I have heard, throughout my life, some very, very good advice. I also like to think I've given some good advice along the way. Sometimes the counsel I give comes across as sarcastic or cynical, and more often than not this is the correct perception, especially since I have a very cynical outlook on life and don't have much faith in the human decision making process.
Here I share with you, faithful reader, some of the advice I've given and the advice I've gotten.
"Honey, I take back what I said. If you decide you're going to be a singer when you grow up you'll be broke and you'll starve to death." ~Told to my oldest daughter when she was five years old. I had repeatedly told her she could be anything she wanted when she grew up, but was forced to retract that statement after hearing her sing a track from The Lion King.
"I don't need to lose weight, I need a fat doctor who understands what I'm going through." ~Said by an overweight friend of mine whose doctor told him nothing was wrong with him, other than he needed to shed a hundred pounds or so.
"Yeah, I don't understand. Pull one gun on somebody and everybody labels you as 'dangerous.'" ~I said to a buddy of mine who, after feeling threatened by a group of young adults, brandished his legally carried firearm to show he wasn't going to be a victim. He couldn't understand all the angst he was given by law enforcement. He was later arrested......
"Six million French people don't care, and I hate the French." ~I'm fond of telling this to people from eastern Canada.
"Shut up or I'll knock your teeth down your throat." ~The response my father would give me anytime he felt I was about to win an argument.
"I think she's retarded." ~Said about my youngest daughter who didn't want to talk until she was two years old.
"All they can do is fire me; they can't eat me, and if they do try to eat me I'll have the last laugh--I just pooped and I don't think I gave it a good wipe." ~Told to a work peer.
"Seriously officer, I don't know. It could be because I ran that stop sign back there, OR it could be because I don't have my seatbelt on, OR it could be because I'm speeding. I'm not really sure." ~Said my brother to a state trooper in Alabama who pulled him over and asked if he knew WHY he was being stopped.
"I ain't ever met anybody I liked after figuring out they were a butthole." ~I'm fond of saying about people I don't like.
"Pull my finger. It makes me fart AND giggle!" ~I say to anyone I think might be willing to give my finger a tug.
"Try reasoning with him. If that doesn't work, kick him in the testicles." ~I tell some of my karate students.
"It always works better when you do it right." ~I like to say about anything and everything.
"You're stupid." ~I reserve this one for stupid people.
"You know how mad you get when you go to Wal-Mart and they have twenty cash registers but only three cashiers? You're upset because you have to stand in line and wait, right? But after fuming for fifteen minutes you finally pay for your stuff and you forget all about being mad. That's how we are going to manage things here. Prioritize and put people in line; once you get their stuff done, they'll forget about being mad at you." ~I recently told my direct reports who were struggling to drive projects to completion because they were short of labor resources.
"All men are dogs. Some dogs lick their butts and some lick their genitals. You have to decide which man you want and what taste in your mouth you can live with." ~Told to a female friend of mine who recently had a breakup with her boyfriend and was complaining about men in general.
"Logistics? Now there's an oxymoron! Ain't nobody over there very logical!" ~I said about my company's logistic group.
"Look, you can drop a turd in a pile of flour, roll it around and fry it in fresh oil. But you know what it's going to be after you cook it? Yep, a turd." ~I told a direct report one time while lecturing about doing things right the first time.
"Your line of logic and reasoning lacks both. Please come back when I'm drunk so neither of us will understand the other." ~I told one rather upset work peer who was complaining about not getting his way.
"I'm dumber for having listened to your presentation. What? My comment offends you? Stick around for a few more minutes, it gets a lot worse!" ~I said to a colleague who presented a top line look on something we all wanted more detail on.
And this is why people love me.........
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
drama
Ever notice how other people aren't happy unless their life is rife with drama? Not only are they unhappy with their own life but they insist on forcing their issues and problems on others. Amazingly, by pushing these issues on the unsuspecting they become happier. I like to think of this ironic twist of self-perpetuating grief alleviation as the "albatross effect."
