. The seats were never comfortable. The plus side was it was a very attractive car with a huge amount of room for its size. It was reliable (as I expect the new car will be since they share a lot of mechanicals) and got good mileage (ditto).
This new car has cushier seats and a more upright driving position. The color is okay, it's not my favorite. So, we welcome the as yet unnamed number 18 to the stable. May your 39 months with us be uneventful and pleasant.
_____________________________________________________________
My head hurts. I have had a relapsing remitting headache for the last couple days. I want it to go away. I guess the colder wetter weather is to blame. I don't care. I want it to go away.
_____________________________________________________________
Tomorrow being a holiday Friday, I wasn't expecting to really work that hard. No one else got the memo, though, and I have three appointments in three cities, the farthest of which is 150 miles from home... and it's at 3:00pm.
The good news? I have three appointments, yo! I'll take it when and from where I can get it. And while I am taking it, I will be smiling and full of thanks for the blessings I have been given.
_____________________________________________________________
My grass is healthy, but not so green. I will have to do something about that this weekend. I wonder if it is because I have been bagging (so the crab grass does not spread) and treating it aggressively for weeds. Me thinks it is time for more nitrogen and iron to green it up a little.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
The Peace of the Grave
I don't want to be buried, myself. I am a cremation guy. I just think it makes more sense. Anyhow, that being said, if I had to be buried, there would be not too many place higher on my list that Bonaventure Cemetery in Savannah, Ga.
For those of you predisposed to remembering such minutiae, the book (and the movie) "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil" about murder and malfeasance in Savannah society features the statuette of a girl on the grave of Jim Williams, one of the subjects of the book. That grave is in Bonaventure. The statue no longer is, since it became a sort of macabre mecca to riff raff and out of towners. Peace was restored upon its removal.
Anyhow, here are some pictures we took (mostly Emily took) while we were there:
Mature live oaks keep it cool and give it the old southern charm
Old graves and large family plots from the early 1800s to yesterday
Intricate and ornate monuments among the oaks
Far from depressing, it is a lovely place with many lanes like this one under the oaks
I call this photo, (which I took) "Eternal Love"
Those who made the ultimate sacrifice for our freedom
The pictures, while beautiful just don't do it justice. I recommend you go see for yourself.
For those of you predisposed to remembering such minutiae, the book (and the movie) "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil" about murder and malfeasance in Savannah society features the statuette of a girl on the grave of Jim Williams, one of the subjects of the book. That grave is in Bonaventure. The statue no longer is, since it became a sort of macabre mecca to riff raff and out of towners. Peace was restored upon its removal.
Anyhow, here are some pictures we took (mostly Emily took) while we were there:
Old graves and large family plots from the early 1800s to yesterday
Intricate and ornate monuments among the oaks
Far from depressing, it is a lovely place with many lanes like this one under the oaks
I call this photo, (which I took) "Eternal Love"
Those who made the ultimate sacrifice for our freedomThe pictures, while beautiful just don't do it justice. I recommend you go see for yourself.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Wild Horses
Among the many great aspects of our short trip to Savannah (more of which you can read about at the blahblahblog),was my rented Mustang. I didn't set out to rent a "premium car", it just worked out that way. The sales clerk was very persuasive. His pitch was catchy, memorable and undeniably effective. It went something like, "Do you want to pay more money for the Mustang?"
He had me at the part where he asked if I wanted to spend more money on a Mustang. I had planned on spending the weekend in a penalty box of a subcompact car of pan Asian origin. Was it worth the $50.00 extra bucks? Nope. Absolutely not. After all, Asia makes a great car these days. Am I glad I spent it? Yep, absolutely.
It was a grabber blue pony premium coupe with black leather and, (unfortunately), and automatic. Even with the automatic it is an entertaining car to drive. It is significantly more comfortable than sporty, but it is a good all-around car with some style. The V6 is a willing engine that makes nice noises when pushed, unlike a lot of V6 cars that tend to just sort of moan in protest.
I am sure the manual equipped sport package coupe is a little crisper- that's the one for me. However, as far as I'm concerned the car, even in its rental car form, was pretty darn good.
I want one. Yep. I do. I would love the V8, but let's face it, I don't need it. The V6 is sweet and smooth. It doesn't have a basso profundo exhaust like the five liter, but if this were my daily driver, I am not so sure I would want that. It steps off the line well, if not immediately and revs till next Tuesday.
I want one. We have an appointment tomorrow at the Ford dealer as we have begun the process of replacing Emily's lease. And none-too-soon. We like the car less with each passing day. Of course, a Mustang is not the best choice for its replacement.
Still...
He had me at the part where he asked if I wanted to spend more money on a Mustang. I had planned on spending the weekend in a penalty box of a subcompact car of pan Asian origin. Was it worth the $50.00 extra bucks? Nope. Absolutely not. After all, Asia makes a great car these days. Am I glad I spent it? Yep, absolutely.
It was a grabber blue pony premium coupe with black leather and, (unfortunately), and automatic. Even with the automatic it is an entertaining car to drive. It is significantly more comfortable than sporty, but it is a good all-around car with some style. The V6 is a willing engine that makes nice noises when pushed, unlike a lot of V6 cars that tend to just sort of moan in protest.
I am sure the manual equipped sport package coupe is a little crisper- that's the one for me. However, as far as I'm concerned the car, even in its rental car form, was pretty darn good.
I want one. Yep. I do. I would love the V8, but let's face it, I don't need it. The V6 is sweet and smooth. It doesn't have a basso profundo exhaust like the five liter, but if this were my daily driver, I am not so sure I would want that. It steps off the line well, if not immediately and revs till next Tuesday.
I want one. We have an appointment tomorrow at the Ford dealer as we have begun the process of replacing Emily's lease. And none-too-soon. We like the car less with each passing day. Of course, a Mustang is not the best choice for its replacement.
Still...
Monday, May 23, 2011
Blah Blah Blog Begins
Em finally talked me into it. Yes, we two, inseparable and insufferable are going to write a he said she said (and said and said) format blog for items where it seems apt. We are calling it Blah Blah Blog . So, Please enjoy as we post. Of course our first topic will be our too short trip to Savannah to reconnect with good friends, eat good food, and generally have a good old time.
Thanks for following this blog. I hope you continue to do so as I will still be as active as time permits!
Thanks for following this blog. I hope you continue to do so as I will still be as active as time permits!
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Twisted VanDyke
Did you know I do not have a goatee? I have a Vandyke. A goatee does not have a mustache, and while I don't have much of a mustache, there is a vague shadow there that implies a mustache would go in that general area if I could only grow one.
So, the majority of people have Vandykes, not goatees. There is of course the third option which is the soul patch, which is the allowing the little patch directly beneath your lower lip to grow, but remaining clean shaven elsewhere. I think they should call it the douche patch, but that's just me and I'll thank me to keep my opinion to myself.
Anyway, why the beard history? Because I am sporting, of late, a new variation on the Vandyke I am calling the Twisted Vandyke. Why? Because for some reason, after 10 years of continuous Vandyke sportage, I for some reason can't get the stupid thing on straight! It has gotten to the point where I am ready to get rid of it out of spite. As if shaving it off will teach it some sort of lesson. I picture a Far Side comic with a man staring at a sink full of whiskers, exclaiming, "So, There!"
Then I remember I have no chin under there, which is why I have it in the first place. Not to mention that as a bald guy, I take on a strangely uncanny Mr. Potatohead (Potatoehead to you, Mr. Quayle) like appearance I don't have facial hair.
So now I am flying to Savannah to see people I haven't seen in 8+ years with a crooked goatee... or Vandyke, or whatever. I can't go anywhere from here, because it is now too small to do anything with. It is a classic case of "I keep cutting it and it's still too short."
Why am I having problems now all of a sudden? I think it can only be attributed to face sag. That's right. I am getting older and like everyone (outside Demi Moore and Angelina Jolie), my face is losing the battle with gravity. Apparently, one of my chins, the left one, is more prone to saggage. As such, when I go to trim up and I stretch out my skin so I don't give myself a carotedectomy and bleed to death all over the place.
All looks well, until I let down all the chins, only to find a crooked, jagged Vandyke that looks like it was drawn on in some forced perspective reminiscent of the late works of Picasso. It will end up being ok, by Monday, after I don't care anymore since I will be back home.
There is an old-timey barber in town who would likly give me the straight razor treatment once a week for $10. But then I have to contend with a guy holding a straight razor to my neck. I don't need a Sicilian smile performed on my. It comes from years of being a devotee of mob history. You're just asking for someone to "do you". Maybe I should just get a chin implant and neck lipo.
So, the majority of people have Vandykes, not goatees. There is of course the third option which is the soul patch, which is the allowing the little patch directly beneath your lower lip to grow, but remaining clean shaven elsewhere. I think they should call it the douche patch, but that's just me and I'll thank me to keep my opinion to myself.
Anyway, why the beard history? Because I am sporting, of late, a new variation on the Vandyke I am calling the Twisted Vandyke. Why? Because for some reason, after 10 years of continuous Vandyke sportage, I for some reason can't get the stupid thing on straight! It has gotten to the point where I am ready to get rid of it out of spite. As if shaving it off will teach it some sort of lesson. I picture a Far Side comic with a man staring at a sink full of whiskers, exclaiming, "So, There!"
