Only.
29 days until pitchers and catchers report, I can’t wait. Up until today it wasn’t even really that cold. Hooray!
Jan 17, 2007
Jan 16, 2007
The gap.
There is a gap in my life between the person I am and the person I would like to be. Most of my days are spent trying to figure out ways to bridge that gap. I haven’t been able to make the leap yet but, I keep trying.
Today, I got a nasty email. Well, maybe I should qualify that statement. I got an email that was derisive and chiding in tone. Under the circumstances of the last week I have to admit my patience with such things is fairly thin. My first impulse was to respond in kind, a lot of that has to do with feeling rubbed raw over the last few days but, I caught myself.
In the past I wouldn’t have done that, I would have just acted on first impulse and written something nasty back. In this instance, it was a signal. The signal was that the time had come to end an association which had long ago outlived any usefulness. Nowadays, there is a very strange dynamic which seems to occur in the workplace - I think of it as battered employee syndrome. Battered employee syndrome is the lose/lose scenario where no matter what an employee (contractor, vendor) does, they’re wrong. I find it is emblematic of poor management.
You know the whole employer/employee relationship is a bit of a contract - people are hired to come in and perform certain functions - this would be known as ‘the job description.’ Hence when an employee is hired for a particular position, there are certain parameters of experience and expertise which must be met if the employee is to fill the position and perform their duties in a competent and timely manner.
One of the hallmarks of a dysfunctional company is when a manager asks a subordinate to write their own job description. Whenever I have heard of this happening the first thing I usually advise the person to do is to look for another job. Think of it this way, ‘We hired you, we pay you but, we really don’t know what it is you do.’ That’s comforting, wouldn’t you say?
Well, I digress. In this instance the ‘entity’ in question has repeatedly demonstrated absolutely no loyalty to their employees through the years. The same problems crop up in a place year after year and while the focus continues to be in one specific area the cause, and source of the problem never gets addressed. So, we wind up in battered employee syndrome.
It’s like a game of what have you done for me lately? So, if the only thing you can get out of a place is money, no career advancement, no job satisfaction, no reward or recognition for good work, does it make sense to stay in a place? If the only good thing you can say about your job is that it is bearable, isn’t it incumbent on you to seek out ways to make the situation better and failing that seek out a better situation?
Don’t get me wrong, it’s called work for a reason, in the memorable words of Red Forman: If it wasn’t “work,” they wouldn’t call it work. They’d call it “super-wonderful, crazy-fun time!” Or “Skippedydoo!” So, in regard to this one particular place, we’re not talking the land of Skippedydoo but, if the door doesn’t swing both ways, well what’s left?
Then, as more time passes I lose the ability to even be annoyed about it - life is too short for such stupidity.
There is a gap in my life between the person I am and the person I would like to be. Most of my days are spent trying to figure out ways to bridge that gap. I haven’t been able to make the leap yet but, I keep trying.
Today, I got a nasty email. Well, maybe I should qualify that statement. I got an email that was derisive and chiding in tone. Under the circumstances of the last week I have to admit my patience with such things is fairly thin. My first impulse was to respond in kind, a lot of that has to do with feeling rubbed raw over the last few days but, I caught myself.
In the past I wouldn’t have done that, I would have just acted on first impulse and written something nasty back. In this instance, it was a signal. The signal was that the time had come to end an association which had long ago outlived any usefulness. Nowadays, there is a very strange dynamic which seems to occur in the workplace - I think of it as battered employee syndrome. Battered employee syndrome is the lose/lose scenario where no matter what an employee (contractor, vendor) does, they’re wrong. I find it is emblematic of poor management.
You know the whole employer/employee relationship is a bit of a contract - people are hired to come in and perform certain functions - this would be known as ‘the job description.’ Hence when an employee is hired for a particular position, there are certain parameters of experience and expertise which must be met if the employee is to fill the position and perform their duties in a competent and timely manner.
One of the hallmarks of a dysfunctional company is when a manager asks a subordinate to write their own job description. Whenever I have heard of this happening the first thing I usually advise the person to do is to look for another job. Think of it this way, ‘We hired you, we pay you but, we really don’t know what it is you do.’ That’s comforting, wouldn’t you say?
Well, I digress. In this instance the ‘entity’ in question has repeatedly demonstrated absolutely no loyalty to their employees through the years. The same problems crop up in a place year after year and while the focus continues to be in one specific area the cause, and source of the problem never gets addressed. So, we wind up in battered employee syndrome.
It’s like a game of what have you done for me lately? So, if the only thing you can get out of a place is money, no career advancement, no job satisfaction, no reward or recognition for good work, does it make sense to stay in a place? If the only good thing you can say about your job is that it is bearable, isn’t it incumbent on you to seek out ways to make the situation better and failing that seek out a better situation?
Don’t get me wrong, it’s called work for a reason, in the memorable words of Red Forman: If it wasn’t “work,” they wouldn’t call it work. They’d call it “super-wonderful, crazy-fun time!” Or “Skippedydoo!” So, in regard to this one particular place, we’re not talking the land of Skippedydoo but, if the door doesn’t swing both ways, well what’s left?
Then, as more time passes I lose the ability to even be annoyed about it - life is too short for such stupidity.
Jan 15, 2007
Well, that wasn’t fun.
So, the funeral was Saturday and as fate would have it, it wasn’t all too cold and the rain had let up by the time we got to the cemetery so the service itself wasn’t a totally drenching one. People showed up to the wake which was nice of them and they showed up for the funeral which was nicer still. You would think after the last 15 months, I would be ready for this but, I guess we’re never ready for the moment when death arrives in our lives.
It will take me awhile to truly believe it, to accept it and absorb it. Everything about the prospect of Pop not being around just seems so unreal and final.
Over the last four days, I have found myself constantly tired. This is mainly the result of sleeping at night in a way where I lie down for a bit, wake up two hours later, am up for a few hours and then fall asleep for another few hours again.
I am never good at these things. I admit it. Honestly, I just don’t know how to deal with death or people who are mourning. A big part of that is because I don’t want to say the wrong thing and without saying something meaningful to someone, something which will truly provide them with comfort, I feel whatever I do say will wind up sounding hollow or phony. My biggest concern over the last few days was choreographing a ceremony and process which would be both dignified and respectful. That it was so important sounds like an odd thing but, having taken care of the man for as long as I did, it was very important to me not to screw it up at the end.
And I was soooo tired. To tell the truth after going to the hospital and seeing him there after he died the first night, there is nothing more I wanted to do than to crawl into bed and just sleep for days, really. I just wanted to wind up in bed and then wake up on a nice warm and sunny day where I could get out and just enjoy the weather and the warmth of the sun on my skin.
Still, it wasn’t to be and there was lots to do over the next 72 hours - phone-calls had to be made, arrangements had to be finalized, there was a question of being dressed properly for the occasion and then there was the matter of being front and center in everything.