Samuel Taylor Coleridge wrote The Rime of the Ancient Mariner in 1797/98; his poem served as a metaphor for people who carry an intimate burden and can't find relief unless they tell their story to someone else, thereby placing their burden on another individual. The ancient mariner, as a result of killing the ominous albatross, was forced to wear it around his neck forever, telling his tale to anyone who would listen--the telling of the tale the only way to remove the stress, albeit temporarily. Ever know anyone like that? I do and I find this to be such a depressing way to live life.
We all get down on ourselves from time-to-time; we allow others to live rent free in our own minds every-now-and-again. But at the end of the day we must bear our own faults, our own fallacies and our own misadventures.
My friend Gary Gabelhouse, renowned businessman and author, had often typed a quote which I stole shamelessly. Whenever someone would get worked up over something irrelevant, something that didn't contribute to the world spinning, something that wouldn't feed a fly, he would/will say, "Why are we pole vaulting over mouse turds?" I love this quote and use it frequently. There are those with whom I work who shamelessly now use the infamous words of one Mr. Gabelhouse. I hope he didn't trademark that phrase; if he did, I'm sued and screwed, but then we're probably pole vaulting over mouse turds.
The bottom line is this--short of death and decomposure, what are you getting all worked up about? Why do you worry about the actions of others and why do you insist on forcing your bad karma on everyone else? Do you worry about where your next meal is coming from? Do you worry about putting clothes on your kid's back? If not.....hush...those mouse turds ain't that big.
I've always wondered what that albatross would taste like. If you scalded, de-feathered, eviscerated and cut it up....marinated it in a little Dale's Sauce....how would it taste? Would eating it make all your problems go away?
Samuel Taylor Coleridge wrote The Rime of the Ancient Mariner in 1797/98; his poem served as a metaphor for people who carry an intimate burden and can't find relief unless they tell their story to someone else, thereby placing their burden on another individual. The ancient mariner, as a result of killing the ominous albatross, was forced to wear it around his neck forever, telling his tale to anyone who would listen--the telling of the tale the only way to remove the stress, albeit temporarily. Ever know anyone like that? I do and I find this to be such a depressing way to live life.
We all get down on ourselves from time-to-time; we allow others to live rent free in our own minds every-now-and-again. But at the end of the day we must bear our own faults, our own fallacies and our own misadventures.
My friend Gary Gabelhouse, renowned businessman and author, had often typed a quote which I stole shamelessly. Whenever someone would get worked up over something irrelevant, something that didn't contribute to the world spinning, something that wouldn't feed a fly, he would/will say, "Why are we pole vaulting over mouse turds?" I love this quote and use it frequently. There are those with whom I work who shamelessly now use the infamous words of one Mr. Gabelhouse. I hope he didn't trademark that phrase; if he did, I'm sued and screwed, but then we're probably pole vaulting over mouse turds.
The bottom line is this--short of death and decomposure, what are you getting all worked up about? Why do you worry about the actions of others and why do you insist on forcing your bad karma on everyone else? Do you worry about where your next meal is coming from? Do you worry about putting clothes on your kid's back? If not.....hush...those mouse turds ain't that big.
I've always wondered what that albatross would taste like. If you scalded, de-feathered, eviscerated and cut it up....marinated it in a little Dale's Sauce....how would it taste? Would eating it make all your problems go away?
Saturday, May 12, 2012
chasing dreams and mid-life crisises
I've often wondered what it means to have a mid-life crisis. How does one know he/she has reached mid-life? If you knew you were going to die when you were thirty it would make sense that you would have a mid-life crisis when you were fifteen, right? Does a mid-life crisis constitute buying a motorcycle or a Ferrari (who does that?) or does it mean a new exercise regimen to rid yourself of the love handles you've worked your entire life to acquire?
Perhaps it means humming Bruce Springsteen's Glory Days or drinking beer and talking about them? Is there a time you realize you are having a mid-life crisis and decide it's too late in life to chase your dreams? When do we settle on where we are and what we are doing, rather than where we want to be and doing what we want?
Before I get too far along, I have a motorcycle and was accused of buying it because I was having a mid-life crisis (I think my own mom said this and that made me laugh). I purchased the scooter when I was in my mid-thirties; does that mean I'm destined to die in my late sixties or early seventies? Did my mom have a premonition or did I always have a want to ride a bike, take in my surroundings and not have to talk to anyone? I don't know....but mom knows most everything so I'll default to her. 'Course, my memory isn't exactly what it was a few years ago so maybe she didn't say that at all. It doesn't really matter, as it would seem that someone is in touch with the spirit world and knows the approximate time of my death.