Then I remember I have no chin under there, which is why I have it in the first place. Not to mention that as a bald guy, I take on a strangely uncanny Mr. Potatohead (Potatoehead to you, Mr. Quayle) like appearance I don't have facial hair.
So now I am flying to Savannah to see people I haven't seen in 8+ years with a crooked goatee... or Vandyke, or whatever. I can't go anywhere from here, because it is now too small to do anything with. It is a classic case of "I keep cutting it and it's still too short."
Why am I having problems now all of a sudden? I think it can only be attributed to face sag. That's right. I am getting older and like everyone (outside Demi Moore and Angelina Jolie), my face is losing the battle with gravity. Apparently, one of my chins, the left one, is more prone to saggage. As such, when I go to trim up and I stretch out my skin so I don't give myself a carotedectomy and bleed to death all over the place.
All looks well, until I let down all the chins, only to find a crooked, jagged Vandyke that looks like it was drawn on in some forced perspective reminiscent of the late works of Picasso. It will end up being ok, by Monday, after I don't care anymore since I will be back home.
There is an old-timey barber in town who would likly give me the straight razor treatment once a week for $10. But then I have to contend with a guy holding a straight razor to my neck. I don't need a Sicilian smile performed on my. It comes from years of being a devotee of mob history. You're just asking for someone to "do you". Maybe I should just get a chin implant and neck lipo.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Looking for Miracles
Miracle, I have decided is a word whose meaning has been lost in its own ubiquity. I used that phrase in a recent blentry and liked it so much I am working it into the common vernacular. It will be right up there with "he is a parody of himself" and "six of one, half dozen of the other".
Miracle is like the words hero, and hate; we use them to too often and too lightly. It's true meaning being laid to waste by our casual usage. But unlike heroes, (I am of the opinion that most of the people we call heroes today are not in fact heroes), miracles happen around us all the time and we fail to recognize them as such.
So your ceiling caves in and you are unhurt... maybe even untouched. Miracle? It sure may seem pretty miraculous if it was you staring unscathed at the pile of rubble that was your ceiling. Is every person who survives a major illness a miracle?
At what point does a triumph of human spirit in the face of adversity become a miracle? I don't know the answer, but I know that I am the recipient of miracles nearly every day. And I have been all my life.
Now that you are done rolling your eyes, I am not going to launch into some prose and treacle about how bless-ed (spelled that way for effect) I am. Rather, I submit to you that miracles are where you find them.
I work for a difficult man. I don't know how else to put it. He expects a lot and makes it unpleasant when you do not meet those expectations. On more than one occasion within the last couple months I have had phone calls that either provide me with good news or mitigate the effects of bad news right before I am to speak with him and give my weekly report.
I don't believe in coincidence. I believe in miracles and I think it is a waste of time to ignore the small, every day things that happen to us while we are looking for the big things. I wrote something similar here a few weeks ago; and I feel strongly enough about it to repeat myself now.
In short- I am not going out to look for miracles, but I sure am glad they come looking for me.
_____________________________________________________________
The outgoing senior class at my church is "my" first class... these are the kids that I have known since they were Freshmen. I am misty at the prospect of watching them go into the big world. I look at the kids behind them and see the day, too soon, when they will make the same rite of passage.
It's a damn good thing I'm not a parent because I think I would simply fall to pieces at every one of these milestones. But one thing is for certain, I am so glad I have had the privilege of working with these wonderful students. It is amazing how much I have learned from them and their shining examples.
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Two Tom Petty Songs fit my upcoming weekend, both of which are off the excellent Highway Companion album.
The first is "Down South" a farcical romp imagining Petty going back to the cradle of his Florida youth to make right all the wrongs he left behind and reconnect with his routes. I don't have any southern roots, but I lived in Savannah long enough that our weekend trip seems like a homecoming of sorts.
The next song is "Big Weekend". The lyric goes: "I need a big weekend; kick off the dust; I need a big weekend; if you don't run you rust."
It is no easy task, even for two relatively unattached people such as ourselves to just drop it all and go a significant distance for a short time. Yet somehow, I am energized and filled with antici.....pation at the prospect of the trip. I need a big weekend, indeed- and I think I need to bring Mr. Petty along for the ride.
Miracle is like the words hero, and hate; we use them to too often and too lightly. It's true meaning being laid to waste by our casual usage. But unlike heroes, (I am of the opinion that most of the people we call heroes today are not in fact heroes), miracles happen around us all the time and we fail to recognize them as such.
So your ceiling caves in and you are unhurt... maybe even untouched. Miracle? It sure may seem pretty miraculous if it was you staring unscathed at the pile of rubble that was your ceiling. Is every person who survives a major illness a miracle?
At what point does a triumph of human spirit in the face of adversity become a miracle? I don't know the answer, but I know that I am the recipient of miracles nearly every day. And I have been all my life.
Now that you are done rolling your eyes, I am not going to launch into some prose and treacle about how bless-ed (spelled that way for effect) I am. Rather, I submit to you that miracles are where you find them.
I work for a difficult man. I don't know how else to put it. He expects a lot and makes it unpleasant when you do not meet those expectations. On more than one occasion within the last couple months I have had phone calls that either provide me with good news or mitigate the effects of bad news right before I am to speak with him and give my weekly report.
I don't believe in coincidence. I believe in miracles and I think it is a waste of time to ignore the small, every day things that happen to us while we are looking for the big things. I wrote something similar here a few weeks ago; and I feel strongly enough about it to repeat myself now.
In short- I am not going out to look for miracles, but I sure am glad they come looking for me.
_____________________________________________________________
The outgoing senior class at my church is "my" first class... these are the kids that I have known since they were Freshmen. I am misty at the prospect of watching them go into the big world. I look at the kids behind them and see the day, too soon, when they will make the same rite of passage.
It's a damn good thing I'm not a parent because I think I would simply fall to pieces at every one of these milestones. But one thing is for certain, I am so glad I have had the privilege of working with these wonderful students. It is amazing how much I have learned from them and their shining examples.
_____________________________________________________________
Two Tom Petty Songs fit my upcoming weekend, both of which are off the excellent Highway Companion album.
The first is "Down South" a farcical romp imagining Petty going back to the cradle of his Florida youth to make right all the wrongs he left behind and reconnect with his routes. I don't have any southern roots, but I lived in Savannah long enough that our weekend trip seems like a homecoming of sorts.
The next song is "Big Weekend". The lyric goes: "I need a big weekend; kick off the dust; I need a big weekend; if you don't run you rust."
It is no easy task, even for two relatively unattached people such as ourselves to just drop it all and go a significant distance for a short time. Yet somehow, I am energized and filled with antici.....pation at the prospect of the trip. I need a big weekend, indeed- and I think I need to bring Mr. Petty along for the ride.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Five Hudred Twenty-Five Thousand Six Hundred Dollars
$525,600.00. Tasty. That zest morsel of money, one dollar for each minute of the year could seriously change lives. I know my life would be forever altered by $525,600.00. I could, in fact, forever alter my life and the lives of many people with that kind of money and have enough left over for a sandwich and a beer. How, you ask? Well, I am glad you want to know, since that's what the rest of this blog happens to be about.
Charitable Contributions to Me Myself and I
Starting money $525,600.00.
Contribution to moribund retirement fund $250,000.00
Ending money $275,600.00.
Contributions to my Home
Starting money $275,600.00
Pay off all debts (except mortgage), new garage/driveway/renovate windows/finish basement $70,000.00
Ending money $205,600.00
Contributions to Charity/Church
Based on 12.5% of the original sum $65,700.00.
Ending money $139,900.00
A New Car!
Beginning money $139,900.00
Restoration of Corvette $25,000.00
New daily driver car $30,000.00
Ending money $84,900.00
You're going to Italy!
Beginning money $84,900.00
Month long vacation to Europe $25,000.00
Ending money $59,900.00
Rainy Day Fund
Beginning money $59,900.00
Contribution to Rainy Day Fund $25,000.00
Ending money $34,900.00
Expenses relating to having $525,600.00
CPA/Lawyer, etc. $12,000
Ending money $22,900.00
Guilt for having that much money left over
Starting money $22,900.00
Donation to schools and hospitals $15,000.00 That brings the total charitable contributions to $80,700.00 or 15% of the windfall.
Ending money $7,900.00
A big-ass party to celebrate having $525,600.00
Beginning money $7,900.00
Party costs $7,880.00
Ending money $20.00
A Beer and a Sandwich
Beginning money $20.00
A beer and a sandwich $22.95
Ending money -$2.95
See... I'd still be in debt.
Charitable Contributions to Me Myself and I
Starting money $525,600.00.
Contribution to moribund retirement fund $250,000.00
Ending money $275,600.00.
Contributions to my Home
Starting money $275,600.00
Pay off all debts (except mortgage), new garage/driveway/renovate windows/finish basement $70,000.00
Ending money $205,600.00
Contributions to Charity/Church
Based on 12.5% of the original sum $65,700.00.
Ending money $139,900.00
A New Car!
Beginning money $139,900.00
Restoration of Corvette $25,000.00
New daily driver car $30,000.00
Ending money $84,900.00
You're going to Italy!
