If I had been paying attention, I would have noticed the frost covering the roof of my house and the houses all around us this morning. I would have wondered why it felt so damn cold as I wandered around the house in my t-shirt and shorts and flip-flops.
If I had been paying attention, I would have realized that the howling winds that I barely noticed yesterday as I dashed from my car to the office building and back were cold winds.
But I wasn't paying attention. I've been so wrapped up in meaningless bullshit that I haven't taken the time to notice the weather changing, the house growing cold, and the need for warmer clothes. My mind has been on things that I've let take on an air of importance that they don't deserve. And the things that really are important, that really do matter, that should be experienced and savored and appreciated for all they're worth, have gone unnoticed.
Yesterday, I did take just a while to turn off the news, leave the office behind me, and try to ease my way back into being human again. After my meeting was over and I went home, I took an aimless, albeit short, drive. Instead of listening to NPR, I put a couple of John Prine CDs (Great Days: The John Prine Anthology) in the player and let his music fill the car. I don't know what it is, but some of his music hits a very sensitive spot in me; I can't help but get very emotional when I listen to it: Hello in There, It's Happening to You, The Oldest Baby in the World, Speed of the Sound of Loneliness.
Today, I get on the highway again. I'll have a solid four hours to listen to music, talk to myself, sing, and write poetry if I want. I'll probaly opt to listen. I have no way of recording anything I might "write" and no audience that I'm willing to share much of it with, anyway.
I'll be back Wednesday. Until then, I may not be in the mood for writing.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Saturday, November 15, 2008
More Work
I won the Saturday 6:00 am bingo again yesterday. My eyes popped open well before 6:00 am and I finally got out of bed just after 6:00. But yesterday, I had to go to a client's year-end planning session all day, so I think my brain tricked itself into awakening early...if it had realized there was a workday ahead, it would have insisted on waiting for the alarm clock to have made such a horrific racket that I would have jumped out of bed just to escape the noise.
The same thing happened today. I got up before 5:45, even though I know I have to drive to Central Texas again. While this isn't, strictly speaking, work, it is to attend a meeting for a professional association on whose board I sit...so it behaves like work and treats me like work. At least this time around I don't have to turn right back around and drive home; I'll stay there through Tuesday afternoon. But then, it's back to the real world of work.
During the past week, I secured one new account, tentatively secured another, and failed to get a third. All these accounts are small.
That's my life in a nutshell this week. Work. More work. Awakening early in the hope that I'll have a quiet weekend day. Only to find more work.
The same thing happened today. I got up before 5:45, even though I know I have to drive to Central Texas again. While this isn't, strictly speaking, work, it is to attend a meeting for a professional association on whose board I sit...so it behaves like work and treats me like work. At least this time around I don't have to turn right back around and drive home; I'll stay there through Tuesday afternoon. But then, it's back to the real world of work.
During the past week, I secured one new account, tentatively secured another, and failed to get a third. All these accounts are small.
That's my life in a nutshell this week. Work. More work. Awakening early in the hope that I'll have a quiet weekend day. Only to find more work.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Wandering Around the Edges
Jeezus! This has been a wild goddamn week!
It started for me, as weeks often do, with Monday. Monday wasn't bad, though I don't remember much about it. But it couldn't have been bad.
Tuesday, I called Tammie and Torrie at Compass Bank and read them the riot act. They had called and left messages for me, trying to reach some former neighbors who left town in a hurry in July. I have no doubts that these neighbors left huge credit card debts, etc. at Compass Bank. But that's not my problem. And I don't appreciate the goddamn bank trying to involve me in locating the overextended bastards. How dare they call me and ask me to have my former neighbors call them?! A good thing on Tuesday: I got a signed contract from a new client!
Wednesday, I was busy as hell all day long, but we shut down the office (well, we answered phones) at 4:00 pm for our Open House, which was a celebration of our recent move to new office space and our 10th anniversary of being in business. I personally sent out about 110 invitations and got responses from about 75 people. The others either didn't get my email invitations or they are uncivil bastards who don't respond to RSVP emails and are, therefore, scum from the bowels of hell. About 50 said they'd be there. About 45 actually showed up. We had bought enough wine for all 45 to have had a private bottle...along with beer and softdrinks. We ended up with an unopened case of red wine (3 regular bottles and one mega-bottle of one-off red were consumed, leaving our case unopened), 8 bottles of a nice chardonnay, and 8-9 bottles of a much, much better chardonnay that tastes more like a nice New Zealand sauvignon blanc. So, we have plenty of wine for a week or two, but we are considerably poorer. Another good thing on Wednesday: I learned on a phone call that we are getting another national client as of next Wednesday (for contract signing), and physically getting the client in-house on December 1.
Thursday, I drove to Austin to pitch a prospective client. I was out of the office all day long (4 hour drive down, 4 hours back, plus 1 hour with the prospect, then an hour and a half in my office when I returned). When I got back, I worked in my office for quite awhile, then took a cold bottle of wine to Thai Tanee, where I had a very good pad kee mow and some nice cold office-party wine.
Today, I got the word on yesterday's trip: they chose someone else. Fuck! But maybe it's best, since we're going to be going nut-case bat-shit crazy just to bring the other two new one on-board.
Also during the week, I had a wild exchange of letters and bloggestry, etc. with a friend who unexpectedly seduced me, forced me to ride with her on a long and aimless train ride, and then dumped me unceremoniously in the corn fields of Nebraska, waiting in a forlorn depot for another cross-country train to take my wounded ego to a place where it could be soothed and made whole again.
Apparently she needed her space and I was taking too much of it. Fortunately for me, I met a lovely woman on the tracks, a woman who was seeking the same solace and solitude I was after. She and her sister, Mercy, were as sweet as the seasons and twice as nice.
While the sisters were comparing notes and gasping at what they had done, I was talking to an accountant who claimed our books were beautiful and our processes were perfect.
I came home right on time, then grabbed the computer for an international conference call that lasted two hours. Three of the participants were in Kuala Lumpur, one in Dublin, one in Atlanta, one in Lahore, Pakistan, and me...in little old Dallas. Interesting call, but exasperating, nonetheless.
Enough! I must mosy back to my dreamland where I can think and slink and wander around the edges.
It started for me, as weeks often do, with Monday. Monday wasn't bad, though I don't remember much about it. But it couldn't have been bad.
Tuesday, I called Tammie and Torrie at Compass Bank and read them the riot act. They had called and left messages for me, trying to reach some former neighbors who left town in a hurry in July. I have no doubts that these neighbors left huge credit card debts, etc. at Compass Bank. But that's not my problem. And I don't appreciate the goddamn bank trying to involve me in locating the overextended bastards. How dare they call me and ask me to have my former neighbors call them?! A good thing on Tuesday: I got a signed contract from a new client!
Wednesday, I was busy as hell all day long, but we shut down the office (well, we answered phones) at 4:00 pm for our Open House, which was a celebration of our recent move to new office space and our 10th anniversary of being in business. I personally sent out about 110 invitations and got responses from about 75 people. The others either didn't get my email invitations or they are uncivil bastards who don't respond to RSVP emails and are, therefore, scum from the bowels of hell. About 50 said they'd be there. About 45 actually showed up. We had bought enough wine for all 45 to have had a private bottle...along with beer and softdrinks. We ended up with an unopened case of red wine (3 regular bottles and one mega-bottle of one-off red were consumed, leaving our case unopened), 8 bottles of a nice chardonnay, and 8-9 bottles of a much, much better chardonnay that tastes more like a nice New Zealand sauvignon blanc. So, we have plenty of wine for a week or two, but we are considerably poorer. Another good thing on Wednesday: I learned on a phone call that we are getting another national client as of next Wednesday (for contract signing), and physically getting the client in-house on December 1.