So now I chase my dreams and I'm still uncertain if it's a mid-life crisis or the fact that I realize what I've always wanted to do is this particular thing. And it doesn't really matter, or shouldn't really matter, to you what that thing is--only that you know that I know what it is and I want to pursue it.
The difficult part in chasing dreams is defining them. Sometimes it seems to me that my dreams are clouds, taking shape of specific things only my eyes recognize, and sometimes my dreams are as clear as icicles forming on the eves of a house. But here I am, hoping I'm not middle aged because I plan on living till I'm two hundred years old, and wanting to pursue my dreams because my clouds are taking definite shape and becoming ice crystals on the edge of my house.
What does all this mean? I really have no idea at all. Where will my dreams take me? I can't answer that either, but I know I'm still human, I'm still a man and I still dream. I only hope my dreams transcend into someone else's dream, and at the end of the day my dream has made a positive impact on someone else's life. How esoteric! How liberal! How conservative! How unconventional!
Yes, I dream a dream that others have dreamed. I Imagine, I see Kubla Khan, I see what Julius Caesar sought and what Martin Luther King desired. My cloud has taken form and now I'll grab it and breath life into its being.
I realize I usually try to pen something funny; perhaps you find this post funny or sentimental but it is what I intended--a simple musing by a man destined to follow his dream.
Here comes my cloud.......
Perhaps it means humming Bruce Springsteen's Glory Days or drinking beer and talking about them? Is there a time you realize you are having a mid-life crisis and decide it's too late in life to chase your dreams? When do we settle on where we are and what we are doing, rather than where we want to be and doing what we want?
Before I get too far along, I have a motorcycle and was accused of buying it because I was having a mid-life crisis (I think my own mom said this and that made me laugh). I purchased the scooter when I was in my mid-thirties; does that mean I'm destined to die in my late sixties or early seventies? Did my mom have a premonition or did I always have a want to ride a bike, take in my surroundings and not have to talk to anyone? I don't know....but mom knows most everything so I'll default to her. 'Course, my memory isn't exactly what it was a few years ago so maybe she didn't say that at all. It doesn't really matter, as it would seem that someone is in touch with the spirit world and knows the approximate time of my death.
So now I chase my dreams and I'm still uncertain if it's a mid-life crisis or the fact that I realize what I've always wanted to do is this particular thing. And it doesn't really matter, or shouldn't really matter, to you what that thing is--only that you know that I know what it is and I want to pursue it.
The difficult part in chasing dreams is defining them. Sometimes it seems to me that my dreams are clouds, taking shape of specific things only my eyes recognize, and sometimes my dreams are as clear as icicles forming on the eves of a house. But here I am, hoping I'm not middle aged because I plan on living till I'm two hundred years old, and wanting to pursue my dreams because my clouds are taking definite shape and becoming ice crystals on the edge of my house.
What does all this mean? I really have no idea at all. Where will my dreams take me? I can't answer that either, but I know I'm still human, I'm still a man and I still dream. I only hope my dreams transcend into someone else's dream, and at the end of the day my dream has made a positive impact on someone else's life. How esoteric! How liberal! How conservative! How unconventional!
Yes, I dream a dream that others have dreamed. I Imagine, I see Kubla Khan, I see what Julius Caesar sought and what Martin Luther King desired. My cloud has taken form and now I'll grab it and breath life into its being.
I realize I usually try to pen something funny; perhaps you find this post funny or sentimental but it is what I intended--a simple musing by a man destined to follow his dream.
Here comes my cloud.......
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Sex, drugs and rock -n- roll
Did you think this blog was going to be about sex, drugs and rock -n- roll? I entitled this entry as such just to draw you in, and since you are here you might as well finish reading. What I really want to discuss are home projects and all the work that goes into driving them to completion. Sound fun? Keep reading.....
On a regular basis I have in mind certain projects around the house I want to start and finish. Typically, and I'm embracing my DNA/gender here, I start more projects than I can manage or complete in a timely fashion. This drives my wife insane, which leads to arguments, which leads to her winning the arguments, which ultimately leads to me hiring someone to finish my projects. Everybody wins!