Beginning money $84,900.00
Month long vacation to Europe $25,000.00
Ending money $59,900.00
Rainy Day Fund
Beginning money $59,900.00
Contribution to Rainy Day Fund $25,000.00
Ending money $34,900.00
Expenses relating to having $525,600.00
CPA/Lawyer, etc. $12,000
Ending money $22,900.00
Guilt for having that much money left over
Starting money $22,900.00
Donation to schools and hospitals $15,000.00 That brings the total charitable contributions to $80,700.00 or 15% of the windfall.
Ending money $7,900.00
A big-ass party to celebrate having $525,600.00
Beginning money $7,900.00
Party costs $7,880.00
Ending money $20.00
A Beer and a Sandwich
Beginning money $20.00
A beer and a sandwich $22.95
Ending money -$2.95
See... I'd still be in debt.
Monday, May 16, 2011
One Step Up...
Two Steps Back
On his excellent and underrated album, Tunnel of Love, Bruce Springsteen has a song called "One Step Up (Two Steps Back). By no means an original concept, Springsteen manages to put his raspy blue collar version of reality on the phrase which by manner of ubiquity has lost much of its impact.
"Woke up this mornin' my house was cold; checked the furnace she wasn't burnin'
Went out hopped in my old Ford; hit the engine but she ain't turnin'
Givin' each other some hard lessons lately; we ain't learnin'
Same sad story that's a fact; one step up, 'n two steps back"
Not only do I feel that way sometimes, I feel that way right now. It is so easy to lose the big picture when you are focusing solely on the benchmarks of today. It is easy to focus on the frustrating job situation, or to fume over the car needing another expensive repair. What is hard is to remember that a marathon is 26 miles; and not every mile will be your best. It is important to keep in your memory that a couple miles ago you felt great and in a few miles you will again.
For the last ten minutes, I tried in vain to work a metaphor about canvas and paint. I couldn't make it work without sounding trite and forced. The song, which is about the breakup of his first marriage, ends with Springsteen singing: "... [W]e danced as the evening stars faded to black; one step up and two steps back."
At least my problems aren't matters of the heart. Just the normal minutiae of life. So in every life a little rain must fall, (a song by Queen, incidentally). Right now, my radar shows a good chance of that for a little while. But somewhere off in the distance, beyond my ability to see, are sunny days.
Let's just hope they aren't too far off. My credit card can't take much more of this!
______________________________________________________________
And Step Three
After lunch, my dear wonderful wife showed me the back sliding door is rotting away, being the victim of bad flashing, cheap construction and probably bad installation. Oh, Bother!
It never rains but it pours. Another great song said that. "Under Pressure" by Queen and David Bowie.
"Pressure, it burns a building down, splits a family in two, puts people on the streets...
Chippin' around - kick my brains around the floor
These are the days it never rains but it pours"
Amen.
On his excellent and underrated album, Tunnel of Love, Bruce Springsteen has a song called "One Step Up (Two Steps Back). By no means an original concept, Springsteen manages to put his raspy blue collar version of reality on the phrase which by manner of ubiquity has lost much of its impact.
"Woke up this mornin' my house was cold; checked the furnace she wasn't burnin'
Went out hopped in my old Ford; hit the engine but she ain't turnin'
Givin' each other some hard lessons lately; we ain't learnin'
Same sad story that's a fact; one step up, 'n two steps back"
Not only do I feel that way sometimes, I feel that way right now. It is so easy to lose the big picture when you are focusing solely on the benchmarks of today. It is easy to focus on the frustrating job situation, or to fume over the car needing another expensive repair. What is hard is to remember that a marathon is 26 miles; and not every mile will be your best. It is important to keep in your memory that a couple miles ago you felt great and in a few miles you will again.
For the last ten minutes, I tried in vain to work a metaphor about canvas and paint. I couldn't make it work without sounding trite and forced. The song, which is about the breakup of his first marriage, ends with Springsteen singing: "... [W]e danced as the evening stars faded to black; one step up and two steps back."
At least my problems aren't matters of the heart. Just the normal minutiae of life. So in every life a little rain must fall, (a song by Queen, incidentally). Right now, my radar shows a good chance of that for a little while. But somewhere off in the distance, beyond my ability to see, are sunny days.
Let's just hope they aren't too far off. My credit card can't take much more of this!
______________________________________________________________
And Step Three
After lunch, my dear wonderful wife showed me the back sliding door is rotting away, being the victim of bad flashing, cheap construction and probably bad installation. Oh, Bother!
It never rains but it pours. Another great song said that. "Under Pressure" by Queen and David Bowie.
"Pressure, it burns a building down, splits a family in two, puts people on the streets...
Chippin' around - kick my brains around the floor
These are the days it never rains but it pours"
Amen.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Waiting for the Worms
I am waiting for the worms. I have applied another salvo in my ongoing chemical war with crab grass. I am trying to get it to cede... get it? to cede? Whatever, I thought it was funny. Certainly funnier that if I said I am waging a chemical war with crab grass in an attempt to make it abdicate. That wouldn't be funny at all.
But I wonder if there might be something a little more intense going on under the surface. I have applied so many chemicals in some pretty liberal ratios. Sure, my grass is as green as the hills of Erin, but is at what cost, (besides the $200.00 or so dollars I have spent to purchase my secret cocktails)? Today, I accidentally sprayed crab grass and broad leaf killer on at a ratio of 3 oz. per gallon... it was supposed to be 3 Tbsp. per gallon. After that, I decided to go ahead and spray the bug killer, too. What the heck... let's put three times the recommended dosage on. Em really hates bugs.
My mind wanders to cinematic masterpieces like Kingdom of the Spiders,(where interstingly no spider chewed the scenery quite as well as one Mr. William Shatner),CHUD, and Night of the Living dead. I wonder if maybe I have unwittingly put the right chemicals in the exact right ratios, mixed with the intense electrical thunderstorms expected tonight and made up a batch of super mutant worms. Angry, super mutant worms. Carnivorous, angry, super mutant worms. Or worse yet, Hungry, carnivorous, angry super mutant worms.
It is Friday the 13th after all. Stranger things have happened; at least on screen. And while I make it a point never to have premarital sex at the abandoned summer camp on the 35th anniversary of the little boy's mysterious drowning (the one where they never found the body), I suppose it isn't out of the realm of possibility that I will be beset upon by hungry, carnivorous, angry super mutant worms.
I hope not. I have showered twice today and really just feel like settling down with some nice wine and watching some tube. But that's how it starts of course. The fat dumb white guy, chilling in front of the TV, dozing a little when he hears a distant ambiguous noise. It could be anything, and it definitely was something. But he can't be bothered. No, whatever it was will keep. Probably just a cat, or a "damn kid" sneaking around outside. Then, BAM! Worm food.
Maybe I have a leg up on that guy, since I already suspect a visit from the hungry, carnivorous, angry super mutant worms. Instead of sitting idly and being surprised from behind by the hungry, carnivorous, angry super mutant worms, I will jump to the noise with and splash my glass of wine on the first worm which will cause it to shriek in terror buying me some time. I will grab the cats and Emily who will follow me because they think I am trying to save them; but they don't know I plan on using them to throw at the worms if it comes to that.
Yep, I am going to be the first fat white man to live through the attack. I have my glass of wine and my attention is slowly being stolen by the tellie. I see there is a thunderstorm outside right now and a few right behind it. Each crash of thunder brings us closer to the invasion of the hungry, carnivorous, angry super mutant worms. Are you ready?
But I wonder if there might be something a little more intense going on under the surface. I have applied so many chemicals in some pretty liberal ratios. Sure, my grass is as green as the hills of Erin, but is at what cost, (besides the $200.00 or so dollars I have spent to purchase my secret cocktails)? Today, I accidentally sprayed crab grass and broad leaf killer on at a ratio of 3 oz. per gallon... it was supposed to be 3 Tbsp. per gallon. After that, I decided to go ahead and spray the bug killer, too. What the heck... let's put three times the recommended dosage on. Em really hates bugs.
My mind wanders to cinematic masterpieces like Kingdom of the Spiders,(where interstingly no spider chewed the scenery quite as well as one Mr. William Shatner),CHUD, and Night of the Living dead. I wonder if maybe I have unwittingly put the right chemicals in the exact right ratios, mixed with the intense electrical thunderstorms expected tonight and made up a batch of super mutant worms. Angry, super mutant worms. Carnivorous, angry, super mutant worms. Or worse yet, Hungry, carnivorous, angry super mutant worms.
It is Friday the 13th after all. Stranger things have happened; at least on screen. And while I make it a point never to have premarital sex at the abandoned summer camp on the 35th anniversary of the little boy's mysterious drowning (the one where they never found the body), I suppose it isn't out of the realm of possibility that I will be beset upon by hungry, carnivorous, angry super mutant worms.
I hope not. I have showered twice today and really just feel like settling down with some nice wine and watching some tube. But that's how it starts of course. The fat dumb white guy, chilling in front of the TV, dozing a little when he hears a distant ambiguous noise. It could be anything, and it definitely was something. But he can't be bothered. No, whatever it was will keep. Probably just a cat, or a "damn kid" sneaking around outside. Then, BAM! Worm food.