I never did write an obituary as I had intended. I just let the funeral home take care of that because after everything else I found it hard to organize my thoughts to put something on paper which I felt was appropriate. I wrote something of a eulogy but, I wound up missing the correct moment to read it and consequently fumbled through some words at the graveside which in retrospect I am not even sure whether or not I was coherent. As it was I kept things short, fighting my own nerves and trying to contain my own desire to wail away. I can’t even remember what I said as it seemed the world was spinning standing there beside an open grave on muddy earth with all these faces pointed at me.
Ouch.
The funeral mass was much nicer than I anticipated it would be, the church was beautiful and the thoughts delivered by the father in attendance would have been hard to follow anyway because it was a fitting and thoughtful sermon. I also think I ate the mother of all communion wafers - the thing the jumbo size communion wafer and considering how long it had been since I had gone for any kind of communion I wonder if the priest didn’t know something I didn’t - I mean seriously it was like a horse pill or something. My cousin’s youngest rode with me in the car which actually was really nice just to have her company.
So, this is what I wrote and what I imagine I would have said if I had gotten the chance. As it was, the father in question would have been a very hard act to follow and while I was sitting in that first pew all kinds of thoughts were running through my head...
“How about the father there? Let’s have a big hand for him!”
No, I don’t think that would’ve worked. Like I said I fumbled through at least part of this at the graveside, it was a lot shorter because I just winged it and at that point I was thinking funerals are very much like awards shows in that they shouldn’t run overly long because you wind up losing the attention of the audience.
In any event, I at least think I did a good job with everything and it was the last time I could do anything for him so I wanted to get it right.
So, the funeral was Saturday and as fate would have it, it wasn’t all too cold and the rain had let up by the time we got to the cemetery so the service itself wasn’t a totally drenching one. People showed up to the wake which was nice of them and they showed up for the funeral which was nicer still. You would think after the last 15 months, I would be ready for this but, I guess we’re never ready for the moment when death arrives in our lives.
It will take me awhile to truly believe it, to accept it and absorb it. Everything about the prospect of Pop not being around just seems so unreal and final.
Over the last four days, I have found myself constantly tired. This is mainly the result of sleeping at night in a way where I lie down for a bit, wake up two hours later, am up for a few hours and then fall asleep for another few hours again.
I am never good at these things. I admit it. Honestly, I just don’t know how to deal with death or people who are mourning. A big part of that is because I don’t want to say the wrong thing and without saying something meaningful to someone, something which will truly provide them with comfort, I feel whatever I do say will wind up sounding hollow or phony. My biggest concern over the last few days was choreographing a ceremony and process which would be both dignified and respectful. That it was so important sounds like an odd thing but, having taken care of the man for as long as I did, it was very important to me not to screw it up at the end.
And I was soooo tired. To tell the truth after going to the hospital and seeing him there after he died the first night, there is nothing more I wanted to do than to crawl into bed and just sleep for days, really. I just wanted to wind up in bed and then wake up on a nice warm and sunny day where I could get out and just enjoy the weather and the warmth of the sun on my skin.
Still, it wasn’t to be and there was lots to do over the next 72 hours - phone-calls had to be made, arrangements had to be finalized, there was a question of being dressed properly for the occasion and then there was the matter of being front and center in everything.
I never did write an obituary as I had intended. I just let the funeral home take care of that because after everything else I found it hard to organize my thoughts to put something on paper which I felt was appropriate. I wrote something of a eulogy but, I wound up missing the correct moment to read it and consequently fumbled through some words at the graveside which in retrospect I am not even sure whether or not I was coherent. As it was I kept things short, fighting my own nerves and trying to contain my own desire to wail away. I can’t even remember what I said as it seemed the world was spinning standing there beside an open grave on muddy earth with all these faces pointed at me.
Ouch.
The funeral mass was much nicer than I anticipated it would be, the church was beautiful and the thoughts delivered by the father in attendance would have been hard to follow anyway because it was a fitting and thoughtful sermon. I also think I ate the mother of all communion wafers - the thing the jumbo size communion wafer and considering how long it had been since I had gone for any kind of communion I wonder if the priest didn’t know something I didn’t - I mean seriously it was like a horse pill or something. My cousin’s youngest rode with me in the car which actually was really nice just to have her company.
So, this is what I wrote and what I imagine I would have said if I had gotten the chance. As it was, the father in question would have been a very hard act to follow and while I was sitting in that first pew all kinds of thoughts were running through my head...
“How about the father there? Let’s have a big hand for him!”
No, I don’t think that would’ve worked. Like I said I fumbled through at least part of this at the graveside, it was a lot shorter because I just winged it and at that point I was thinking funerals are very much like awards shows in that they shouldn’t run overly long because you wind up losing the attention of the audience.
Last night, I was trying to think about what I would say to all of you here today. I was hoping to be able to provide something of great insight. However, it was just an overblown ego at work.
They say the only two things which are certain in the world are death and taxes. Today we find ourselves here, confronting just one of those sure things. It is inescapable for all of us. Look around you, no matter what your age, the one thing you can be assured of is one day you WILL die.
Each and every one of us have only a certain number of days on this planet even none of us knows in advance what that number will be. In pop’s case the number turned out to be 30,415 - he didn’t know it and neither did I.
Looking at it now, I am forced to wonder if I had known the exact number of days and we were so very close to the last few, would I have cherished those dwindling days more? And the truth is, I probably would have.
My father lived a full life by the standard with which we measure time, he laughed, he smiled, he had fun but at the end that life - he spoke often of his own unhappiness and regret. He looked back on his life and constantly questioned the decisions he had made.
They haunted him at times and when illness took away some of the awareness of time’s passage, it was a blessing because it freed him of his remorse and in a way took him back to his youth, back to a time when misdeeds and transgressions might be forgotten and he could live in the moment.
Maybe that sounds like a fool’s paradise to some but, if we measure our lives in the context of a finite number of days, we begin to realize how each and every day is such a precious gift. Every day dawns anew, full of promise and hope, challenging us to make of it what we will of it for good or for bad.
Thus, it falls to each of us to make the best possible use of the time we have. The more time we spend looking backwards at our own mistakes instead of leaving them behind us and moving forward to do good just squanders another day.
Pop was a lot of things but, he couldn’t see, never really understood the affect, he had on the world around him - the lives he touched, the good he did, the way he changed the world. I’m not pretending he was perfect but, he did some good while he was here - he touched the lives of the people he came in contact with and that influence spread outward as the people he touched, touched other lives in turn, the way a wave on the surface of a pond spreads outward.
When we come together at funerals, it is to mourn, it is in sadness but why? The truth is, none of us really die, our souls might escape the frail shell that carries them but we live on in others. We live on in the people we touched during our short time here on the planet. I am not saying I won’t miss my father because I will miss him terribly but, in me he will live on. Just as he will live in you whose lives he touched. There are others who have gone before him and who to this day hold a special place in my heart, those people who will never be forgotten.