Thursday, I drove to Austin to pitch a prospective client. I was out of the office all day long (4 hour drive down, 4 hours back, plus 1 hour with the prospect, then an hour and a half in my office when I returned). When I got back, I worked in my office for quite awhile, then took a cold bottle of wine to Thai Tanee, where I had a very good pad kee mow and some nice cold office-party wine.
Today, I got the word on yesterday's trip: they chose someone else. Fuck! But maybe it's best, since we're going to be going nut-case bat-shit crazy just to bring the other two new one on-board.
Also during the week, I had a wild exchange of letters and bloggestry, etc. with a friend who unexpectedly seduced me, forced me to ride with her on a long and aimless train ride, and then dumped me unceremoniously in the corn fields of Nebraska, waiting in a forlorn depot for another cross-country train to take my wounded ego to a place where it could be soothed and made whole again.
Apparently she needed her space and I was taking too much of it. Fortunately for me, I met a lovely woman on the tracks, a woman who was seeking the same solace and solitude I was after. She and her sister, Mercy, were as sweet as the seasons and twice as nice.
While the sisters were comparing notes and gasping at what they had done, I was talking to an accountant who claimed our books were beautiful and our processes were perfect.
I came home right on time, then grabbed the computer for an international conference call that lasted two hours. Three of the participants were in Kuala Lumpur, one in Dublin, one in Atlanta, one in Lahore, Pakistan, and me...in little old Dallas. Interesting call, but exasperating, nonetheless.
Enough! I must mosy back to my dreamland where I can think and slink and wander around the edges.
Monday, November 10, 2008
I'll Sleep With You in Return for a Late Model Subaru
One and a half hours of testing mattresses is enough for me. Or, maybe not. I really like the Sleep Number. But maybe I like the Tempurpedic even more. Or maybe the old standard inner-spring mattress is my thing. After lots of testing, I don't have a clue. I need to actually sleep with the mattress for a few nights before I know whether we should make a long-term intimate commitment. "I'd gladly trade you a marriage tomorrow for a honeymoon tonight." Or something of that ilk.
But I already know I love the Heavenly Bed that Westin Hotels puts in their rooms. Why not just buy one of those? Well, considering the prices of some of the Tempurpedic beds I saw yesterday, the reason is the same: I could buy a well-equipped late-model car for what they want for their beds!
I know, I know, I spend a third of my life in bed, so I should pay whatever it takes to make that time as comfortable and relaxing as it can be. Easier said than done. If I want to buy a late-model Subaru Forrester, I can pay it out over five years, even more. Not so a bed.
Hmmm, there's a thought. I've heard that sleeping in a Forrester isn't that bad...
Oh, before I forget, as I write this, I have to remember to tell Isabelita Happy Birthday! tomorrow.
But I already know I love the Heavenly Bed that Westin Hotels puts in their rooms. Why not just buy one of those? Well, considering the prices of some of the Tempurpedic beds I saw yesterday, the reason is the same: I could buy a well-equipped late-model car for what they want for their beds!
I know, I know, I spend a third of my life in bed, so I should pay whatever it takes to make that time as comfortable and relaxing as it can be. Easier said than done. If I want to buy a late-model Subaru Forrester, I can pay it out over five years, even more. Not so a bed.
Hmmm, there's a thought. I've heard that sleeping in a Forrester isn't that bad...
Oh, before I forget, as I write this, I have to remember to tell Isabelita Happy Birthday! tomorrow.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Haywire
It being the weekend, I had absolutely no trouble popping out of bed this morning well before 6:30. If I had arisen when I awoke, I would have been up around 5:00. But, I did not want to make a racket that early in the morning, for fear of waking my wife and risking her being in a foul mood all day. So, I lay there thinking about all sorts of odd things that, in hindsight, make no sense.
For example, I was thinking about how one could build large refrigerated warehouses out of stackable concrete cubes. Another thought that passed through my mind as I was laying in bed, waiting to get up, was that it would be fun to take a train from Chicago to San Francisco, through the Pacific Northwest, on Amtrak, getting to know the passengers and writing a set of short stories about their lives. I know where that idea came from, though. I watched Bill Moyers Journal last night and heard him talk about just such a trip he took with Studs Terkel back in the 1980s. They got paid for that...I would pay my own way by washing dishes and cleaning up train cars if I could do that.
When I finally did get up today, I spent a good hour in the kitchen, which was a bit of a disaster area after yesterday's laziness. An almost unheard-of early morning breakfast before work (eggs and turkey bacon) left skillets and plates and flatware dirty in the sink. Then, after-work laziness left more of the same in the sink. Then, perfect margaritas left salt-laden glasses and sticky shot glasses and lime juice rings on the counter. The stovetop, which has a built-in spill-attracter and quick-burn-the-spills-onto-the-stovetop-adapter, needed a team of mules to rip the burnt-on oil and such from the surface. I turned out to be the team of mules it needed, along with my side-kick, CeramaBrite. The kitchen is now so clean I would happily eat off of the counter and, in a pinch, the floor.
There was talk yesterday about taking advantage of "dollar days" tonight at the Lonestar Park racetrack, a local horseracing venue. Today, everything is one dollar: admission, parking, hot dogs, beer, everything. Tonight is the first "dollar day" of the season, so I expect it will be a madhouse of people. I personally have no interest (I wouldn't mind so much if it weren't for traffic, parking, and crowds), but I don't want to upset the applecart, so I may bite my tongue and tolerate it if there appears to be a genuine interest on my wife's part.
Because I have to make a presentation to prospective clients next Thursday in Austin, and these prospective clients are among the vestiges of a time long ago when business suits were worn to conduct business, I will try to find a suit today. I really need to have a decent suit; everyone should have one. But, it has been so long since I wore a suit that I have ignored it. If I don't succeed, I'll settle for a sport jacket and slacks, which I already have but which are old and decrepit. That may not satisfy the suits guys, but it's not a big enough client for me to invest too much time and energy. That speaks volumes about my dedication to my business, doesn't it?
There, I've satisfied myself that I can, at least, string words together to form sentences, so I'm going to stop now and make some coffee. Yes, I've been up for well over an hour and have not made any coffee yet. Something is, indeed, going haywire in my tiny little brain.
For example, I was thinking about how one could build large refrigerated warehouses out of stackable concrete cubes. Another thought that passed through my mind as I was laying in bed, waiting to get up, was that it would be fun to take a train from Chicago to San Francisco, through the Pacific Northwest, on Amtrak, getting to know the passengers and writing a set of short stories about their lives. I know where that idea came from, though. I watched Bill Moyers Journal last night and heard him talk about just such a trip he took with Studs Terkel back in the 1980s. They got paid for that...I would pay my own way by washing dishes and cleaning up train cars if I could do that.
When I finally did get up today, I spent a good hour in the kitchen, which was a bit of a disaster area after yesterday's laziness. An almost unheard-of early morning breakfast before work (eggs and turkey bacon) left skillets and plates and flatware dirty in the sink. Then, after-work laziness left more of the same in the sink. Then, perfect margaritas left salt-laden glasses and sticky shot glasses and lime juice rings on the counter. The stovetop, which has a built-in spill-attracter and quick-burn-the-spills-onto-the-stovetop-adapter, needed a team of mules to rip the burnt-on oil and such from the surface. I turned out to be the team of mules it needed, along with my side-kick, CeramaBrite. The kitchen is now so clean I would happily eat off of the counter and, in a pinch, the floor.
There was talk yesterday about taking advantage of "dollar days" tonight at the Lonestar Park racetrack, a local horseracing venue. Today, everything is one dollar: admission, parking, hot dogs, beer, everything. Tonight is the first "dollar day" of the season, so I expect it will be a madhouse of people. I personally have no interest (I wouldn't mind so much if it weren't for traffic, parking, and crowds), but I don't want to upset the applecart, so I may bite my tongue and tolerate it if there appears to be a genuine interest on my wife's part.