Maybe I have a leg up on that guy, since I already suspect a visit from the hungry, carnivorous, angry super mutant worms. Instead of sitting idly and being surprised from behind by the hungry, carnivorous, angry super mutant worms, I will jump to the noise with and splash my glass of wine on the first worm which will cause it to shriek in terror buying me some time. I will grab the cats and Emily who will follow me because they think I am trying to save them; but they don't know I plan on using them to throw at the worms if it comes to that.
Yep, I am going to be the first fat white man to live through the attack. I have my glass of wine and my attention is slowly being stolen by the tellie. I see there is a thunderstorm outside right now and a few right behind it. Each crash of thunder brings us closer to the invasion of the hungry, carnivorous, angry super mutant worms. Are you ready?
Thursday, May 12, 2011
Reversals of Fortune, or, A Completely Foreseeable Twist of Fate
That lasted all of 40 hours. We just couldn't do it. Last night's storms had me up and in a panic over whether my kitty was O.K. Was he wet? Cold? Scared? Hungry? Was he wondering why this happened to him?
I don't know the answers to any of those questions, but we were very happy to see each other this morning, that stupid cat and I. And after drying him off and feeding him, I set about a new plan. Because this one wasn't going to work for me. And I knew it from the start.
I know animals are by-and-large waterproof. Cows, for instance seem to excel at hanging out in the pasture, eating and watching cars go by with their occupants shouting "MOOOO" all day (don't tell me I'm the only one!). In fact all your barnyard animals; chickens, pigs, goats, children of the corn... they all seem to be just fine outside.
But none of them are mine. And while Atticus was never going to starve, (he is fast, strong and a wily hunter, plus I was never going to stop feeding him), and he wasn't miserable outside, it was clear he wasn't happy. He wanted to be on the side of the doors that we were on.
Aha! Sometimes we are inside! Other times, in fact often compared to the pasty skinned television and Nintendo addicted CHUDS parents are raising these days, we are outside! Maybe Atticus needed to be like that most utilitarian of all ground coverings; indoor/outdoor carpeting.
It stands to reason that if he is aggressive it is because of latent or pent-up energy. And if he had a positive outlet for that energy maybe he wouldn't be so aggressive! So, by day, if he is showing signs of restlessness and angst, I will let him out into the great big world so he can play basketball with the local kids and run and play. Of course in this case the great big world is my tiny backyard and by playing basketball with the local kids I mean stalking living prey (other than Juliette) for fun.
So it was off to Meijer for Flea treatments and a reflective collar. After all, he is black as midnight and I don't want fleas in my house. This makes me feel like we at least attempted to cover all out bases.
Right now he is so lethargic from not sleeping and being stressed out. I gave him some nip when he came in, so he is tired and stoned. This is a combination that makes for a very happy home.
Juliette doesn't know he is back. She is sleeping, blissfully unaware that a major policy decision has been made without her input. But at least we have a new and different plan this time. And that might just make all the difference. Who said I am not an optimist?
I don't know the answers to any of those questions, but we were very happy to see each other this morning, that stupid cat and I. And after drying him off and feeding him, I set about a new plan. Because this one wasn't going to work for me. And I knew it from the start.
I know animals are by-and-large waterproof. Cows, for instance seem to excel at hanging out in the pasture, eating and watching cars go by with their occupants shouting "MOOOO" all day (don't tell me I'm the only one!). In fact all your barnyard animals; chickens, pigs, goats, children of the corn... they all seem to be just fine outside.
But none of them are mine. And while Atticus was never going to starve, (he is fast, strong and a wily hunter, plus I was never going to stop feeding him), and he wasn't miserable outside, it was clear he wasn't happy. He wanted to be on the side of the doors that we were on.
Aha! Sometimes we are inside! Other times, in fact often compared to the pasty skinned television and Nintendo addicted CHUDS parents are raising these days, we are outside! Maybe Atticus needed to be like that most utilitarian of all ground coverings; indoor/outdoor carpeting.
It stands to reason that if he is aggressive it is because of latent or pent-up energy. And if he had a positive outlet for that energy maybe he wouldn't be so aggressive! So, by day, if he is showing signs of restlessness and angst, I will let him out into the great big world so he can play basketball with the local kids and run and play. Of course in this case the great big world is my tiny backyard and by playing basketball with the local kids I mean stalking living prey (other than Juliette) for fun.
So it was off to Meijer for Flea treatments and a reflective collar. After all, he is black as midnight and I don't want fleas in my house. This makes me feel like we at least attempted to cover all out bases.
Right now he is so lethargic from not sleeping and being stressed out. I gave him some nip when he came in, so he is tired and stoned. This is a combination that makes for a very happy home.
Juliette doesn't know he is back. She is sleeping, blissfully unaware that a major policy decision has been made without her input. But at least we have a new and different plan this time. And that might just make all the difference. Who said I am not an optimist?
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Backdoor Man/Suspension of Disbelief/A Decent Proposal
Backdoor Man
I lost my mind last night. It was hot, I was trying to nab a little shut-eye before my 5:30 am wake up call. It had been a long (not bad) day. Atticus was up to his usual tricks, terrifying Juliette at every turn. Last week I had enough of the litter box in my bedroom and moved it into my office... a lateral move at best, but it is progress of a kind. At bed time, He jumped her in the litter box.
I need to go back a little, here as both Em and I felt there was a more than vague cat poop smell in the bedroom. I verified this after being out of the room for a bit and then going back in. It had gotten worse. After much turning and tumbling of various likely places, we found it. Juliette pooped IN THE AIR DUCT! No doubt as a result of being interrupted in the litter box and cornered. Since Em swears she didn't do it, and I didn't do it, there is only one culprit left.
I had also gotten tired of sequestering the cats at night. I wanted to be able to simplify since it had become such a chore, this nightly ritual. Pets, in return for the attention and money you lavish upon them are supposed to enhance your life beyond the complication they cause. So, I demanded we keep the door open and not close Juliette in. Maybe, I reasoned, if Atticus and Juliette could successfully make it through a couple nights sleeping peacefully in the same room, things would calm down.
Not but a few minutes into slumber land, a fracas arose and I sat bolt upright to see Atticus had Juliette pinned under a chair in our bedroom. There was much hissing and raising of backs. This has been going on to varying degree for nearly a year now. Atticus ran off, which is what he always does when we catch him doing something he knows not to do. Believe me, he knows not to do these things, but that doesn't stop him.
I grabbed him on the way past me and lifted him up close to my face, so our eyes were essentially touching. He was completely compliant as I have at least trained him to heel, (not a small feat for a cat).
I let him down and he went to lick his paws in the other room. I went back and settled in to bed. Juliette ran past me and down stairs, presumably to the dining room chairs which is about the only spot Atticus won't bother her.
Except tonight. He tore ass off after her and jumped her again. This time I heard a chair move... they are pretty big, heavy chairs. The other day a plant got mysteriously knocked off its stand int he dining room, too. Not even neutral ground was neutral anymore.
I got up again, went downstairs to get Atticus. I was done. And so was he. I picked him up and told him he doesn't live here anymore and threw him out. That's how mad I was.
As I suspected he is still outside today, meowing himself hoarse. But this morning as I contemplated letting him back in, he jumped at Juliette again, violently; only this time there was a glass door between them.
That sealed it for me. We are going to get a collar and we will keep feeding him for as long as he wants to stay in the yard, but he is now an outdoor cat. Of course I feel terribly about this as I love Atticus. But Juliette has been with us longer. She is 10 and I don't want her to live out her final good years being terrorized by another animal on a daily basis.
Think of me what you will. I don't think too highly of myself right now.
_____________________________________________________________
Suspension of Disbelief
I told you of the Corvette's shock blow-out over a pot hole in lovely Grand Rapids. Well, this morning, the air suspension on my car also failed, leaving me dragging ass down the highway with a virtually uncontrollable car. Had I not been so bemused, I would have adopted the Detroit lean and enjoyed ghetto bombing down the road. I even would have put on some Dre.
The Grand Marquis is the car cousin to the Crown Victoria and like Queen Victoria, I was not amused. This car has cost me a lot of money to keep in condition. I am not even talking about body-wise. It has been plagued with electrical gremlins and odd maladies, many of which I have regaled you with, here in this blog.
Now I figure I am in for another $600.00. Strangely, after my morning meeting, it worked again, but the compressor sounds a lot like my knees do first thing in the morning... sure they work, but they ain't gonna for long.
The stealership quoted me $600.00 to fix it. Am I good or what? I noticed the part is really expensive and the labor is really cheap. That means it is a quick and simple job. One I can do myself.
So online I go to find a new compressor! Good old Amazon.com... $175.00 bucks and I will be on my way. There was momentary elation. I am sure it would have lasted longer had I not then done what I always do... analyze. $175.00 and my time is easily 2/3 of an additional car payment this month. This on top of last month's $700.00 spend on various maintenance items which represented 3 additional car payments.
Everyone likes to make fun of me because I don't keep cars. It is silly, they say. You're wasting money, they say. Cars run forever if you take care of them, they say.
Poppycock! I can think of a lot of nice cars I can drive for the kind of scratch I am putting out for this tired old car. As my friend Dave said last week... it's just one more thing.