Our most recent projects include repainting the entire hacienda, finishing a drywall project and repainting the mistakes I made the first time around, painting bathroom cabinets, massive amounts of yardwork, packing a lot of our crap for our vacation/retirement home in Alabama and cleaning out the old mulch in our Japanese garden/flower bed (if you will) and replacing it with new mulch.
As with most projects, there is a substantial amount of heavy lifting going on--that's my job. The more delicate task of having a vision of what the project should look like then supervising it is her job. The recent mulch project, though, was a shared venture leading to both of us feeling our age and whining for two days about how sore we were.
Now, as I said, the scope of the mulching project was to clean out the Japanese garden and replace the old with the new. Ultimately, Cathy's vision encompassed putting new mulch around three sides of the house--that's twenty-four bags, each bag approximately two yards of mulch--you do the math. There's not a net weight noted on each bag, but let me just say that carrying twenty-four bags of mulch at approximately two yards each weighed about one double hernia. Yeah, that about sums it up. They also weighed about two arguments because I wanted to stop the project in front of the house. Lastly, they weighed two thunderstorms because that's what we waded through in order to complete this little project.
While her vision was to mulch three sides of the house, my vision was to complete a few feet of the front, take a break and contemplate finishing the rest of one side the next day. Shaming me into finishing the front, we pushed forward until it was done. Then the idea to mulch another side popped up and so on and so forth.
It's not that I'm lazy or anything, but I like to take breaks and think about our next move. Rather than label me as a slug, I prefer to consider myself a "strategic planner and laborer." Whenever she sees me sitting, perhaps sipping on some cold, refreshing beverage and asks, "What are you doing," I promptly respond with, "Planning, baby....planning."
But we finished the mulching project and that's a good thing. Today my beloved is traveling and I have a list of things to complete. Right now, I'm planning........
And so it goes.
On a regular basis I have in mind certain projects around the house I want to start and finish. Typically, and I'm embracing my DNA/gender here, I start more projects than I can manage or complete in a timely fashion. This drives my wife insane, which leads to arguments, which leads to her winning the arguments, which ultimately leads to me hiring someone to finish my projects. Everybody wins!
Our most recent projects include repainting the entire hacienda, finishing a drywall project and repainting the mistakes I made the first time around, painting bathroom cabinets, massive amounts of yardwork, packing a lot of our crap for our vacation/retirement home in Alabama and cleaning out the old mulch in our Japanese garden/flower bed (if you will) and replacing it with new mulch.
As with most projects, there is a substantial amount of heavy lifting going on--that's my job. The more delicate task of having a vision of what the project should look like then supervising it is her job. The recent mulch project, though, was a shared venture leading to both of us feeling our age and whining for two days about how sore we were.
Now, as I said, the scope of the mulching project was to clean out the Japanese garden and replace the old with the new. Ultimately, Cathy's vision encompassed putting new mulch around three sides of the house--that's twenty-four bags, each bag approximately two yards of mulch--you do the math. There's not a net weight noted on each bag, but let me just say that carrying twenty-four bags of mulch at approximately two yards each weighed about one double hernia. Yeah, that about sums it up. They also weighed about two arguments because I wanted to stop the project in front of the house. Lastly, they weighed two thunderstorms because that's what we waded through in order to complete this little project.
While her vision was to mulch three sides of the house, my vision was to complete a few feet of the front, take a break and contemplate finishing the rest of one side the next day. Shaming me into finishing the front, we pushed forward until it was done. Then the idea to mulch another side popped up and so on and so forth.
It's not that I'm lazy or anything, but I like to take breaks and think about our next move. Rather than label me as a slug, I prefer to consider myself a "strategic planner and laborer." Whenever she sees me sitting, perhaps sipping on some cold, refreshing beverage and asks, "What are you doing," I promptly respond with, "Planning, baby....planning."
But we finished the mulching project and that's a good thing. Today my beloved is traveling and I have a list of things to complete. Right now, I'm planning........
And so it goes.