Because I have to make a presentation to prospective clients next Thursday in Austin, and these prospective clients are among the vestiges of a time long ago when business suits were worn to conduct business, I will try to find a suit today. I really need to have a decent suit; everyone should have one. But, it has been so long since I wore a suit that I have ignored it. If I don't succeed, I'll settle for a sport jacket and slacks, which I already have but which are old and decrepit. That may not satisfy the suits guys, but it's not a big enough client for me to invest too much time and energy. That speaks volumes about my dedication to my business, doesn't it?
There, I've satisfied myself that I can, at least, string words together to form sentences, so I'm going to stop now and make some coffee. Yes, I've been up for well over an hour and have not made any coffee yet. Something is, indeed, going haywire in my tiny little brain.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Perfect Margaritas, Free for the Asking
It's finally Friday night again yet I continue to be unable to think creatively. Is that what over-eating does to me? If I fasted for a month, would I be apt to spontaneously erupt with mind-bending brilliance on a routine basis? Or have I entered that stage of my life in which my brain cells simply shut off for long periods of time, trying in vain to recharge?
Maybe the perfect margarita will help. OK, I convinced myself. I'll make a perfect margarita for myself. I know exactly how to do that. And I have all the ingredients, including damn near a full cup of freshly-squeezed lime juice. I can have more than one perfect margarita. If I empty the cup, I can have a damn litter of margaritas!
Who wants one? Come on over, there's plenty of tequila and triple sec and lime juice.
Maybe the perfect margarita will help. OK, I convinced myself. I'll make a perfect margarita for myself. I know exactly how to do that. And I have all the ingredients, including damn near a full cup of freshly-squeezed lime juice. I can have more than one perfect margarita. If I empty the cup, I can have a damn litter of margaritas!
Who wants one? Come on over, there's plenty of tequila and triple sec and lime juice.
Dark of Night
The results of this year's presidential election assure that I won't be packing my bags and leaving the country in the dark of night, heading for refuge in Mexico. The election is good, but it's something of a shame I wasn't forced to escape into my fantasyland.
Wikipedia
I got up a tad earlier than normal for a work-day. After showering, shaving, and otherwise preparing myself to be acceptable to humankind, I got lost in Wikipedia. There's so much there that I never knew, but want to. The trick, of course, is to ferret out the fact from fantasy and fiction. I'm one who believes the bulk of what is there is based on fact, if not always correct in every detail.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Caldron
I've been trying to think of something worthwhile to write for days, but I just can't muster the mental discipline. There's plenty of fodder in the field, just no fire in the belly. In spite of my deep appreciation for the election, there's something gnawing at my elation and I'll be damned if I know what it is. So, I sit in front of the television and listen to Jim Lehrer, letting him think and speak for me.
An exchange with a friend a few days ago described an experience she had that describes, in tone at least, one that I have every now and then: "you wake up happy and it takes you a few minutes to realize your father is dead." I thought I was the only one who had such jarring experiences. When they happen, they knock the wind out of me as sure as a fist to my chest; my world crashes into the edge of the universe and I'm speechless and I can't breathe and everything I've ever known is broken and wrong and ugly and painful and I want the hell out.
It disappears, of course, and all is tolerably well with the world. Tolerably well is not ideal. Sometimes it's not even acceptable.
There's too much that it affects and too many people who stumble unknowingly into the caldron that it creates. Moods cannot redirect rivers and fracture continents and make mountains shatter into rubble. So it's not a mood. Whatever it is, it's not acceptable.
An exchange with a friend a few days ago described an experience she had that describes, in tone at least, one that I have every now and then: "you wake up happy and it takes you a few minutes to realize your father is dead." I thought I was the only one who had such jarring experiences. When they happen, they knock the wind out of me as sure as a fist to my chest; my world crashes into the edge of the universe and I'm speechless and I can't breathe and everything I've ever known is broken and wrong and ugly and painful and I want the hell out.
It disappears, of course, and all is tolerably well with the world. Tolerably well is not ideal. Sometimes it's not even acceptable.
There's too much that it affects and too many people who stumble unknowingly into the caldron that it creates. Moods cannot redirect rivers and fracture continents and make mountains shatter into rubble. So it's not a mood. Whatever it is, it's not acceptable.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Acting LIke It Was a Weekend
I treated this Saturday and Sunday as if they combined to be a weekend. It was a pleasant thing to do and I shall do it more often if obligations will stand in abeyance on a routine basis.
Saturday, a very late breakfast was had at The Mecca, a very old, very popular diner-style restaurant that I'd seen before, but had never been inside. It is in an old delapidated old two-story house. It's a very old-fashioned place, the perfect combination of wear and tear and great menu items that draws in the almost-famous, would-have-been-famous, used-to-be-famous, and lots of middle-aged and older bikers, cops, families with all their upteen children, and on and on. Most people I know would not go inside because they would be uneasy, at best, or afraid, at worst. It's not a particularly inviting place from the outside, and inside it doesn't get any better, except the staff are friendly and all the people eating there appear to be friendly (or, at least, they don't throw threatening looks toward entering guests). I highly recommend it. Their Saturday cinnamon rolls are said to be wonderful (they say...and I overhead some customers say).
Then, a long drive in the country, north along I-75 to Melissa, thence east to Bonham. An hour or two spent looking for a national grassland area, only to give up after finding and wandering around an old, almost deserted park that was heavily wooded and had a beautiful lake right in the middle. About 8-10 old stone and log cabins, still standing but much the worse the wear for doing so, were near the lake. I'd like to go there and camp one day, but the signs say that is not allowed. That, plus I need thick, soft queen-sized (minimum) mattresses when I camp, along with nice lighting, no bugs, and better eyesight.
On the way home, lured by a sign that advertised home-made tamales, we stopped and visited with a little old white lady who claimed she'd been selling them from the little building in front of her house for 29 years. We bought a dozen and headed home.
When we opened the package, it became instantly apparent to me that it is simply wrong to buy tamales from little old white ladies in East Texas, no matter how long they've been making them. Little old white ladies in East Texas apparently have no idea that tamales are supposed to taste like...nor look like. They were slippery, perfectly formed little brown logs that plopped out of the corn husk casings far too uniformly. They looked to me like (and I don't mean to offend anyone's sensibilities, so if you have sensibilities that are subject to offense, stop reading now) perfectly formed little turds, as if they had been produced by a perfect replica of a perfect little humanoid. They tasted only moderately better than they looked. Fortunately, we had made a rather nice batch of chile con queso which, when used to drown the little turds, helped cover their stench and their unsightliness.
Sunday, another breakfast out, this time at Rosita's, a neat little Mexican place on Maple Avenue. Like other restaurants we like, it's authentic; we can never say authentic what, but it is authentic something. Real food, real waitresses with real foibles, etc. But worth every penny. This morning's meal was ordered off the menu (they actually have a Mexican breakfast buffet that looks pretty good); migas and chilaquiles. The chilaquiles were far better than the migas, but I've long been spoiled by Bigote's migas; there are none better worldwide, I'm sure, and certainly none better in Arlington, where they are located.