While I will remember him as a flawed man, he will still in my heart be very much a beloved father and he will be missed. Thank you again for paying your respects here today, it would make him happy to see you all I know.
In any event, I at least think I did a good job with everything and it was the last time I could do anything for him so I wanted to get it right.
Jan 12, 2007
Bye, Pop.
My father passed Wednesday evening. The last 24 hours have been hectic if only because there is so much to do and I already started writing something about it. Suffice to say he will be missed. The main thing though is just to get through the today (Friday - the wake) and tomorrow (Saturday - the funeral and burial).
My father passed Wednesday evening. The last 24 hours have been hectic if only because there is so much to do and I already started writing something about it. Suffice to say he will be missed. The main thing though is just to get through the today (Friday - the wake) and tomorrow (Saturday - the funeral and burial).
Jan 9, 2007
Screwing with the baristas.
I hate tip jars. The f**king things are everywhere these days. Next time I go to the proctologist, I half expect to see a tip jar lying around (and if anyone would deserve it, it’s a guy who spends his day sticking his finger up people’s asses). Somehow, over the last ten years, tip jars just saturated our society.
Now, I don’t know about you but, for me I’m a bit of a traditionalist when it comes to these things. Waiters, waitresses, cab drivers, bell captains, redcaps, maitre-ds are all people who get my tips. If you’re working the counter in a Baskin Robbins, a 7-11, a dry cleaner, etc. well... you’re just s*it out of luck in my book. It’s not up to me to make up for the fact you’re getting paid sh*tty wages. Hell, I worked a ton of sh*tty jobs myself in my time, suck it up.
You don’t tip the checkout person in a supermarket, you don’t tip a receptionist in a doctor’s office, it just isn’t done - throwing a plastic cup out in front of people, dumping your loose change into it and hoping for the best is nice enough but, don’t expect me to feel guilt.
Starbucks, is one of those places where you find the innocuous tip jar. It kind of makes me chuckle in some ways because I’ve read Howard Schultz’s book and seen him on TV speaking about creating a certain atmosphere in his stores. He goes on at length on how Starbucks was trying to copy the whole expresso bar experience he found in Italy but, funny enough I can’t seem to remember there being a single tip jar in any of the many expresso bars I visited in Rome.
Maybe I would be a lot less reluctant to tip if I wasn’t getting socked with a $3 plus charge for a cup of coffee. Chances are though, if all I’m buying is a cup of coffee and it’s costing that much I’m thinking about where I really should be spending money instead of pissing it away so cavalierly. Geez, somewhere there is some retired executive from the Chock Full of Nuts chain who is just banging his head against a wall watching what has been going on with Starbucks over the last decade.
So, part of the whole ‘experience’ in some of these Starbucks is being asked your name by the counter person when you place your order.
Now, maybe it’s me but, I don’t want to build a personal relationship with La Baristas. The coffee bar is not my modern day equivalent of Cheers and I am not f**kin Norm. So, it doesn’t happen often but, every once in awhile you hit one of these places where they do ask you for your name when you order your coffee.
And... I f**k with them.
Look, like I said I don’t want a personal relationship, just give me my damn overpriced coffee to go. I don’t want it to take a half hour - WHICH IT SOMETIMES DOES EVEN WITH THAT CRYPTIC STARBUCK SPEAK!
I’ve been in places where the cash register even prints out your order over by the expresso machine but that still doesn’t speed the process up - so asking me my name while I stand around like an idiot isn’t going to make me any happier. Today’s choice was Agamemnon, sometimes it’s been such jewels as Ulysses or Socrates. I just like giving them a mouthful or a real handful to write. It stops ’em dead in their tracks, like a deer caught in headlights, they don’t know what to do!
Sometimes it’s just fun to see if they can get a name like that out of their own mouths, ‘What was that?’
‘Agamemnon.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really.’
‘C’mon that’s not really your name!’
‘Okay, Jason.’ (still not my name - thinking about Friday the 13th at this particular moment)
‘Okay. Jason. What was that name again... from before.’
‘Agammmennmmonn,’ I even have trouble getting it out of my mouth.
She chuckles, I chuckle and still shrouded in mystery go to the coffee bar to get my exorbitant drink. When La Barista asks, ‘Jason, do you want room for milk?’ It is all I can do to keep from totally losing it.
As I walk away, coffee in hand, I imagine one of the ladies hovering around the bar for their triple, nonfat, giganto, mocha, icerino with whipped cream saying to her friend, ‘He didn’t look like a Jason.’
And she’d be right.
I hate tip jars. The f**king things are everywhere these days. Next time I go to the proctologist, I half expect to see a tip jar lying around (and if anyone would deserve it, it’s a guy who spends his day sticking his finger up people’s asses). Somehow, over the last ten years, tip jars just saturated our society.
Now, I don’t know about you but, for me I’m a bit of a traditionalist when it comes to these things. Waiters, waitresses, cab drivers, bell captains, redcaps, maitre-ds are all people who get my tips. If you’re working the counter in a Baskin Robbins, a 7-11, a dry cleaner, etc. well... you’re just s*it out of luck in my book. It’s not up to me to make up for the fact you’re getting paid sh*tty wages. Hell, I worked a ton of sh*tty jobs myself in my time, suck it up.
You don’t tip the checkout person in a supermarket, you don’t tip a receptionist in a doctor’s office, it just isn’t done - throwing a plastic cup out in front of people, dumping your loose change into it and hoping for the best is nice enough but, don’t expect me to feel guilt.
Starbucks, is one of those places where you find the innocuous tip jar. It kind of makes me chuckle in some ways because I’ve read Howard Schultz’s book and seen him on TV speaking about creating a certain atmosphere in his stores. He goes on at length on how Starbucks was trying to copy the whole expresso bar experience he found in Italy but, funny enough I can’t seem to remember there being a single tip jar in any of the many expresso bars I visited in Rome.
Maybe I would be a lot less reluctant to tip if I wasn’t getting socked with a $3 plus charge for a cup of coffee. Chances are though, if all I’m buying is a cup of coffee and it’s costing that much I’m thinking about where I really should be spending money instead of pissing it away so cavalierly. Geez, somewhere there is some retired executive from the Chock Full of Nuts chain who is just banging his head against a wall watching what has been going on with Starbucks over the last decade.
So, part of the whole ‘experience’ in some of these Starbucks is being asked your name by the counter person when you place your order.
Now, maybe it’s me but, I don’t want to build a personal relationship with La Baristas. The coffee bar is not my modern day equivalent of Cheers and I am not f**kin Norm. So, it doesn’t happen often but, every once in awhile you hit one of these places where they do ask you for your name when you order your coffee.
And... I f**k with them.
Look, like I said I don’t want a personal relationship, just give me my damn overpriced coffee to go. I don’t want it to take a half hour - WHICH IT SOMETIMES DOES EVEN WITH THAT CRYPTIC STARBUCK SPEAK!