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Stereotypes
Our country is overly sensitive don't you think? There are certain things that are simply taboo to say and advocates and lobbyists run amok to make some words or phrases actually illegal. Many discuss inclusivity and the need to have a diverse work force or neighborhood so we can all broaden our horizons and not be so narrow minded or ignorant of other cultures. Personally, I think if you embrace other's differences you are acknowledging their cultures and racial idiosyncrasies. By understanding differences you oftentimes wind up stereotyping people, right?
Now, I am an advocate of some stereotyping; there are things in all races and cultures that ring true on greater average than not.
Some examples:
So everyone doesn't think I just want to focus on the fat guy and drunk ho, I would like to assure you faithful reader, that my wife and I had some really good laughs at the other white folks who had gotten up to shake their stuff.
As a well traveled, culturally sensitive white guy, I can attest to the inability of white folks-generally speaking-to dance. I would also like to explore why I THINK this stereotype is true, which would actually serve to eliminate the stereotype and simply be accepted as fact, or at least it should.
Tribal Africans often came together, and still do, in their villages to dance and sing during rituals. Over generations the ability to dance became entrenched in their DNA. Asian folks have an uncanny ability to keep time and dance due to their indescribable math skills. Music is nothing more than melodic math, so this makes sense to me. Latinos have always had an attachment to music and have numerous generations of dance and singing practice; therefore, they too are at a distinct advantage in the dancing department.
White people created weapons and boats to go kill other people. We were very efficient at killing other people, but never really had dancing parties before we went to kill people so we never really learned how to dance and keep time. We just knew how to travel to foreign lands, meet exotic people and kill them.
How do we catch up to the other races, white folks, so we are no longer the target of jokes and hurtful puns? We must practice our dancing in private for many, many generations, thus assuring we have future offspring capable of holding their own on the dance floor. Dancing, and more importantly keeping time, should eventually become ingrained in future generation's DNA.
Until that time white folks, please refrain from dancing in public. You're killing me.
Now, I am an advocate of some stereotyping; there are things in all races and cultures that ring true on greater average than not.
Some examples:
- Black folks don't like ghosts
- Mexican folks like jalapenos
- Asian folks are exceptionally smart but struggle to be innovative
- Indian (from India) folks own gas stations and hotels
- White folks can't dance
So everyone doesn't think I just want to focus on the fat guy and drunk ho, I would like to assure you faithful reader, that my wife and I had some really good laughs at the other white folks who had gotten up to shake their stuff.
As a well traveled, culturally sensitive white guy, I can attest to the inability of white folks-generally speaking-to dance. I would also like to explore why I THINK this stereotype is true, which would actually serve to eliminate the stereotype and simply be accepted as fact, or at least it should.
Tribal Africans often came together, and still do, in their villages to dance and sing during rituals. Over generations the ability to dance became entrenched in their DNA. Asian folks have an uncanny ability to keep time and dance due to their indescribable math skills. Music is nothing more than melodic math, so this makes sense to me. Latinos have always had an attachment to music and have numerous generations of dance and singing practice; therefore, they too are at a distinct advantage in the dancing department.
White people created weapons and boats to go kill other people. We were very efficient at killing other people, but never really had dancing parties before we went to kill people so we never really learned how to dance and keep time. We just knew how to travel to foreign lands, meet exotic people and kill them.
How do we catch up to the other races, white folks, so we are no longer the target of jokes and hurtful puns? We must practice our dancing in private for many, many generations, thus assuring we have future offspring capable of holding their own on the dance floor. Dancing, and more importantly keeping time, should eventually become ingrained in future generation's DNA.
Until that time white folks, please refrain from dancing in public. You're killing me.
Friday, May 4, 2012
Getting in shape no problem--it's the exercise that'll kill you
I'm not a fan of jogging and/or running, but I recognize the health benefits for normal people. Even when I was a young buck, I always struggled just to run a mile because a.) my slow twitch muscle fibers had never been properly conditioned to run very far, b.) genetically speaking, I'm strong out of the blocks but no good in the long haul, and c.) I'm just lazy.
My linebacker/defensive line coach in college once asked me how I could be so quick off the line and so slow in the forty yard dash. "Coach, I'm just lazy and if I have to chase someone more than ten yards on a football field, we're probably getting beat anyway." He couldn't yell at me, and it was then and there that I realized I could rationalize most things perceived to be 'wrong' with me.