Later in the day brought a much more extensive wander, including a visit to the Oak Clff section of Dallas and some strange little eating and grazing places. First was a tiny, very old Mexican grill, with a walk-up window and a couple of old concrete tables and benches. It's on the fringe of the Bishop Arts District, the gentrification of decades of Mexican-American homes and apartments that have succumbed to young, well-off, and tragically un-hip people who don't realize that their lifestyles are killing cultures. Despite the impending death of all things Hispanic, the little place survives and they serve a nice taco de lengua and a decent taco de tercera. Thence, a brief drive down a one-way street, smiling broadly at a Black copy during the process, and a stop at a newly opened coffee/book/bakery shop whose name escapes me. I prowled around, glancing at books about Sarah Palin, books about lesbianism and pottery and their relationship, books about freedom and purity, and other stuff that didn't grab my attention very much. But the purchase of a couple of cookies was propitious. After leaving and driving a good 3-4 miles, I tasted a coconut macaroon and an almond cookies and felt urge to return.
So, a u-turn and undue speed and, bam, there it was again...a place where baked goods drove my life and my decisions. I'm normally not like that for sweets; but these were more than sweets. I can only imagine being hooked on some powerful drug...
More driving and wandering and being hyper-lazy before stopping at a couple of grocery stores and then home to unload it all.
I want to retire. I really do. I want to be independently solvent and have a bunch of grocery stores nearby that will call my name.
Saturday, a very late breakfast was had at The Mecca, a very old, very popular diner-style restaurant that I'd seen before, but had never been inside. It is in an old delapidated old two-story house. It's a very old-fashioned place, the perfect combination of wear and tear and great menu items that draws in the almost-famous, would-have-been-famous, used-to-be-famous, and lots of middle-aged and older bikers, cops, families with all their upteen children, and on and on. Most people I know would not go inside because they would be uneasy, at best, or afraid, at worst. It's not a particularly inviting place from the outside, and inside it doesn't get any better, except the staff are friendly and all the people eating there appear to be friendly (or, at least, they don't throw threatening looks toward entering guests). I highly recommend it. Their Saturday cinnamon rolls are said to be wonderful (they say...and I overhead some customers say).
Then, a long drive in the country, north along I-75 to Melissa, thence east to Bonham. An hour or two spent looking for a national grassland area, only to give up after finding and wandering around an old, almost deserted park that was heavily wooded and had a beautiful lake right in the middle. About 8-10 old stone and log cabins, still standing but much the worse the wear for doing so, were near the lake. I'd like to go there and camp one day, but the signs say that is not allowed. That, plus I need thick, soft queen-sized (minimum) mattresses when I camp, along with nice lighting, no bugs, and better eyesight.
On the way home, lured by a sign that advertised home-made tamales, we stopped and visited with a little old white lady who claimed she'd been selling them from the little building in front of her house for 29 years. We bought a dozen and headed home.
When we opened the package, it became instantly apparent to me that it is simply wrong to buy tamales from little old white ladies in East Texas, no matter how long they've been making them. Little old white ladies in East Texas apparently have no idea that tamales are supposed to taste like...nor look like. They were slippery, perfectly formed little brown logs that plopped out of the corn husk casings far too uniformly. They looked to me like (and I don't mean to offend anyone's sensibilities, so if you have sensibilities that are subject to offense, stop reading now) perfectly formed little turds, as if they had been produced by a perfect replica of a perfect little humanoid. They tasted only moderately better than they looked. Fortunately, we had made a rather nice batch of chile con queso which, when used to drown the little turds, helped cover their stench and their unsightliness.
Sunday, another breakfast out, this time at Rosita's, a neat little Mexican place on Maple Avenue. Like other restaurants we like, it's authentic; we can never say authentic what, but it is authentic something. Real food, real waitresses with real foibles, etc. But worth every penny. This morning's meal was ordered off the menu (they actually have a Mexican breakfast buffet that looks pretty good); migas and chilaquiles. The chilaquiles were far better than the migas, but I've long been spoiled by Bigote's migas; there are none better worldwide, I'm sure, and certainly none better in Arlington, where they are located.
Later in the day brought a much more extensive wander, including a visit to the Oak Clff section of Dallas and some strange little eating and grazing places. First was a tiny, very old Mexican grill, with a walk-up window and a couple of old concrete tables and benches. It's on the fringe of the Bishop Arts District, the gentrification of decades of Mexican-American homes and apartments that have succumbed to young, well-off, and tragically un-hip people who don't realize that their lifestyles are killing cultures. Despite the impending death of all things Hispanic, the little place survives and they serve a nice taco de lengua and a decent taco de tercera. Thence, a brief drive down a one-way street, smiling broadly at a Black copy during the process, and a stop at a newly opened coffee/book/bakery shop whose name escapes me. I prowled around, glancing at books about Sarah Palin, books about lesbianism and pottery and their relationship, books about freedom and purity, and other stuff that didn't grab my attention very much. But the purchase of a couple of cookies was propitious. After leaving and driving a good 3-4 miles, I tasted a coconut macaroon and an almond cookies and felt urge to return.
So, a u-turn and undue speed and, bam, there it was again...a place where baked goods drove my life and my decisions. I'm normally not like that for sweets; but these were more than sweets. I can only imagine being hooked on some powerful drug...
More driving and wandering and being hyper-lazy before stopping at a couple of grocery stores and then home to unload it all.
I want to retire. I really do. I want to be independently solvent and have a bunch of grocery stores nearby that will call my name.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Porridge
55:10 That's my new shorthand for my age; years:days.
Tonight, pleasant little kids and vapid little beasts will be out wrangling candy from innocents like me who have been brainwashed into feeding them all sorts of noxious poisons that beg the little monsters to become diebetic in front of our very eyes.
A far-away friend, Nicole, not only blogs regularly but she distributes fascinating graphics each week. She finds the graphics as she wanders the web and snags the ones that she finds appealing or compelling or otherwise of particuar interest, then sends them to a group of about 80 friends around the world. Her graphics are very interesting, as is her blog. I've never met her, of course, as she and her husband live in Adelaide Australia, but we have become friends by virtue of the web. The web can be like that.
I've decided I'm going to write a complete, all-encompassing political platform for the party I'd like to have been supporting this election. It may take me some time, but when I'm finished, I'm going to publish it here and will ask readers who find it appealing to broadcast it far and wide. Maybe it's possible to get a message across to the current parties that will: 1) inform them that we understand more than they think; and 2) persuade them to give thought to their policies, versus the affect their policies will have on their chances for election.
I've recently become extremely interested in men's clothing styles from India. In particular, I like (and want) the kurta and pyjama. The kurta is a very loose-fitting, collarless shirt and the pyjama is a style of pants that are tied at the waist and become narrower toward the bottom of the legs. They are perfect for Dallas weather, particularly for lounging around the house. I think. I may try to buy some this weekend or at least understand how they fit and what size would fit my odd bulbous shape. The more I see of Indian fashion, the more I like it; even the more formal stuff, which I tend not to like in any stye.
Tonight is pizza night. It's easy and does not require interrupting the time that must be spent dealing with the sugar addicts this evening. Pizza, sliced jalapeños, and an appropriate mixed drink is just the ticket for this last day of the tenth month of the 2008th year.
Tonight, pleasant little kids and vapid little beasts will be out wrangling candy from innocents like me who have been brainwashed into feeding them all sorts of noxious poisons that beg the little monsters to become diebetic in front of our very eyes.
A far-away friend, Nicole, not only blogs regularly but she distributes fascinating graphics each week. She finds the graphics as she wanders the web and snags the ones that she finds appealing or compelling or otherwise of particuar interest, then sends them to a group of about 80 friends around the world. Her graphics are very interesting, as is her blog. I've never met her, of course, as she and her husband live in Adelaide Australia, but we have become friends by virtue of the web. The web can be like that.
I've decided I'm going to write a complete, all-encompassing political platform for the party I'd like to have been supporting this election. It may take me some time, but when I'm finished, I'm going to publish it here and will ask readers who find it appealing to broadcast it far and wide. Maybe it's possible to get a message across to the current parties that will: 1) inform them that we understand more than they think; and 2) persuade them to give thought to their policies, versus the affect their policies will have on their chances for election.
