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Snap, crackle and pop, Mofo... You want some of this?

2007-09-29

Good morning Boys and Girls.

Hope you're all doing well this morning.

Personally, I'm about ready to rip someone's face off. Any volunteers?

Yesterday afternoon? -someone had the audacity to say hello to me, the bastard.

Like an expert in karate, I timed my blow and aimed through to the back of his head, "pop." Then as he fell, I put my boot through his behind. Finally, when he was down on the ground, laying there on his back, already out cold, I jumped up as far up in the air as I could and landed with my heels driving hard right down through his face - which made a nice satisfying squishy sound with a little "crack" underneath as the facial bones broke and his muscles and brains became nothing more than a soft pile of goo. He was dead before I caught my balance, and I smiled...

Okay, okay... So I'm lying.

Big deal.

Twenty-four hours with no nicotine makes one a little irritable if one is an addict - as am I.

Send me encouragement folks; I need it. But don't get too close right now; my fangs are poised and ready.


Be good to everyone.

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Ones and zeros...

2007-09-27

Good morning Boys and Girls.

In front of me here on the desk is a little package of multi-colored "flags" I bought at Office Depot a few months ago to use to mark places I wanted to edit in the book I've worked on this year. They're called flags on the package, but they're really just itsy bitsy post-it notes the size of a piece of Scotch tape... Holy moly, did I just have to reference one 3M product to describe another?

Anyway...


I've never opened the things, and there's a thin patina of dust covering the package.

It made me think about all the things I've purchased over the years to use for some specific purpose, that for any number of reasons, I've never used.

A few weeks ago, I ran across a hundred-pack of 3.5" floppy discs in my stuff. Brand new and unopened, the cellophane wrapper shows a little discoloration. Why on earth, I wondered, would I still have these? Surely I haven't even owned a computer that can accept the things for more than five years.

Finding that while elephant inspired me go dig up my trusty old floppy disc storage tray. Probably the fifth or sixth I'd owned over the years - smaller ones slowly being combined and replaced by larger units that held more and more disks - this last model held at least a couple of hundred discs, and mine was filled almost to capacity, with each disc labeled in some fashion - and none of which I've inserted into a disc drive of any sort for years.

I opened the top drawer and thumbed through the tray within. Three columns of discs, each separated by two or three little movable flippers I remember finding annoyingly difficult to adjust. Suddenly  I found myself transported back fifteen or twenty years as I read my own writing on the many labels, most of which were abbreviated in a crude shorthand I developed specifically for the purpose, and one I found I couldn't immediately recall during my perusal.

Dozens of the discs held the names of companies for whom I did projects, with dozens more labeled with snippets of sentences or key words meant to help me recognize them for what they are. Many had the names of one of my kids or my ex, along with the project the thing contained: book reports, drawings, Christmas card ideas, recipes...

The little beige plastic disc dresser contains four good-sized drawers, and I eventually got around to opening the bottom one, where I knew I'd always kept my own personal stuff: "artistic" works in progress; story ideas and outlines; business and project ideas and the like. Goodness me, how many ideas I've had over the years, and how I always wished I could find one I could focus on for the rest of my days.

Suppose one of these days I'll buy a disc reader and go through the things, but it'll take weeks, and it's not something I felt the need to do then, so eventually, I just closed it up, never an easy thing to do being as full as it is and semi-flexible plastic being what it is.

-I'll bet thousands of hours of our time went into the creation of the millions of ones and zeros held on the hundreds of those little magnetic discs, and yet, I'll bet the contents of the whole damn dresser could be easily transferred onto a single DVD - something I should probably do at some point.

Surely there are a few things in there I'd feel bad about losing forever. There must be. The problem is, that frankly, I don't remember what any of them might be.



Be good to everyone.

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Slivers from my lifeline...

2007-09-24

Good morning Boys and Girls.

Over the weekend, amid some wonderful hours of sparkling conversation, I was reminded of a couple of events from my youth.

Two of the memories that somehow jumped out of my head to be offered as lame responses, or unwitting attempts to "one-up" - something I'd never do intentionally, but worry I may do without meaning to from time to time - involve seeing Victor Borge, the funny Danish pianist and comedian at the old Orchestra Hall in Detroit when I was in Junior High, and the time, a few years later, when I was acting as the pianist/organist for a dying Church in Highland Park Michigan, that Duke Ellington and his Orchestra came to play a benefit Concert to help prop up the church.

