Embarking on this Ballistic Tour has been an enlightening experience in some ways. It has highlighted how fortunate I am and the fact that people tend to be rather nice to me. That sounds odd but I don't know how better to put it.
I was talking to the wife half of my landlord complex and one of her sons this evening. What cool people they are. Hitting on this place and those people was quite a stroke. For those of you who always own your dwelling that probably sounds a little peculiar or lacking the security one would expect from a lad old enough to be your Uncle, or your father's uncle or your father, or your cousin twice removed, or your first grade teacher, or your spiritual advisor, or friends with Ben Franklin. We called him Benny.
As it turns out, it seems increasingly more secure not to own an estate or basic dwelling. Ridiculous, I know. Here in CA, the landlords are the ones who push for month to month rental agreements rather than 1 year lease. That's due to rules and regs which put the person who owns behind the 8 ball. I see it as a blessing to me, but I am not one who thinks renters should be able to make life hell for the responsible owner. Upside down.
Even so I expect to own plenty before it is over, provided I don't have to join a revolution somewhere. As I watch free speech being eroded in ways that aren't even decent, I wonder. Whatever craziness comes down the pike, I still think in terms of projects which could yield some good return, pipe dreams or not. Having dreams is the cool part. I feel better when I do, as long as I can be at peace in the moment from time to time.
So, I'm off in a few days to south FL and I'm excited. The work involved is rather vague because we have no idea exactly what we're in for. I know it will be fun and I'll be with great friends. No way anything too gloomy is permitted with that gang. I was telling the land lady about it and she pointed out how lucky I am. Somehow she always makes me see the up side of my circumstances. For me to focus on the down side would be a bit like looking a gift horse in the mouth. Or something. It would be stupid and inappropriate.
I think the posts below this are more meaningful. This next few weeks is a mystery. I'm going and that's all I know. Flying, but I doubt Joe Biden will be on the plane. I hope lots of people stay home so it won't be crowded. Journey into the unknown. Not real well known at any rate. Just the way I like it; everything will be unexpected because I have no idea what to expect.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Remembering an Odd Encounter Part 1
(I may have written some version of this on the old journal--harpO--but it wasn't as vivid in my mind and I felt like I needed to write it again)
Today was another teak day. I finished a piece over at project O, as intended. I was going to scan the scene with my Flip, due to Bobby's request, but I discovered the batteries were dead as doornails. I must have left that sucker on, or something.
Anyway, the lounge chair is now a work of art. I have done five of those now. Just one more to go, but that will be later. I'm heading south to do who knows what near the thriving zany city where I was supposed to grow up but never quite did.
Tracing the thought pattern which brought up the memory of Mike Kevorkian, a pioneer in the South FL diving world would take more space than this lengthy story. My acquaintance with Mike was brief, yet memorable. I did not know him as the shaker and mover I later discovered he was.
Growing up in Miami included working in and later doing all the work in a side business my father started. Not sure how it came about, the business, not the work. It was a little operation that originally made spearguns, then the replacement bands for the top brand and spears for Hawaiian slings. Those are like an underwater slingshot that shoots spears. I've never been spearfishing. Maybe my father did, I don't know. Our lives were not exactly intertwined in a transparent fashion. Since he didn't live there from the time I was 9 or 10, the work load fell on my brother and I. In high school, I was the whole ball of wax.
The speargun factory was in the garage in the back yard. Few jobs I've had since involved work that was that hard, hot or unsafe. UPS truck loading in Greensboro matched or exceeded the degree of risk to life and limb. Safety is for sissies. That was our motto. In addition to producing a higher quality product, I managed to shed less blood than those who went before me. Am I tooting my own horn a bit much here? Sorry. I'm practicing for some pitches I have planned for projects that require schemes so crazy that unmitigated gall and confidence are the only way to go.
My experience in the fish gun labor camp is probably the source of my secret satisfaction in doing higher quality work than is required, or even obvious, and my disconnect between work and reward. Work should equal reward and satisfaction. I have yet to tie it together as I should. For some reason I do like seeing a good result that I can't fault when I'm done, but considering best return for effort put in eludes me.
Back to Kevorkian. He was always asking me about things I couldn't answer when I'd make deliveries to his shop. He especially wanted to make the replacement bands and was always prying about our method of doing this. That was not information I could divulge. It bothered me that he asked, and I was just a kid, stuck in a morass of other confusion.
A few years out of high school, with some college behind me, now a part time Air Guard crew chief, and still confused, I'd returned to Miami thinking, since the business was shot and stagnant that I'd revive it, then branch out into making other cool things not related to spears or fish. I figured if I offered my dad 50% provided he just take the money and didn't interfere it was win-win.
I immediately drummed up new orders and sold out the stock on hand with new orders coming in. Absent as he always was, I'll be damned if dear old dad didn't find time to start questioning my pricing and every other move I was making. Instead of months going by with no contact, he was critically crossing my path way too often.
I shut it down. Hell with that. I took a job as a draftsman/designer at a place that made water cooled exhaust systems for yachts. That was not a bad gig. Soon I was the go to guy for the custom work because I could look at blue prints and design the system to fit. Had to say that. I often forget that stuff. Anyway, I had a little apartment and a hellacious rush hour commute to Hialeah every day. Soon I decided to go back to school in the middle of nowhere--little town in NC--small college, and I was going to straighten out; no drinking or drugs, just become academic. Fat chance on that. D and D all the way.