I’ve been in places where the cash register even prints out your order over by the expresso machine but that still doesn’t speed the process up - so asking me my name while I stand around like an idiot isn’t going to make me any happier. Today’s choice was Agamemnon, sometimes it’s been such jewels as Ulysses or Socrates. I just like giving them a mouthful or a real handful to write. It stops ’em dead in their tracks, like a deer caught in headlights, they don’t know what to do!
Sometimes it’s just fun to see if they can get a name like that out of their own mouths, ‘What was that?’
‘Agamemnon.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really.’
‘C’mon that’s not really your name!’
‘Okay, Jason.’ (still not my name - thinking about Friday the 13th at this particular moment)
‘Okay. Jason. What was that name again... from before.’
‘Agammmennmmonn,’ I even have trouble getting it out of my mouth.
She chuckles, I chuckle and still shrouded in mystery go to the coffee bar to get my exorbitant drink. When La Barista asks, ‘Jason, do you want room for milk?’ It is all I can do to keep from totally losing it.
As I walk away, coffee in hand, I imagine one of the ladies hovering around the bar for their triple, nonfat, giganto, mocha, icerino with whipped cream saying to her friend, ‘He didn’t look like a Jason.’
And she’d be right.
Jan 8, 2007
He who smelt it, dealt it.
If you are in and around Manhattan today you may have noticed it:
It’s on all the news channels right now but, watching it the funny thing is watching all the companies and elected officials deny responsibility. Con Edison says they don’t have a leak (pushing the speculation the source is New Jersey) and the Jersey City mayor says her people have informed her the source was in Manhattan.
It’s funny if only because you can imagine the localities as people in a room where someone has farted.
I just enjoy watching all these newscasters speak endlessly about the awful smell. If you view it in that context (someone farting) it’s really, really funny.
If you are in and around Manhattan today you may have noticed it:
Across the Hudson River, Jersey City, N.J., mayor’s spokeswoman Maria Pignataro said officials there were told the odor was due to a gas leak in Manhattan’s Chelsea neighborhood, just north of Greenwich Village.
It’s on all the news channels right now but, watching it the funny thing is watching all the companies and elected officials deny responsibility. Con Edison says they don’t have a leak (pushing the speculation the source is New Jersey) and the Jersey City mayor says her people have informed her the source was in Manhattan.
Numerous people have called 911 to report the odor. Con Edison, the Fire Department and the U.S. Coast Guard are investigating. The Fire Department began getting calls about the odor around 9 a.m., said spokesman Tim Hinchey. PATH service has been suspended into the 33rd Street station, although the service was still running to the World Trade Center Station. F and V subway service has been suspended at 23rd Street.
It’s funny if only because you can imagine the localities as people in a room where someone has farted.
The odor of natural gas was reported across Midtown Manhattan, prompting hundreds of calls to emergency workers. Eyewitness News is told the smell was first reported in the vicinity of Fifth Avenue and 34th Street. Earlier this morning around 9:00 a.m. hundreds of calls poured into city emergency officials. Apparently the calls are coming from Chelsea, Battery Park west, Madison Square Park, and there are also reports of the gas smell outside of our studio on 66th and Columbus. A very similar smell was also reported in Downtown Jersey City.
I just enjoy watching all these newscasters speak endlessly about the awful smell. If you view it in that context (someone farting) it’s really, really funny.
It’s a dirty job but, someone has to do it.
It takes a lot of practice to be a dick. I mean you have to spend veritable years deconstructing your personality to the point where you are so incredibly obnoxious and insensitive to the people around you that you can even be considered worthy of the title.
So, when you run across someone who is a genuine dick, you should show a little reverence for all the effort they’ve have put in to their art.
I’ve tried to tone down my the aspects of dickdom in my own personality through the years but, it still comes through from time to time. Maybe it will surface when I’m driving and there is a particularly oblivious clown in and around me, or maybe it will manifest in some other public setting. Thinking about it now, I realize it’s almost impossible to be a dick when you are by yourself. Can you truly be a dick when there is nobody about to be a dick to?
As a man, being called a dick doesn’t bother me the way it would bother a women when she is characterized by being called an offensive name for her privates. I don’t know too many men who have the violent, almost militant reaction women display when they are called the "c" word. Thinking about it, George Carlin used to go on at length about it - I think he was the one who observed the hard constanant sound of the "c" word is what gets your attention.
The ceeee word - roll that one over for a second if you will. It’s not like we call dick the "d" word.
Anyway, I have been pretty lucky of late because it seems my dick exposure these days has been incredibly low. Of course, I have spent much of the last few weeks enmeshed in a project where I have little time to spare and consequently am not out in public all that often.
New York can sometimes be the “dick” capital of the world. A lot of movies characterize the city that way, The Out of Towners immediately comes to mind but, the truth is really far different from that. Last week a guy threw himself down on the tracks in front of a moving subway train in order to save another persons’ life. Simply amazing.
A lot of people took notice of it and I was impressed as well. Then again, it’s really not a surprise. If you had been in New York in the months after September 11th, you would have seen the character of the people of this city. Even in the days immediately afterward, people where so amazingly polite to each other, so very considerate. It was beautiful. It makes me think of the place the world could be.
But then, my inner dick comes out.
It takes a lot of practice to be a dick. I mean you have to spend veritable years deconstructing your personality to the point where you are so incredibly obnoxious and insensitive to the people around you that you can even be considered worthy of the title.
So, when you run across someone who is a genuine dick, you should show a little reverence for all the effort they’ve have put in to their art.
I’ve tried to tone down my the aspects of dickdom in my own personality through the years but, it still comes through from time to time. Maybe it will surface when I’m driving and there is a particularly oblivious clown in and around me, or maybe it will manifest in some other public setting. Thinking about it now, I realize it’s almost impossible to be a dick when you are by yourself. Can you truly be a dick when there is nobody about to be a dick to?
As a man, being called a dick doesn’t bother me the way it would bother a women when she is characterized by being called an offensive name for her privates. I don’t know too many men who have the violent, almost militant reaction women display when they are called the "c" word. Thinking about it, George Carlin used to go on at length about it - I think he was the one who observed the hard constanant sound of the "c" word is what gets your attention.
The ceeee word - roll that one over for a second if you will. It’s not like we call dick the "d" word.
Anyway, I have been pretty lucky of late because it seems my dick exposure these days has been incredibly low. Of course, I have spent much of the last few weeks enmeshed in a project where I have little time to spare and consequently am not out in public all that often.
New York can sometimes be the “dick” capital of the world. A lot of movies characterize the city that way, The Out of Towners immediately comes to mind but, the truth is really far different from that. Last week a guy threw himself down on the tracks in front of a moving subway train in order to save another persons’ life. Simply amazing.