Both performances were impeccable and made lasting impressions on me, though being peripherally involved in helping with the Duke Ellington performance - one of his last actually (I arranged for the rental of a bunch of folding chairs and the risers on which the orchestra sat) made that particular event truly special.

The concert raised quite a lot of money and was a rousing success, but alas, the church still folded a couple of months later and I lost the only job I've ever had in a church. I remember playing Elton John's ever-so-secular "Funeral for a Friend" as the recessional for the final service.

Hey, I was a kid.

Last night upon returning home, I saw that Marcel Marceau had died. I, like everyone else I know, hate mimes as a matter of principle - especially marginally talented street mimes who trap you when you're walking toward your hotel in Manhattan and force you to watch part of their routine and drop a buck or two into whatever glass box they've created before allowing you to pass - but I saw Marcel Marceau at some point on that same Orchestra Hall stage, and I was mesmerized.

After the performance, as we audience members walked out of the theater, I remember someone ahead of me commenting that Marceau had been "past his prime," that he'd "lost some of his luster," and I remember wondering how he could have ever been more amazing than he'd been that night... On the other hand, I'd never seen him perform as a younger man.

Sometimes I wish I'd seen more of the performers who entertained the people of my parents era and brought smiles to those of "the greatest generation." I know those three, whom I saw only when they were all long past sixty, still affected me in a very positive manner, and made my life richer, something for which I'm extremely thankful.

I find I'm humming "Take the A Train" in my head, though silently - out of respect for Mr. Marceau. In fact, in another part of my brain, I'm pretending I'm throwing a flower on his grave, blowing him a kiss goodbye, then frowning a little and tilting my head to the side.

Be good to everyone.

Here's a few fun Youtube links:

youtube.com/watch?v=BcV19rylSZc

youtube.com/watch?v=AOHqWk_wLNM

youtube.com/watch?v=HNqDdsgit0E

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shouting the "f" word.

2007-09-16

Good morning Boys and Girls.

Well, it's happened.

Frost.

It's the middle of September and it got that cold overnight. I don't like it. I don't like it one little bit.

Now, at nine in the morning, it's melting away, thankfully, but it was there alright.

I hereby vow that this will be my last winter in cold weather. As a younger man, I never minded it all that much, but the dread I feel right now about simply being cold for four months is something that is definitely getting in the way of my spiritual well being.

Alas, it's doubtful I'll keep this particular vow to myself - I make it every year and I never seem to -  but this year, I will buy a better class of long underwear, nicer gloves and hats, and some sort of warm jacket that both keeps me toasty and allows for plenty of freedom of movement, (so as I go through my elaborate dance routine for everyone I meet throughout the course of a day, my sleeves don't bind on that last leaping quadruple twirl.)

They love me at the grocery store, but the kids at Starbucks always bitch that I don't put the tables back where they go when I'm done. I tell them they just don't appreciate art.


Be good to everyone.

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Okay, so it's a weak analogy. Shoot me.

2007-09-14

Good morning Boys and Girls.

I work on the periphery of the car business. I have, off and on, since I was a kid. I've never sold a car, or done an oil change, or done anything truly necessary to any transaction. Nevertheless, my work has kept me keenly aware of how the American auto industry is doing; when they're doing things well and when they've screwed up; at least with regards to minimally satisfying the customers who buy both new and used cars. I've always enjoyed that aspect of my work.

While I watched President Bush deliver his speech last night, I was reminded of the first time I came to realize independently that GM had screwed up big time on a model.

I was about eighteen working here in Grand Rapids, and I'd been in business for myself for less than a year. One day I arrived at a dealership where I was scheduled to work for the day just before seven o'clock in the morning. The service department wasn't quite open yet and five cars were in line outside the drive-through waiting for the doors to open.

Four of the five were current-year-model Chevrolet Vegas. It struck me as funny at the time, but as it happened, that day, the reason I was there was to do my job on fifteen brand new Vegas out in the back lot. I knew it was at least a full day's work and I'd wanted to get started early.

