Life on This Planet

Forgive the blatant advertisement for a book I have not read...but I do enjoy Palast's ranting and I think he is unerringly right in his assessment of the world around us today.

When I was in high school and college, there seemed to be a sense of pride and honor in taking responsibility for fixing the environmental ills of the planet. That urgency and willingness to sacrifice for the greater good dwindled, though, and appeared lost forever not too long ago. But the latest gas-price crisis seems to have rekindled it. I am pleased that the issue is on the top of our minds again, but disappointed and disgusted at the reasons, most of which are selfish, arrogant, and uninformed. I read of ignorant conservatives who preach that the problems are all the fault of liberals, who failed to embrace the rape of ANWR and who insisted that oil drilling be restricted in fragile coastal ecosystems. I read of people who, simply not bright enough to understand that ignorant conservative swill, jump on the bandwagon because their stupidity demands it. Their obligatory curses and condemnations of all things liberal or progressive or even mildly-intelligent are enough to make me want, desperately and with a fervor that should be constrained to things far less important, to decaptitate the bastards and splash giddily in their blood. That's not very nice, so I take it back.

Al Gore's new "slide show" sounds dreadfully boring, on the surface, but his interview today on Fresh Air made me want to take a look. Gore is not likely to be my top choice for President in 2008, but he's unlikely to take last place, either, so I am curious to hear what he says in "An Inconvenient Truth."

Environmental issues used to be more important to me than they are now. It's not because I think they are any less impactful...it's because I think we may already be beyond the point of no return. At this stage, it may be best to enjoy whatever we want, whenever we want, because the human race is not long for this planet. I have no doubt the planet will survive, but the species that roam it will not...would that I could be a fly on the wall in the next iteration of life on this planet!

So, I want to live in the country, on the land...drive a tractor, learn to raise goats, understand how to make cheese, grow okra and tomatoes, and kick back from time to time to breathe in fresh air, listen to sounds unlike any I can hear in the city, and appreciate all the things that humankind has tried for eons to abandon. I have been looking at even more acreage and simple and easy-to-construct homes. If my wife is reading this....let's move!

Old Towns

After spending a day with my sister and my brother & his kids and their spouses, my wife and I decided to take a circuitous route back from Falba to Dallas. We drove north of Interstate 45 for a few miles and then, at Madisonville, took a road west toward Bryan and then veered north, taking a number of side excursions along the way. It turned out to be a much more relaxing, if considerably longer, drive than it would have been had we stayed on the Interstate the entire time. We drove through some interesting small towns along the way, each of which tugged at my interest in living away from the city. One little town appeared to be making a valiant attempt to resurrect a beaten and forgotten old downtown into a much more interesting place. It was, I think, Bremond, though it could have been Hearned...I was too busy looking to pay much attention to the specifics of where were were.

I like old towns whose residents try to rebuild them and make them more attractive and habitable.

Question of Poverty

What causes some people to struggle to overcome incredible odds to succeed in life...achieving wealth, family cohesiveness, fame, etc., etc., etc...while others who have similar opportunities to overcome the odds against them but simply don't try, or don't try hard enough? Is it intellect? Is it some sort of inate capability to fight? Is it nature or nurture? I wish I knew. I read of people who spent years living under bridges, using public restrooms, scraping together bits and pieces for their tiny families, yet working hard to overcome...and succeeding in rising out of poverty and building lucrative careers. And I read about and encounter people who couldn't overcome C- grades in high school to accomplish basic stuff, like getting a job and going to work every day. On the one hand, I feel that those who don't ever rise from poverty probably never got a break...but on the other hand, some of those who succeed didn't get a break, either, they made their own opportunities. Where is the answer? Is it somewhere in between?

My gut tells me it is a mixture. Some people will overcome the most insurmountable odds simply because they refuse to give up. Others will not overcome the slightest barrier simply because they view every barrier as impossible. I suspect that slight difference in experiences can make the difference between being a survivor and a loser. One wrong word, one hapless experience, one positive mentor...any one of them can make the difference. I wish I could capture the positive motivators and bottle them...and then give the bottles away.

Las Origines de Falba

OK, I do not speak Spanish, but maybe I got the title right.

I've been spuckling through the Internet this afternoon, trying to learn things. Spuckling is not a legit word, in case you're wondering. Anyway, I decided to find the origins of Falba, the now-lost town in East Texas, near midway.

I found nothing certain, but I am leaning toward believing that Falba is of Hungarian origin. In Hungarian, Falba means to bond or bonded or embedded in. My guess is that the orginal founders of Falba, Texas were of Hungarian origin. It would be interesting to go to the Falba Cemetary and look at the names of people who are buried there.

Falba Van Trip

Yesterday, as I was returning a rental cargo van to the Enterprise office, I overheard a staff member explaining the special Memorial Day weekend rental rates on mini-vans. He commented that it was a special deal, in that the van could be rented for only $47...and I thought he said it was a super deal because it was a special low weekend rate that carried over an extra day because their offices are closed Monday.

A few minutes later, after completing my rental return, I asked the guy to verify...$47 with Friday pickup and Tuesday return? Yes, he said, it was a super deal. So, I decided to rent a van for our trip to Falba...I like mini-vans on the road. For the price, how could I go wrong?

This afternoon, I went to pick up the mini-van and, just as I was about to go outside to do the walk-around, I noted that it was $47.99 per day; I asked the rental agent to verify that it was actually $47.99 for the entire period. No, he said, it is per day...the regular rate is over $85 per day, and the $47.99 is a super special. I said no, I am not going to rent it...I had understood it to be $47.99 for the period and my wife would treat me as a leper if I agreed to pay $250 to rent a van when we already have a perfectly good car. After gnashing of teeth, the guy said "I'll give it to you." So, it appears I will get what I thought I was going to get in the first place...and I learned that renting mini-vans is a very, very expensive proposition.

Road trip to Falba!

Public

I worked very hard today. Lots of physical effort, moving boxes, stacking books, etc. I am sore...very sore. I want to rest. And I will. More writing later, when I have the time, the inclination, and the willingness to expose myself to being silly in the public eye.

Long Distance Storage

Tomorrow, Thursday, I will arise very early, long before daylight. Once showered, shaved, and dressed, I will grab my cell phone and walk to a plain white cargo van that is parked in front of my house. I will follow a circuitous course to Interstate 35 south and will join the truckers and long-distance commuters on the road, wishing that I had taken time to stop for a cup of coffee, but knowing that the only places open at that hour would be purveyors of something they call coffee but which is, in fact, something wretched and nasty. I will convince myself that Waco, Texas, the spiritual center of born-again religious intolerance and downright crazy people who actually think they speak to, and for, God, is a good place to stop for Starbucks coffee. I am relatively certain that Starbucks has infiltrated the institutions of the religious right, including Waco.

I will stop in Waco and will revel in the caffeine that Starbucks will deliver. If I am feeling particulary good, I might have breakfast in Waco, but it's possible that I might have to stop before Waco...perhaps in West, Texas, which is home to several Czech bakeries. I recall eating a magnificent sausage kolache in one of those bakeries not too many years ago, a kolache with deep sausage flavored deeply with black-pepper and made perfect with the infusion of the heat and flavor of habanero peppers. It was enough to make my soul scream and my eyes tear. So, maybe I will stop in West...but no coffee for me there; they drink weakly-colored, mud-flavored, water and call it coffee.