Kevorkian called me and since he'd heard I shut down, wanted to buy the machines and such for making those bands. He named a figure and I assured him it had to be higher for me to even approach my father. I was good at that game. He complied, and my father agreed. After all kinds of hassle, I got a meeting arranged between the two at my mother's house, home of the speargun factory.
End part 1.
I'll write part 2 in a minute. I'll mess around with it so that part 1 is above part 2 on the page. Right now I have a cafe con leche break. Bustelo cooked on the stove. I'm saving my remaining parrot coffee, but Bustelo is a reliable Cuban coffee por la gente.
Today was another teak day. I finished a piece over at project O, as intended. I was going to scan the scene with my Flip, due to Bobby's request, but I discovered the batteries were dead as doornails. I must have left that sucker on, or something.
Anyway, the lounge chair is now a work of art. I have done five of those now. Just one more to go, but that will be later. I'm heading south to do who knows what near the thriving zany city where I was supposed to grow up but never quite did.
Tracing the thought pattern which brought up the memory of Mike Kevorkian, a pioneer in the South FL diving world would take more space than this lengthy story. My acquaintance with Mike was brief, yet memorable. I did not know him as the shaker and mover I later discovered he was.
Growing up in Miami included working in and later doing all the work in a side business my father started. Not sure how it came about, the business, not the work. It was a little operation that originally made spearguns, then the replacement bands for the top brand and spears for Hawaiian slings. Those are like an underwater slingshot that shoots spears. I've never been spearfishing. Maybe my father did, I don't know. Our lives were not exactly intertwined in a transparent fashion. Since he didn't live there from the time I was 9 or 10, the work load fell on my brother and I. In high school, I was the whole ball of wax.
The speargun factory was in the garage in the back yard. Few jobs I've had since involved work that was that hard, hot or unsafe. UPS truck loading in Greensboro matched or exceeded the degree of risk to life and limb. Safety is for sissies. That was our motto. In addition to producing a higher quality product, I managed to shed less blood than those who went before me. Am I tooting my own horn a bit much here? Sorry. I'm practicing for some pitches I have planned for projects that require schemes so crazy that unmitigated gall and confidence are the only way to go.
My experience in the fish gun labor camp is probably the source of my secret satisfaction in doing higher quality work than is required, or even obvious, and my disconnect between work and reward. Work should equal reward and satisfaction. I have yet to tie it together as I should. For some reason I do like seeing a good result that I can't fault when I'm done, but considering best return for effort put in eludes me.
Back to Kevorkian. He was always asking me about things I couldn't answer when I'd make deliveries to his shop. He especially wanted to make the replacement bands and was always prying about our method of doing this. That was not information I could divulge. It bothered me that he asked, and I was just a kid, stuck in a morass of other confusion.
A few years out of high school, with some college behind me, now a part time Air Guard crew chief, and still confused, I'd returned to Miami thinking, since the business was shot and stagnant that I'd revive it, then branch out into making other cool things not related to spears or fish. I figured if I offered my dad 50% provided he just take the money and didn't interfere it was win-win.
I immediately drummed up new orders and sold out the stock on hand with new orders coming in. Absent as he always was, I'll be damned if dear old dad didn't find time to start questioning my pricing and every other move I was making. Instead of months going by with no contact, he was critically crossing my path way too often.
I shut it down. Hell with that. I took a job as a draftsman/designer at a place that made water cooled exhaust systems for yachts. That was not a bad gig. Soon I was the go to guy for the custom work because I could look at blue prints and design the system to fit. Had to say that. I often forget that stuff. Anyway, I had a little apartment and a hellacious rush hour commute to Hialeah every day. Soon I decided to go back to school in the middle of nowhere--little town in NC--small college, and I was going to straighten out; no drinking or drugs, just become academic. Fat chance on that. D and D all the way.
Kevorkian called me and since he'd heard I shut down, wanted to buy the machines and such for making those bands. He named a figure and I assured him it had to be higher for me to even approach my father. I was good at that game. He complied, and my father agreed. After all kinds of hassle, I got a meeting arranged between the two at my mother's house, home of the speargun factory.
End part 1.
I'll write part 2 in a minute. I'll mess around with it so that part 1 is above part 2 on the page. Right now I have a cafe con leche break. Bustelo cooked on the stove. I'm saving my remaining parrot coffee, but Bustelo is a reliable Cuban coffee por la gente.
Remembering an Odd Encounter part 2
The meeting was set, when we left off in part 1. My father was all cynical and surly about the thing and I had concerns that he'd be totally abrasive and rude, which was about par for the course. He couldn't help it and may he RIP and all that. Just stating facts and setting the stage.
Just before Mike arrived dear old dad was quibbling over the agreed upon sale price for what was left of the defunct business. He even tried to say he hadn't agreed. Perhaps he was high or a little drunk when I closed the deal with him over the phone. In any case, I was sweating it. What if Kevorkian was acting up, too? Believe me, I had faith in neither guy, but I figured it would best dispose of the dreaded speargun factory once and for all and I was hitting the road in a couple of days. It seemed I'd wrangled an agreed upon commission when I sewed up the deal, so that was looming---gas money to a place I'd only seen one weekend.
Oh, and I had to make a guard drill along the way. The first of my ballistic tours I guess.
Finally I see this metallic green, Ford Falcon covertible I believe, with flames painted along the front fenders, come wheeling into the driveway. Out pops this guy, maybe late 50's or 60ish. He was one of those VanDyke beard people. Back then that was spooky. It wasn't yet trendy.