I've recently become extremely interested in men's clothing styles from India. In particular, I like (and want) the kurta and pyjama. The kurta is a very loose-fitting, collarless shirt and the pyjama is a style of pants that are tied at the waist and become narrower toward the bottom of the legs. They are perfect for Dallas weather, particularly for lounging around the house. I think. I may try to buy some this weekend or at least understand how they fit and what size would fit my odd bulbous shape. The more I see of Indian fashion, the more I like it; even the more formal stuff, which I tend not to like in any stye.
Tonight is pizza night. It's easy and does not require interrupting the time that must be spent dealing with the sugar addicts this evening. Pizza, sliced jalapeños, and an appropriate mixed drink is just the ticket for this last day of the tenth month of the 2008th year.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Communication?
I wonder whether regular, prolific bloggers have other outlets for their needs to communicate with people. Surely they can't look at their outpouring of thoughts and beliefs and desires as communications? Maybe they do. Maybe I do. Even with my meager and tentative presentations of my opinions, I don't expect people to actually care. But I know I want them to. But I don't expect it. I don't look at it as a birthright. And I don't consider my little posts to be communication, not in the true sense. Communication occurs in two directions. My posts usually occur as silent verbal vanity. That's not communication.
Back to the point. I don't look at my blog posts as communications. They simply serve as a means for me to capture my own mood and opinion and state of mind from time to time. Only when I truly engage with my readers, in blog-based interchange, do I really communicate. And that's rare. That's not to say I don't want my blog to facilitate communications. I do. I just don't hold out much hope.
I'm not ready to write this, am I? I suppose not. Teresa will be disappointed in me.
Back to the point. I don't look at my blog posts as communications. They simply serve as a means for me to capture my own mood and opinion and state of mind from time to time. Only when I truly engage with my readers, in blog-based interchange, do I really communicate. And that's rare. That's not to say I don't want my blog to facilitate communications. I do. I just don't hold out much hope.
I'm not ready to write this, am I? I suppose not. Teresa will be disappointed in me.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Obama Infomercial
I just watched the 30-minute Barack Obama infomercial. As much as I hated the idea going in, I thought the program was absolutely brilliant! He addressed many of the issues the Republicans have been railing about, but he did more than that. He painted his philosophies on a canvass that appeals to damn near anyone who is a decent human being.
As much as I'd really like a new breed, a new party, to be on the ballot, Obama really got me tonight. I've already voted for him, but if I hadn't, I'd have done it again after seeing tonight's program.
As much as I'd really like a new breed, a new party, to be on the ballot, Obama really got me tonight. I've already voted for him, but if I hadn't, I'd have done it again after seeing tonight's program.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Voting for a World Without Us
Today, I joined the legions of others who are worried about the outcome of the upcoming elections. I voted early and, for the first time and perhaps the only time in my life, I voted a straight party ticket. I pushed the button for straight Democratic party. As it happened, there was one race for which no Democrat was running, so I chose the Libertarian candidate, rather than vote for the Republican or leave it blank. The only other important vote was for a bond election to provide funds to replace the largest and most overcrowded public hospital in the region; I voted in favor of that, too.
While I was at the polling place, one of the candidates drove up in an antique car, the open trunk of which was filled with yard signs extolling her candidacy. I approached her about getting one for my yard; after discussing how my yard is situated on the street, I got two signs, one for the corner (I live on a corner where two streets intersect) and one for the alley behind my house.
Later, I stopped in at a bookstore and wandered around a bit before deciding I wanted to learn whether the softbound version of The World Without Us, by Alan Weisman was available. They had a copy, so I now finally have my own copy of the book and can read it cover to cover, rather than snippet by snippet online, etc. If you don't know of the book, it's a "thought experiment" that examines how long it would take for the earth to return to its natural state if humankind were to disappear. While I've not read all of the book, far from it, I've read enough snippets, have heard enough reviews, and have scanned enough summaries to know it is a fascinating and thought-provoking piece of work. I'm thrilled to have my own copy to read and reread. It was a New York Times bestseller, which is not always a good thing, but I have enough regard for people who would buy such books to think that they would have decried its writing if it weren't very good.
I will take my time reading it, thanks to my miserable eyesight, but will write a little something here once I'm done...at some point after I'm done.
While I was at the polling place, one of the candidates drove up in an antique car, the open trunk of which was filled with yard signs extolling her candidacy. I approached her about getting one for my yard; after discussing how my yard is situated on the street, I got two signs, one for the corner (I live on a corner where two streets intersect) and one for the alley behind my house.
Later, I stopped in at a bookstore and wandered around a bit before deciding I wanted to learn whether the softbound version of The World Without Us, by Alan Weisman was available. They had a copy, so I now finally have my own copy of the book and can read it cover to cover, rather than snippet by snippet online, etc. If you don't know of the book, it's a "thought experiment" that examines how long it would take for the earth to return to its natural state if humankind were to disappear. While I've not read all of the book, far from it, I've read enough snippets, have heard enough reviews, and have scanned enough summaries to know it is a fascinating and thought-provoking piece of work. I'm thrilled to have my own copy to read and reread. It was a New York Times bestseller, which is not always a good thing, but I have enough regard for people who would buy such books to think that they would have decried its writing if it weren't very good.
I will take my time reading it, thanks to my miserable eyesight, but will write a little something here once I'm done...at some point after I'm done.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Signs
When I try to capture my thoughts and feelings on my blog, I sometimes fail to be completely open and honest because my few readers might misunderstand what I'm saying. For example, if I mention that I have no truly close friends, the reader might misinterpret that in many ways.
It could be interpreted to mean I am feeling sorry for myself for being alone. It could be interpreted to be an admission that I am someone that nobody can every truly like. Or understand. Or care about. Readers could say my statement offers evidence that I do not share my thoughts or feelings with my wife. God knows how many thousands of other misreadings there might be. So, I sometimes simply keep my private thoughts and feelings and observations private. And then I think, what an utterly stupid and unreasonable thing to do! And I think to myself, no matter how few or how many people read my words here, they are not my audience. I am my audience. At least I am my first and most critical audience. So it's silly of me to care, in most senses, what readers think. I'll try to be more conscious of that fact from here on out.
All of that having been said, I don't have much to say at the moment. I may write more about my day later, but it didn't provide much to write about, at least in the morning. My afternoon exploits may make a good post sometime, but not now.
So, for the moment, I'll sit back and think about some of the emotions and thoughts and attitudes I have been experiencing lately and will make a point of jotting some notes so I can write more later. Later, when I share my innermost secrets. Or, perhaps, share someone else's. Or make something up about the way the woman on the corner feels about the signs in her yard.
It could be interpreted to mean I am feeling sorry for myself for being alone. It could be interpreted to be an admission that I am someone that nobody can every truly like. Or understand. Or care about. Readers could say my statement offers evidence that I do not share my thoughts or feelings with my wife. God knows how many thousands of other misreadings there might be. So, I sometimes simply keep my private thoughts and feelings and observations private. And then I think, what an utterly stupid and unreasonable thing to do! And I think to myself, no matter how few or how many people read my words here, they are not my audience. I am my audience. At least I am my first and most critical audience. So it's silly of me to care, in most senses, what readers think. I'll try to be more conscious of that fact from here on out.
All of that having been said, I don't have much to say at the moment. I may write more about my day later, but it didn't provide much to write about, at least in the morning. My afternoon exploits may make a good post sometime, but not now.