Whether or not I stop in West, I will almost certainly stop in Waco. I will need gas, as the van has only half a tank as I write this. My cargo, on the way to Austin, will consist of my cell phone, my leather portfolio and contents, and a heavy-duty 2-wheel dolly, an odd assortment of next-to-nothing to take on a 200 mile trip through the state. If I knew someone who needed something transported to Austin, I would be happy to take it...it would keep me company. But I hadn't thought of it, frankly, until just now. Once I get to Austin, which I plan to do before 10:30, I will drive straight to a storage facility on the mid-north side of town. There, I will meet a woman named Janet, who ostensibly is the contact who knows what I am to pick up. I know only that there are boxes...many boxes...that I must retrieve in Austin. I do not know the contents. For all I know, I may be driving to Austin to pick up boxes full of black-market organs for transplantation or boxes full of the remains of people who have been hacked to death by psychotic University of Texas athletes. I'm betting not, but one never knows.

Once I have loaded the cargo van, I will immediately head north, with the objective of moving the contents of the van, whatever they are, to a storage facility near my office. I will then return the cargo van to its proper owner, a rental agency, and head to my office, or to my house.

The excitement of my business is almost beyond comprehension. Those who read this...please, fight your jealosy...you, too, could be doing what I am doing, if only you took the risks!

Pet People and Purchasing Power

During a short time around the "lunch hour" today, I decided to kick back and stop work-related stuff. Well, it seems everything is work-related, but I wanted something interesting. I stumbled across information on the growing (still) trend toward providing goodies for Americans' pets, and giving pets and their people more opportunities to be with one another. Eventually, I came across websites about pet hotels, places to find pet hotels, hotels that have special amenities (with appropriate costs) for pets, etc. Years ago, before I had any sense, I tried to create a PetGuide Chicago, with the idea that I would franchise it all over the country. I knew nothing about business and had not a clue how to market it. It never went anywhere.

I'm back, though, with a deep interest in starting another business that will take advantage of Americans' love for their beasts...and which will meet a need. I'd like to brainstorm by asking anyone reading this blog to share ideas.

Heritage

I wrote recently, just in passing, that "I am my father's son," referring to the fact that I awoke very early one morning. That was, indeed, a trait my dad had; he awoke so early every morning that it surprised me. I was always secretly proud that he was up so early. I never knew what made me proud of that, but something about it did. I think it was drummed into me, albeit gently, that I was from "farm stock" and that, somehow, farm stock was special. Getting up early was a badge of honor. I still see it that way, though I am usually loathe to admit it. It still makes me feel proud when I do awake, for whatever reason, very early. I feel that I have some secret communion with the world at such an hour; it is damn hard to explain, but I really do feel like I am "at one" with the world around me when I am the only one awake and alert and watching the world awake from its nighttime slumber.

There is more to my heritage than being "my father's son." Some of it pains me, as do the attitudes I remember my parents having toward the races as a child. To this day, I equate bigotry with stupidity, though I do not consider my parent stupid. But I am pained by memories of my own flesh and blood spewing vitriolic pronouncements about "Blacks" (or worse) or "Mexicans" (or worse). Those sorts of statements are made by ignorant, indeed stupid, people who allow emotion to control their intellect and whose emotions are controlled by...what? But my parents were good people...how could they have dabbled in the idiocy of the vast wasteland of idiots that roam the earth?

When all is said and done, those painful memories are mere specks in the sea of memories that my parents left me. They molded my thoughts and my attitudes and my beliefs. They did not insist that I subscribe to Christianity or their version of it. They were far smarter than that; they knew that thinking people make their own decisions, far beyond the wash of social tides. I believe they wished I would have been a "good boy" who believed in God and practiced Christian morals. In fact, I think they succeeded in molding me in such a way as to adopt morals that reflect Christian beliefs. But they did not convert me to Christianity; and I am forever grateful that they allowed me my own set of beliefs. My parents, with all their flaws, were wonderful people. I miss them terribly. I wish I could tell them just how much.

This leads to another issue for me. I am not a parent...never was, never will be, never wanted to be. But being a parent has its privliges, not the least of which is creating a being to look out after you when the moon has crossed too many skies, leaving the body and mind unable to meet the challenge. I suppose I will die alone and, quite possibly, with no one to look out for me. It's my punishment for failing to find the amusement in children. The fact that I have been a loner all my life isn't helpful, either, as I have no friends to call on. Oh, I suppose I could impose on people who have been my friends, but it would be such an imposition and so utterly impolite.

One day, maybe not-too-long-coming, I would like to celebrate my parents' lives and the world they helped create by having the children they left behind. I want to talk about who they were, what values they had, what fear they felt, what they wanted for their children, and how their children, specifically I, disappointed them. They will never know how we champion their lives and their memories, but sometimes we have to do it for ourselves. We need to acknowledge them...not in our private little journals, but in public displays of affection and affirmation that they made good choices, as well as bad. We like to think we are the good choices.

Israeli Doctor

Today, I make yet another visit to the doctor in an attempt to get rid of this godawful congestion. He allowed he did not want to give me decongestant, inasmuch as my blood pressure was high when I visited early last week. If Dr. Kime were around, he would fix it. He is the doctor my wife used to use when we lived in Houston. He put cotton that had been soaked in something into her nose; it caused her sinuses to drain rapidly and completely cleared her up. Then he gave her nose drops to keep them clear. But then he moved to Israel. I will not go to Israel just to see the doctor.

Redirect Mondays

There is something decidedly wrong with Monday morning. What it is...is this. I have to go to the office. This goes against my grain. I have no interest in this. I want to do something completely different. My objective this week will be to determine how I can redirect my Mondays so that, when I get up Monday mornings, I will look forward to whatever it is I need to do. At the moment, that is definitely not the case. I want more weekends...longer, fuller, more of them.

Voice Automation

My wife just had a bizarre experience with automated voice technology and I just had to document it. She called to have some prescriptions renewed. Among the things she was asked to do was to verify our address. Our address is something like 333 East Pace Drive, abbreviated 333 E. Pace Dr. We never use our full 9-digit zip code, but apparently the pharmacy does. Anyway, when asking my wife to verify the address, the automated voice gave our address as:

333 East Pace Doctor (understandable...the pharmacy naturally would interpret the abbreviation for "drive" to be the abbreviation for "doctor" instead).

Then, when giving our zip code, it did not read out a string of numbers but, instead, read out "seven hundred fifty-two million, four hundred eighty-one thousand, five hundred twenty-five."

It asked her to verify that our address is:

333 East Pace Doctor
Dallas, Texas Seven hundred fifty-two million, four hundred eighty-one thousand, five hundred twenty-five

My wife was laughing hysterically at this.

I think the system needs a bit of tweaking.