I expected the worst. But Mike had this open warmth that was not as I remembered from my high school and junior high encounters with him. A friendly aura of peace.
Somehow even my father seemed to be at ease and taken in by the charismatic madman with the crazy car. We were sitting in the living room, check was exchanged and the topic of the car came up. Kevorkian chuckled and said he imagined he looked like a kook in that ride but he wouldn't trade it for the world.
It turns out that about 5 years prior Mike was diagnosed with cancer. Lung maybe. He was a goner and had been advised to get his affairs in order because he was going to be checking out in six months most likely. So, he began to get rid of stuff which was of no use to his wife, and generally started making sure the loose ends were tied.
One of the items on his list was a sailboat he kept at Coconut Grove marina. It was a forty footer and his pride and joy. He was down there sprucing it up and hanging the For Sale sign. This young couple showed up and the guy was just staring at the boat like a puppy in love. Mike asked if he wanted to come aboard and take a look. The kid assured him he better not because he could never afford anything like that. He said he better just dream from a distance.
Then Mike decided to do something unexpected. He saw the kid's car and asked if he had clear title. He told the kid he'd trade him even. That's how he got the car. At the time it was only worth possibly two grand, if that. The paint was worth more than the car, and a paint job like that sort of limits the market so it was really worth not much. The boat was worth somewhere near 50 K, give or take 10K. Memory serves well enough to know it was in thaqt range but not sure of exact number. A totally lopsided trade.
Mike went on to tell of his experience on the cancer ward. He had undergone chemo or radiation, whatever they did. He said what struck him was how gloomy and empty the other patients seemed. They'd all given up and it bugged him. Being the gregarious wildman he was, he started raising hell with them and the doctors.
Finally he talked the medical people into letting him get the other cancer patients interested in learning to use scuba gear in a swimming pool. He got some sort of program going trying to add a little fun and life to his fellow patients. He said his own outlook changed dramatically when he was diagnosed, and as he decided to take an interest in the others. That was not really his way before.
It sounds odd to be taking sick people diving but they weren't out in the open sea. I did the scuba thing in a pool once and it was a cool experience. The point was, he cared, and he found changes he needed to make in himself through the process.
Mike's cancer went into remission and he lived another 15 years after our encounter. They dedicated an artificial reef to him south of Key Biscayne. They called the ship they sank the Tarpoon, named after his dive shop.
If you go to http://www.tarpoondivecenter.com/ you can find a little more about him, or about Miami diving. Why you would, I don't know, but it adds credibility to my tale. Truthfully, I'd always thought the guy was kind of sleazy until that day in our living room. He changed dramatically.
It was one of those times when you leave a person and feel like you just had a spiritual experience or awakening of some kind. The feeling he left us with was just incredible.
I'm glad I remembered that event. Mike's story, his expression of his change in philosophy, and how grateful he was to have had the opportunity to see life a new way, was a gift. It was an event that makes me wonder that maybe sometimes things do happen for a reason.
Just before Mike arrived dear old dad was quibbling over the agreed upon sale price for what was left of the defunct business. He even tried to say he hadn't agreed. Perhaps he was high or a little drunk when I closed the deal with him over the phone. In any case, I was sweating it. What if Kevorkian was acting up, too? Believe me, I had faith in neither guy, but I figured it would best dispose of the dreaded speargun factory once and for all and I was hitting the road in a couple of days. It seemed I'd wrangled an agreed upon commission when I sewed up the deal, so that was looming---gas money to a place I'd only seen one weekend.
Oh, and I had to make a guard drill along the way. The first of my ballistic tours I guess.
Finally I see this metallic green, Ford Falcon covertible I believe, with flames painted along the front fenders, come wheeling into the driveway. Out pops this guy, maybe late 50's or 60ish. He was one of those VanDyke beard people. Back then that was spooky. It wasn't yet trendy.
I expected the worst. But Mike had this open warmth that was not as I remembered from my high school and junior high encounters with him. A friendly aura of peace.
Somehow even my father seemed to be at ease and taken in by the charismatic madman with the crazy car. We were sitting in the living room, check was exchanged and the topic of the car came up. Kevorkian chuckled and said he imagined he looked like a kook in that ride but he wouldn't trade it for the world.
It turns out that about 5 years prior Mike was diagnosed with cancer. Lung maybe. He was a goner and had been advised to get his affairs in order because he was going to be checking out in six months most likely. So, he began to get rid of stuff which was of no use to his wife, and generally started making sure the loose ends were tied.
One of the items on his list was a sailboat he kept at Coconut Grove marina. It was a forty footer and his pride and joy. He was down there sprucing it up and hanging the For Sale sign. This young couple showed up and the guy was just staring at the boat like a puppy in love. Mike asked if he wanted to come aboard and take a look. The kid assured him he better not because he could never afford anything like that. He said he better just dream from a distance.
Then Mike decided to do something unexpected. He saw the kid's car and asked if he had clear title. He told the kid he'd trade him even. That's how he got the car. At the time it was only worth possibly two grand, if that. The paint was worth more than the car, and a paint job like that sort of limits the market so it was really worth not much. The boat was worth somewhere near 50 K, give or take 10K. Memory serves well enough to know it was in thaqt range but not sure of exact number. A totally lopsided trade.
