Resolutions

Okay – now that we are a couple of months past New Year’s, I feel more compelled to look at my life and make the appropriate corrective actions (i.e. Resolutions).

I believe resolutions need to be realistic in order to be of any value. For example, I know myself too well to resolve I will ‘love my fellow man’… excuse me; I just spit-up a little in my mouth. You see, that’s not me. I’ll tolerate my fellow man, I’ll take the time to understand “where they are coming from” and what makes them behave the way they do… but I’m not obligating myself to any acts of kindness this year.

Work is always a good place to make corrective changes. I could resolve to work less and enjoy myself more this year… but when I look at my calendar, I don’t really have any weeks available for “work less and enjoy myself” (maybe I can delegate the enjoyment to somebody less industrious).

So what do I resolve? Okay – my five completely realistic resolutions for 2006.

1.) Take better care of my body. Now I’m not cutting out red meat, but I’m willing to eat more fruits and vegetables. I’m not running any freaking marathons, but I bought a bike and I’ll do some sort of activity (not constrained to the bike) three times a week.
2.) Release more creativity. This Blog has been fantastic (I owe Chemical Billy big time). It’s just finding the time to be more creative. I guess this gives me a reason to add number three.
3.) Find some more free time. It’s not like I don’t have tons of vacation time saved up… it’s just that I don’t trust anyone else to do my job as well as I do it. Oh sweet… a self propagating resolution list…
4.) Trust somebody else to do my job as well as I do it.
5.) Blog

We will see how this turns out – for the record, there’s actually a sixth resolution that’s really a given.

6.) Don’t worry if you can’t follow through any of these resolutions, there’s always next year.

Tech Enough?

I’ll be making a broad statement and say, “we are more technical then our parents”. It’s a fact that we expect to be undeniably true. As technology advances – the gap between parents and children (in regards to being technologically savvy) might not be as wide, but it’s still indisputably there.

I have always been considered a “technical” person. As a teenager, I was the only one in the household that could change the time on the VCR. I owned the first generation Pong, bought one of the earliest CD players (worth the $600 – even if the only CD I had was Dire Straits “Brothers in Arms”) and my Tandy 1000 was the hit of the neighborhood.

I was not surprised when “Video Killed the Radio Star”, I was comfortable carrying a 2-pound “brick” as a phone if it meant I was wireless, and regardless of how many astronauts or shuttle crew members died – I knew space would be the final frontier.

So my point – here I am today… considering myself “tech savvy” (with my blog and all) and I realized this morning… I’ve never sent a text message. My god… it’s started. I am on the edge of that gap that separates generations and I’m looking across the chasm at the new techno-gen. I’m holding my ipod in one hand and my blackberry in the other, desperately waving to those on the other side as they wirelessly stream video to tiny devices. I’m screaming that I have TiVo and understand what a MMORPG is… but I’m ignored. They will go off and study nanotechnology or genetic engineering; they will have video games that require you to be implanted with a chip and instead of tattoos – kids will get genetically sliced for zebra striped hair or slatted cat eyes. I’ll disapprove (as our parents did when we dyed our hair or got pierced), but it won’t matter.

I intend to still fight the fight… I’ll keep up as long as I’m able…

I wi11 n07 g0 g3n713 in70 7h47 g00d nigh7 - I wi11 r4g3 4g4in57 teh dying 0f teh 1igh7.

-nuff said

Fact or Fiction #5 - A Night at Bullwinkles (Part 2)

Technical Sgt Payton Krieger (Call Sign: Pain)
Resistance Training Specialist

It will be discovered, at some point in the future, that Payton Krieger possessed the XYY chromosome. This means that his body was creating twice the testosterone of a normal male. It also would explain why his arms were the diameter of a normal man’s leg, his sloping brow, thick forehead, square jaw and of course – his violent tendencies. Everyone agreed, if you were going into a situation were violence was assured… bring Pain.

Bullwinkle’s was a wonderful little dive, off the main road, and would allow patrons to purchase hard liquor by the bottle to take back to their table. Payton’s team was already about two-hours into their drinking, and everyone at the table was having a grand time, telling stories of their adventures (and misadventures) over the past month. Payton was silent, a usually state of being for him, and was indulging in his favorite libation – Jack Daniels.

Everyone at the table was having such a good time; nobody noticed when Randall had stumbled off to the men’s room. The same was true with his return and more importantly, nobody noticed all the commotion revolving around an incident that recently occurred in the lavatory.