Cheese from Island of Pag

More on Pag Cheese

I wrote to a company on the Island of Pag, inquiring whether it sells its cheese in the USA and, if not, whether it would be interested in establishing a distribution point for North America (not that I know anything about setting up such a distribution process). I got a quick reply, which follows:

Dear sir,

Thank you for your interest in our cheese. We didn't export any cheese to US or Canada yet, but we are interested in having our cheese overseas.
Pag cheese is hard cheese produced exclusively from sheep milk from island of Pag. It is in a process of getting international DPO (Denomination of Protected Origin), and we have approval to export it in EU states. Our company produce about 40 tonnes of Pag cheese per year. Its price is 16 eur/kg (without taxes and transport costs).
More about us you can see at www.sirena.hr

Best Regards,

Sime Gligora
Sirena - mala sirana d.o.o.

Kolan, otok Pag.

I learned something; the cheese is produced from sheep (not goat) milk and is pretty damn pricy! 16 euro/kg translates into roughly $9.20 per pound (if I calculated correctly), without any shipping and taxes. It would be astronomically high in the the U.S., I am afraid. I also learned my first taste of what was called "goat cheese from the Island of Pag" may not have been the real deal; it was soft and very sharp flavored. Later, I had a similarly-flavored, though hard, cheese, that sounds more like what these folks are selling.

Life's too short for bad bacon

I read an interesting piece this morning about bacon. According to local chefs (Dallas area), hickory smoke imparts an acrid, overwhelming flavor that ruins the subtle flavors of bacon. Better, they say, is apple-smoked bacon or bacon cured through smoking with other hard woods. Maple-cured bacon, bacon cured in brown sugar, or cured with corn cobs all are given various levels of "not so great" assessments by chefs. Hickory-smoked bacon, though, is viewed as acceptable and even best for BLTs.

One chef indicates that he hates thin bacon. I agree. Thin bacon is not bacon. It is something else. Not bacon. Bacon should be thick. It should be flavorful. It should make the day better. A day without bacon is not as good as a day with bacon. Pure and simple. And if you're going to have bacon, which is generally agreed to be not-so-good-for-the-heart, at least have good bacon. As one of the chefs says, "Life's too short for bad bacon."

The Most Important Thing

"What is the most important thing you have done in your life?"

I read that question, and the response given by the person to whom it was asked, in an old obituary I read this morning. The obituary was for Verna Hobson, written by her son, Archie Hobson, a writer for the Santiago Times. Verna Hobson died on April 13, 2004. After having read her obituary, I wish I had known her. She was 81 years old when she died. If you're interested in reading what I read, and what moved me, you'll have to go to this page and scroll down to find the obit.

Aside from finding the life and times of Ms. Hobson interesting, I found terrifying that question posed to her by one of her doctors, what is the most important thing you have done in your life? She responded without hesitatation: “take care of my grandchildren.” I do not have an answer that comes to mind so quickly... That simple question should be easy to answer, but it is not. Is that because I have too many things from which to choose? I think not. It is just the opposite. The real question becomes: "have you ever done anything important in your life?" That, I have. I have loved good people, and that's important, but it somehow does not seem enough. It is easy to love good people. Has that made a difference? Yes, it has I suppose, but is that enough? How can we know whether what we have done is enough? Is there any real measure of "enough?"

Whether it is enough or not, I think the most important thing I have done in my life is to commit to love and care for my wife my entire life. But that is easy to do; she is easy to love. I'm the one who's hard to love. It's odd, sitting here this early Sunday morning, that it seems to me that the important things I have done, few though they are, involve people and caring for them. Forming my company hasn't been important. Employing people hasn't been important. Building or buying a house hasn't been important. All of them are tangentially so, but none seems to be inherently important; they are important only to the extent that they support those things that really matter.

Those thoughts brought me to another question, again about value. I have on so many occasions wished I had lots of money...I want to be independently wealthy or, at least, independently solvent. Would that bring happiness? Not likely. It's easy to recognize, though, as I sit here giving dedicated thought to the topic, that what it would give me is peace of mind that I could provide for the people I love. So, it's not the money, it's what it could do for people. Obviously. But is it always so obvious? I think I could be equally happy and content to know that my wife and I have just enough to get by comfortably on a little plot of land in the woods, with room for a garden and a place to raise the chickens and goats. No huge sum of money required, just an opportunity to be together, focus our attention on living, and turn our attention away from the things that drag us down.

What is the most important thing I have ever done? Maybe I am doing it. Maybe thinking about how to settle into a long and happy life of retirement with my wife is the most important thing I can do, to make both our lives happier.

All the News I Want to Share

Today, I am my father's son. It's just after 4:30 am and I've already washed dishes, made coffee, and done other odds & ends. This is not typical of me. I blame my early rising on my early-to-bed behavior yesterday, which I further blame on my ongoing head congestion. I feel as though I hear sounds (those few I hear) through a thick wall of honey.

If I were energetic and felt better, in general, I might use this unaccustomed extra time to do something useful. Instead, I sit at my desk, drinking my coffee, thinking about doing something useful.

Well, if I can't do something useful, perhaps I can share some useful information...useful to someone, perhaps. Yesterday, I happened upon a website devoted to information about the U.S. Civil War. I am not a particularly avid follower of information about the Civil War (i.e., I don't keep track...it's not an area of interest), but the website I encountered was interesting. The website is www.civil-war.net. One page I found particularly interesting was a timeline of events that led up to the Civil War, which can be found at http://www.civil-war.net/pages/timeline.asp. Other "stuff" of interest includes the now-famous Sullivan Ballou letter, the Gettysburg Address, and much, much more. It's really a treasure-trove of information about the Civil War. I have no idea who created it, nor who maintains it.

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My favorite wife, who looks out after me and pays attention to things that matter to me, came across a Guide to Mexican Cheeses in a local newspaper magazine section recently. Here are some cheeses mentioned in the article:

El Charro Cotija: hard, crumbly white cheese with sharp & salty taste; good for adding kick to salads. Comparable to, but drier than, feta and parmesan. Does not melt.

La Vaquita Panela: moist white cheese similar to queso fresco. Mild, slightly sweet. Good for breaking off a chunk & eating cold, or slicing and drizzling with olive oil. Softens, but does not melt.

La Villita Queso Oaxaca: Braided ball of soft, white cheese that is mild and creamy. Good for quesadillas, grilled sandwiches, other recipes that call for mild, meltable cheese. Comparable to Monterey Jack or Mozzerella. Melts perfectly.

La Vaquita Queso Fresco: Soft, crumbly, moist white cheese. Mild flavor, great for sprinkling on salads or in wraps. Softens but does not melt.

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According to the news media, Ray Nagin won the mayorship of New Orleans yesterday. It was a tight race, they say. It will be interesting to follow what happens in the city, now that the 2006 hurricane season is almost upon us.

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It's well after 5:00 am now, so obviously I have allowed myself to weave back and forth between writing in my blog, reading news of the day, and taking a leisurely stroll through items of interest on the Internet. I will give up blogging for the time being. Maybe I will return to write more before the rest of the world awakes.

Goat Cheese from the Island of Pag

One of my favorite experiences while in Dubrovnik was tasting the wonderful flavor of goat cheese from the Island of Pag. My first night in Dubrovnik, as I was wandering through the old town, I encountered several people I knew who were also there to attend a meeting and we agreed to have dinner at a nice seafood restaurant. The appetizers included an option of goat cheese from the Island of Pag, so we selected that. It was beyond wonderful, it was exceptional in every way; I would pay big money to have it again.