Mike went on to tell of his experience on the cancer ward. He had undergone chemo or radiation, whatever they did. He said what struck him was how gloomy and empty the other patients seemed. They'd all given up and it bugged him. Being the gregarious wildman he was, he started raising hell with them and the doctors.
Finally he talked the medical people into letting him get the other cancer patients interested in learning to use scuba gear in a swimming pool. He got some sort of program going trying to add a little fun and life to his fellow patients. He said his own outlook changed dramatically when he was diagnosed, and as he decided to take an interest in the others. That was not really his way before.
It sounds odd to be taking sick people diving but they weren't out in the open sea. I did the scuba thing in a pool once and it was a cool experience. The point was, he cared, and he found changes he needed to make in himself through the process.
Mike's cancer went into remission and he lived another 15 years after our encounter. They dedicated an artificial reef to him south of Key Biscayne. They called the ship they sank the Tarpoon, named after his dive shop.
If you go to http://www.tarpoondivecenter.com/ you can find a little more about him, or about Miami diving. Why you would, I don't know, but it adds credibility to my tale. Truthfully, I'd always thought the guy was kind of sleazy until that day in our living room. He changed dramatically.
It was one of those times when you leave a person and feel like you just had a spiritual experience or awakening of some kind. The feeling he left us with was just incredible.
I'm glad I remembered that event. Mike's story, his expression of his change in philosophy, and how grateful he was to have had the opportunity to see life a new way, was a gift. It was an event that makes me wonder that maybe sometimes things do happen for a reason.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Can You get flu from the news?
After hearing all the talk, now I am sneezing and I think developing a sore throat. I ache a lot anyway so who knows if I have the muscle aches. I am pretty sure I caught it from the radio. I think Obama gave it to me when he was giving his course on basic health etiquette. Then the news lady on TV spit on me.
I'm not giving them the satisfaction of reporting it. This would be one of those "maybe" cases.
It could be that Joe Biden put the final hex on things. After hearing Gibbs explain what Joe was thinking when he was saying something else, who knows what's what. I am sure it is all a conspiracy. The real object of all this is to replace the White House Press Secretary.
After that lame attempt to spin Biden out of hot water with the travel industry, I believe they are searching for the only man who should have that job in this administration; the ex Iraqi Minister of Information. He's perfect for this job.
Remember when he was talking about roasting our stomachs as troops were overrunning Baghdad? He kept saying we were miles away getting a taste of Saddam's wrath. One or 2 D's there? No matter, he is no longer. The Info guy had so many classic lines they made coffee mugs and T-shirts with selected quotes.
Really, Gibbs makes Bush sound rather coherent and articulate. Perhaps to complement the fact that they are outdoing the insanity of Bush, they put Gibbs up to outdo the embarrassing articulatory of W, as well.
Not sure what happened to the popular Iraqi spinmeister, but it is time to bring him on board. let him roast some press corps stomachs.
I'm pretty sure the flu thing is a trick to get him in and Gibbs out. They are spreading the disease through power of suggestion. They don't care. To them, "you have to break some eggs..." The common good and change always require some eggs get broken. Any student of the greater good will tell you that.
If I am going to feel like a broken egg, at least I could have the hero of Baghdad telling me what Biden meant to say or what Obama meant not to say.
I'm not giving them the satisfaction of reporting it. This would be one of those "maybe" cases.
It could be that Joe Biden put the final hex on things. After hearing Gibbs explain what Joe was thinking when he was saying something else, who knows what's what. I am sure it is all a conspiracy. The real object of all this is to replace the White House Press Secretary.
After that lame attempt to spin Biden out of hot water with the travel industry, I believe they are searching for the only man who should have that job in this administration; the ex Iraqi Minister of Information. He's perfect for this job.
Remember when he was talking about roasting our stomachs as troops were overrunning Baghdad? He kept saying we were miles away getting a taste of Saddam's wrath. One or 2 D's there? No matter, he is no longer. The Info guy had so many classic lines they made coffee mugs and T-shirts with selected quotes.
Really, Gibbs makes Bush sound rather coherent and articulate. Perhaps to complement the fact that they are outdoing the insanity of Bush, they put Gibbs up to outdo the embarrassing articulatory of W, as well.
Not sure what happened to the popular Iraqi spinmeister, but it is time to bring him on board. let him roast some press corps stomachs.
I'm pretty sure the flu thing is a trick to get him in and Gibbs out. They are spreading the disease through power of suggestion. They don't care. To them, "you have to break some eggs..." The common good and change always require some eggs get broken. Any student of the greater good will tell you that.
If I am going to feel like a broken egg, at least I could have the hero of Baghdad telling me what Biden meant to say or what Obama meant not to say.
Things I notice But Don't usually mention
Since I've been out here, I have noticed an abundance of flowers. I can't identify most flowers so I won't give that rundown. Plenty of them and mostly in electric colors, yellow hot pink, glowing red and purple, etc. Now I see why I don't mention these things.
I see more hummingbirds in a week than I've seen in my entire life up to arriving here. I've seen them close enough to touch if I had quick enough hands, and the will to disrupt an innocent hummingbird's day.
There is an extraordinary abundance of good looking women, mostly wearing rocks on their fingers befitting their whatever. I noticed anyway. I'm just pointing these things out so people don't think I have no sense of the general aesthetic of the hood.
I've seen more pick up trucks than I recall seeing anywhere, even in pickup land south of years ago. That's outside the heart of the city, mostly.