The table Payton’s team had chosen was located right on the dance floor (really just planks partially covered with hay) and provided easy access (and egress) from all directions. That is of course until the table (and his team) was surrounded by a saloon full of cowboys (the police report and hospital records will identify 18 of them… but those are just the ones that were recorded, and I don’t want to get ahead of myself… so I digress).

Now one would think that 6 men surrounded by 18+ men would feel scared, nervous or perhaps even concerned. But one would have to consider (besides the amount of alcohol they had consumed) who those 6 men were (or at least who one of them was). You see, they had Payton Krieger. Payton was a man who could bench press 300 pounds without a strain, a man that opened walnuts by clenching them in his fists, and a man who would break bottles of beer over his head for recreation (this last part is of greatest importance). Payton felt that intimidation was vital to instill in his foes prior to engagement. And nothing says, “You are messing with the wrong fellow” like shattering a bottle over your own head.

The team felt confident with Payton at their side. As Payton grabbed a bottle from the table and waved it by its neck, his team knew he was about to show everyone his signature move. Payton announced in his most daunting voice, “You boys are in for a world of hurt” and then, with an abundance of testosterone powered might, smashed the bottle against his brow. Payton was confused by the expression on everyone’s face as he gazed around. Some looked confused; many were standing there with their mouths wide open. As he gazed around he noticed that he couldn’t control the “around” his gaze was taking him and it accelerated into a spin… he remembers seeing the floor rushing up towards him.

Payton (and members of his team) learned an important lesson in physics that moment. The bottle Payton grabbed was the one he was nursing all evening, a bottle of Jack Daniels. Apparently the fine people at the Jack Daniel’s Distilling Company had made a remarkably sturdy bottle - a square bottle with very thick glass on the edges. Physics will show that a round bottle (like most beer bottles), when sufficient force is applied to its outside wall, will shatter - while a square bottle would require significantly more force. A lesson we will all remember.

Don’t believe what you read in the Ada County News, you are about to hear what really happened next…

Happy Valentines Day to everyone that stops by…

To hell with the rest of you.

Oh, by the way…

After shooting somebody with your shotgun, wait 14 hours before reporting it to the police so all the alcohol has a chance to leave your system (rolls eyes)

Fact or Fiction #5 - A Night at Bullwinkles (Part 1)

Sgt Randall Berge (Call Sign: Iceberg)
Artic Survival Specialist

As Randall stood there at the urinal, one hand on the cool tile wall supporting his balance and the other on his equipment supporting his aim – he knew that he had surpassed his limit of alcohol consumption for the night. He marveled at how the ammonia disc in the urinal looked just like snow, but yet it didn’t melt like snow. He told himself it was time to start drinking water or coffee or perhaps he should have something to eat… like chicken wings – mmmm, those would be nice right now.

As he peed, Randall lowered his head, and his chin rested on his chest - he closed his eyes. He thought about his last mission (near the Beaufort Sea, part of the Artic Ocean), his next mission (only described as “you’re in for a real treat”), how he had surpassed his limit of alcohol consumption for the evening and how he should get something to eat… perhaps chicken wings.

Randall was so lost in inebriated thought; he didn’t hear the other gentleman walk into the restroom. Randall’s first realization that he wasn’t alone was tap on his butt – apparently from the other guy’s cowboy boot. Randall turned his head to look at his butt, and then he followed the floor with his eyes to the boot, and then forced himself to lift his head and focus on the boots owner, some local hick.

“I said,” The cowboy (the term cowboy in this context could be replaced with “hick in boots”, “cowboy-wannabee” or “asshole”) sounded annoyed “are you in the military or something boy?”
Now to Randall, even in his drunken state, this was a ridiculous question. Randall’s hair was high and tight, his dog-tags were dangling outside of his green tank-top shirt and his BDU pants were still bloused over his boots. But Randall had assessed the situation and felt that this confrontation was not to determine his vocation. Confrontations with the local men have been escalating for years - usually over the allotment of local women. Randall knew that he was impaired, and in a “fair” fight, would only have “fair” odds. But Randall also felt since the question had been so rudely asked, it was his obligation to answer.

Randall finished his business with the urinal, shook, stored and zipped. Then turned to the cowboy and replied, “I’m not just in the Military – I’m in Survival.” Randall then reached into the urinal and removed the hockey puck shaped disc. “And this…” Randall began to explain, “is a Survival Cookie.” As Randall began to raise the ammonia disc to his mouth, the cowboy could only stand there in shock. When Randall took a bite of the disc, the cowboy felt a gag reflex in the pit of his stomach. When Randall spit the chunk of white rock out of his mouth, the cowboy looked down and moved quickly to avoid the object from striking his boots. And it was at that moment that Randall chose to disarm the situation.