I have searched since returing to the US and believe I may have found the same thing. I am trying to convince the producers to let me, little ole me, be their distributor for the U.S. Is that brazen, or what? I am awaiting their response.

Even if I cannot represent them, I want to eat the product; it is beyond wonderful. I want to raise goats now. I want to make cheese. I want to contribute to the wonders of the world!

A Brief Visit to Boston

The following notes are from a trip my wife and I made to Boston a few weeks ago.

May 6, 2006
My wife and I had breakfast at TGI Friday’s at DFW airport at about 8:30 am. My wife had a bacon cheeseburger, which I found appalling at such an early hour, so I opted for a plain burger. They had no jalapeños at all. They thought they had battered pieces, but no.

On the plane, I started circling all the places on the American Airlines maps that we (one or both of us) had been. London, Newcastle, Paris, Lisbon, Barcelona, Amsterdam, Berlin, Munich, Prague, Vienna, Stockholm, Helsinki, Brisbane, Sydney, Melbourne, Dhahran, Auckland, Wellington, Christchurch, Muenster, Guadalajara, Cancun, Monterrey, Mexico City, Vancouver, Calgary, Toronto, Montreal, Halifax. The U.S. cities were too numerous to name.

That afternoon, after we arrived in Boston where we were met by my wife’s sister and her boyfriend, we went to Club Caravan in Revere. It’s a tired old place, looking much like it sprang from the 1940s as a big band club, but had gone through a lot since then. My sister-in-law’s boyfriend knew the guy on the keyboards, a fellow named Ray Santisi. Other band members played trombone, sax, bass, percussion, etc. A young woman from Paris was there as a guest and a sang a couple of songs. The door to the east side of the place was open, letting in light and noise…and the occasional view of a passing T-train. The place was a jazz-joint for geezers, mostly, with a modest $5 cover charge. That notwithstanding, it was an enjoyable place, relaxing and real; the people there were being who they are, not pretending to be someone they are not. I like that. I liked the music, the atmosphere, the grittiness of it.

An interesting tidbit about the place, as told by the boyfriend: He pointed out the numbers on each table, metal numbers affixed to the edge. They used to have lights on them, he said, and the tables had telephones which could be called from other phones in the place by dialing the table numbers. Guys would watch women on the dance floor and, when they returned to their numbered tables, guys would call them to ask them for a dance. The woman could accept or not…and no one was any wiser of the success or the failure of the request.

Later that afternoon, we went to Santarpio’s for dinner, where we had lamb & beef & sausage combos and pizzas. My wife and I shared a hot pepper, garlic, and pepperoni pizza, which was wonderful.

That evening, we went to Wonderland Greyhound Park, a tired old dog-racing track. Neither my wife nor I had ever been to the dog races, so we were intrigued by the idea.



Wonderland is far, far beyond its heyday, with badly chipped paint and an obviously overlooked maintenance schedule. Only a handful of people, compared to what it must have hosted in its prime, were present on that Saturday night. The betting booths were staffed, for the most part, by hard-faced middle-aged women who tried to smile, but whose hearts weren't in it. Everyone fit the atmosphere, because they, too, were well past their prime. Their eyes were vacant or desperate, I can’t decide which, and they looked to me like this was their last best hope for achieving something, even if it were a cheap bet that returned $4 on a $2 wager.

The “rabbit” the dogs chased was called “Speedy,” an apt name for a creature that had to stay in front of some phenomenally fast creatures that streaked around the track.

May 7, 2006
Our hosts took us to Donna’s in Revere for breakfast, one of their favorite haunts. The walls are painted with dinosaurs and Disney-look characters. It was good food and very definitely a non-touristy place…a real local spot that meets the needs of hungry families.

After breakfast, we took a look at the Madonna Queen National Shrine in East Boston. It has a 35-foot statue of the Virgin Mary at the end of a large “mall” of stone. It overlooks Boston harbor (at a distance) and is really an impressive place. It’s near the Orione House, a place that I believe is an old folks home.

Our hosts took us to the Saugas Ironworks, which is ostensibly the oldest ironworks in the United States. It’s now a national park, with huge old water wheels and bellows and other parts of the ironworks preserved. After trudging around there for awhile, we stopped by Threadwell’s Ice Cream for a treat.

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There's more to all this, but I first have to find my notes. I don't quite understand why I find it so interesting to document these relatively mundane experiences; they are interesting to me and we enjoy them, but I am not sure they warrant being recorded for posterity. Oh, well, they are being recorded, so I'll just have to get used to it.

Congestion-Induced Comments

It's Saturday morning and I can literally hear and feel every beat of my heart. The congestion in my head is so bad that every beat of my heart makes a noise...'thump, thump, thump' goes my heart and it's driving me nuts. Of course, I'd rather hear it than not, all other things being equal, but it would be SOOOO nice to have this congestion leave me. Every beat seems to send a shudder through the middle of my head, too, so I can feel the congested knot in the middle of my head slam against the exerior of my windpipe, somewhere deep inside my 'surely-it's-exploding' head. Pills seem to be doing no good. I may take matters into my own hands...go for a high speed run around the block, with the objective of unblocking this mass of stuff in my head, causing it to pour forth. Eeeccchh! This is miserable.

I have not flown United Airlines in quite some time, but I do know I have a United frequent flyer number (but no clue where the card it). My recent trip to Dubrovnik made me wonder whether there might be any way I could get mileage credit, so I started exploring. My return trip was booked on United, although I flew Lufthansa through a code-sharing arrangement. I'm going to try to get United to give me credit for the return miles. The flight from Boston to Amsterday was on Northwest, though I flew KLM. I have no idea whether I have a Northwest of KLM mileage card, but doubt it. Had I flown American Airlines, my least favorite but most frequently used carrier, I would have earned enormous numbers of miles, but would have spent far more money for the tickets. I am sure I won't earn enough miles for free flights, etc. on this recent trip, but it's possible I can get enough miles to trade for magazine subscriptions or other such low-value goodies. I'm always willing to accept the almost valueless 'gifts' from near-bankrupt airlines.

I came upon a list of things my wife and I would like to do/see during our lifetimes. The list that follows is not all-inclusive; we have many more items on it, but somehow some of the items have been separated from the list I came across. I'm documenting it here for easy reference and as an incentive for wealthy readers of this blog to take pity on us and fund some or all of the trips we would like to take. Understand, some of the items on the list only my wife and I understand, thanks to our shorthand communication with one another.

• Aransas Pass "lodge"
  
• Grand Canyon & Sedona
  
• Halifax, Nova Scotia
  
• Fort Worth Livestock Show & Rodeo
  
• Tierra del Fuego
  
• Pacific Coast
  
• Cape Code
  
• Boston Ice Cream Festival
  
• New England Fall foliage
  
• Fjords of Norway
  
• Las Vegas
  
• Tarrantula Train
  
• Albuquerque Balloon Festival

Congested Thoughts

I'm going to ease back into this. No 1000-word diatribes. No, more likely, I'll be doing short paragraphs, punctuated with periods of silence and remorse for my disconnected brain.

