I think life is simpler when it's based on objective evidence. When two guys swagger around, each claiming to be packing the biggest package, the resolution is simple: whip it out and measure.
But life is rarely that simple, or entertaining.
Although, strictly for entertainment purposes, I would not object to being present at a breast measurement contest, for everyone knows that the best tool for measuring is a pair of hands, namely mine.
But I digress.
Nope. Life is generally far more complicated, mundane and anything but entertaining.
It seems that everyone is busier than everyone else. How is that possible? And everyone is offended. The people who complain about not being invited to a meeting (FOMO), are the same ones who complain about too many meetings with too many people. (Chronic complainers)
But mostly, people complain about others not doing their jobs. It's ironic, because the ones who complain the most don't do their own jobs because they spend time complaining about the others.... or worse, trying to do the other person's job, which they aren't qualified to do in the first place.
So here is my simple solution.
Do your fucking job. If someone else fucks their job up... let them. It's just a job. Get the fuck over yourself.
As for dick measuring, I don't care how big yours is, I probably know how to use mine better.
And if you need a breast inspection, line starts at my desk. Step up ladies. Don't be shy.
Keep life simple and give yourself a reason to smile. Life is too short otherwise.
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
Choices
Life is funny when you think about it. Simple funny. Everything we are and everything we will be is a direct result of choices. Some of those are not choices that we make for ourselves. There is really no luck, just the path that our choices have put us on.
I am traveling for association meetings for the next couple days. The meetings for our little group are in locations chosen by the chairman, which I will be the year after next. It was my choice to take my turn in the barrel. I am secretary this year, VP next year and Kahuna who gets to make everyone travel to locations close to MY home for a change.
Again, attending these meetings is my choice. I could beg off instead of driving the nearly 7 hours to this one. But, the relationships developed and the help and cooperation we give each other at other times of the year is worth the effort.
But, as I am apt to do it seems, I digress. This story is not about my choice to attend the meetings. At least not directly it isn't.
It is about the route I took to get here.
I have driven the first part of this route hundreds, if not thousands, of times. Since I was in college I have made choices as to the route and the choice boils down to a simple one that at some point all men make. Much like that Robert Frost poem, I have driven past this sign every time and chuckled and wondered at the choice it represents. Why did I Need to chose? Why can't I have it all? Questions we all ask ourselves.
Today it was time. Time to finally chose. Time to stop waffling! Which will it be? I am partial to both choices, being the well rounded fellow that I am.
On impulse, call it a mental coin toss, I made my choice. I took the road to the left. I am not sure that it was a road less travelled. I am not sure that in the end it will make all the difference, but, the choice was made!
Where did it lead?
Would you like to know?
I am traveling for association meetings for the next couple days. The meetings for our little group are in locations chosen by the chairman, which I will be the year after next. It was my choice to take my turn in the barrel. I am secretary this year, VP next year and Kahuna who gets to make everyone travel to locations close to MY home for a change.
Again, attending these meetings is my choice. I could beg off instead of driving the nearly 7 hours to this one. But, the relationships developed and the help and cooperation we give each other at other times of the year is worth the effort.
But, as I am apt to do it seems, I digress. This story is not about my choice to attend the meetings. At least not directly it isn't.
It is about the route I took to get here.
I have driven the first part of this route hundreds, if not thousands, of times. Since I was in college I have made choices as to the route and the choice boils down to a simple one that at some point all men make. Much like that Robert Frost poem, I have driven past this sign every time and chuckled and wondered at the choice it represents. Why did I Need to chose? Why can't I have it all? Questions we all ask ourselves.
Decisions, decisions!
On impulse, call it a mental coin toss, I made my choice. I took the road to the left. I am not sure that it was a road less travelled. I am not sure that in the end it will make all the difference, but, the choice was made!
Where did it lead?
Would you like to know?
Ok. Now what?
'The Meek Shall Inherit the Earth'
My normal go-to-bed routine was violently upset the other weekend with Robert outta town.
It's typically a snuggle-fest with my two Dachsies, each claiming space on our king-side bed by pressing tight to an upper thigh and under my arm during a last-minute on-line scan for drama, shout-outs and anything pressing.
Hey, wait a minute..... nine-tenths of the mattress is gone unused..... "Go find your own space!"
Never works.
This week on my own we (the pups and I) had a visitor, my parents' aging Dachsie. I babysat her for three days while mom and dad attended a convention. She's 12 years old and has my parents very well trained. The words matriarch and queen come to mind. Set in her ways. At home her throne by the front door is occupied, mostly in sleep, as she waits for the familiar sound of mom and dad.... her loyal subjects.... and their cars pulling up the driveway.
She caused a major ruckus after I helped her into bed by bringing along a half-chewed, cruddy piece of a rawhide bone she was attempting to dissolve with spittle and lazy chewing. No bones in bed is a standard rule for bed-sharing household canines, which is always quickly corrected if there's an attempted sneaky violation.