So there I was, enjoying the morning, cleaning the cars a few at a time so I could do what I needed to do. Now remember, these were BRAND NEW cars.

On one of the cars I noticed that there was a tiny little rust spot on the painted sheet metal right where the front bumper protruded through. Odd. It didn't affect what I was going to do so I didn't think much of it, but a few minutes later I noticed the same thing on another one. Wow, I thought, that is really weird. So I went looking.

Yep. All of 'em had exactly the same little rust spot.

Now this would have been 1974, fully three years after the Vega had been introduced, though it was just the second year the new impact resistant bumpers were required - (back then, in '73 I think it was, new Department of Transportation rules mandated that cars needed to be able to sustain a five mile-an-hour crash from both the front and rear without being damaged, a great idea that for some reason was done away with later.)

Well, the point is that the design flaws in the Vega - a model rushed into production to compete with the the new Japanese small cars that were just beginning to take a big bite out of the market - made themselves obvious very very quickly. -And the motors and drive-trains were just as bad.

Eventually, GM realized there were so many things wrong with the Vega that they simply couldn't fix, that five years after it was introduced, the Vega quietly disappeared. It didn't kill G.M. and God knows they've had plenty of boo-boos since, but they were smart enough not to try to continue to sell a poorly conceived product that only rarely lasted through its brief warranty period without having serious problems - which, back then was only twelve months or twelve thousand miles.

I thought to myself last night, no wonder this Bush guy never ran a successful company. No wonder the only way he could make it was to trade on his father's name.

No wonder he thinks he can turn his Vega around.

And then I realized something else. By the time the Vega went away, even during that last year when its reputation was already pretty well known, there were still lots of people out there stupid enough to buy'em.

If George Bush was running GM back then, he'd have just repeatedly renamed the car and kept selling it until they either fired him, or he retired, and he'd have claimed that ending the production of the Vega was cutting and running - a sign of weakness.

And you know the worst part? -If Bush was in charge, he'd have tried to disallow the warranty claims too, even as those tiny rust spots turned into full-fledged body cancer over the course of a year or two, and the aluminum engine blocks seized prematurely.

Meanwhile, any designers who warned him ahead of time that there were serious design flaws would have long before been fired and called traitors to his glorious and doomed marketing cause.

I want to make some bumper stickers: "Iraq; George Bush's Vega. Are you a buyer?"




Be good to everyone.

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Rah! Rah! Rah!

2007-09-12

Good morning Boys and Girls.

Just received an email from my Aunt announcing the birth of her new grandson. This, of course, is impossible since in my mind, her daughter is only about ten years old and still just a little girl herself. Certainly she can't be twenty-eight already and off having babies.

Zowie.

Watched quite a few hours of General Patreaus on the tube the last couple of days. He said very very little of substance. His plan to remove thirty-thousand troops from Iraq next year is moot since (thankfully) more than that many have to come home anyway unless their tours are extended - again.

He says he has no idea what will happen if we continue the current strategy, but he's POSITIVE about what will happen if we leave. Brilliant.

When asked if we're making America safer by playing this silly and oh-so-deadly game, he couldn't even get himself to take a stand one way or the other.

I'm sure this is a man of integrity. I also know his job is to answer to the commander-in-chief and do what he's told. It ISN'T his job to make determinations as to whether the overall plan is a good one, or whether what he's doing is good for the country, or the planet.

Still, I find it ironic that he can foretell the future with such certainty with regards to what would happen if we leave Iraq, but he can't offer an opinion as to whether him doing the president's bidding is even a good idea National Security-wise, or even what will happen if his objectives are met to the letter.

It's a sad joke. I feel sorry for the guy.

It doesn't matter. The people in power can and will justify war for whatever reasons are expedient, and those reasons will change as often and as drastically as necessary, just so there's a war to cheer for. It's like planning a robbery for years and then, after you pull the job, you justify it by claiming that the bank had it coming because they'd charged you one too many overdraft fees - so what if you never even had an account there.

It still freaks me out that people can so easily ignore the fact that GWB claimed he was going to be "a war president" long before he even began officially running for the office.

This isn't outrageous to them. No. That's fine.

