Meetings Are a Lot Like Enemas

As far as I’m concerned, meetings and enemas have a lot in common. They may both, at times, be necessary, but are definitely a pain in the butt.

Neither should be used more than is absolutely essential, and only to keep things moving smoothly.

When their use is unavoidable, they should be short and effective, as having to do either again would prove to be a rather uncomfortable experience.

And finally, if someone truly enjoys either one or employs their use too often, one may conclude that there is something definitely wrong with this person.

A Different Perspective

I learned a bit of a lesson, today, or at least I think so. Being a middle aged man who rides an old Harley that I built myself from a basket case and a lot of swap meet parts, you might not believe that I also ride the totally gnarly wave of audio technology, but it’s true. Well, to a point, it is true. It is a fact that I didn’t get a CD player until I was almost legally required to do so. I still have my original copy of Iron Butterfly’s In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida enshrined on an alter in a secured room. I had to ask my son to move out of the house, or at least into the garage to make room for the shrine, but he’s 14 and should be able to handle it. He visits now and then, and hopefully, some day he'll understand.

This wave of audio technology I talk about is summed up in two words i Pod. Yes, I own an actual Apple iPod brand MP3 player. I got it for Christmas. It’s not one of those little shuffles, either. Though it’s not the biggest one, it is a Nano with 8, yes count them, eight gigs of storage! To quote Tim Allen, “Aarrghh, Aarrghh, Aarrghh!” This is cool, because I’ve been a music head since the British tried to repackage American blues and rock and sell it back to us wholesale. I got the iPod from my dear and beautiful wife because that’s what I wanted for Christmas, and my birthday combined since they both fall in December. My wife did it up good, though. She not only bought me the iPod, but many of the cool “necessities” that go with it. Probably the coolest of these extras was the little radio wave converter that allows me to play my pre-programmed digital collection through my car’s radio. No more inane chat. No more listening to the same 5 “hit” songs over and over, whether they be new or classic hits. I am in charge of my own musical listening destiny! Or at least I was until I lost the radio converter thingy. That sucked. I had no idea where it could be. I looked and looked. I cleaned things that hadn't been cleaned in months in hopes that I would find it. I was afraid to admit it to my wife for fear of chastisement, but when I did, she couldn’t find it either. Purchasing a new one was becoming a consideration, but this particular item goes for around fifty dollars.

Finally, today, I was sitting in the back of my cubicle at work while waiting for the local computer guru to do some troubleshooting. I never sit back there, or at least in that position, a half sitting/leaning sort of pose against the credenza that is usually a catch all for junk. I seldom have reason to, but as I sat/leaned there, waiting for him to do the voodoo that he do so well, my gaze wandered to something on the floor under the edge of my desk. Yep, you guessed it. It was my radio converter! What it was doing there, I don’t know, but I never would have found it, or it would have taken much longer if I had not been looking from a totally different perspective than normal. In fact, no other perspective than that particular one would have allowed me to spot and recover the missing treasure, for I could only see a very small part of it peaking out at me. It was an exasperating problem with my computer that brought about the tech visit, but it put me in the exact position I needed to be in to find the thing I had been missing and was trying to find.

It seems like there should be a moral to this story, but I’m having trouble putting my finger on it.

Oh, well. Maybe you can figure it out. If so, let me know.

ST

Oh, by the way. Here's my bike.

Bad Harley! Bad Boy!

Don Imus Leaves a Legacy

Just for the record, I didn’t know who Don Imus was until this week. Just in case you are less informed than I, Don Imus has been a legendary “shock jock” for some years, I guess. He is a radio personality with a large listener ship, or so the story goes. Who knew? Don Imus had never crossed my personal radar in my whole life until this last week when a firestorm of controversy came down upon him for a remark which, if it were not highly racist, is still so derogatory in nature that it’s public utterance should be called into question. In an ill considered, flip remark concerning a predominantly African American college girls’ basketball team Imus took center stage in national news and controversy, and entered into my world of knowledge and consideration, as well. I don’t have a lot to say about him or his remark. The public outrage has been so great, that he has become the veritable “sacrifice” our current society demands to pay for our collective sins of racism. Does he deserve it? I'm not the one to be the judge of that. However, to be honest, I don’t think there is any real place in our world for that sort of comment. Imus lost his job over the remark. No amount of apology seemed to be sufficient to dam up the rushing waters of public opinion and reactive sponsor withdrawal. He’s in the media. He’s an entertainer. He has fallen into the Dixie Chicks trap. He opened his mouth publicly without consideration of how his audience would take it or how it would affect his income. In effect they both put their mouths where their money is. One funny thing is that in his own defense, he stated that he was not a bad person. He should have added, “but I may qualify as a complete and total moron.”
With all that said, there is only one main point I truly want to make here. Again, as I said, I didn’t know who in the world Don Imus was until this all hit the media fan this week. How wonderful it must be to have this as his only legacy in the minds of myself and so many others.

"Who is Don Imus?"

"Oh, he’s that racist DJ who is out of work, now."

"Oh. . . yeah."

How's the Weather Down There?

(To be honest and give credit where credit is due, the inspiration for this one came from a comment my wife made. The rest is mine, but she did inspire it. So there! ST)

“OK, here we go. (dialing phone) 4-1-1.”