Little P left my flesh to get a sniff, or, as he does with his sister, snatch away the prize if given an opening, and the growling ....... 'RRRRrrrrrrrrrr'....... teeth-baring.......fur bristling...... and mean-dog looks (if that's truly possible with 12-pound heaps of fur) quickly escalated. Then they went at it, snapping jaws, in each other's face, the slimy two-inch piece of leather dropped to the blanket, and I quickly separated the two, a tiny cut on the top of my hand.
Little P, scourge and deadly hunter of the creature population that roam the backyard, undefeated in roughhouse battles with his younger and slightly larger sister, youthful, sinewy and the household Alpha dog..... backed away ears down, looking for the fleshy solace of my hip and petting hand. Battle lost to the smaller, twice as old, gnarly bitch.
A moment later Little P decided to find a place more comfortable, tentatively moseyed over to his cousin's territory at the foot of the bed, and rested his head on her loins. In a few minutes they were entwined, fur to fur, eyes closed, battle long forgotten.
I went back to the headlines, bored with The Ukraine, Gaza, Africa, the cowardly, idealogical battles by the dimwits we elected to Congress, humanity's zeal to kill itself with the food it eats and the land and air we call terra firma, the silly tension between we humans which diminishes love and everything else that is truly essential.
I look over my laptop screen. Fast asleep.
####
It's typically a snuggle-fest with my two Dachsies, each claiming space on our king-side bed by pressing tight to an upper thigh and under my arm during a last-minute on-line scan for drama, shout-outs and anything pressing.
Hey, wait a minute..... nine-tenths of the mattress is gone unused..... "Go find your own space!"
Never works.
This week on my own we (the pups and I) had a visitor, my parents' aging Dachsie. I babysat her for three days while mom and dad attended a convention. She's 12 years old and has my parents very well trained. The words matriarch and queen come to mind. Set in her ways. At home her throne by the front door is occupied, mostly in sleep, as she waits for the familiar sound of mom and dad.... her loyal subjects.... and their cars pulling up the driveway.
She caused a major ruckus after I helped her into bed by bringing along a half-chewed, cruddy piece of a rawhide bone she was attempting to dissolve with spittle and lazy chewing. No bones in bed is a standard rule for bed-sharing household canines, which is always quickly corrected if there's an attempted sneaky violation.
Little P left my flesh to get a sniff, or, as he does with his sister, snatch away the prize if given an opening, and the growling ....... 'RRRRrrrrrrrrrr'....... teeth-baring.......fur bristling...... and mean-dog looks (if that's truly possible with 12-pound heaps of fur) quickly escalated. Then they went at it, snapping jaws, in each other's face, the slimy two-inch piece of leather dropped to the blanket, and I quickly separated the two, a tiny cut on the top of my hand.
Little P, scourge and deadly hunter of the creature population that roam the backyard, undefeated in roughhouse battles with his younger and slightly larger sister, youthful, sinewy and the household Alpha dog..... backed away ears down, looking for the fleshy solace of my hip and petting hand. Battle lost to the smaller, twice as old, gnarly bitch.
A moment later Little P decided to find a place more comfortable, tentatively moseyed over to his cousin's territory at the foot of the bed, and rested his head on her loins. In a few minutes they were entwined, fur to fur, eyes closed, battle long forgotten.
I went back to the headlines, bored with The Ukraine, Gaza, Africa, the cowardly, idealogical battles by the dimwits we elected to Congress, humanity's zeal to kill itself with the food it eats and the land and air we call terra firma, the silly tension between we humans which diminishes love and everything else that is truly essential.
I look over my laptop screen. Fast asleep.
####
Sunday, October 5, 2014
Got Wood!
Every once in a while a day goes exactly as planned. A small percentage of those every once in a whiles they go better than planned. Today was one of those days. It poured rain all day yesterday. I had planned on cutting wood. Instead I spent the day in my shop. Put a new head gasket on the old Wisconsin engine on my homemade wood splitter. Sharpen a few chains for the saws and change the oil on my old '54 International dump truck.
I was hoping that the weatherman's prediction of a decent day today would hold true for once. By golly, he was right!
I was hoping for two loads, which is about 8 face cords of wood. Everything went just right. I got three! Only 10 or 11 more loads to go and maybe I can relax about winter heat. So, if I can get a minimum of two loads per day or 4 loads per weekend, I'll be done by the end of the month!
I was hoping that the weatherman's prediction of a decent day today would hold true for once. By golly, he was right!
I was hoping for two loads, which is about 8 face cords of wood. Everything went just right. I got three! Only 10 or 11 more loads to go and maybe I can relax about winter heat. So, if I can get a minimum of two loads per day or 4 loads per weekend, I'll be done by the end of the month!
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