Overall I've seen more politeness than I'm used to, even among the meanest looking people. Not always when they are driving though. Pick ups are the main offenders as are BMW's, on the road. There seem to be more Lexus and Mercedes than BMW. I approve of that. Toyota is king overall.
It is far more difficult to predict rain here than anywhere, even when the sky is dark and the air feels misty. It only pretends like it is going to rain most of the time.
I have also noticed things that I'm leaving out because I'll end up moping. Moping is forbidden until after rehab in Florida.
What they don't know is that I have more crazy teak adventures lined up for when I return. I'm not doing any cold turkey teak quit for good. I'll just learn how to deal with it in moderation.
I see more hummingbirds in a week than I've seen in my entire life up to arriving here. I've seen them close enough to touch if I had quick enough hands, and the will to disrupt an innocent hummingbird's day.
There is an extraordinary abundance of good looking women, mostly wearing rocks on their fingers befitting their whatever. I noticed anyway. I'm just pointing these things out so people don't think I have no sense of the general aesthetic of the hood.
I've seen more pick up trucks than I recall seeing anywhere, even in pickup land south of years ago. That's outside the heart of the city, mostly.
Overall I've seen more politeness than I'm used to, even among the meanest looking people. Not always when they are driving though. Pick ups are the main offenders as are BMW's, on the road. There seem to be more Lexus and Mercedes than BMW. I approve of that. Toyota is king overall.
It is far more difficult to predict rain here than anywhere, even when the sky is dark and the air feels misty. It only pretends like it is going to rain most of the time.
I have also noticed things that I'm leaving out because I'll end up moping. Moping is forbidden until after rehab in Florida.
What they don't know is that I have more crazy teak adventures lined up for when I return. I'm not doing any cold turkey teak quit for good. I'll just learn how to deal with it in moderation.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Intervention Threatened
So, I was over at O's, that's project O to you, and I had to pop around to project J, the Duke of Earl's. It really wasn't overly obsessive compulsive or any number of initialed morbidities. OCB, ADHD, ROFL, LSD, etc. However, I did detect the slightest tinge of texture issue on the part where I'd made glue-sanding dust paste, used epoxy, etc. Just a little edge there.
Since I had a handy woody skewer with me---the happy leftover from a fruit kabob---I was ready to attack the miniscule problem. This time I coaxed the clear epoxy into the offending edge, then used home made cardboard applicators to apply a coating of sanding dust, then used the frayed end of the skewer (where I broke a piece off to use as mixer for epoxy) as a brush to sort of mix and move the resulting wood putty del mundo. I was able to get a fairly smooth result by smooth it over with the skewer stick and miniature cardboard trowels. It will sand easily. I'm proud of the work.
Actually I've been carrying the stick in my computer bag for a few days in anticipation of just such an event, and, alternately as a weapon. The point came in handy in the process for moving the mixture along the edge of the part that wasn't quite right. Were dealing with an overall area smaller than my little finger, and the point of focus smaller than the edge of the fingernail on that digit. In my mind it became gigantic. I like it when that happens.
A friend heard I was back over at project J smoothing trivia and adding more finish to the finished. I was asked if an intervention would be necessary. Of course, like a good addict, I said no. However I am slated to leave town for a 28 day program in South Florida. The plane leaves in a few days. Perhaps it will help.
Since I had a handy woody skewer with me---the happy leftover from a fruit kabob---I was ready to attack the miniscule problem. This time I coaxed the clear epoxy into the offending edge, then used home made cardboard applicators to apply a coating of sanding dust, then used the frayed end of the skewer (where I broke a piece off to use as mixer for epoxy) as a brush to sort of mix and move the resulting wood putty del mundo. I was able to get a fairly smooth result by smooth it over with the skewer stick and miniature cardboard trowels. It will sand easily. I'm proud of the work.
Actually I've been carrying the stick in my computer bag for a few days in anticipation of just such an event, and, alternately as a weapon. The point came in handy in the process for moving the mixture along the edge of the part that wasn't quite right. Were dealing with an overall area smaller than my little finger, and the point of focus smaller than the edge of the fingernail on that digit. In my mind it became gigantic. I like it when that happens.
A friend heard I was back over at project J smoothing trivia and adding more finish to the finished. I was asked if an intervention would be necessary. Of course, like a good addict, I said no. However I am slated to leave town for a 28 day program in South Florida. The plane leaves in a few days. Perhaps it will help.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Capitalism, Theft, and Sophisticated Lies and Thuggery
(most will prefer post below this for shorter lighter reading. This, however, was an effort to bring a rarely seen view which neither favors past military-industrial fascism lite, nor present day fascism/socialism lunacy. Just hoping to allay the common man's fear of freedom in my small, ahead of my time way. Modestly and with undue humility.)
In conversing with a friend today, he brought up something he'd seen in which the writer dubbed the Somali pirates the last capitalists, or something to that effect, citing their spirit of free enterprise. That topic was short lived in the larger discussion as are most topics which promise to bring on one of my freedom vs the alternative lectures, and rants about propaganda, etc. I try, but I still tend to do that.
The thought stayed with me, though, causing me to think about the topic. I would compare the pirates to the cutting edge of European and American politics and policies, but not to capitalism. Al Sharpton said these guys refer to themselves as "volunteer coast guard". He prefaced that with "more appropriately", meaning instead of pirates they more rightly refer to themselves as coast guard.
Al is either so blinded by race that he absolutely can't see anything else, or he is just insane. Oh, there is a third possibility---he may sniff opportunity to somehow turn it into a venue to ply his trade, peddling influence. It doesn't look like he's missed many meals.