So, for the moment, I'll sit back and think about some of the emotions and thoughts and attitudes I have been experiencing lately and will make a point of jotting some notes so I can write more later. Later, when I share my innermost secrets. Or, perhaps, share someone else's. Or make something up about the way the woman on the corner feels about the signs in her yard.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Hence the Hurry
I expressed to a friend today how Pachelbel's Canon is something remarkable to me. I'm a lyrics guy, a person who is moved by words and their meaning. But Pachelbel did something remarkable with his music (or at least the ways it's currently presented). I can't hear his Canon without welling up with indefinable emotion. Strange, that. I don't know if it's sadness or happiness or just what it is; it's very definitely emotion, though.
I joke about retirement, but I think it's time. I'm too young, by tradition and the clock, but something tells me I better try to do it early or risk losing out on it altogether. So, my energies, such as they are, will be devoted to trying to capture that elusive beast before I'm done.
When I renewed my license recently I signed where I needed to so I could alert the world that I want to give away all the organs for which there are takers. Not yet, you understand, but if I were decapitated in a car wreck or what have you. I don't want to have to deal with all that before I have lived at least 5-10 years in retirements. Hence the hurry.
I joke about retirement, but I think it's time. I'm too young, by tradition and the clock, but something tells me I better try to do it early or risk losing out on it altogether. So, my energies, such as they are, will be devoted to trying to capture that elusive beast before I'm done.
When I renewed my license recently I signed where I needed to so I could alert the world that I want to give away all the organs for which there are takers. Not yet, you understand, but if I were decapitated in a car wreck or what have you. I don't want to have to deal with all that before I have lived at least 5-10 years in retirements. Hence the hurry.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Anyone for a Little Crack Music?
The evening of my birthday was spent at home, watching television and eating leftover lox. No bagels; they were finished off the first time through. Just lox. And the remnants of the little bottle of capers. And some slices of purple onion.
A client's monthly meeting was held yesterday evening, which explains why I was left to my own devices to get through the birthday dinner. I left that event to others to handle so I could "celebrate" my birthday. And what a celebration it was. There's still a slab of lox in the refrigerator. No more capers and very little purple onion. And still no bagels.
Tonight was another story, though. I grilled a thick New York strip steak, along with okra, some quartered onion, Mexican squash, and jalapeños. I ate far too much, but what the hell, the night after my 55th birtday comes around rather rarely, so debauchery and excess were in order. A few sips of some excellent pinot noir, followed by some serious bourbon, finished the meal.
I was trying to get my mind off my day. Miserable day. Could have been worse, but not much. I'm happy to be away from the office at the moment. Too bad I have to go back tomorrow and jump into a meeting with yet another client...all the way through Saturday mid-day.
I've done some checking and have decided that, on paper, Port Ludlow, Washington is a very interesting place. So, if I can't have the place I fell in love with, the place on the southern coast of Chile, I might settle for Port Ludlow. Assuming Obama is elected. If not, I'm off to Mexico. Back to Port Ludlow. I like the weather and the views. The only part I find unattractive is the cost of living. But if I persuade Congress I need a bailout to save the country's economy, it may be within reach. If I can' persuade them, or if they've already gone through all the money, I may have to open a wholesale crack shop. I'll need to borrow a few hundred thousand dollars to get going, but I'll pay you back the first chance I get.
By the way, if you haven't listened to it yet, I highly recommend you listen to Plastic Jesus. Just double click Plastic Jesus (first item under the Playlist to the right).
A client's monthly meeting was held yesterday evening, which explains why I was left to my own devices to get through the birthday dinner. I left that event to others to handle so I could "celebrate" my birthday. And what a celebration it was. There's still a slab of lox in the refrigerator. No more capers and very little purple onion. And still no bagels.
Tonight was another story, though. I grilled a thick New York strip steak, along with okra, some quartered onion, Mexican squash, and jalapeños. I ate far too much, but what the hell, the night after my 55th birtday comes around rather rarely, so debauchery and excess were in order. A few sips of some excellent pinot noir, followed by some serious bourbon, finished the meal.
I was trying to get my mind off my day. Miserable day. Could have been worse, but not much. I'm happy to be away from the office at the moment. Too bad I have to go back tomorrow and jump into a meeting with yet another client...all the way through Saturday mid-day.
I've done some checking and have decided that, on paper, Port Ludlow, Washington is a very interesting place. So, if I can't have the place I fell in love with, the place on the southern coast of Chile, I might settle for Port Ludlow. Assuming Obama is elected. If not, I'm off to Mexico. Back to Port Ludlow. I like the weather and the views. The only part I find unattractive is the cost of living. But if I persuade Congress I need a bailout to save the country's economy, it may be within reach. If I can' persuade them, or if they've already gone through all the money, I may have to open a wholesale crack shop. I'll need to borrow a few hundred thousand dollars to get going, but I'll pay you back the first chance I get.
By the way, if you haven't listened to it yet, I highly recommend you listen to Plastic Jesus. Just double click Plastic Jesus (first item under the Playlist to the right).
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Sunday, October 19, 2008
A Good Time Was Had By Me
Today was what a weekend day should be: relaxed, lazy, yet productive and full of minor accomplishments.
After a late start, the first endeavor involved going to the Dallas Farmers' Market, where we saw this:
Before loading up with sacks of tomatoes, radishes, cucumbers, cantaloupe, okra, and random other such necessities, a visit to Paul's Sweet Roasted Corn was in order. For just $3, Paul and his folks will sell either roasted ears of corn or, my favorite, large cups filled with corn kernels that have been sliced from the cobs. In addition to the roasted corn kernels, they put huge globs of butter in the cup, along with mayonaisse and/or sour cream. The buyer then decides how to finish out the snack; most people tend to choose lots of chile powder, Mexican hot sauce, lime juice, pepper, and various spices. After the cup full of goodies is stirred and mixed with a plastic spoon, the corn becomes a delightful and energizing snack.
After the snack and a quick dash though the sheds, I had a trunk full of goodies for the coming week.
Then, it was off to Vern's Kitchen for lunch.
The exclusive focus of Vern's Kitchen is soul food. And Vern and her crew serve up some excellent soul food. The offerings include: short ribs cooked until the meat falls off the bone; meat loaf; beef stew; chicken-fried steak; chittlins; chicken and dressing; pepper steaks; and pigs' feet. For "sides," they serve collard greens; black-eyed peas; green beans; yams; and a host of other stuff. We had chicken-fried steak and ribs, with sides including collard greens, green beans, and yams. It was outstanding! The people behind the counter are very friendly and extremely accommodating. While the menu is not what I'd call "heart-healthy," I'd say its good for every other part of me.
The rest of the day was spent on unproductive but interesting exploits. A visit to two "model home remodels" yielded plenty of envy about other people's recent home upgrades, but also plenty of ideas that could be done less expensively, so maybe it was worthwhile. A trip to the grocery store, where no vegetable were purchased, yielded massive stores of meat, including beef in the form of New York strip and lamb in the for of lamb chops.
And now, here I sit, trying to figure out how to have a good time like this every day.
After a late start, the first endeavor involved going to the Dallas Farmers' Market, where we saw this:
Before loading up with sacks of tomatoes, radishes, cucumbers, cantaloupe, okra, and random other such necessities, a visit to Paul's Sweet Roasted Corn was in order. For just $3, Paul and his folks will sell either roasted ears of corn or, my favorite, large cups filled with corn kernels that have been sliced from the cobs. In addition to the roasted corn kernels, they put huge globs of butter in the cup, along with mayonaisse and/or sour cream. The buyer then decides how to finish out the snack; most people tend to choose lots of chile powder, Mexican hot sauce, lime juice, pepper, and various spices. After the cup full of goodies is stirred and mixed with a plastic spoon, the corn becomes a delightful and energizing snack.
After the snack and a quick dash though the sheds, I had a trunk full of goodies for the coming week.