Anyway, yesterday I decided it was time for me to jog a couple of miles. This doesn't sound like much to most folks, but again, two miles is a pretty significant milestone for this guy, all things considered. I would now like to share with you my thoughts as I ran through a forest preserve in my neighborhood.
The jog begins.....
Ha! That large chick in front of me makes me feel skinny. Yeah, that's a mean thing to think, bless her heart, but hey, I've got love handles the size of garbage can handles so I'm justified in my thoughts.
A minute into the jog
Whew, my heart rate is approximately 290 right now. Am I in the zone?
Two minutes in....
Wow, the stars are shining brightly already. How strange since the sun is still blazing! Wait, those aren't stars, those are the things that doctors warn us about when our brains are suffering from oxygen deprivation.
A couple more minutes in....
That guy on the bicycle looks like a maniac. I think I would be justified in ambushing him, beating him to a bloody pulp and relieving him of his bike. I could get back home a lot faster.
A few more minutes pass....
Half way done. Can they fit an amubulance on this path?
And then a few more minutes creep by.....
I'm wheezing like Weezy from The Jeffersons. What does that mean? That doesn't even make sense. That wasn't funny, just stupid. Why am I having this conversation with myself in my own head?
I'm at the end of the jog and I spot three deer beautifully standing, grazing in all of nature's glory....
I wish I had a gun with four bullets; one for each of you and one for me. I only want to shoot you because I know you can run far and not be on the verge of a massive cardial infarction. I hate you Bambi; I want you to die and I hate my life right now. I need water. I need lifeflight. Why did I do this? It was so much easier to think about running, and in all reality crawling technically isn't running is it?
Why did that guy that just passed me look at me with great concern? Does it have anything to do with the veins on my forehead bulging and on the threshold of exploding?
That's it! I'm done! I'm walking home; no way am I running back.
Finally back in my house I eat a pound of spaghetti.
That wasn't very bright...now I have to 'jog' again. Ugh.
My linebacker/defensive line coach in college once asked me how I could be so quick off the line and so slow in the forty yard dash. "Coach, I'm just lazy and if I have to chase someone more than ten yards on a football field, we're probably getting beat anyway." He couldn't yell at me, and it was then and there that I realized I could rationalize most things perceived to be 'wrong' with me.
Anyway, yesterday I decided it was time for me to jog a couple of miles. This doesn't sound like much to most folks, but again, two miles is a pretty significant milestone for this guy, all things considered. I would now like to share with you my thoughts as I ran through a forest preserve in my neighborhood.
The jog begins.....
Ha! That large chick in front of me makes me feel skinny. Yeah, that's a mean thing to think, bless her heart, but hey, I've got love handles the size of garbage can handles so I'm justified in my thoughts.
A minute into the jog
Whew, my heart rate is approximately 290 right now. Am I in the zone?
Two minutes in....
Wow, the stars are shining brightly already. How strange since the sun is still blazing! Wait, those aren't stars, those are the things that doctors warn us about when our brains are suffering from oxygen deprivation.
A couple more minutes in....
That guy on the bicycle looks like a maniac. I think I would be justified in ambushing him, beating him to a bloody pulp and relieving him of his bike. I could get back home a lot faster.
A few more minutes pass....
Half way done. Can they fit an amubulance on this path?
And then a few more minutes creep by.....
I'm wheezing like Weezy from The Jeffersons. What does that mean? That doesn't even make sense. That wasn't funny, just stupid. Why am I having this conversation with myself in my own head?
I'm at the end of the jog and I spot three deer beautifully standing, grazing in all of nature's glory....
I wish I had a gun with four bullets; one for each of you and one for me. I only want to shoot you because I know you can run far and not be on the verge of a massive cardial infarction. I hate you Bambi; I want you to die and I hate my life right now. I need water. I need lifeflight. Why did I do this? It was so much easier to think about running, and in all reality crawling technically isn't running is it?
Why did that guy that just passed me look at me with great concern? Does it have anything to do with the veins on my forehead bulging and on the threshold of exploding?
That's it! I'm done! I'm walking home; no way am I running back.
Finally back in my house I eat a pound of spaghetti.
That wasn't very bright...now I have to 'jog' again. Ugh.
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