Al is a capitalist, and a crook. Combine the two and that which should not serve as capital---wealth which can be employed to create more wealth---does serve. Things like people who falsely accuse others of rape and such. They become capital in Al's business of making a living by peddling hate based solely on race.
The evil is not using wealth to create wealth, but using lies and hatred, and government interference. That is a very bastardized form of free market at work. It is not free when you have force involved. Government involvement= force. Half truths = fraud. That is what keeps Al afloat; often there is an element of truth somewhere in history that he uses to advantage where it does not apply. It is the art of using partial truth and perverting context. The broad brush of fraud covers it.
Over the years people have been so bombarded by images and stories designed to paint industrialists and businessmen as evil oppressors of little people like me that the term "capitalist" has almost become a dirty word. Tiny Tim and I are so abused by these evil inventors and manufacturers of everything from toilet paper to pots and pans, we can hardly muster the energy to say "God bless us and spread the wealth around".
I hope at least someone will hear me through on this. No civilization or system works without some dependence on the integrity and goodness of the people in control. Capitalism places the control of wealth and resources in the hands of the people. Privately controlled wealth used according to the demands of the market.
They dropped buggy whips because it was not something that people wanted. That industry could not earn income producing an archaic product. If we aren't careful many so-called "green industries" being mandated will be the equivalent of subsidizing the buggy whip industry. Throwing good money after bad, retarding true and lasting innovation and progress.
The deceptive practices and employment of force, bribery of government officials, and the like are often cited as abuses of capitalism. In reality they have nothing to do with that system. They have to do with contracts not being properly honored and enforced, and with dishonest thuggery going unchecked.
More and more, due to being fed the idea that the savior from trickery is to place the control of capital under government control, people have come to believe that socialism is a more peaceful solution. Nothing could be further from the truth.
The trouble is, many who claim to be proponents of a free market are actually proponents of a market in which government is used in order to further the aims and success of a few who use part of their capital to buy the power of elected officials. That is why I believe the real culprit is the lack of adherence to the solid limits originally placed on our government.
Those limits did not include preventing the law from being tough against force and fraud, but they did prevent the fighting of wars to serve special interests, unrealistic regulations that targeted competitors and the like.
It was easy to start confusing corruption with righting wrongs because envy is one of those lesser human emotions which blinds reason, and passes for self righteousness once it is legitimized.
By allowing the creation of the irs, the American public actually closed the door on capitalism, or began its swing shut. You'd think providing the best widget for the money and making a profit so you can live well, and improving the widget to stay competitive, would be the normal focus. It takes so much in the way of resources for a firm of any size to court government favor, structure around taxes so you have something left, most people would not believe it.
I found it shocking well over 20 years ago when I first found myself in a situation to see it first hand. The result of all the various means of reward and punishment laid on from government is actually an institutionalized type of dishonesty.
I'll leave the myths around and about unions out of it for now. That is a real hotbed of religious zeal. Reason goes out the window on all sides.
Most people who have experience in large companies, and often the jobs are great, recognize that much of what is said would have been called "double talk" many years ago. I think that term gave way to "double-speak" then to all kinds of "speak". Not sure why. I worked for a company in which people lost their souls it seemed. They loved to use the term "integrity issue". They got fried over some real scam practices which got coined as integrity issues.
But it came to be that the rules written by congressional committee and agency czars, with plenty of company input and lobbying, enabled them to bombard the consumer with such gobbledegook that no one knew what the hell they were reading and hearing, and when these neo fascists at the company wanted to fry some underling for "integrity issue" it was usually because the honest empathetic underling had translated the language so that the consumer went in with his eyes wide open.
Doing a good job was really a bad job, and doing a bad job was really a good job.
That is what I consider a taste of fascism or socialism. Depending on the honesty goodness and wisdom of the few,( who don't even create the product), to control the wealth is a bad idea. They see the realm of money and resources as endless, and available upon command. Like the Sheriff of Nottingham, they live well while squeezing those who produce ever tighter, demanding further sacrifices at every turn.
If you take away the preconceived ideas and emotions, turning the power over to a few seems very risky. The game is complicated and has become further tangled because of unreasonable liability suits and the like. The ones who have bought their share of political clout don't really mind. The roadblocks are something they can afford, but the up and coming competition can't.
That's why I don't take it seriously when I hear the very large corporations who have more government contracts than they can count complaining publicly. They know they are set and competitors are screwed. It is a dog and pony show, an act. It is a taste of socialism. Government controlling the wealth and how it is used.
They do it like pirates, buy or die. It's no different than the old protection racket of the mafia. People in those neighborhoods even remember some of the thugs fondly for their generosity. They often threw crumbs to the local masses. Crumbs extorted from hard working merchants and producers.
Just like what our national and local governments are doing; the premise that put most of them in office---don't worry we'll shake down the other guy and give you a piece of what we steal.
Socialism puts control of capital and resources in the hands of government. The few. Usually they suggest guarantees for everyone. To honor any of that they have to take the fruits of labor, inventiveness and production from those who create and distribute it as they see fit. Of course a bunch of it gets lost in the middle to themselves, favored parties, government employees and no doubt foreign officials.
Abusive people in charge of wealth is not good but I fear it is easier to mitigate that abuse of power if the control is private rather than in the hands of those even further removed from the production of wealth who are fewer in number and remain in control by using the forces of armed government as well as promising the gullible and class envy crazed public with crumbs.