Then, it was off to Vern's Kitchen for lunch.
The exclusive focus of Vern's Kitchen is soul food. And Vern and her crew serve up some excellent soul food. The offerings include: short ribs cooked until the meat falls off the bone; meat loaf; beef stew; chicken-fried steak; chittlins; chicken and dressing; pepper steaks; and pigs' feet. For "sides," they serve collard greens; black-eyed peas; green beans; yams; and a host of other stuff. We had chicken-fried steak and ribs, with sides including collard greens, green beans, and yams. It was outstanding! The people behind the counter are very friendly and extremely accommodating. While the menu is not what I'd call "heart-healthy," I'd say its good for every other part of me.
The rest of the day was spent on unproductive but interesting exploits. A visit to two "model home remodels" yielded plenty of envy about other people's recent home upgrades, but also plenty of ideas that could be done less expensively, so maybe it was worthwhile. A trip to the grocery store, where no vegetable were purchased, yielded massive stores of meat, including beef in the form of New York strip and lamb in the for of lamb chops.
And now, here I sit, trying to figure out how to have a good time like this every day.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
I Think I'm Turning Japanese: The Vapours
This 1980 one-hit wonder was, and is, bizarre. For some reason, I like it. And here are the lyrics:
I've got your picture of me and you
You wrote "I love you" I wrote "me too"
I sit there staring and there's nothing else to do
Oh it's in color Your hair is brown
Your eyes are hazel And soft as clouds
I often kiss you when there's no one else around
I've got your picture, I've got your picture
I'd like a million of you all round my cell
I want a doctor to take your picture
So I can look at you from inside as well
You've got me turning up and turning down
And turning in and turning 'round
I'm turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so
Turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so
I'm turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so
Turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so
I've got your picture, I've got your picture
I'd like a million of them all round my cell
I want the doctor to take a picture
So I can look at you from inside as well
You've got me turning up and turning down and turning in and turning 'round
I'm turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so
Turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so
I'm turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so
Turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so
No sex, no drugs, no wine, no women
No fun, no sin, no you, no wonder it's dark
Everyone around me is a total stranger
Everyone avoids me like a cyclone ranger
That's why I'm turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so
Turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so
I'm turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so
Turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so
Turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so
Turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so
Turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so
(think so think so think so)
Turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so
Friday, October 17, 2008
Flights of Fancy
Before I get started: this is the sculpture I mentioned before, the one I saw in front of a small-town bank during last weekend's drive.There's so much I haven't shared with this blog that I don't know where to start. OK, I won't start. I'll share random snippets of meaningles drivel that matters not a whit to the world. You can stop reading here if you're insistent on relevance or entertainment.
The latest big news is that we got a new client today. Well, it won't be official until January 1, but we got the news today. It's a regional organization that needs professional management. They liked what they saw. Which was our proposal. They've never met me nor anyone on my staff. But they picked us. All I have left to do is get a signed contract and a signed transition plan and schedule. That's "all." Hot damn. We're 9/10 of the way back to where we were before our biggest client cut our fees by a whopping 25%. Of course the fees that are left are in jeopardy. So a partial make-up isn't as oh-my-god-happy as it might otherwise be.
But, it's better than a sharp stick in the eye, as I am wont to say.
In other news, I challenged another current client to behave like adult professonals, which got their attention but did nothing to cement our relationship. I just don't have the patience to deal with these people. I need surrogates who can tolerate arrogance, vanity, pride, and such. I don't do well dealing with hyper-stupidity that is wrapped in unwarranted self-importance. I tend to reach the point of suggesting to certain people that I would be particularly impressed if they would successfully exhibit the ability to drown themselves. Frequently, I catch myself before going all out, but sometimes I just can't stop my mouth from revealing all my brain's not-so-flattering thoughts. This, in no small measure, is the reason I find myself short on clients and income, I suppose.
I reached the decision, very recently, to retire in about three years, when I am 58. The decision was not based on any sort of financial assessment (which would have revealed a more realistic target to be a numeric palindrome...85), but on my estimate of my ability to tolerate bullshit and my estimate of the amount of time remaining in the lifeline of the U.S. Within three years, I estimate, I will have been able to arrange to initiate a productive vegetable garden on my southern estate, something that will be necessary to those of us planning to eat after three years have passed.
My plan, of course, will rely on receiving Social Security when I turn 65, so I would have to survive an additional seven years without SS income. That, of course, is impossible unless I engage in some questionable activities such as felony bank robbery or large-scale fraud. So, for the next three years, I shall embark on an intense effort to plan a failure-proof scheme to secure large sums of unearned money. Inasmuch as I am a very left-leaning liberal, the sources of my funds must be obscenely rich institutions that do harm to the common man. Naturally, my first thoughts are of churches. My initial plan will explore ways in which I can redirect funds from church coffers to me. Of course, I will ensure that I select streams of cash that do not actually do good. I'm thinking more of building funds, set-asides that fund pastor and preacher and priest "salaries" and the like.
I've run out of bad ideas to memorialize on this blog, so I'm going to call it a wrap for the moment. I may be back later tonight. Or it may be a month of Sundays.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
More Synaptic Firings
Yesterday was a day of goofing off, for the most part. After spending a fortune on getting my car's semi-annual wash-the-crap-off-the-aging-paint-and-windshield experience handled, we went for a drive.
We were off to downtown McKinney to visit the antique shops and take a walk in the very nice weather. We had lunch at a pub (fish & chips with a Guiness and shepherd's pie with a Boddington's ale) which was overly filling, but it gave impetus to wander a bit more to walk it off.
The drive back home through dozens of little towns that have now become extensions of Dallas was rewarding. We came across some metal sculpture, in front of a bank, that was appealing; I took a few photos, but I left the damn docking station for the camera at my office, so can't post them.
After a stop at Lowe's to get odds & ends (and use a $10 coupon), we went out again late in the day in search of a pizza place we'd heard about and for which we had a nice coupon (buy one, get one free). The pizza was good, but I'm not sure it was worth the drive. But now we have lots of cold pizza in the refrigerator.
A brother called last night and informed me that he's going to be giving a presentation at the Texas Folklore Society early next year. I'm hoping my calendar is open at the time so I can go see him and support the presentation.
We watched The Negotiator, with Samuel Jackson and Kevin Spacey last night. I think I've seen it before (it was made in 1998). It's not high art, but it was the sort of action video I wanted last night; no need to think, just entertainment.
I've broken my lifelong prohibition against bumper stickers on my car. The Bastard is now sporting a sticker on his rear bumper that says, "No Third Term, Vote Democratic." My neighborhood is filled with yard signs extolling the virtues of a McCain-Palin ticket.
I would fight back with my own Obama-Biden signs, but I simply refuse to pay for the privilege. I'm happy to support the ticket with a donation, but I'll be damned if I'll be forced to buy a sign to show my support. It would be one thing if they said, "make a contribution and we'll give you a yard sign...they're not doing that. They're requiring a PURCHASE of a sign, in addition to any donation you care to make. I'll show that support on my ballot. I think the decision to require supporters to buy signs was a very, very bad one that I hope future campaigns don't repeat.
We're in the final 100 days of the Bush presidency. A truly catastrophic period in American history is coming to an end, but it will be generations before the damage Bush has done can be erased if, indeed, his legacy can ever be righted. He has led this country away from its fundamental principles, wrecked its reputation around the world, single-handedly started wars, spewed vitriolic arrogance toward virtually all of the rest of the world, attempted to introduce a theocracy, and otherwise behaved as the narrow-minded idiot that he is. If the citizens of this country really did have a voice, it would have been heard as we cried out for justice through his impeachment and imprisonment. How in the name of all that is good can we let this man leave office quietly and live out an undeserved life of privilege?