_____________________________________________________________
A Decent Proposal
I kissed my first major project goodbye and sent it on its way to the scrutinizing committee! I am proud of it. It is 48 pages of facts, figures, charts, diagrams, pictures, visual aids and marketing BS and represents about 100 hours of my time. At 2.08 hours per page, it is literally the most time-intensive writing piece I have ever done.
I know it is competitive in the metrics they are looking for. I know it is well written. I know it is graphically attractive and easy to navigate. In short it is practically perfect in every way. Wish me luck! I need a win!
I lost my mind last night. It was hot, I was trying to nab a little shut-eye before my 5:30 am wake up call. It had been a long (not bad) day. Atticus was up to his usual tricks, terrifying Juliette at every turn. Last week I had enough of the litter box in my bedroom and moved it into my office... a lateral move at best, but it is progress of a kind. At bed time, He jumped her in the litter box.
I need to go back a little, here as both Em and I felt there was a more than vague cat poop smell in the bedroom. I verified this after being out of the room for a bit and then going back in. It had gotten worse. After much turning and tumbling of various likely places, we found it. Juliette pooped IN THE AIR DUCT! No doubt as a result of being interrupted in the litter box and cornered. Since Em swears she didn't do it, and I didn't do it, there is only one culprit left.
I had also gotten tired of sequestering the cats at night. I wanted to be able to simplify since it had become such a chore, this nightly ritual. Pets, in return for the attention and money you lavish upon them are supposed to enhance your life beyond the complication they cause. So, I demanded we keep the door open and not close Juliette in. Maybe, I reasoned, if Atticus and Juliette could successfully make it through a couple nights sleeping peacefully in the same room, things would calm down.
Not but a few minutes into slumber land, a fracas arose and I sat bolt upright to see Atticus had Juliette pinned under a chair in our bedroom. There was much hissing and raising of backs. This has been going on to varying degree for nearly a year now. Atticus ran off, which is what he always does when we catch him doing something he knows not to do. Believe me, he knows not to do these things, but that doesn't stop him.
I grabbed him on the way past me and lifted him up close to my face, so our eyes were essentially touching. He was completely compliant as I have at least trained him to heel, (not a small feat for a cat).
I let him down and he went to lick his paws in the other room. I went back and settled in to bed. Juliette ran past me and down stairs, presumably to the dining room chairs which is about the only spot Atticus won't bother her.
Except tonight. He tore ass off after her and jumped her again. This time I heard a chair move... they are pretty big, heavy chairs. The other day a plant got mysteriously knocked off its stand int he dining room, too. Not even neutral ground was neutral anymore.
I got up again, went downstairs to get Atticus. I was done. And so was he. I picked him up and told him he doesn't live here anymore and threw him out. That's how mad I was.
As I suspected he is still outside today, meowing himself hoarse. But this morning as I contemplated letting him back in, he jumped at Juliette again, violently; only this time there was a glass door between them.
That sealed it for me. We are going to get a collar and we will keep feeding him for as long as he wants to stay in the yard, but he is now an outdoor cat. Of course I feel terribly about this as I love Atticus. But Juliette has been with us longer. She is 10 and I don't want her to live out her final good years being terrorized by another animal on a daily basis.
Think of me what you will. I don't think too highly of myself right now.
_____________________________________________________________
Suspension of Disbelief
I told you of the Corvette's shock blow-out over a pot hole in lovely Grand Rapids. Well, this morning, the air suspension on my car also failed, leaving me dragging ass down the highway with a virtually uncontrollable car. Had I not been so bemused, I would have adopted the Detroit lean and enjoyed ghetto bombing down the road. I even would have put on some Dre.
The Grand Marquis is the car cousin to the Crown Victoria and like Queen Victoria, I was not amused. This car has cost me a lot of money to keep in condition. I am not even talking about body-wise. It has been plagued with electrical gremlins and odd maladies, many of which I have regaled you with, here in this blog.
Now I figure I am in for another $600.00. Strangely, after my morning meeting, it worked again, but the compressor sounds a lot like my knees do first thing in the morning... sure they work, but they ain't gonna for long.
The stealership quoted me $600.00 to fix it. Am I good or what? I noticed the part is really expensive and the labor is really cheap. That means it is a quick and simple job. One I can do myself.
So online I go to find a new compressor! Good old Amazon.com... $175.00 bucks and I will be on my way. There was momentary elation. I am sure it would have lasted longer had I not then done what I always do... analyze. $175.00 and my time is easily 2/3 of an additional car payment this month. This on top of last month's $700.00 spend on various maintenance items which represented 3 additional car payments.
Everyone likes to make fun of me because I don't keep cars. It is silly, they say. You're wasting money, they say. Cars run forever if you take care of them, they say.
Poppycock! I can think of a lot of nice cars I can drive for the kind of scratch I am putting out for this tired old car. As my friend Dave said last week... it's just one more thing.
_____________________________________________________________
A Decent Proposal
I kissed my first major project goodbye and sent it on its way to the scrutinizing committee! I am proud of it. It is 48 pages of facts, figures, charts, diagrams, pictures, visual aids and marketing BS and represents about 100 hours of my time. At 2.08 hours per page, it is literally the most time-intensive writing piece I have ever done.
I know it is competitive in the metrics they are looking for. I know it is well written. I know it is graphically attractive and easy to navigate. In short it is practically perfect in every way. Wish me luck! I need a win!
Monday, May 9, 2011
The Pipeline
Today I am working on my pipeline. No, it's not a glamorous as you think it is. Oh, you didn't think it sounded particularly glamorous? Well, then, you are right. A pipeline, under the parlance with which I apply it here is the place where salespeople lie the most. The pipeline is the culmination of mysterious math and voodoo mixed with the glue of hope and misplaced optimism all spiked with a dash of self-deception to taste.
Yes, the pipeline is the underground place where I publish, in the form of a report, what business I expect to close, by when and for how much. I get to then get to plop my pipeline on the table in front of all the people I work with while they plop their pipelines on the table and we can all compare.
That doesn't sound at all untoward.
But the funny thing about the pipeline is that I make it as big as I want it to be. That's right, I talked to a guy about a thing for five seconds in the elevator and he said, let's do lunch while avoiding eye contact and throwing his card on the ground while dashing off in any direction but here? Pipeline. A guy that important is worth maybe, what, a million a year? Better make it two, just to be safe.
And that opportunity in another state that you don't really operate in but would if he gave you the business? Pipeline! Let's call that $8M a year with a 237% probability of close. What, too low?
The pipeline is all about liar's poker. It is best served with a huge, steaming pile of moxy. I don't have a problem displaying moxy, but I typically hold off until I know my moxy is well-placed. This wasn't always the case.
Back in first grade, there was a musical that all the classes at Brookwood Elementary School would be performing. Each class would be responsible for a section of the play. It was called Three Ships: The Christopher Columbus Story. I was to be the first grade's Christopher Columbus; at least said I. And I said it to everyone immediately after the audition (a word by the way I had never until that time heard).
I told my family and friends I got the part. I didn't have the part... I had auditioned. I mean, sure I killed it. Nailed it. Right down home plate. But I didn't have the part. I had moxy.
Well, if you are cringing, waiting for the punchline that I didn't get it and it was given to my best friend who then stole my girl and beat me up on the playground you'll just have to keep waiting. Of course I got the part. I told you, I nailed it!
But I learned that that kind of prevenient moxy wasn't going to serve me well in the long run. I got lucky this time. I should learn. I think I learned, because I don't remember any other instances similar to this.
Until today and the exercise of the pipeline. I have some irons in the fire, but I am not comfortable saying with any percentage of possibility when if and for how much they will close. I'm working on it. Isn't that enough?
Well no, it isn't. And why it isn't is because of another nebulous term we use in business - forecast. The forecast is based on the pipeline! Of course! We have taken you through the process of assigning highly dubious benchmarks to your work and now we are going to use them to create the forecast. The forecast is what we are basing next year's budgets and business plans off of.
Wait! You are basing your business plan on a bunch of lying sales people and their self-inflated pipelines which you don't have to be Freud to know are just phallic symbols? That's really bad! I don't have the first clue about what just happened, let alone what will happen in the next year! My crystal ball is in the shop! Oh, momma, what do I do now?
The moral? Your company is run, at least in part off a plan that is made from the numbers gleaned by the reporting of a bunch of pathological liars with a bad case of dissociative adjustment disorder and a smattering of penis envy. And there's not a thing you can do about it!
Be afraid. Be very afraid.
Yes, the pipeline is the underground place where I publish, in the form of a report, what business I expect to close, by when and for how much. I get to then get to plop my pipeline on the table in front of all the people I work with while they plop their pipelines on the table and we can all compare.
That doesn't sound at all untoward.
But the funny thing about the pipeline is that I make it as big as I want it to be. That's right, I talked to a guy about a thing for five seconds in the elevator and he said, let's do lunch while avoiding eye contact and throwing his card on the ground while dashing off in any direction but here? Pipeline. A guy that important is worth maybe, what, a million a year? Better make it two, just to be safe.
And that opportunity in another state that you don't really operate in but would if he gave you the business? Pipeline! Let's call that $8M a year with a 237% probability of close. What, too low?
The pipeline is all about liar's poker. It is best served with a huge, steaming pile of moxy. I don't have a problem displaying moxy, but I typically hold off until I know my moxy is well-placed. This wasn't always the case.