It sucked in the USSR, it sucked in Cuba, Venezuela and China. It sucks here.
That is why socialism is a bad idea and capitalism itself is not the culprit. Supply and demand is nature, creating wealth by using wealth is also nature.
Nothing says a capitalist can't employ some portion of his wealth, voluntarily, for some humane purpose, like say paying my rent or buying me a machine shop. Nothing says a government czar in charge of the wealth of a nation is not going to employ that power unwisely and purposely or through incompetence, cruelly. How can the few possibly be the best judge of what millions of unique individuals need or desire?
If you are an artist, you get paint and canvas and supplies (capital). Then you create a painting (product). If your work strikes the fancy of a patron or buyer, you get paid enough to cover the supplies plus some. You used wealth to create more wealth, you filthy capitalist!!
That is profit. You, my friend are a capitalist. And here you thought you were a socialist because you heard all those in the arts, by definition, must be socialists. It's OK. It is truly the more humane choice. Life and art overlap. Life and freedom should overlap. It is nature, and it is artistic integrity at its finest.
In conversing with a friend today, he brought up something he'd seen in which the writer dubbed the Somali pirates the last capitalists, or something to that effect, citing their spirit of free enterprise. That topic was short lived in the larger discussion as are most topics which promise to bring on one of my freedom vs the alternative lectures, and rants about propaganda, etc. I try, but I still tend to do that.
The thought stayed with me, though, causing me to think about the topic. I would compare the pirates to the cutting edge of European and American politics and policies, but not to capitalism. Al Sharpton said these guys refer to themselves as "volunteer coast guard". He prefaced that with "more appropriately", meaning instead of pirates they more rightly refer to themselves as coast guard.
Al is either so blinded by race that he absolutely can't see anything else, or he is just insane. Oh, there is a third possibility---he may sniff opportunity to somehow turn it into a venue to ply his trade, peddling influence. It doesn't look like he's missed many meals.
Al is a capitalist, and a crook. Combine the two and that which should not serve as capital---wealth which can be employed to create more wealth---does serve. Things like people who falsely accuse others of rape and such. They become capital in Al's business of making a living by peddling hate based solely on race.
The evil is not using wealth to create wealth, but using lies and hatred, and government interference. That is a very bastardized form of free market at work. It is not free when you have force involved. Government involvement= force. Half truths = fraud. That is what keeps Al afloat; often there is an element of truth somewhere in history that he uses to advantage where it does not apply. It is the art of using partial truth and perverting context. The broad brush of fraud covers it.
Over the years people have been so bombarded by images and stories designed to paint industrialists and businessmen as evil oppressors of little people like me that the term "capitalist" has almost become a dirty word. Tiny Tim and I are so abused by these evil inventors and manufacturers of everything from toilet paper to pots and pans, we can hardly muster the energy to say "God bless us and spread the wealth around".
I hope at least someone will hear me through on this. No civilization or system works without some dependence on the integrity and goodness of the people in control. Capitalism places the control of wealth and resources in the hands of the people. Privately controlled wealth used according to the demands of the market.
They dropped buggy whips because it was not something that people wanted. That industry could not earn income producing an archaic product. If we aren't careful many so-called "green industries" being mandated will be the equivalent of subsidizing the buggy whip industry. Throwing good money after bad, retarding true and lasting innovation and progress.
The deceptive practices and employment of force, bribery of government officials, and the like are often cited as abuses of capitalism. In reality they have nothing to do with that system. They have to do with contracts not being properly honored and enforced, and with dishonest thuggery going unchecked.
More and more, due to being fed the idea that the savior from trickery is to place the control of capital under government control, people have come to believe that socialism is a more peaceful solution. Nothing could be further from the truth.
The trouble is, many who claim to be proponents of a free market are actually proponents of a market in which government is used in order to further the aims and success of a few who use part of their capital to buy the power of elected officials. That is why I believe the real culprit is the lack of adherence to the solid limits originally placed on our government.
Those limits did not include preventing the law from being tough against force and fraud, but they did prevent the fighting of wars to serve special interests, unrealistic regulations that targeted competitors and the like.
It was easy to start confusing corruption with righting wrongs because envy is one of those lesser human emotions which blinds reason, and passes for self righteousness once it is legitimized.
By allowing the creation of the irs, the American public actually closed the door on capitalism, or began its swing shut. You'd think providing the best widget for the money and making a profit so you can live well, and improving the widget to stay competitive, would be the normal focus. It takes so much in the way of resources for a firm of any size to court government favor, structure around taxes so you have something left, most people would not believe it.
I found it shocking well over 20 years ago when I first found myself in a situation to see it first hand. The result of all the various means of reward and punishment laid on from government is actually an institutionalized type of dishonesty.
I'll leave the myths around and about unions out of it for now. That is a real hotbed of religious zeal. Reason goes out the window on all sides.
Most people who have experience in large companies, and often the jobs are great, recognize that much of what is said would have been called "double talk" many years ago. I think that term gave way to "double-speak" then to all kinds of "speak". Not sure why. I worked for a company in which people lost their souls it seemed. They loved to use the term "integrity issue". They got fried over some real scam practices which got coined as integrity issues.
But it came to be that the rules written by congressional committee and agency czars, with plenty of company input and lobbying, enabled them to bombard the consumer with such gobbledegook that no one knew what the hell they were reading and hearing, and when these neo fascists at the company wanted to fry some underling for "integrity issue" it was usually because the honest empathetic underling had translated the language so that the consumer went in with his eyes wide open.