A lot of people took notice of it and I was impressed as well. Then again, it’s really not a surprise. If you had been in New York in the months after September 11th, you would have seen the character of the people of this city. Even in the days immediately afterward, people where so amazingly polite to each other, so very considerate. It was beautiful. It makes me think of the place the world could be.
But then, my inner dick comes out.
Jan 5, 2007
Kal-El couldn’t have done better.
“I’m still saying I’m not a hero ... ’cause I believe all New Yorkers should get into that type of mode,” Wesley Autry said on CBS’ “The Early Show” Thursday. “You should do the right thing.”
Simple, eloquent and an example for us all - not much more to say than that.
“I’m still saying I’m not a hero ... ’cause I believe all New Yorkers should get into that type of mode,” Wesley Autry said on CBS’ “The Early Show” Thursday. “You should do the right thing.”
Simple, eloquent and an example for us all - not much more to say than that.
Jan 4, 2007
Bad pdf! BAD!
You look at pdfs, you should be aware:
You look at pdfs, you should be aware:
The flaw, first revealed at a hacker conference in Germany over the holidays, exists in a plug-in that enables Acrobat users to view PDF files within Web browsers.
By manipulating the Web links to those documents, hackers and online thieves are able to commandeer the Acrobat software and run malicious code when users attempt to open the files, according to Ken Dunham, director of the rapid response team at VeriSign’s iDefense Intelligence.
Jan 3, 2007
Denny Colt lives!
The new Spirit series from DC manages to do a great job of keeping Will Eisner’s signature character very much alive while doing it great justice and updating it for today.
And in keeping with one of the nice things about the Internet Age, you can look at a couple of preview pages and judge for yourself whether or not it’s worth checking out!
Find a few pages from The Spirit issue 1 here. and a few more from the current issue The Spirit issue 2 here.
I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.
The new Spirit series from DC manages to do a great job of keeping Will Eisner’s signature character very much alive while doing it great justice and updating it for today.
And in keeping with one of the nice things about the Internet Age, you can look at a couple of preview pages and judge for yourself whether or not it’s worth checking out!
Find a few pages from The Spirit issue 1 here. and a few more from the current issue The Spirit issue 2 here.
I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.
Jan 2, 2007
Starting ’07 off with a laugh.
I saw this and started chuckling. This is supposed to be a news story but, given what I have heard from friends and from what I read this comes as no surprise:
I saw this and started chuckling. This is supposed to be a news story but, given what I have heard from friends and from what I read this comes as no surprise:
- 39 percent of workers said their supervisor failed to keep promises.
- 37 percent said their supervisor failed to give credit when due.
- 31 percent said their supervisor gave them the "silent treatment" in the past year.
- 27 percent said their supervisor made negative comments about them to other employees or managers.
- 24 percent said their supervisor invaded their privacy.
- 23 percent said their supervisor blamed others to cover up mistakes or to minimize embarrassment.
Dec 30, 2006
Celebration of life.
Rather than dwell on the man’s passing, why not listen to why he was so well regarded? NPR offers up this treat available for download:
Clicking through takes you to the page detailing the info on the show and they also have a link so you can download the entire show or just listen via streaming audio.
Rather than dwell on the man’s passing, why not listen to why he was so well regarded? NPR offers up this treat available for download:
Just a year before his death, the Godfather of Soul reached into his vast catalog of hit songs for a night of music, recorded live from the 9:30 Club in Washington, D.C. Hear the full performance, originally webcast live on NPR.org Dec. 28, 2005 as part of NPR Music’s live concert series from All Songs Considered. Previous shows are listed at right.
Clicking through takes you to the page detailing the info on the show and they also have a link so you can download the entire show or just listen via streaming audio.
A New Year’s tradition.
2006 is almost gone. It wasn’t a bad year, certainly not the greatest but, I’ve had significantly worse.
2006 started off rather inauspiciously as New Year’s Eve found me going up to a local hospital to sit with the EYOC who at the time was very, very ill.
I haven’t spoken so much of the EYOC this year. It’s because there really hasn’t been much to say at least in the way of news. The EYOC had a massive heart attack back in September of ’05 and pretty much all of my time over the next four months was devoted to the adventure and fallout resulting from the incident.
I’m not a pity junkie though, there’s just nothing to be gained by looking at the world that way or trying to elicit the pity of others, and it’s not as if anyone should feel bad for me. As tough a time it was for me and it was a lot tougher for the EYOC. Many things happened and truthfully, I found myself pleasantly surprised by some people and horribly disappointed in others. There was a lot of turmoil and chaos but, somehow both the EYOC and I navigated the treacherous waters.
That first day in the hospital, a doctor turned to me at one point and made it fairly clear I shouldn’t expect the EYOC to make it past that night but, even though I was scared (as scared as the EYOC was), I knew what a tough guy he is. Sure enough, he made it past that night and a whole bunch of others. Four months of trips to various facilities and quite a few scares but, he’s still here.
It’s been tough, he’s deteriorated but, given his heart functions only at 20% of capacity, his will to fight against the ravages of time is truly herculean. There have been good days and bad. I don’t think he ever appreciated just how vital and active he was until the last year and that’s assuming he is entirely aware of what he lost. Times are he seems very much like himself and other times he just seems to have taken a bit of a journey into his own past.
As scary as things were though for that four months, the year has been a relatively quiet one. He’s been cared for, looked after and very well-tended and I am thankful for that.
He’s been comfortable.
It’s been a change though, as I spent a lot of time over the last fifteen years taking care of him. It was a job which only grew tougher with the passage of time and suddenly one day I was done. Well, maybe not done but, all the brass tacks kind of daily care which took up a lot (if not all) of my time reduced significantly... it’s been strange.
Strange, if only because for the first time in a long time, I am forced to take stock of my own life and ask myself what I want. Though I am at a certain point in life, I still feel there is an abundance of opportunity out there for me to pursue. The interesting thing is the approach to the decision given my perspective and my experiences which shape the things I would seek out. Suffice to say, they are very different from what I would have set as goals as a younger man.
The moment of reflection though, of relative quiet, is broken. Reality intrudes and I find myself back at the hospital again - another New Year, another hospital stay.
Today when I saw him, he looked frail and withered. He wasn’t in pain (which I am thankful for) but, the toll the last fifteen months have taken on him is evident. Surprisingly he is more comfortable than during previous visits to the hospital. He labors more and seems more drained by the battle he has fought. Another heart attack has taken place and I wonder what the next few days will bring.
The thing I find eerie, the thing which scares me the most is the sense of calm around him, not agony, not pain, just serenity and acceptance.
He is sleeping when I come in but after a minute or so of prodding opens his eyes, recognizes me and smiles. I am good at this, pretending as if for all the world everything is normal and engaging him in banter asking when he is going to play handball again or teasing him just a bit. The conversation takes strange paths down impossible avenues where he talks about wanting to go for a drive and I allow myself to go with the flow.