Back in first grade, there was a musical that all the classes at Brookwood Elementary School would be performing. Each class would be responsible for a section of the play. It was called Three Ships: The Christopher Columbus Story. I was to be the first grade's Christopher Columbus; at least said I. And I said it to everyone immediately after the audition (a word by the way I had never until that time heard).
I told my family and friends I got the part. I didn't have the part... I had auditioned. I mean, sure I killed it. Nailed it. Right down home plate. But I didn't have the part. I had moxy.
Well, if you are cringing, waiting for the punchline that I didn't get it and it was given to my best friend who then stole my girl and beat me up on the playground you'll just have to keep waiting. Of course I got the part. I told you, I nailed it!
But I learned that that kind of prevenient moxy wasn't going to serve me well in the long run. I got lucky this time. I should learn. I think I learned, because I don't remember any other instances similar to this.
Until today and the exercise of the pipeline. I have some irons in the fire, but I am not comfortable saying with any percentage of possibility when if and for how much they will close. I'm working on it. Isn't that enough?
Well no, it isn't. And why it isn't is because of another nebulous term we use in business - forecast. The forecast is based on the pipeline! Of course! We have taken you through the process of assigning highly dubious benchmarks to your work and now we are going to use them to create the forecast. The forecast is what we are basing next year's budgets and business plans off of.
Wait! You are basing your business plan on a bunch of lying sales people and their self-inflated pipelines which you don't have to be Freud to know are just phallic symbols? That's really bad! I don't have the first clue about what just happened, let alone what will happen in the next year! My crystal ball is in the shop! Oh, momma, what do I do now?
The moral? Your company is run, at least in part off a plan that is made from the numbers gleaned by the reporting of a bunch of pathological liars with a bad case of dissociative adjustment disorder and a smattering of penis envy. And there's not a thing you can do about it!
Be afraid. Be very afraid.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Good Morning Burger
I remember why I don't drink quantities of beer. I like beer. I like beer a lot. I like all different kinds of beer, but after two or three I am done. I get bloated and even worse my TB kicks in. No, I don't have tuberculosis... I have tiny bladder.
Last night's nine beers (all be they light beers) were a lot for me. Even before I got out of bed my head and stomach hurt. I realized I hadn't slept well and I knew I would spend a lot of time reading magazines this morning. You know, in the library. Do you get it? I'd have to poop a lot.
Now that we're on the same page, I drank 2/3 of a pot of coffee and that set me straight. I set about looking for something good to eat. I could have made a big breakfast, but I decided there were too many good leftovers from last night's Seis de Mayo celebration with the Rogue YC-SDS.
I remembered one of my favorite Simpsons gags which is a TV commercial Homer is watching and lusting after. The text follows: Read it in a sultry female voice and you'll get the picture:
"We take eighteen ounces of sizzling ground beef, and soak it in rich, creamery butter, then we top it off with bacon, ham, and a fried egg. We call it the Good Morning Burger."
So, I set about making a Good Morning Burger. I did and the angels smiled and I smiled and we all had a little happy moment because I am not a dad and can have hamburgers and cake for breakfast if I want to; thank you very much. Too bad we didn't have cake in the house. Too bad I don't care for cake. I might eat it for breakfast though, just 'cause I can.
Em did some painting, I did some work on the kitchen counters and pulled up some stupid trim from the floor that didn't need to be there (much better!). Then I mowed the lawn.
Time for lunch. Hmmmm, what to have... Well, my good morning burger was so good, I'll have to chase it with a good afternoon burger! And so I did! And the angels sang again, a different song but just as good and I ate my pickle and drank my Vernor's and life was good.
Tonight we have a surprise birthday party to go to and I hope they are serving burgers. There is nothing that follows the good morning and good afternoon burgers like a good evening burger. And some beer. Just not nine of them.
Good Morning Burger Good Afternoon Burger
Last night's nine beers (all be they light beers) were a lot for me. Even before I got out of bed my head and stomach hurt. I realized I hadn't slept well and I knew I would spend a lot of time reading magazines this morning. You know, in the library. Do you get it? I'd have to poop a lot.
Now that we're on the same page, I drank 2/3 of a pot of coffee and that set me straight. I set about looking for something good to eat. I could have made a big breakfast, but I decided there were too many good leftovers from last night's Seis de Mayo celebration with the Rogue YC-SDS.
I remembered one of my favorite Simpsons gags which is a TV commercial Homer is watching and lusting after. The text follows: Read it in a sultry female voice and you'll get the picture:
"We take eighteen ounces of sizzling ground beef, and soak it in rich, creamery butter, then we top it off with bacon, ham, and a fried egg. We call it the Good Morning Burger."
So, I set about making a Good Morning Burger. I did and the angels smiled and I smiled and we all had a little happy moment because I am not a dad and can have hamburgers and cake for breakfast if I want to; thank you very much. Too bad we didn't have cake in the house. Too bad I don't care for cake. I might eat it for breakfast though, just 'cause I can.
Em did some painting, I did some work on the kitchen counters and pulled up some stupid trim from the floor that didn't need to be there (much better!). Then I mowed the lawn.
Time for lunch. Hmmmm, what to have... Well, my good morning burger was so good, I'll have to chase it with a good afternoon burger! And so I did! And the angels sang again, a different song but just as good and I ate my pickle and drank my Vernor's and life was good.
Tonight we have a surprise birthday party to go to and I hope they are serving burgers. There is nothing that follows the good morning and good afternoon burgers like a good evening burger. And some beer. Just not nine of them.
Good Morning Burger Good Afternoon Burger
Friday, May 6, 2011
The sky Is Falling
I had a short texterstion with friend Dave last night. He posted on Facebook that a "section of roof is coming off", or words to that meaning. So, I texted him to ask what was up. It turns out it is a pretty small thing, or as I joked nothing that requires FEMA and Al Roker to respond.
His response is one I have heard myself say a number of times. "Yeah, but it's just one more thing."
Yesterday cleaning my house up for a soiree we are hosting tonight, I was fraught with embarrassment! The door frames and hallway upstairs still aren't done being prepped and painted, the set of windows off the deck is only a third done and was hastily covered with primer last fall when it got too cold to proceed and I wanted to protect the wood from winter. The corner bead on the kitchen counters is coming unstuck and looks a mess.The furniture is looking pretty shabby due to animals and use and being moved a bunch of times and my driveway is still crumbling and leading to a garage that continues to molder slowly into the ground.
I hope my friends don't pass a hat before they leave. I don't want them to judge me because my house isn't new and nice like theirs.
But to look at all the flaws is to look past the well manicured lawn, the healthy tulips that have popped, spreading color throughout the landscaped beds. Why look past the neatly trimmed privets or freshly painted porch? They look fine. And the new awning is a perfect match. Sure, it leads to a door that needs to be replaced, but there again why look past the good to see the bad.
All the things that need to be fixed or finished in my house require two things I have not had historically a lot of. Time and money. I am sitting a little better on time these days, but unfortunately no better on money. I always look at people on game shows with envy because that $10,000 they won would change my life. I know someone who won $50,000 on a game show and there was no discernible benefit. What I could do with that money...
But I don't have it. And I like this life, I like this house and I will get these things done. Progress will be slow, but I mostly like the work. It will be expensive, but somehow we have always found a way. At the end it will be time to start all over again, providing we are still here, and able.
I told Dave that life is just a series of 'things'. Some of them memorable because they are terrible, some because they are wonderful and the rest involves the couch and the TV.
I for one am going to keep making the effort to see the good and not look past it to the bad.
His response is one I have heard myself say a number of times. "Yeah, but it's just one more thing."
Yesterday cleaning my house up for a soiree we are hosting tonight, I was fraught with embarrassment! The door frames and hallway upstairs still aren't done being prepped and painted, the set of windows off the deck is only a third done and was hastily covered with primer last fall when it got too cold to proceed and I wanted to protect the wood from winter. The corner bead on the kitchen counters is coming unstuck and looks a mess.The furniture is looking pretty shabby due to animals and use and being moved a bunch of times and my driveway is still crumbling and leading to a garage that continues to molder slowly into the ground.
I hope my friends don't pass a hat before they leave. I don't want them to judge me because my house isn't new and nice like theirs.
But to look at all the flaws is to look past the well manicured lawn, the healthy tulips that have popped, spreading color throughout the landscaped beds. Why look past the neatly trimmed privets or freshly painted porch? They look fine. And the new awning is a perfect match. Sure, it leads to a door that needs to be replaced, but there again why look past the good to see the bad.
All the things that need to be fixed or finished in my house require two things I have not had historically a lot of. Time and money. I am sitting a little better on time these days, but unfortunately no better on money. I always look at people on game shows with envy because that $10,000 they won would change my life. I know someone who won $50,000 on a game show and there was no discernible benefit. What I could do with that money...
But I don't have it. And I like this life, I like this house and I will get these things done. Progress will be slow, but I mostly like the work. It will be expensive, but somehow we have always found a way. At the end it will be time to start all over again, providing we are still here, and able.
I told Dave that life is just a series of 'things'. Some of them memorable because they are terrible, some because they are wonderful and the rest involves the couch and the TV.