I remain impressed with Dubrovnik, though time and distance does tend to wash away all rose-tinted perceptions. Dubrovnik has its faults, just like anyplace else. Its reliance on tourism, for example, is a fault of immense proportions, yet one that is absolutely necessary to its resurgence. "You can never go home again" applies not only to people, but to places. Dubrovnik will never be the Dubrovnik of old, I suspect, but it is a shell of its former self and that shell is more attractive than the real thing in so many other places.


What is causing me the most difficulty at the moment is not my lack of memory of Dubrovnik...I remember it all...but my unwillingness to cope with this godawful congestion. I am ready to scream. I 'd like to write about all my experiences, but I am afraid they would be colored badly by my present physical sensation of breathing wax, hearing voices through concrete and syrup, and feeling the weight of ten oxen in my nose.

Enough. This won't work. I will write again when I am younger, stronger, taller, and more articulate. I will write again when my brain is unclouded with the clutter of clogged sinuses.

A valiant try...but no more for now.

Randooooolica

After writing a bit (and copying much more) of Khalil Gibran, I decided to post some random notes of not-so-important topics.

* I'm hoping to go to Falba over Memorial Day.
* My newest employee quit yesterday, due to "lack of challenge." Who cares.
* I watched a show on TV tonight about the lives of "little people" (dwarves). Poignant and impressive. Most of us 'normals' are so oblivious to people with problems that they just have to cope with...not options, they must cope. More power to them and may we all one day understand and applaud them.
* Another trip to Austin late this month, this time in a rented cargo van (I HATE to drive them) late this month, to get boxes of client crap that should have been destroyed years ago. Ah, such is life.
* I want to build a boat. A wooden boat. Something I can drift in, watching fish swim by. No oars, no motor, no skis attached. No racing. Just a simple boat. I don't know how. I do not like reading instructions. I may not build a boat.
* I did not order a new notebook computer today. I wanted to. I did not. I am ashamed. I am proud. I have no right to shame or pride over something so fucking simple. How arrogant of me.
* I witnessed two version so of geezerhood in Dubrovnik; one was the style I embrace, that is, people who think young enough to go for the unusual, experience the odd, and try to love it all...the other was the style that seeks McDonald's at every corner, wants room service in every hostel, expects English from every mouth, and adores George Bush through garments and tatoos. Geezerhood, in my vision, is more closely aligned to the former. The latter is the embodiment of nastiness and idiocy. But if I'm trying to be all-loving, I will forgive the ignorant assholes. Am I not gentle, or what?
* I bought a CD of traditional Croation music; I listened to it tonight. I now want to have a party, with the music playing in the background...I will serve a meal of grilled fresh sardines, seasoned with sea salt and olive oil, served with bread, with entres of loads of octopus and calimari in wonderfully spiced red sauce, and with fine pizza on the side. We will be outdoors, on a screened porch, with a bit of room for dancing. Nice red and white regional wines. It will be lovely. Amazing what music can do, yes?
* Pizza in Dubrovnik is wonderful. Could it be its proximity to Italy, just across the Adriatic sea? Word is in Dubrovnik that it is the precise reason.

I'm getting into travelogue...I must stop.

Khalil Gibran: A Few Words from a Kindred Spirt (well, sort of)

It's so easy to get out of the habit...or modest discipline...of blogging. My eight days (or thereabouts) in Dubrovnik gave me the opportunity (both real and imagined) to be 'unable' to find the time or Internet access to blog. While I probably needed the respite, it gave me an opportunity to think about what I am writing about. Mostly, I write about wishes and work. I write, occasionally, about real experiences, but generally it comes down to wishes and work.

This is not good. I need to write, at least occasionally, about things more profound than my experience with a staff member's departure. So, tonight, I read something that I find intriguing, interesting, true, full of image and imagination, and powerful even in its adoption of and reverence for a power that I do not acknowledge, at least not as a physical entity. The piece is powerful and makes me wonder, is there a way one person can really change ideas, views, and visions of the world? The answer, I suppose, is in the poem. It has done it. The task is simply incomplete, but the poem is a start. This poem is more profound that what I have said, in any blog I have written. I copied it, word for word, and give full credit to the author, Khalil Gibran. My Dubrovnik travelogues can wait; I think Khalil Gibran's words are more meaningful tonight.



A Poet's Voice XV


Part One

The power of charity sows deep in my heart, and I reap and gather the wheat in bundles and give them to the hungry.

My soul gives life to the grapevine and I press its bunches and give the juice to the thirsty.

Heaven fills my lamp with oil and I place it at my window to direct the stranger through the dark.

I do all these things because I live in them; and if destiny should tie my hands and prevent me from so doing, then death would be my only desire. For I am a poet, and if I cannot give, I shall refuse to receive.

Humanity rages like a tempest, but I sigh in silence for I know the storm must pass away while a sigh goes to God.

Human kinds cling to earthly things, but I seek ever to embrace the torch of love so it will purify me by its fire and sear inhumanity from my heart.

Substantial things deaden a man without suffering; love awakens him with enlivening pains.

Humans are divided into different clans and tribes, and belong to countries and towns. But I find myself a stranger to all communities and belong to no settlement. The universe is my country and the human family is my tribe.

Men are weak, and it is sad that they divide amongst themselves. The world is narrow and it is unwise to cleave it into kingdoms, empires, and provinces.

Human kinds unite themselves one to destroy the temples of the soul, and they join hands to build edifices for earthly bodies. I stand alone listening to the voice of hope in my deep self saying, "As love enlivens a man's heart with pain, so ignorance teaches him the way of knowledge." Pain and ignorance lead to great joy and knowledge because the Supreme Being has created nothing vain under the sun.


Part Two

I have a yearning for my beautiful country, and I love its people because of their misery. But if my people rose, stimulated by plunder and motivated by what they call "patriotic spirit" to murder, and invaded my neighbor's country, then upon the committing of any human atrocity I would hate my people and my country.

I sing the praise of my birthplace and long to see the home of my children; but if the people in that home refused to shelter and feed the needy wayfarer, I would convert my praise into anger and my longing to forgetfulness. My inner voice would say, "The house that does not comfort the need is worthy of naught by destruction."

I love my native village with some of my love for my country; and I love my country with part of my love for the earth, all of which is my country; and I love the earth will all of myself because it is the haven of humanity, the manifest spirit of God.

Humanity is the spirit of the Supreme Being on earth, and that humanity is standing amidst ruins, hiding its nakedness behind tattered rags, shedding tears upon hollow cheeks, and calling for its children with pitiful voice. But the children are busy singing their clan's anthem; they are busy sharpening the swords and cannot hear the cry of their mothers.

Humanity appeals to its people but they listen not. Were one to listen, and console a mother by wiping her tears, other would say, "He is weak, affected by sentiment."

Humanity is the spirit of the Supreme Being on earth, and that Supreme Being preaches love and good-will. But the people ridicule such teachings. The Nazarene Jesus listened, and crucifixion was his lot; Socrates heard the voice and followed it, and he too fell victim in body. The followers of The Nazarene and Socrates are the followers of Deity, and since people will not kill them, they deride them, saying, "Ridicule is more bitter than killing."