He dozes off again and after a discussion with the doctor and a bath by the nurses he seems more alert and we resume the conversation once more. But, when he turns to me at one point and pointedly begins a statement with, ‘I don’t have a lot of time left...’ I find it is all I can do to maintain my composure.
While he is at the facility, I am able to feel at peace and not worry about him because I know he is looked after but, at the hospital I think the prospect of something bad happening increases exponentially. I’m not implying anything bad about the personnel at the hospital either because I see how hard their job is. It’s just the exposure to so many more things which can make the situation worse are evident. The slightest infection which a normal person would struggle with but ultimately fight off now becomes a dance with death.
It’s not like I had any big plans but, I have to say of all the places I would rather be on New Year’s Eve, a hospital isn’t one I would ever pick. It’s a lousy way to bookend a year, I can only hope for the best.
2006 is almost gone. It wasn’t a bad year, certainly not the greatest but, I’ve had significantly worse.
2006 started off rather inauspiciously as New Year’s Eve found me going up to a local hospital to sit with the EYOC who at the time was very, very ill.
I haven’t spoken so much of the EYOC this year. It’s because there really hasn’t been much to say at least in the way of news. The EYOC had a massive heart attack back in September of ’05 and pretty much all of my time over the next four months was devoted to the adventure and fallout resulting from the incident.
I’m not a pity junkie though, there’s just nothing to be gained by looking at the world that way or trying to elicit the pity of others, and it’s not as if anyone should feel bad for me. As tough a time it was for me and it was a lot tougher for the EYOC. Many things happened and truthfully, I found myself pleasantly surprised by some people and horribly disappointed in others. There was a lot of turmoil and chaos but, somehow both the EYOC and I navigated the treacherous waters.
That first day in the hospital, a doctor turned to me at one point and made it fairly clear I shouldn’t expect the EYOC to make it past that night but, even though I was scared (as scared as the EYOC was), I knew what a tough guy he is. Sure enough, he made it past that night and a whole bunch of others. Four months of trips to various facilities and quite a few scares but, he’s still here.
It’s been tough, he’s deteriorated but, given his heart functions only at 20% of capacity, his will to fight against the ravages of time is truly herculean. There have been good days and bad. I don’t think he ever appreciated just how vital and active he was until the last year and that’s assuming he is entirely aware of what he lost. Times are he seems very much like himself and other times he just seems to have taken a bit of a journey into his own past.
As scary as things were though for that four months, the year has been a relatively quiet one. He’s been cared for, looked after and very well-tended and I am thankful for that.
He’s been comfortable.
It’s been a change though, as I spent a lot of time over the last fifteen years taking care of him. It was a job which only grew tougher with the passage of time and suddenly one day I was done. Well, maybe not done but, all the brass tacks kind of daily care which took up a lot (if not all) of my time reduced significantly... it’s been strange.
Strange, if only because for the first time in a long time, I am forced to take stock of my own life and ask myself what I want. Though I am at a certain point in life, I still feel there is an abundance of opportunity out there for me to pursue. The interesting thing is the approach to the decision given my perspective and my experiences which shape the things I would seek out. Suffice to say, they are very different from what I would have set as goals as a younger man.
The moment of reflection though, of relative quiet, is broken. Reality intrudes and I find myself back at the hospital again - another New Year, another hospital stay.
Today when I saw him, he looked frail and withered. He wasn’t in pain (which I am thankful for) but, the toll the last fifteen months have taken on him is evident. Surprisingly he is more comfortable than during previous visits to the hospital. He labors more and seems more drained by the battle he has fought. Another heart attack has taken place and I wonder what the next few days will bring.
The thing I find eerie, the thing which scares me the most is the sense of calm around him, not agony, not pain, just serenity and acceptance.
He is sleeping when I come in but after a minute or so of prodding opens his eyes, recognizes me and smiles. I am good at this, pretending as if for all the world everything is normal and engaging him in banter asking when he is going to play handball again or teasing him just a bit. The conversation takes strange paths down impossible avenues where he talks about wanting to go for a drive and I allow myself to go with the flow.
He dozes off again and after a discussion with the doctor and a bath by the nurses he seems more alert and we resume the conversation once more. But, when he turns to me at one point and pointedly begins a statement with, ‘I don’t have a lot of time left...’ I find it is all I can do to maintain my composure.
While he is at the facility, I am able to feel at peace and not worry about him because I know he is looked after but, at the hospital I think the prospect of something bad happening increases exponentially. I’m not implying anything bad about the personnel at the hospital either because I see how hard their job is. It’s just the exposure to so many more things which can make the situation worse are evident. The slightest infection which a normal person would struggle with but ultimately fight off now becomes a dance with death.
It’s not like I had any big plans but, I have to say of all the places I would rather be on New Year’s Eve, a hospital isn’t one I would ever pick. It’s a lousy way to bookend a year, I can only hope for the best.
Dec 27, 2006
The poor taste moment.
Just proving once again there are no depths I will sink to, to achieve the height of bad taste. So, have you read the news? Funny how all I could think of when I heard it was this little ditty by LA Style. (You’ll need RealPlayer)
Just proving once again there are no depths I will sink to, to achieve the height of bad taste. So, have you read the news? Funny how all I could think of when I heard it was this little ditty by LA Style. (You’ll need RealPlayer)
Dec 26, 2006
The dirty secret of Christmas.
Well, it’s been and gone another Christmas in the books. I had an entry a day or so back that just managed to float off into random bits as Safari went down with the entry unfinished and unsaved in a background tab. Maybe I’ll get back to it (probably not) if I can remember most of what I was trying to say.
Tonight as the family sat around the tree in the orgiastic frenzy of tearing open gifts, my cousin’s daughter spoke those nasty and sacrilegious words. She looked down at her Aunt‘s tree and took in the item sitting under it, still very much tightly wrapped in its plastic sheath and observed, “Oooo... that would make a good regift!”
Regift? Regift! REGIFT?!?!
Finally, it was out in the open!
So, this year I got a bunch of things I will probably regift, which is okay because it takes some pressure off me in other ways to go out and shop. I don’t know why but I got a bunch of food this year, big honking things with cheeses and dried sausage.
Truthfully though, it’s stuff I won’t eat so, it’s not like I can feel guilty about it. I never had a taste for the cured sausage thing and as time goes on I’m getting a lot more particular about what I put into my body. I have to be, high blood pressure and a lot of this really fatty, high nitrate stuff is a big time no-no for me. So, they’ll wind up being regifted. I’m ashamed to admit it because I know if it was coffee or chocolate I’d be greedily scarfing the stuff down - nothing like caffeine and sugar... yum, yum!
It’s not any better for me than the fatty stuff or the sausage but since I pretty much stopped drinking and don’t smoke at all I figure I have to allow myself some guilty pleasures so, caffeine and sugar are it.
Hearing regifting mentioned openly made me feel less bad about regifting...