We were off to downtown McKinney to visit the antique shops and take a walk in the very nice weather. We had lunch at a pub (fish & chips with a Guiness and shepherd's pie with a Boddington's ale) which was overly filling, but it gave impetus to wander a bit more to walk it off.
The drive back home through dozens of little towns that have now become extensions of Dallas was rewarding. We came across some metal sculpture, in front of a bank, that was appealing; I took a few photos, but I left the damn docking station for the camera at my office, so can't post them.
After a stop at Lowe's to get odds & ends (and use a $10 coupon), we went out again late in the day in search of a pizza place we'd heard about and for which we had a nice coupon (buy one, get one free). The pizza was good, but I'm not sure it was worth the drive. But now we have lots of cold pizza in the refrigerator.
A brother called last night and informed me that he's going to be giving a presentation at the Texas Folklore Society early next year. I'm hoping my calendar is open at the time so I can go see him and support the presentation.
We watched The Negotiator, with Samuel Jackson and Kevin Spacey last night. I think I've seen it before (it was made in 1998). It's not high art, but it was the sort of action video I wanted last night; no need to think, just entertainment.
I've broken my lifelong prohibition against bumper stickers on my car. The Bastard is now sporting a sticker on his rear bumper that says, "No Third Term, Vote Democratic." My neighborhood is filled with yard signs extolling the virtues of a McCain-Palin ticket.
I would fight back with my own Obama-Biden signs, but I simply refuse to pay for the privilege. I'm happy to support the ticket with a donation, but I'll be damned if I'll be forced to buy a sign to show my support. It would be one thing if they said, "make a contribution and we'll give you a yard sign...they're not doing that. They're requiring a PURCHASE of a sign, in addition to any donation you care to make. I'll show that support on my ballot. I think the decision to require supporters to buy signs was a very, very bad one that I hope future campaigns don't repeat.
We're in the final 100 days of the Bush presidency. A truly catastrophic period in American history is coming to an end, but it will be generations before the damage Bush has done can be erased if, indeed, his legacy can ever be righted. He has led this country away from its fundamental principles, wrecked its reputation around the world, single-handedly started wars, spewed vitriolic arrogance toward virtually all of the rest of the world, attempted to introduce a theocracy, and otherwise behaved as the narrow-minded idiot that he is. If the citizens of this country really did have a voice, it would have been heard as we cried out for justice through his impeachment and imprisonment. How in the name of all that is good can we let this man leave office quietly and live out an undeserved life of privilege?
Saturday, October 11, 2008
The World
I woke up late, just about 7:00 am, after a night of fitful sleep. And now it's on to a day of trying to make sense of the economy, my business, my relationships, and my life. Another day in the world.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Reversal
It's never my fault. Regardless of what the calamity, it's never my fault. Someone else is responsible for it. Someone else failed to do something that should have been done, or did something that should not have been done. No matter that my fingerprints are all over the weapon, I am never responsible for the crime.
If not me, then who? Someone convenient, someone who can't or won't push back hard enough to put the whole thing under a spotlight. Someone who, over time, begins to believe that it really isn't my fault. Someone who starts to accept that it's their fault.
It is my fault. It's my fault. And it has to be repaired. There's so much that's been broken, but it all has to be repaired. Someone new has to emerge from my skin. And all that misplaced fault has to be removed, stone by stone, and the damage it has done, the crushing damage, has to be repaired.
If not me, then who? Someone convenient, someone who can't or won't push back hard enough to put the whole thing under a spotlight. Someone who, over time, begins to believe that it really isn't my fault. Someone who starts to accept that it's their fault.
It is my fault. It's my fault. And it has to be repaired. There's so much that's been broken, but it all has to be repaired. Someone new has to emerge from my skin. And all that misplaced fault has to be removed, stone by stone, and the damage it has done, the crushing damage, has to be repaired.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Change
I've been a bastard today, a complete bastard. I don't know why I can't seem to be who I want to be. I wouldn't put up with me. Not as a spouse, an employer, an employee, a friend. Something has to change. And that something is me.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
The Unauthorized Autobiography of Sarah Palin
Palin is a psychopath.
Let's don't elect her. Let's dissect her!
Let's see what's there in her tiny mind.
I'll bet it's smelly, and not benign!
She's a danger, there's no question.
Just hearing her talk gives me indigestion.
Let's don't elect her. Let's dissect her!
Let's see what's there in her tiny mind.
I'll bet it's smelly, and not benign!
She's a danger, there's no question.
Just hearing her talk gives me indigestion.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
A Few Shots from My Life
My favorite view from my hotel room in Corpus Christi last week.
Another, similar view.
My room had a very nice bed.
I liked the little bar, too, complete with fridge, microwave, and sink.
And here's my new wooden cocoon, my new desk...in the dim light of morning.
A Wooden Cocoon
My new desk is in the guestroom, so I can't simply turn around and look through the three large windows into the backyard. But with its hutch and built-in cork message board and my nice modern halogen lamp, it creates a little nest for me, a place I'll soon start to like as a writing retreat. I still need to address the unruly wires strewn all across the desk...speaker wires, USB port wires, mouse wires, camera cradle and its mass of wires, telephone line, etc. Once I've successfully addressed that nastiness, I'll have a smooth desktop, cluttered only by things I want to clutter it with. I will have successfully created a wooden cocoon.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
An Art Festival...or Not
Yesterday was day one of a three-day trade show. By the end of the day, my feet ached, my knees were angry and beligerent, and my commitment to two more days of the same had waned dramatically.
I'm approaching today as though it's an opportunity to gather materials for some of my long-delayed writing projects. I'll make mental notes about the heavily-tatooed screen-printers who use the trade show floor as a canvass to show their body art to the masses. I'll carefully observe the mannerisms of the embroiderers, some of whom wisely show off their work by wearing it on their shirts...and ohers who apparently are not so comfortable (and not so smart) and so hide any evidence of their craft. The sales people who staff the booths of the bigger companies will have a special place in my mental notebook, where I'll keep my observations about people who are present at the show purely and immediately for financial gain. They are the ones who look at everyone on the show floor as a prospect, not for a sale but for providing funds for a new pair of slacks or a new car.
I have to admit it. I'm there primarily because I want my presence to turn into money. It's a nasty acknowledgement. I'd rather not make it. But I've already done it now and I can't take it back.
THe question, of course, is whether any of the reasons I will use to justify my trip to Fort Worth will be sufficient to justify the hassles of traffic and parking during the downtown art festival.
I'm approaching today as though it's an opportunity to gather materials for some of my long-delayed writing projects. I'll make mental notes about the heavily-tatooed screen-printers who use the trade show floor as a canvass to show their body art to the masses. I'll carefully observe the mannerisms of the embroiderers, some of whom wisely show off their work by wearing it on their shirts...and ohers who apparently are not so comfortable (and not so smart) and so hide any evidence of their craft. The sales people who staff the booths of the bigger companies will have a special place in my mental notebook, where I'll keep my observations about people who are present at the show purely and immediately for financial gain. They are the ones who look at everyone on the show floor as a prospect, not for a sale but for providing funds for a new pair of slacks or a new car.
I have to admit it. I'm there primarily because I want my presence to turn into money. It's a nasty acknowledgement. I'd rather not make it. But I've already done it now and I can't take it back.
THe question, of course, is whether any of the reasons I will use to justify my trip to Fort Worth will be sufficient to justify the hassles of traffic and parking during the downtown art festival.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Supremely and Uniquely Unqualified
"Governor Palin is supremely and uniquely unqualified to hold the office to which she aspires."As much as James Carville can be a horse's ass, he can occasionally articulate clearly and concisely that which others have a hard time communicating.
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