Jerusalem could not kill The Nazarene, nor Athens Socrates; they are living yet and shall live eternally. Ridicule cannot triumph over the followers of Deity. They live and grow forever.


Part Three

Thou art my brother because you are a human, and we both are sons of one Holy Spirit; we are equal and made of the same earth.

You are here as my companion along the path of life, and my aid in understanding the meaning of hidden Truth. You are a human, and, that fact sufficing, I love you as a brother. You may speak of me as you choose, for Tomorrow shall take you away and will use your talk as evidence for his judgment, and you shall receive justice.

You may deprive me of whatever I possess, for my greed instigated the amassing of wealth and you are entitled to my lot if it will satisfy you.

You may do unto me whatever you wish, but you shall not be able to touch my Truth.

You may shed my blood and burn my body, but you cannot kill or hurt my spirit.

You may tie my hands with chains and my feet with shackles, and put me in the dark prison, but who shall not enslave my thinking, for it is free, like the breeze in the spacious sky.

You are my brother and I love you. I love you worshipping in your church, kneeling in your temple, and praying in your mosque. You and I and all are children of one religion, for the varied paths of religion are but the fingers of the loving hand of the Supreme Being, extended to all, offering completeness of spirit to all, anxious to receive all.

I love you for your Truth, derived from your knowledge; that Truth which I cannot see because of my ignorance. But I respect it as a divine thing, for it is the deed of the spirit. Your Truth shall meet my Truth in the coming world and blend together like the fragrance of flowers and becoming one whole and eternal Truth, perpetuating and living in the eternity of Love and Beauty.

I love you because you are weak before the strong oppressor, and poor before the greedy rich. For these reasons I shed tears and comfort you; and from behind my tears I see you embraced in the arms of Justice, smiling and forgiving your persecutors. You are my brother and I love you.


Part Four

You are my brother, but why are you quarreling with me? Why do you invade my country and try to subjugate me for the sake of pleasing those who are seeking glory and authority?

Why do you leave your wife and children and follow Death to the distant land for the sake of those who buy glory with your blood, and high honor with your mother's tears?

Is it an honor for a man to kill his brother man? If you deem it an honor, let it be an act of worship, and erect a temple to Cain who slew his brother Abel.

Is self-preservation the first law of Nature? Why, then, does Greed urge you to self-sacrifice in order only to achieve his aim in hurting your brothers? Beware, my brother, of the leader who says, "Love of existence obliges us to deprive the people of their rights!" I say unto you but this: protecting others' rights is the noblest and most beautiful human act; if my existence requires that I kill others, then death is more honorable to me, and if I cannot find someone to kill me for the protection of my honor, I will not hesitate to take my life by my own hands for the sake of Eternity before Eternity comes.

Selfishness, my brother, is the cause of blind superiority, and superiority creates clanship, and clanship creates authority which leads to discord and subjugation.

The soul believes in the power of knowledge and justice over dark ignorance; it denies the authority that supplies the swords to defend and strengthen ignorance and oppression - that authority which destroyed Babylon and shook the foundation of Jerusalem and left Rome in ruins. It is that which made people call criminals great mean; made writers respect their names; made historians relate the stories of their inhumanity in manner of praise.

The only authority I obey is the knowledge of guarding and acquiescing in the Natural Law of Justice.

What justice does authority display when it kills the killer? When it imprisons the robber? When it descends on a neighborhood country and slays its people? What does justice think of the authority under which a killer punishes the one who kills, and a thief sentences the one who steals?

You are my brother, and I love you; and Love is justice with its full intensity and dignity. If justice did not support my love for you, regardless of your tribe and community, I would be a deceiver concealing the ugliness of selfishness behind the outer garment of pure love.


Conclusion

My soul is my friend who consoles me in misery and distress of life. He who does not befriend his soul is an enemy of humanity, and he who does not find human guidance within himself will perish desperately. Life emerges from within, and derives not from environs.

I came to say a word and I shall say it now. But if death prevents its uttering, it will be said tomorrow, for tomorrow never leaves a secret in the book of eternity.

I came to live in the glory of love and the light of beauty, which are the reflections of God. I am here living, and the people are unable to exile me from the domain of life for they know I will live in death. If they pluck my eyes I will hearken to the murmers of love and the songs of beauty.

If they close my ears I will enjoy the touch of the breeze mixed with the incebse of love and the fragrance of beauty.

If they place me in a vacuum, I will live together with my soul, the child of love and beauty.

I came here to be for all and with all, and what I do today in my solitude will be echoed by tomorrow to the people.

What I say now with one heart will be said tomorrow by many hearts

Khalil Gibran

Dubrovnik Lessions

As I begin to think about preparing for my return trip home from Dubrovnik, some things enter my mind: never trust weather reports; pack light, but pack enough to get you through without washing; always take lots of cold medications, for day and night relief; don't forget the nail clippers; take more money than you think you will need; make a record of your ATM password that translates to foreign machines.

The weather here has been beautiful, for the most part...sunny and nice, with a few intervals of showers. Cool at night, warm and comfortable during the day. Forecasts called for lows of 50F, highs of 60F, and rain. I packed accordingly. I needed short sleeve shirts, a windbreaker (for boat rides), and more of them. Speaking of which, I packed light...very light. It's an admirable thing, but unless you know about the availability of laundry services, unwise.

I caught a godawful cold not long after I arrived. By Wednesday, I had lost my voice and was coughing constantly, had a fever, and felt absolutely miserable. Thanks to some people who were also attending the meeting, I got by with donated cough suppressants, nighttime and daytime cold remedies, etc., but I needed more. Today, since I have run out of all donated drugs, I will try the old-town to see if I can find a pharmacy that is open on Sunday...we'll see.

My fingernails are getting in the way of my typing...no clippers! Always have an extra pair in the dop kit.

I have run through money faster than I expected, and I can't really account for it...I just know I ran through it. And it will be hard to get more, because the ATMs do not have letters on the keys. My ATM password is a 4-letter word. I do not recall with numbers correspond to those letters, so I am unable to safely use an ATM to get much-needed money. I may try, anyway, hoping I remember which letters correspond to which numbers. This happened to me in Mexico...but my wife used her card. Lesson learned on trip number two with the same issues facing me.

I'm not really anxious to leave this place, but am looking forward to going home and seeing my wife. The two of us will come back here one day. I advise all of you to consider doing the same. It's amazing how a city that, only 14 years ago, was under constant rocket attack, could have recovered so quickly and retained its exceptional beauty. How anyone could attack such a beautiful place is beyond me.

Dubrovnik Too

This is my next to last night in Dubrovnik. Today, I spent time with a colleague and his wife, cruising the harbor area and northward, stopping twice on islands that are spectacularly pretty. I hope to be able to post some of the photos I took and to write at some length about my experiences in this beautiful area. I have never had any interest in coming to this area; that has all changed. I now want to come back here and visit all around the Adriatic and Mediterranean.

I will try to call my wife tomorrow morning (her time); I haven't spoken to her since Sunday last, which is very hard to deal with.