Apparently it’s nothing new anyway and looking around I was able to find a bunch of interesting articles on the topic. I just can’t figure out why I get stuff like this (besides the fact I figure I am way too fat anyway and need to lose weight). Years ago (almost two decades now) when I was younger and didn’t know how to shop for people I was guilty of the ‘sausage’ gift pack – maybe it’s payback for those years I bought it for people.
I so much want to make it simpler for people anyway - a Starbucks card would be more than welcome.
Outside of the prospect of regifting though, I have to admit to being very happy and fortunate to be able to spend time with family. The more time passes, the more I appreciate those people who are family. The more I like them.
Just no more food, please. At least nothing though the mail.
Well, it’s been and gone another Christmas in the books. I had an entry a day or so back that just managed to float off into random bits as Safari went down with the entry unfinished and unsaved in a background tab. Maybe I’ll get back to it (probably not) if I can remember most of what I was trying to say.
Tonight as the family sat around the tree in the orgiastic frenzy of tearing open gifts, my cousin’s daughter spoke those nasty and sacrilegious words. She looked down at her Aunt‘s tree and took in the item sitting under it, still very much tightly wrapped in its plastic sheath and observed, “Oooo... that would make a good regift!”
Regift? Regift! REGIFT?!?!
Regifting is the act of taking a gift that has been received and giving it to somebody else in the guise of a new gift.
Finally, it was out in the open!
The fine art of regifting
Like Post (who is the granddaughter-in-law of etiquette czarina Emily), I have no qualms about regifting when done properly. Carried out carelessly, regifting is a recipe for public humiliation and long-held grudges. Done with finesse and tact, regifting can be a happy holiday experience for all — providing you follow these few do’s and don’ts. Starting with: DO take out the previous gift card. Duh.
So, this year I got a bunch of things I will probably regift, which is okay because it takes some pressure off me in other ways to go out and shop. I don’t know why but I got a bunch of food this year, big honking things with cheeses and dried sausage.
Truthfully though, it’s stuff I won’t eat so, it’s not like I can feel guilty about it. I never had a taste for the cured sausage thing and as time goes on I’m getting a lot more particular about what I put into my body. I have to be, high blood pressure and a lot of this really fatty, high nitrate stuff is a big time no-no for me. So, they’ll wind up being regifted. I’m ashamed to admit it because I know if it was coffee or chocolate I’d be greedily scarfing the stuff down - nothing like caffeine and sugar... yum, yum!
Call it tacky or call it rude, but the real name for this practice is regifting. Here are 5 tips in case you’re stuck with a recyclable gift this year...
It’s not any better for me than the fatty stuff or the sausage but since I pretty much stopped drinking and don’t smoke at all I figure I have to allow myself some guilty pleasures so, caffeine and sugar are it.
Hearing regifting mentioned openly made me feel less bad about regifting...
Before the holidays hit, let’s face facts: If one of the season’s joys is giving, then surely one of its hidden pleasures is “regifting.” Say you receive a gift — a nice gift, like a handsome travel clock — that you can’t use, don’t want or already own. You rewrap it and give it to someone else. You look generous. The recipient is appreciative. And your storage closet just got bigger. Mission accomplished.
Apparently it’s nothing new anyway and looking around I was able to find a bunch of interesting articles on the topic. I just can’t figure out why I get stuff like this (besides the fact I figure I am way too fat anyway and need to lose weight). Years ago (almost two decades now) when I was younger and didn’t know how to shop for people I was guilty of the ‘sausage’ gift pack – maybe it’s payback for those years I bought it for people.
I so much want to make it simpler for people anyway - a Starbucks card would be more than welcome.
Outside of the prospect of regifting though, I have to admit to being very happy and fortunate to be able to spend time with family. The more time passes, the more I appreciate those people who are family. The more I like them.
Just no more food, please. At least nothing though the mail.
Dec 23, 2006
Not that there’s anything wrong with it.
You know, I was just thinking about that Beatle test I took earlier in the week when it occured to me, does anyone want to be a Ringo?
I mean, I like Ringo and I also even have Blast From Your Past lying around here but, is Ringo the Beatle people aspire to be?
Thing is, he has always been the funniest, most low key guy of the group. He’s been in movies, tv and has had a bunch of hits. He’s traveled in some very interesting circles - if you look at the makeup of some his All-Starr bands you’ll see.
This musing on the man caused me to go to Ringo’s official site where he has a bunch of pretty cool videos (pretty cool? I imagine I’m dating myself). Ringo can still belt ’em out. Maybe aspiring to be a Ringo isn’t such a bad thing after all because through it all Ringo is the one who has managed to enjoy the ride the most it seems.
You know, I was just thinking about that Beatle test I took earlier in the week when it occured to me, does anyone want to be a Ringo?
I mean, I like Ringo and I also even have Blast From Your Past lying around here but, is Ringo the Beatle people aspire to be?
Thing is, he has always been the funniest, most low key guy of the group. He’s been in movies, tv and has had a bunch of hits. He’s traveled in some very interesting circles - if you look at the makeup of some his All-Starr bands you’ll see.
This musing on the man caused me to go to Ringo’s official site where he has a bunch of pretty cool videos (pretty cool? I imagine I’m dating myself). Ringo can still belt ’em out. Maybe aspiring to be a Ringo isn’t such a bad thing after all because through it all Ringo is the one who has managed to enjoy the ride the most it seems.
Not to be missed!
Jonathan Winters presents a distinctive reading of “A Christmas Carol,” using a special performing edition prepared by Dickens for his own presentations. Winters recreates Ebenezer Scrooge, Bob Cratchit, Tiny Tim, Jacob Marley’s spirit and the three Christmas ghosts: Past, Present and Future.
If you aren’t in WNYC’s broadcast area, you can still listen to live audio feed via iTunes or Windows Media Player.
Jonathan Winters presents a distinctive reading of “A Christmas Carol,” using a special performing edition prepared by Dickens for his own presentations. Winters recreates Ebenezer Scrooge, Bob Cratchit, Tiny Tim, Jacob Marley’s spirit and the three Christmas ghosts: Past, Present and Future.
If you aren’t in WNYC’s broadcast area, you can still listen to live audio feed via iTunes or Windows Media Player.
Dec 20, 2006
I continue to be amazed.
You know I’m not crazy about our current president and I think we could do a lot better but (and this is a big one), every time I see some ass blaming Bush for the attacks on September 11th and using it as an example of his ineptitude it just turns my stomach.
Fact - Bush was sworn in on January 20, 2001 - the attack was on September 11th 2001. Any fool who runs around believing the diabolical plot came together in just under 8 months and it is the entire fault of GW Bush is really kidding themselves.
MMmmmm? 1998? Mmmmm? Who was in office then?
MMmmmm? 2000? Mmmmm? Who was in office then?