I for one am going to keep making the effort to see the good and not look past it to the bad.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Irono.
I had all sorts of quirky little things to write about for today's blentry, but I just don't remember them. It has been a long (not bad, just long) day. I have a little brain fry. I am watching the cats duel with each other over their measure of catnip, separated only by the scratching post. It's pretty funny. My attention is seriously divided.
This week has been gorgeous. Cold, but sunny. This of course is because I put junk on the lawn that needs water and my hose is busted. So nature hasn't helped me and I can't help myself. I also haven't been able to cruise at all in the 'Vette because on Saturday, Grand Rapids' renown potholes blew a shock mount on it and I have to wait until the hose is fixed and some bills are paid until that gets fixed. Bother.
Rest assured the rain will return immediately upon achievement of those and I will be left to ponder the humorous and inordinately large role of irony in my life. Irony it seems is my patron fate. If we have guardian angels and there are patron saints, why not a patron fate that follows us around?
I rather like the idea. Makes me feel like perhaps some of the tragic (and by tragic I mean slightly annoying) things that have happened to me are not the fault of lack of talent or poor decision making. It's my patron fate's fault. Don't look at me, it was Irono's fault - yes, I have named my patron fate Irono. Deal with it.
Everyone else around me seems to have an external locus of control, (blaming environmental or other outside forces for their problems), so why can't I? I rather think of Irono as my version of Gazoo... Fred Flintstone's little alien friend over his shoulder that only he can see and talk to.
Regardless, I would like to go relax now. No visitors from Canada yesterday or today, so perhaps that was a fluke of people searching for any news of Osama bin Laden and stumbled accidentally on my blog. If that is the case, I doubt they have come away with a higher opinion of Americans after having read my blog than before.
Bon Soir!
This week has been gorgeous. Cold, but sunny. This of course is because I put junk on the lawn that needs water and my hose is busted. So nature hasn't helped me and I can't help myself. I also haven't been able to cruise at all in the 'Vette because on Saturday, Grand Rapids' renown potholes blew a shock mount on it and I have to wait until the hose is fixed and some bills are paid until that gets fixed. Bother.
Rest assured the rain will return immediately upon achievement of those and I will be left to ponder the humorous and inordinately large role of irony in my life. Irony it seems is my patron fate. If we have guardian angels and there are patron saints, why not a patron fate that follows us around?
I rather like the idea. Makes me feel like perhaps some of the tragic (and by tragic I mean slightly annoying) things that have happened to me are not the fault of lack of talent or poor decision making. It's my patron fate's fault. Don't look at me, it was Irono's fault - yes, I have named my patron fate Irono. Deal with it.
Everyone else around me seems to have an external locus of control, (blaming environmental or other outside forces for their problems), so why can't I? I rather think of Irono as my version of Gazoo... Fred Flintstone's little alien friend over his shoulder that only he can see and talk to.
Regardless, I would like to go relax now. No visitors from Canada yesterday or today, so perhaps that was a fluke of people searching for any news of Osama bin Laden and stumbled accidentally on my blog. If that is the case, I doubt they have come away with a higher opinion of Americans after having read my blog than before.
Bon Soir!
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
I'm Hot For Teacher
Emily is teaching a spiritual gifts class that begins tonight. This is not her first dance around the maypole with this, but it is the first time I expressed an interest in being a part of it. I told her this morning she was about to find out why so many of my teachers retired immediately after they taught (forcibly restrained and gagged) me for a year.
I will go easy on her, if she goes easy on me. She is already letting me use her book which has all the answers in it, and no literal theologians, I am not talking about the Bible. But I will borrow her Bible, too. I didn't realize until this morning, I don't have one.
Tsk tsk, you say, or maybe not since there is a lesson or two in the Bible somewhere about judging. A whole book, really. I can't prove it to you, not having a Bible readily at hand, but I think I am right.
Growing up Catholic, we didn't need Bibles. Everything we needed to know we were told. We were too busy remembering at which point in the mass to stand, kneel, sit and recite the Nicene Creed (the longest prayer in a whole wide world). I liked communion the best. It was like the 7th inning stretch. You were past the preachy part and in the home stretch. Soon you could go home and... watch baseball, or whatever.
We used to go to church on Saturdays at 5:00pm. I sorta miss that as it really frees up the Sunday for doing all sorts of things that will eventually culminate in the need to go back to church the following Saturday.
Back to the original point. Will this class be a good idea? Can we successfully weather the stormy sea of tempestuous romance while restraining our carnal lust at the altar of cool academic indifference?
Stay tuned.
I will go easy on her, if she goes easy on me. She is already letting me use her book which has all the answers in it, and no literal theologians, I am not talking about the Bible. But I will borrow her Bible, too. I didn't realize until this morning, I don't have one.
Tsk tsk, you say, or maybe not since there is a lesson or two in the Bible somewhere about judging. A whole book, really. I can't prove it to you, not having a Bible readily at hand, but I think I am right.
Growing up Catholic, we didn't need Bibles. Everything we needed to know we were told. We were too busy remembering at which point in the mass to stand, kneel, sit and recite the Nicene Creed (the longest prayer in a whole wide world). I liked communion the best. It was like the 7th inning stretch. You were past the preachy part and in the home stretch. Soon you could go home and... watch baseball, or whatever.
We used to go to church on Saturdays at 5:00pm. I sorta miss that as it really frees up the Sunday for doing all sorts of things that will eventually culminate in the need to go back to church the following Saturday.
Back to the original point. Will this class be a good idea? Can we successfully weather the stormy sea of tempestuous romance while restraining our carnal lust at the altar of cool academic indifference?
Stay tuned.
Tuesday Tumble Jumble Mumble
Oh, Stats, Where Art Thou?
As soon as it began, it is over. I can't log in to my stats because there has been a catastrophic server failure according to the help desk and now I can't see the "overnights". In fact, they are saying it will be days before they are up and running. The old me would have taken responsibility, saying my blog ruined the stats counter site. The new me just laments that I hitched my horse to the wrong tree. Whatever that means.
Another fine example of things that make our lives easier only making them harder. Now I have to fret about stats. Well, I don't have to, but I do. I know you understand. Off to find another counter that isn't run by potheads and well-intentioned geeks with no real skill. I wonder if I google with those terms...
____________________________________________________________
The Draft
It has been nice to write a little freestyle the last couple days. Draft one of the proposal is out the door and in the hands of people far less talented than I, but far more experienced. I culled it to 38 pages not including attachments, exhibits and appendices. All told, in the 60 something pages. I hope teacher likes it. I need a good grade.
Hope you like the new look of the blog. The contrast is better so it may be easier to read. I like to change layouts here and there, since the writing sucks, at least you can have something to look at.
I have been writing my company monthly newsletter and have discovered (rediscovered, really) my love for page layout. When I wrote for the high school newspaper it was my favorite part. It creates a finely resolved chord where my OCD, My inner designer and my finely honed love of self come together to make beautiful music. Seriously, it's like D major... I love it.
____________________________________________________________
Internal Clock
I have always had a pretty good internal clock. I think I may have referenced it here before. This morning, I knew it was getting close to alarm bell time. I was fading in and out, anticipating it. At one point, while faded out, I was having a dream of sorts wherein I was talking... at the point where I said in my dream, "it's time to get up, the alarm is going to go..." Baddah bing, the alarm went off.
If I am lucky enough to still be sleeping when the alarm goes off, I often find it corresponds with some happenstance in my dream. Weird.
At work camp every year, the staff broadcasts silly songs and dialogues over the PA system to wake the kids. I refuse to be awakened this way and so always get up early to have some coffee and read. It's my quiet time. Then I get to watch all the kids roll out of the sack to the din of the crazy music and such. As I like to say, I'd rather watch a parade than march in one.
As soon as it began, it is over. I can't log in to my stats because there has been a catastrophic server failure according to the help desk and now I can't see the "overnights". In fact, they are saying it will be days before they are up and running. The old me would have taken responsibility, saying my blog ruined the stats counter site. The new me just laments that I hitched my horse to the wrong tree. Whatever that means.
Another fine example of things that make our lives easier only making them harder. Now I have to fret about stats. Well, I don't have to, but I do. I know you understand. Off to find another counter that isn't run by potheads and well-intentioned geeks with no real skill. I wonder if I google with those terms...
____________________________________________________________
The Draft
It has been nice to write a little freestyle the last couple days. Draft one of the proposal is out the door and in the hands of people far less talented than I, but far more experienced. I culled it to 38 pages not including attachments, exhibits and appendices. All told, in the 60 something pages. I hope teacher likes it. I need a good grade.
Hope you like the new look of the blog. The contrast is better so it may be easier to read. I like to change layouts here and there, since the writing sucks, at least you can have something to look at.
I have been writing my company monthly newsletter and have discovered (rediscovered, really) my love for page layout. When I wrote for the high school newspaper it was my favorite part. It creates a finely resolved chord where my OCD, My inner designer and my finely honed love of self come together to make beautiful music. Seriously, it's like D major... I love it.
____________________________________________________________
Internal Clock
I have always had a pretty good internal clock. I think I may have referenced it here before. This morning, I knew it was getting close to alarm bell time. I was fading in and out, anticipating it. At one point, while faded out, I was having a dream of sorts wherein I was talking... at the point where I said in my dream, "it's time to get up, the alarm is going to go..." Baddah bing, the alarm went off.