“Hello? Information?-----What city?-----Well it’s not really a city, (under breath) though Detroit may come real close.-----What’s that?-----Oh, nothing. I’m just wanting to know the phone number for hell. -----How do you spell it? H-e-l-l. You know double toothpicks . . . Double hockey sticks? Hades? The Inferno? The Nether World?-----Yes, that hell. Do you have a listing?-----Oh, good. What is it?-----(repeating) 1-800-666-6666. I should have known. Oh, well. Thank you very much. You can connect me for no extra charge? That would be great. Thank you.”

(Ringing)

“Oh, hello. Is this Hell?-----It is? Wow! To whom am I speaking?-----Oh, so you’re not the big guy?-----No, I guess I wouldn’t be answering the phone if I were him either. Sorry.-----What do I want? Oh, yes, I’m sorry. I don’t want to waste your time. Although, as I understand it, you pretty much have eternity on your hands, there, right?-----Sorry. Forget I even said that. -----Yes, to get to the point. OK . . . well . . . I was just wondering . . . how’s the weather down there?-----Yes, the weather.-----Why would I care about the weather in hell?-----Am I planning a visit soon? Oh, no, nothing like that. Or at least I hope not. It’s just that . . . well . . . there have been some developments up here, top side that got me to thinkin' it may not be quite as hot as it usually is down there.-----What developments?

Well, for starters, my daughter, Becky . . . oh, yes, I’m sure you know of her. But listen, she’s a fantastic kid, or young woman, now. Always has been, but I"m no fool. I know she had her moments. I’ve got the gray hairs to prove it. Well, you see, she straightened up, started going to church, and went so far as to marry a minister. Well, yes I was glad.-----Of, course. -----Yes, I understand.-----I’m sure your boss wasn't. In fact, I’m sure some heads rolled for losing that one.-----Yeah, that’s what I thought. Well, that’s not the worst of it.

Next, there is my son.-----Yes, Jesse. A pretty good boy, though I know he’s pulled a few shenanigans, himself.-----He what? I didn’t know that. I guess I’m going to have to have a talk with him. Anyway, I’m not real worried about him; at least I wasn’t until you started talking, but he’s one of those young people that I call “hosers”. He’s never really been a slacker, but these hosers are just different. They don’t see the need to look or act particularly normal, or even dress well, unless it’s a holiday or something then it’s a bit overboard with the outfits and hats and even colored hair and stuff. I don’t really know if he’s a gen X, Y, Z or what, but as most generations of parents before us, we’ve all wondered if the generation that follows ours is ever going to get it together.-----Yes, I know, eternity not withstanding, I’m wasting your time. Sorry. Well, here’s the deal. Jesse now works at the Target Corporate headquarters and, get this, he wears a tie to work. Can you believe that?-----Well, yes, I’m sure you know about it. Of course. You’ve got your ways. Now, don't get me wrong. I'm unbelieveably happy for him. But I'm just a bit blown away at the same time. Jesse . . . corporate office . . . shirt and tie!

Now just settle down. I'm tryin' to get to the point. There is one last thing, though.


Last week, Gayle and I . . . now don’t start telling me stuff about her. I don’t want to know.-----Good. You had me worried there for a minute.-----Oh, so now you're the comedian? I guess I deserved that one. Well, last week we were coming out of a restaurant when we ran into one of Jesse’s good friends. You know the guys he calls Tokes?-----Yeah, that’s him, the founding member of the long running Punk band, Nuke.-----Yeah, his real name is Chris. Well, the thing is, when I first met him, he was about 14 and had a long, colored, spiked Mohawk to go with his complete and utter devotion to his band and punk music in general. Later he shaved his head. Oh, yeah, he had that pet alligator for a long time. Then he got some tattoos, and you know the whole Punk bit. I’m sure you have a number of them down there. Well, this time, when we met Chris . . . Tokes, his hair was normal, he was with his young wife, and his new baby. Can you imagine this died in the wool punker with a wife and kid?-----Well, yeah, I know it happens, but I didn’t ever expect it from him. But here’s the real kicker. The band, Nuke finally broke up. I never thought it would, but that’s not the worst part. Chris, or Tokes, is now playing old school country and western music.-----Yes, he is. -----You mean you didn’t even know that? I guess your network isn’t quite as good as you thought. But it’s the truth. Country and western. You know, Johnny Cash, and Hank Williams and the like. And he swears he likes it!

My point?-----Not the time thing again?-----Well, my point is this. With all this going on up here, the wife and I were wondering how the weather was doing down there.

Really?-----Frozen over?-----No kidding. Completely?-----No thaw in the forecast? Wow! Can’t say I’m surprised, though. With all that’s been going on up here, if you know what I mean. Heck, the Eagles’ reunion . . . yeah, the first one, is nothing compared to all of this. Well, I won’t waste any more of your eternity . . . I mean time.-----Yeah, I know. I’m a funny guy. And you should learn to lighten up, hellfire and brimstone and eternity not withstanding. I’m sure things will heat up soon enough. Kind of makes you understand us Minnesotans a little better though, don’t you think?

Anyway, good-bye.

ST