But MoveOn.org's ad? Now THAT they find completely outlandish. Amazing.

So, killing and dying for reasons as changeable as a sand hill in a windstorm? -Perfectly acceptable.

Questioning it? Treasonous.

Senator Warner (repeating the question, ever so slightly exasperated): "Does - that- make - America - safer?"

General Patreaous: "Sir, I don't know actually."

What a battle cry! What glorious justification!



Be good to everyone.

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Poof.

2007-09-08

Good afternoon everyone.

My life has been marked by more than a few failures, or better said, I have marred my life with more than a few.

Eh. No biggie. Probably most of us could say the same thing.

Monday, though, I mark the date of the only failure in my life I care about. Monday would have been my 30th anniversary if I was still married. And, even after being divorced now for six years plus a little, it still gets to me, and causes real heartache.

My life these days is just fine, and I'm happy for the most part. -And who knows, maybe it'll get ab-so-toot-ly wunnerful again one of these days. There's no tellin'...

But Monday? Monday's gonna be tough. I'll do a bunch of playing "what if?" I'm sure. I'll think about our little family; my ex, the kids, me; and how much being a part of that little unit of ours always meant to me, and how very much I loved - and love - whatever that weird mix was that constituted "us." I don't have a clue what it was, and I couldn't see it, but my oh my, I felt it every single day.

Oh well... 

 
"All the things you planned?
-just sand castles washed away
On tidal waves of tears,
fears overpowering...

Your complex dreams?
-just slither down; drowning in rocky pools...
-Or smashed and dashed on peril's course,
divorcing prematurely, thoughts of lasting love..."

(from "Thirty Years" by U.K.) 

 

For what it's worth, Happy 30th Anniversary Leenie.

 

Be good to everyone.

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Lazy, thoughtful, Labor Day

2007-09-05

Good morning Boys and Girls.

I'd planned on writing a post over the weekend teasing friend Kurt Maddox. I even gave him a heads up on the idea and he was a good enough sport about it to encourage me, saying he'd get a kick out of it.

I'd planned to start out by saying to him that I considered it a fact that in this world, no matter what, two and two are four. It's a given.

Rather than accepting my premise, he'd argue the point. In response to this assertion he'd write a overlong meandering reply taking issue with my statement citing everyone from Milton Friedman, Dr. Phil and, of course, Ayn Rand - complaining that as an objectivist, he's seen little proof of my contention being so other than that which he'd been taught by people with an ax to grind on the subject, but, that it was perfectly okay for two intelligent people to have divergent views on the subject, which, in turn, would drive me apoplectic with frustration.

Alas, once I got started, it wasn't turning out as funny as I'd hoped, perhaps because my mind was on other things. In the end, I concluded the only people who'd like it would be me and hopefully Kurt.

Another time.

I went away Monday for the day and gave myself some time to think. I'm really hoping my next book is a goody; a "worthy" book. I've been working out the story line in my head for months and I'm really looking forward to starting on it in earnest when the weather turns cold. I want to have the story so firmly ingrained in my brain by then that writing it becomes an exercise in retelling a story. I want to have so thoroughly thought through how my characters have been affected by what transpires along the way that it has become a vivid memory I can retell with empathy and warmth, and even though it will be entirely fictional, I want it to move the people who bother reading it.

Not asking for much am I?

I just want to get better.

I know I'm good at what I do for a living, even though I don't have all that much talent. Like so much in life, for me it's just been a matter of doing it over and over and over, and paying attention to what I've discovered along the way. Maybe that's how it is with writing too.

So I stopped by the house upon returning yesterday morning and flipped on the TV while I was changing my clothes to go to work. The last ten minutes of "Field of Dreams," was on. Ray was just refusing to sign over the farm for the last time, and he and his brother-in-law were arguing. When his daughter fell off the bleachers and Moonlight Graham - "Doc" - makes the choice to cross that foul line to help that little girl, I welled up. Not, this time, because of the story - hell, I know it so well I can speak most of the lines in that part of the movie along with the characters - but because I desperately want to write something that powerful and beautiful myself, even if it's just one page among hundreds, or thousands. Even, in fact, if it's the last thing I ever do.


Be good to everyone.

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