If I am lucky enough to still be sleeping when the alarm goes off, I often find it corresponds with some happenstance in my dream. Weird.
At work camp every year, the staff broadcasts silly songs and dialogues over the PA system to wake the kids. I refuse to be awakened this way and so always get up early to have some coffee and read. It's my quiet time. Then I get to watch all the kids roll out of the sack to the din of the crazy music and such. As I like to say, I'd rather watch a parade than march in one.
Monday, May 2, 2011
We're International, Baby!
Metric-It's Not Just a Band Anymore
I decided to add a counter to my blog that gives me metrics about when, how many and from where (Facebook, Google, etc.) people are looking at the blog. So, after 3 whole hours of these metrics, this is what I have learned.
Grandiose Ruminations by The Numbers
Most of you use Windows 7, although Mac users are second. There is even a linux person out there proving it takes all kinds.
Many of you find my blog through my Facebook page, so I must know you. Some of you come directly to the blog, so you must be regular readers... maybe you've even bookmarked the site!
We are international! There are two hits from Canada, my favorite other North American country. Welcome, eh! You're so welcome here, friend! Unless you are from Quebec... I don't do French people. Well, anymore. I did date a Goiette. Come to think of it, she wasn't French, just kinky.
____________________________________________________________
Red Red Wine
Is there anything (bourbon not withstanding) that melts the problems of the world away quite so effectively as red wine? In this case, a nice Merlot from the Dynamite label given to us by our neighbors on Good Friday. It is one of my favorite labels, particularly their Merlot.
____________________________________________________________
My Weird Friends
I don't mean my friends are weird... I mean the people I call friends are so different from one another. I have a gay Republican Lawyer, a Methodist Minister and a bon vivant from Chicago whom I have never actually met in the classical sense of the word. Then there are my fellow bookies from Barnes and Noble juxtaposed with "my" kids from high school youth group whose parents would run me out on a rail if they knew some of the things I write in this blog.
My mom reads. God bless her she has been a fan and a follower of mine for longer than all you fair-weather people. I say things that I know she doesn't "like", but she "likes" me anyway.
All of you are so different. Liberal Agnostics, Conservative God Fearing U.S.A. chanting beer drinkers, Ministers, long-suffering wives and people who wouldn't know what to think about anything if it was shown to them on cue cards, college professors of high intellect and young people of great wisdom and wit. I am proud to call you all friends and appreciative of all your viewpoints and ideals. I hope it proves that if we choose to talk to people and work through our differences and get to know each other, there are no problems that can't be worked out.
Even if you are French Canadian.
I decided to add a counter to my blog that gives me metrics about when, how many and from where (Facebook, Google, etc.) people are looking at the blog. So, after 3 whole hours of these metrics, this is what I have learned.
Grandiose Ruminations by The Numbers
Most of you use Windows 7, although Mac users are second. There is even a linux person out there proving it takes all kinds.
Many of you find my blog through my Facebook page, so I must know you. Some of you come directly to the blog, so you must be regular readers... maybe you've even bookmarked the site!
We are international! There are two hits from Canada, my favorite other North American country. Welcome, eh! You're so welcome here, friend! Unless you are from Quebec... I don't do French people. Well, anymore. I did date a Goiette. Come to think of it, she wasn't French, just kinky.
____________________________________________________________
Red Red Wine
Is there anything (bourbon not withstanding) that melts the problems of the world away quite so effectively as red wine? In this case, a nice Merlot from the Dynamite label given to us by our neighbors on Good Friday. It is one of my favorite labels, particularly their Merlot.
____________________________________________________________
My Weird Friends
I don't mean my friends are weird... I mean the people I call friends are so different from one another. I have a gay Republican Lawyer, a Methodist Minister and a bon vivant from Chicago whom I have never actually met in the classical sense of the word. Then there are my fellow bookies from Barnes and Noble juxtaposed with "my" kids from high school youth group whose parents would run me out on a rail if they knew some of the things I write in this blog.
My mom reads. God bless her she has been a fan and a follower of mine for longer than all you fair-weather people. I say things that I know she doesn't "like", but she "likes" me anyway.
All of you are so different. Liberal Agnostics, Conservative God Fearing U.S.A. chanting beer drinkers, Ministers, long-suffering wives and people who wouldn't know what to think about anything if it was shown to them on cue cards, college professors of high intellect and young people of great wisdom and wit. I am proud to call you all friends and appreciative of all your viewpoints and ideals. I hope it proves that if we choose to talk to people and work through our differences and get to know each other, there are no problems that can't be worked out.
Even if you are French Canadian.
Sometimes Life Is Serious
I usually like to keep it pretty light around here. You can feel free to turn to the news on the TV or the radio or simply look about you while you wander through the world to see all sorts of negativity and pain. I try my best to offer a little respite from that world on this blog.
But sometimes, life is serious. My life right now is amazing. Work is going well. I am deeply in love with my wife. I get to enjoy the company of more and better friends than I have ever known. Indeed, life is blessed and good, but it is serious right now.
I am amazed by the people I run into who make mention of this blog. I tend to think only my mom my wife and I read it. Thank you to those who come here looking for a funny story or just to keep up.
I will be back soon. Bear with me. Right now, life is serious-seriously good. I hope for you it is seriously good, too.
But sometimes, life is serious. My life right now is amazing. Work is going well. I am deeply in love with my wife. I get to enjoy the company of more and better friends than I have ever known. Indeed, life is blessed and good, but it is serious right now.
I am amazed by the people I run into who make mention of this blog. I tend to think only my mom my wife and I read it. Thank you to those who come here looking for a funny story or just to keep up.
I will be back soon. Bear with me. Right now, life is serious-seriously good. I hope for you it is seriously good, too.
On Osama
I awoke to see the news of Osama bin Laden's death. I was amazed at the peace that washed over me in that moment. Amazed and a little frightened to revel in the death of a human being, who even though I can't possibly understand how, was loved and forgiven (if he had wanted it) by God.
It strikes me after a few minutes of thinking about this, how we got the psychology of this guy all wrong. Not living in a cave licking liken off the walls to survive, he was living in Pakistan's equivalent of Boca. Lots of retirees with walled houses living out the infertile years. I know in America, many a retirement hour is wiled away watching Fox News and yelling at the TV. I suspect retirement in Pakistan is somewhat different, but I may be surprised to find it not.
I won't ever know because if I do get to retire before dying (unlikely), Pakistan is not on my short list of places to go.
So we created a man of mythic proportions. After all he masterminded at least one dastardly terrorist event in the name of his god, why wouldn't we? But we assumed that he was unlike our own Generals and leaders in that he did not need the trappings of luxury and comfort. He was a somewhere in a cave with a shortwave radio spending all his waking hours dreaming up new ways to kill people he didn't like and fool people he did into doing it.
But he wasn't. He was living in Sun City Pakistan and paying HSA fees with blood money and working on his tan. And that makes him a coward. A dead coward, who sat in a Barcalounger since 2005 (early estimates of when he moved in to this neighborhood only an hour's drive from the capitol of the country), while young boys and girls blew themselves up for an impossible to believe version of heaven that just so happened to play on the very desires the Muslim faith denies them here on earth. Convenient.
I am not happy that man still feels the need to kill man. I think we would all be so much better off working together on how to find life on other planets, go there, and kill entire other species all the while having the audacity to call them aliens. You know, like the future I was told about as a kid. The one I spent so many hours dreaming about.
I never dreamed we would spend billions, (trillions?), of dollars and lose so many lives for the sake of one dead coward. But we did. In the end, who really won?
It strikes me after a few minutes of thinking about this, how we got the psychology of this guy all wrong. Not living in a cave licking liken off the walls to survive, he was living in Pakistan's equivalent of Boca. Lots of retirees with walled houses living out the infertile years. I know in America, many a retirement hour is wiled away watching Fox News and yelling at the TV. I suspect retirement in Pakistan is somewhat different, but I may be surprised to find it not.
I won't ever know because if I do get to retire before dying (unlikely), Pakistan is not on my short list of places to go.
So we created a man of mythic proportions. After all he masterminded at least one dastardly terrorist event in the name of his god, why wouldn't we? But we assumed that he was unlike our own Generals and leaders in that he did not need the trappings of luxury and comfort. He was a somewhere in a cave with a shortwave radio spending all his waking hours dreaming up new ways to kill people he didn't like and fool people he did into doing it.
But he wasn't. He was living in Sun City Pakistan and paying HSA fees with blood money and working on his tan. And that makes him a coward. A dead coward, who sat in a Barcalounger since 2005 (early estimates of when he moved in to this neighborhood only an hour's drive from the capitol of the country), while young boys and girls blew themselves up for an impossible to believe version of heaven that just so happened to play on the very desires the Muslim faith denies them here on earth. Convenient.
I am not happy that man still feels the need to kill man. I think we would all be so much better off working together on how to find life on other planets, go there, and kill entire other species all the while having the audacity to call them aliens. You know, like the future I was told about as a kid. The one I spent so many hours dreaming about.
I never dreamed we would spend billions, (trillions?), of dollars and lose so many lives for the sake of one dead coward. But we did. In the end, who really won?
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