More later.

Dubrovnik

I haven't been able to blog for various reasons, not the least of which is a bad computer battery and problems with Internet access. Here's a very short one.

Dubrovnik is beautiful! Incredible city, just gorgeous! I would like to take a vacation here some day. Others who are here are doing/have done just that. Split, Monte Negro, Bosnia Herzogovina, and other places close by are said to be spectacular, and inexpensive. I've only seen the immediate areas around here. Suffice it to say I'm impressed.

I've been writing lots of notes, which I will use to write more later. In the interim, I need to get back to the reception/trade show. I am using my computer in the registration area...wireless Internet is slick.

Sharply Defined Clouds in the Sky

It's not even the weekend and I awoke early...what a strange situation! Loud claps of thunder and brilliant flashes of lightening awoke me early today. There is something peaceful and gentle about a fierce thunderstorm; as I lay in bed, under the covers, it felt good to know that the storm was in full swing outside, but I was tucked comfortably in bed and could have, if not for the call of the office, slept in for hours.

There's an unstable sky outside this morning, but I already see evidence the storms are passing. Grey & blue & white clouds, all sharply defined and intense, are moving across the sky, leaving clear, crip air behind. I've already been outdoors and the coolness of the morning is gratifying; if only it would stay this way I would be happy, but this is Dallas and the day will warm and the air will become steamy.

For now, though, the skies of Dallas are pleasing. The air is cool, the harshness of urban pollution has been washed from the sky, and all is right with the world of a geezer.

This may be the last blog for awhile, depending on the availability of Internet access from my notebook computer in Dubrovnik. I leave tomorrow morning for Boston, with my wife, to visit her sister...then, Sunday afternoon I board a plane for Amsterdam, changing there for a flight to Frankfurt, and changing there for a flight to Dubrovnik. Rush, rush, rush, with little time between flights. Would that I could do it in slow motion, saving myself the stress. But it will be fun, nonetheless. If I can blog from Dubrovnik, I will. If not, I will record my experiences on my hip-pocket notepad and will record my experiences on this blog upon my return.

Two Guys from Italy: A Reason to Tell the Truth, the Whole Truth

A tradition at my office is that we shut the office during lunch on the first day a new employee starts. We take the employee to lunch at Two Guys from Italy and intrude on the new staff member's private life, asking questions about siblings, friends, family, etc. We did not do that with our newest employee because a couple of us were out of the office when she started...and by the time we got back, she was gone, tending to family matters surrounding her grandfather's funeral in Louisiana.

We resurrected the tradition today, shutting the office doors and heading over to the restaurant, an old-style, gritty old place with plastic grapes and empty bottles of chianti hanging from the ceiling. It's an old place, been around for years, and I like grittiness, the lack of pretention, and the good food. My usual is fettucine al mare, a fabulous dish at $5.95 that includes shrimp, clams, calamari, fettucine, tomatoes, onions, etc., etc. and is spicy enough to make my nose run just a touch. They serve enough for two people in a $5.95 dish, but I never fail to finish. Today, I was proud that I limited to one the number of tomato splashes I got on my shirt.

Anyway, we inaugurated our new person today. We learned all about her family, her sister's ribbing of her, her trip to Italy on the cheap, and lots more. Her stories of her family's experiences in New Orleans during and after Katrina were heart wrenching. So far, I like her. She listens to NPR in the morning, which boosted her quite alot in my assessment. She volunteered at some point that she's not very religious and she appears to lean left politically and has a sociology degree My kind of woman. She's young and energetic, I think, so she should make some good contributions.

I had an opportunity today to tell the president of the association that is our newest client that the association's rigid "we don't refund registration fees" policy is a bad policy destined to wreck the organization's reputation among its members. She and I argued about this a bit in Austin a few weeks ago. I expressed my opinion that, if someone says they or a family member were ill, making attendance impossible or inadvisable, the best policy would be to refund the money. The association's policy is modeled on Gestapo tactics: you don't show, for any reason, and we keep your money...if we are nice, you can apply it, less a 20% administrative fee, to the conference next year. I told her I thought the policy was bullshit and deserved to be shit-canned, considering that it reflected current thinking of the 1970s. I await her reply. Fortunately, the association is a new client and we're not used to the money yet, so we can afford to lose them if it comes to that.

I am tired. I will stop this for now. If you're new to my blog, please explore it. I wonder if anyone, aside from family, really finds any merit or interest or value in this thing. It's OK that it is, in fact, primarily for me, but I do have a sense that it should open someone else's eyes. I hope so, anyway.

Anchovies & Green Olives

I just ate two anchovie-stuffed green olives...at 10:45 pm...and that changed the world for me. Now, I know the proper snack for this time of night. Life is good, as long as green olives and anchovies can coexist in harmony in my mouth. Late night snacks should all be so good.

Easter Island--An Interesting Article

I just read a piece from the Santiago Times that I found fascinating. It's about competing positions on whether allow gambling casinos on Easter Island...but read the entire article for a really interesting story! I learned something from it...or at least I was reminded of something I've long since forgotten.

All Things Considered is 35 Years Old

NPR's All Things Considered is 35 years old today. It was first broadcast on May 3, 1971. I had no idea. It's a wonderful program that deserves to be recognized...and listened to. You can always check it out online on the NPR website.

Buffalo Blather

I ate buffalo tonight. Buffalo tacos. While the meat had a flavor that was a bit unusual, it grew on me after awhile. It certainly is lean meat; I like that about it. My wife and I bought a couple of pounds of buffalo meat not long ago and froze it. Recently, my wife made an interesting dish of ground buffalo meat, canned tomatoes, spices, and black beans. Very good! And she made another interesting dish last night, with habañero sausage, canned tomatoes, and other stuff (I don't recall) that was wonderful.

The tacos were good tonight. I did my usual, spicing the meat with massive doses of chile powder, a bit of ground oregano, lots of ground cumin, garlic powder, salt & pepper. I chop onions and tomatoes to add to the meat after it's in the taco shell. And, I put a bit of Pace picante sauce on the tacos. And tonight, I added some habañero salsa, which tastes wonderful and very nearly caused me to shed my skin. My god, that stuff is hot!

I've been walking on eggshells since Monday, hoping that my conversation with my recently-hired employee and my wife's emails with her would result in her return. She left after only 3 days on the job, when her grandfather died. He had been living in Denver, but was originally from New Orleans. My employee had never experienced a death in the family and was, apparently, really traumatized by it. She wanted to spend more time than she thought we would be willing to give with her family. My wife communicated with her, trying to get a sense of whether she really wanted/liked the job and wanted to return. I spoke to her on Monday and she said she wanted to come back today. And she did! I hope she stays; she seems positive and pleasant and intelligent.