Point I’m trying to make is that there is plenty of blame to go around for what happened that day. Blame Bush for all the stupid policy decisions he has made in the years since September 11th, sure but, stop trying to hang the albatross of the attacks solely around the guy’s neck. Bill Clinton had 8 years to bring Osama Bin Laden to ground and didn’t or couldn’t do it. Even then, it wouldn’t have been a guarantee of the attacks never happening.
Just stop it. If you hate the guy because he’s a Republican, that’s your prerogative but, don’t make those attacks about partisan politics because that wasn’t what they were about. It’s disingenuous and disrespectful so just stop it.
You know I’m not crazy about our current president and I think we could do a lot better but (and this is a big one), every time I see some ass blaming Bush for the attacks on September 11th and using it as an example of his ineptitude it just turns my stomach.
Fact - Bush was sworn in on January 20, 2001 - the attack was on September 11th 2001. Any fool who runs around believing the diabolical plot came together in just under 8 months and it is the entire fault of GW Bush is really kidding themselves.
According to official U.S. government sources, the September 11th attacks were consistent with the mission statement of al-Qaeda. The overarching motivation for the present al-Qaeda campaign was set out in a 1998 fatwa issued by Osama bin Laden, Ayman al-Zawahiri, Abu-Yasir Rifa’i Ahmad Taha, Shaykh Mir Hamzah, and Fazlur Rahman (Amir of the Jihad Movement in Bangladesh, Fazlur Rahman).
MMmmmm? 1998? Mmmmm? Who was in office then?
2000
In March 2000, while still in Germany, Atta contacted 31 different U.S. flight schools to discuss training to fly planes.
Atta traveled to Prague, stayed overnight, and then entered the U.S. on June 3. Atta and other hijackers who had arrived earlier opened bank accounts and continued to check on flight schools.
In July, Atta and Marwan al-Shehhi enrolled at Huffman Aviation in Venice, Florida. Atta claimed to be of royal Saudi descent and presented al-Shehhi as his bodyguard.
Both earned their instrument certificates from the FAA in November. On November 5th, Atta purchased flight deck videos for Boeing 747-200 and Boeing 757-200 models from Sporty’s Pilot Shop in Batavia, Ohio.
On December 11th, Atta purchased additional flight deck videos for Airbus A320 and Boeing 767-300ER models from the same store in Ohio. On December 21st, both Atta and Marwan were granted their pilot licenses. On the 26th or 27th, Atta and Marwan abandoned a Piper Cherokee that had stalled on the runway of Miami International Airport. On the 29th, Atta and Marwan went to the Opa-Locka Airport and practiced on a Boeing 727 simulator.
MMmmmm? 2000? Mmmmm? Who was in office then?
Point I’m trying to make is that there is plenty of blame to go around for what happened that day. Blame Bush for all the stupid policy decisions he has made in the years since September 11th, sure but, stop trying to hang the albatross of the attacks solely around the guy’s neck. Bill Clinton had 8 years to bring Osama Bin Laden to ground and didn’t or couldn’t do it. Even then, it wouldn’t have been a guarantee of the attacks never happening.
Just stop it. If you hate the guy because he’s a Republican, that’s your prerogative but, don’t make those attacks about partisan politics because that wasn’t what they were about. It’s disingenuous and disrespectful so just stop it.
Yes, I know it’s stupid...
...but when I saw the thing I couldn’t resist.
...but when I saw the thing I couldn’t resist.
| You scored 75 John, 28 George, 19 Ringo, and 35 Paul! |
| The Beatle with the highest score is where you rank! For example, if you have 50 John, 5 Paul, 10 George, and 29 Ringo, you’re most like John! |
The test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:
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| Link: The Which Beatle are You Test |
Looking at things with fresh eyes.
This weekend I had the opportunity to act as tour guide for a duo of visitors. I’ve lived in and around New York City for my entire life so, I am quite familiar with it. Problem with something like that is, like anything spectacular or wonderful, if you are around it every day or for a long period of time, you get a bit jaded and begin to take it for granted.
Tourists are a normal part of life in New York City, everyday New Yorkers do their level best to put up with them. We dodge them as they gawk at the sites, we give them directions when they’re lost and if they need some kind of help New Yorkers are actually a lot more big hearted than the clichéd image of New Yorkers and will rise to the occasion of a traveler in need.
We co-exist with tourists somewhat grudgingly though, as they are to us just another obstacle as we go about the running and dodging which is a part of the frenetic pace of life in and around the Big Apple. I love the city but, over the years, my view of it has changed. The city affords us all a wealth of excitement, opportunity and entertainment but, you have to seek it out and it can get very expensive very quickly. Broadway shows can cost as much as $100 per ticket and even though there are ways around that, when you are trying to pay your rent and all the other bills associated with living in the area, something like a Broadway ticket can be viewed as an onerous expense. So, the proximity a person has to one of the world’s most notable theater districts doesn’t necessarily infer one will be able to take advantage of it.
This weekend I was forced to look in and around the city for things to take guests to do, all the things I usually don’t do myself but, if I were a visitor these would be the things I would want to tell people I visited New York and did. I put together a bit of an itinerary and let the chips fall where they would. Surprisingly, I wound up enjoying the weekend as much if not more than my guests. It’s just a reminder of how my view of things can affect my enjoyment of them and how important the lesson is to keep in the forefront of my mind.
This weekend I had the opportunity to act as tour guide for a duo of visitors. I’ve lived in and around New York City for my entire life so, I am quite familiar with it. Problem with something like that is, like anything spectacular or wonderful, if you are around it every day or for a long period of time, you get a bit jaded and begin to take it for granted.
Tourists are a normal part of life in New York City, everyday New Yorkers do their level best to put up with them. We dodge them as they gawk at the sites, we give them directions when they’re lost and if they need some kind of help New Yorkers are actually a lot more big hearted than the clichéd image of New Yorkers and will rise to the occasion of a traveler in need.
We co-exist with tourists somewhat grudgingly though, as they are to us just another obstacle as we go about the running and dodging which is a part of the frenetic pace of life in and around the Big Apple. I love the city but, over the years, my view of it has changed. The city affords us all a wealth of excitement, opportunity and entertainment but, you have to seek it out and it can get very expensive very quickly. Broadway shows can cost as much as $100 per ticket and even though there are ways around that, when you are trying to pay your rent and all the other bills associated with living in the area, something like a Broadway ticket can be viewed as an onerous expense. So, the proximity a person has to one of the world’s most notable theater districts doesn’t necessarily infer one will be able to take advantage of it.
This weekend I was forced to look in and around the city for things to take guests to do, all the things I usually don’t do myself but, if I were a visitor these would be the things I would want to tell people I visited New York and did. I put together a bit of an itinerary and let the chips fall where they would. Surprisingly, I wound up enjoying the weekend as much if not more than my guests. It’s just a reminder of how my view of things can affect my enjoyment of them and how important the lesson is to keep in the forefront of my mind.
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