Randall washed his hands and looked at himself in the restroom mirror. He stepped over the cowboy and headed back to his table in the bar, determined to order some wings – and perhaps a beer.

Diversion and Misdirection

So (for those that have not been paying attention) investigations are underway to determine whether the President, the Attorney General and others have broken the law in regards to illegal wire-tapping (see the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act of 1978) against Americans.

Now this isn’t the first time our governing bodies have been caught doing things less then ethical. But even if George W. is found guilty of violating American rights – here’s are two words that will make everything “disappear”… Diversion and Misdirection.

You see… if the President’s spin-doctors follow the same strategy they have before (and why not, it works), Survival Cookies predicts that something wonderful or gruesome (or wonderfully gruesome) will shortly follow the discovery of guilt.

Let’s recap:

On the tragic day (9/11) when we lost our innocents and were promised that those responsible would be brought to justice – we were pleased. When those responsible were not brought to justice – we were angry. Quick, show them the words - “Diversion and Misdirection”. Let’s attack Sadam Hussein and Iraq, because they kind of look like the people that bombed us, and besides…. they have weapons of mass destruction (it’s the “mass” in mass destructive that really got people angry). We were pleased.

When (after a costly and brutal campaign) no weapons of mass destruction were found - we were pissed. Bring up the catch phrase, “Diversion and Misdirection”. The War against Terrorism (now how could anybody be against that?), Axis of Evil (must be bad – has “Evil” in the name), ties to al-Qaeda (nobody likes a word that contains a “Q” without the required “u” after it) – these all were all things we (as Americans) could rally-up against – we were once again pleased.

And now, our privacy is being stripped away in the name of "Security". Americans are being wire tapped without judicial filters. The President believes he is within his rights to listen to your phone calls, read your email and record your conversations without any “checks or balances” in place – we are pissed. But fear not, if things go as planned we are about to be gifted with something to divert our anger and misdirect our rage. Perhaps we will turn our armies towards Pakistan because they are harboring Osama (doesn’t have to be true to make us angry), perhaps we are really tired of North Korea, Iran and what the hell – China and every American can report immediately to their nearest military training facility, or perhaps we will discover a yet unknown threat known as the “Nemesis of Democracy” (on a side note of Democracy: if we are going to advocate democracy across the planet – let’s not be surprised if a country elects a body that we don’t like – if we are going to threaten a country for not voting the way we intended, let’s just save time and select a ruling body for them and place a military presence there to enforce our selected government’s control – enough said) and we can kick their 3rd world ass. Then once again – we will be pleased. Where's my coffee?

“Those who would sacrifice freedom and liberty for security deserve neither" – Ben Franklin

Sylvia Darling

As she sits in front of the vanity mirror, surrounded by 12 soft light bulbs, slowly applying her makeup; she pauses for only a brief moment to note how kind these last 85 years have been to her skin. Her morning ritual of cosmetic application is flawless, effortless and absolute. The process has become mechanical from decades of repetition. The final touch - the eyebrows, these are each meticulously drawn on and reflect her mood for the day. Her original eyebrows were gone by the mid-20’s (not her mid 20’s, but the 1920’s) as was the case for most starlets of the stage back then. You see, Sylvia was a Diva, before anyone knew what a Diva really was.

In 1921, she was a principal performer in the Ziegfeld Follies. Sylvia and her twin sister were rubbing shoulders on stage with W.C Fields and Fanny Brice. That same year, Sylvia performed on Broadway in “Good Morning Dearie”… 347 performances and never missed a curtain call. When the Knickerbocker Theater presented “Peter Pan” in 1924 – she was one of the Lost Boys, one of the Skunk Brothers… and for 96 performances she enthralled the audience.

75 years later, Sylvia will still walk into a room as if she owned it. She’ll play the “crowd” like a professional, even if the “crowd” is confined to the waiters and patrons at a restaurant she frequently dines. She will always be on stage, always in character… always be the star of the show. She can wear a fur coat in the summer, dark glasses at night and don a feather boa for an evening of dinner and dancing… and make it work. Sylvia enjoys calling people “darling” and always smiles and laughs at whatever they have to say, even if she doesn’t know the person or have any idea of what is being said.

She is an anachronism, a 1920’s starlet approaching the 21st century. But people love nostalgia, and Sylvia emits a charisma and charm that is easily absorbed.

When Sylvia’s 25 year old grandson asked her why she wears her sunglasses at night, she replied “So my fans don’t recognize me”…

“Your fans are dead grandma”, he snidely replied… but she heard, “You’ll knock them dead” and nodded as she and glided out the door.

Sylvia – you are missed