This is all good, AND she is African American. I value having a diverse workplace. We have an Hispanic woman on staff and a young woman from Australia and now, an African American woman. If we grow and add more staff, I'd like to add more diversity...I'm not hiring on the basis of ethnicity, but if the opportunity presents itself with ethnically diverse candidates with good skills and promise, it can make a difference in my decision-making. We once had a young woman on staff who was born and spent most of her life in India. It's really interesting to have people from other cultures close at hand. I like to learn about them and their experiences. If I could build a large company with a large staff, one of my objectives would be to create a diverse workplace. The only area of diversity about which I would not encourage discussion is religion; I don't care if a person is Catholic, Methodist, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, or Atheist, but I don't want them wearing their religious beliefs on their sleeves. They keep it to themselves unless others have an obvious interest, and then they share only privately. No religion at the office. That's my mantra.

Saturday, my wife and I head to Boston to visit her sister and boyfriend-in-law. We get there late mid-afternoon. We'll have a quick burst of socializing with them on Saturday and Sunday, then I head out early Sunday evening on KLM to Amsterdam, then to Frankfort, then to Dubrovnik. I wish I were looking forward to the trip, but I'm looking at it as work, with complications caused by travel and time-changes thrown in. I am sure I will like Dubrovnik once I'm there, but I don't travel well as a loner. When my wife is with me, I envision having fun. When I travel alone, I envision tolerating interactions with people I may or may not like, but with whom I share little.

My wife told me this afternoon that a member company of a client association landed an account in Dallas. The two guys who own the company visited recently and we went to visit them in their funky hotel and took them to dinner. The guys say they will be back in Dallas sometime in July. My wife wants to invite them, when they come, on a lunch adventure. That is, she wants to invite them on a road trip like we used to take regularly; drive 4+ hours to Llano, Texas to have lunch at Cooper's Barbeque.

Cooper's is a uniquely Texan experience, I think. My wife and I love the place. When you arrive at Cooper's on the western edge of Llano, you park, then walk to the covered smoking pits outside the front door of the restaurant (there's always a line). The grills are outdoors under a huge tin-roof covered area. The grillman who is tending the meat asks what you want...as you gaze down at huge volumes of sausage links, steaks, brisket, chickens, pork chops, etc. You point at what you want, he cuts it (or just stabs it), dips it into a vat of BBQ sauce, then slaps it onto a cafeteria style tray. You take the meat inside, where you select various sides, then have the meat weighed, and pay for it. They put your meat on white butcher paper for you and give you some utensils.

Once you pay, then you go to the condiment area, where you get beans, iced tea, onions, etc. At the picnic-style tables, where there are usually dozens of people seated, you find an empty spot and sit down. There, you'll find loaves of white bread, big jars of jalapeños, jars of dill pickles, and other goodies. Then, you chow down! It's a wonderful experience and the food is fabulous. I can almost enjoy white bread in that environement (but not quite). I'm sure the experience of selecting the meat from the grill before you even walk in the door has something to do with the appeal. So does the family-style dining at picnic tables. And even the rural redneck clientele has a certain appeal. Go. You will enjoy it.

Anyway, back to my wife's interest in inviting the guys. They are interesting people and very generous and thoughtful. They both have a great sense of humor and share my wife's and my political views. People like them make it easier for me to be liberal in my attitudes about gays; I can't really understand how a person can be gay (I guess you can't really understand unless you have been there), but I have no problems whatsoever with people who are gay. People who are anti-gay truly piss me off...ignorant bastards. Back to their political view; they lean left. I think I lean far more to the left than most people (them included) realize; I hesitate to reveal that I am in favor of mandatory presidential euthanasia whenever the president's IQ dips below 40. While none of them like Bush, I'm not sure they want him tanned and turned into a belt as much as I do.

I'm blogged out for the moment. I have the interest, but not the energy. Bye for now.

A Lawyer

There is no question in my mind that I could have become a very successful lawyer had I "bitten the bullet" and done it. I didn't. I should have done. I could have accomplished a great many things that I think are important. I could have made more money. I could have made a difference. Is 53 too old to start going after a law degree? I have a nephew who is a lawyer. He's experiencing some problems with his career. I might, too. But I think I could take my law degree into new territory. We probably will never know.

Falba Building

I watched a do-it-yourself show this evening that got my blood pumping. I'm ready to build a place on my land in Falba! My brother who lives down there checked out an ad for a building to move (building was free), but it wasn't ideal. Too many deconstructions and too much money to move it, set it, replace its roof, etc. But I still want to build a place. Cheap, but a place I can go to escape from the coming Fascist State. I'm not kidding. Bush and buddies are not eroding our civil rights; they are ready to eliminate them. Anyway, even with political horrors and turmoil, having a paid-for place is just too good to pass up. I have to figure out a way!


More later. I'm inexplicably tired at this early hour of 8:03 pm.

Near Miss

Tonight, I convinced my wife to leave the office right at 5:00 pm. We headed home, but stopped at the bank to make a deposit. But we got home early! As we were coming home, I heard a report of a plane circling Houston Intercontinental Airport, using fuel as it prepared to land; it had lost two tires on its left landing gear on takeoff.

At home, as I watched the news, they broke in with live coverage of the plane landing. Of course, they were expecting major problems, since the two left wheels had no rubber remaining...just aluminum. But what I saw was amazing. The pilot put the nose wheel on the center line and he/she put pressure on the right wheels, dropping the left wheels down only when absolutely necessary. There were no sparks, no fire...perfect landing. I'm sure the passengers gave the pilot an incredible round of applause. I was impressed! People who have such remarkable skill deserve to be well-paid! I hope the pilot's identity is revealed; he or she deserves public recognition and acclaim.

Brief Misanthropomorphic Ramble

Today was a blur. I got to the office early, was going at it full-bore until about 5:15 pm, then hurried to the monthly board meeting of a local client. Every month, I get peeved at them. The meetings are supposed to start at 6t:00 pm and end at 8:00 pm. Almost invariably (except last month) they start late and end late. Tonight, it started at 6:15 and ended about 8:40. Tomorrow's task for me: inform the president that, unless the board will respect my time by starting and ending on time, I will impose a prorata $500 fine for meetings that end after 8:00 pm. I have already suggested to him that meetings that do not start and end on time are disrespectful of everyone's time. He will be floored at my financial penalty...maybe even angry, which is how I feel at the disrespect shown to me. Tough shit. It's that or I just walk out at 8:00 on the nose.

I missed 24 tonight. Fortunately, my wife taped it. But I have to wait to watch it because the VCR is in use and is in the bedroom, where she will soon be going to sleep.

When I get involved in creating databases and other 'stuff' that involves no one but me, I find that I enjoy what I am doing far more than when I get involved in things that involve other people. I've always been a bit of a loner, but it's getting much more pronounced in the past few years. There is a tiny circle of people I really enjoy being around; my siblings, my wife, and a very small sphere of friends and/or acquaintences. Maybe I should focus on learning SQL programming...I could set up online databases while holed up all alone, and then upload them and communicate with clients by email. I like the sound of that!

I'm calling this brief post my "Brief Misanthropomorphic Ramble." I like the sound of that neologism. I thought it was unique to me...a piece of creative genius...until I found that a bunch of 20-something and 30-something kids who are deeply into their young and stupid phases or their 'look at me, I'm an intellectual rebel' stages have already created and published the word. It's when I find that I am just now becoming as creative as a not-so-creative subgeezer than I find myself getting depressed. Oh, well, I'll make a drink and watch bad, mindless television and all will be right with the world.