Doing a good job was really a bad job, and doing a bad job was really a good job.
That is what I consider a taste of fascism or socialism. Depending on the honesty goodness and wisdom of the few,( who don't even create the product), to control the wealth is a bad idea. They see the realm of money and resources as endless, and available upon command. Like the Sheriff of Nottingham, they live well while squeezing those who produce ever tighter, demanding further sacrifices at every turn.
If you take away the preconceived ideas and emotions, turning the power over to a few seems very risky. The game is complicated and has become further tangled because of unreasonable liability suits and the like. The ones who have bought their share of political clout don't really mind. The roadblocks are something they can afford, but the up and coming competition can't.
That's why I don't take it seriously when I hear the very large corporations who have more government contracts than they can count complaining publicly. They know they are set and competitors are screwed. It is a dog and pony show, an act. It is a taste of socialism. Government controlling the wealth and how it is used.
They do it like pirates, buy or die. It's no different than the old protection racket of the mafia. People in those neighborhoods even remember some of the thugs fondly for their generosity. They often threw crumbs to the local masses. Crumbs extorted from hard working merchants and producers.
Just like what our national and local governments are doing; the premise that put most of them in office---don't worry we'll shake down the other guy and give you a piece of what we steal.
Socialism puts control of capital and resources in the hands of government. The few. Usually they suggest guarantees for everyone. To honor any of that they have to take the fruits of labor, inventiveness and production from those who create and distribute it as they see fit. Of course a bunch of it gets lost in the middle to themselves, favored parties, government employees and no doubt foreign officials.
Abusive people in charge of wealth is not good but I fear it is easier to mitigate that abuse of power if the control is private rather than in the hands of those even further removed from the production of wealth who are fewer in number and remain in control by using the forces of armed government as well as promising the gullible and class envy crazed public with crumbs.
It sucked in the USSR, it sucked in Cuba, Venezuela and China. It sucks here.
That is why socialism is a bad idea and capitalism itself is not the culprit. Supply and demand is nature, creating wealth by using wealth is also nature.
Nothing says a capitalist can't employ some portion of his wealth, voluntarily, for some humane purpose, like say paying my rent or buying me a machine shop. Nothing says a government czar in charge of the wealth of a nation is not going to employ that power unwisely and purposely or through incompetence, cruelly. How can the few possibly be the best judge of what millions of unique individuals need or desire?
If you are an artist, you get paint and canvas and supplies (capital). Then you create a painting (product). If your work strikes the fancy of a patron or buyer, you get paid enough to cover the supplies plus some. You used wealth to create more wealth, you filthy capitalist!!
That is profit. You, my friend are a capitalist. And here you thought you were a socialist because you heard all those in the arts, by definition, must be socialists. It's OK. It is truly the more humane choice. Life and art overlap. Life and freedom should overlap. It is nature, and it is artistic integrity at its finest.
Frugal Envy
Over at CF's I was reading the last installment of her Hoe escapades. For the Jerry Springer generation, a hoe is actually a garden tool, and a ho is actually the word whore uttered by the inarticulate and/or ignorant. Sorry, facts are facts.
Sayings like "A tough row to hoe" came out of agrarian culture not baby daddy woes with the law and relationship issues. Bit of history there. Sad, but I lived long enough to be exposed to both modes of dialog. Otherwise, I'm not that much of a resource on anthropology or history of people. Then again, in today's world my little bit of historical knowledge is probably above average.
Be that as may, and who cares about what I think I know? So, after reading about this insistence that the broken, second hand hoe, bought around the corner from where I used to live in Memphis, just had to be repaired and any thought of shelling out 10 or 20 dollars for a new one was unacceptable, I found myself profoundly and sincerely envious.
I'm the type that if I had $40.00 to my name would have gone and found a cheap new hoe (or ho, possibly) for $20 or less, come home turned some dirt and been done with it. It could be why I am always po. Po is from the same lexicon as ho. To be a po ho must be a sad condition. Actually, in a sense I've felt like a po ho a time or two.
Anyway, I wish I knew when to hold 'em and when to shell 'em out. Usually the first place I don't spend is food. If I think money is tight, I starve. Yet I'd by some extra tool, drive to a pretty spot 40 miles away just to clear my muddled mind, etc. The smart thing is to buy the cheap food you can make yourself and be healthy--rice beans, etc. and change my own oil in the car rather than burn precious petrol. Earth be damned--I have yet to believe I contribute to climate whims or the "earth's fever". I have fairly fuel efficient transport because I hate to buy lots of gas, not out of the slightest sense that I am "doing something for the earth" or that such choices are in any stretch of the imagination, noble.
Back to the envy. I really do admire those who can find bargains, dress like a million bucks with startling finds at thrift shops, and just generally get it right. My luck with bargains is rarely good. I do OK on my car purchases but never on bargain clothes. My impatience often leads me to buy a hoe, (not ho--really!!) when a clever person would figure out it is a Craftsman and maybe Sears will replace it like they do all Craftsman tools when they break. I did that only one time in my life, as a kid, with a socket wrench, the ratchet thing, 3/8".
On a day like today, it tweaks my jealousy nerve when someone has the ability and gumption to keep their money instead of giving up and giving it away. Of course she'd still be trying to fix the thing with band aids and tooth picks if she hadn't married the wiz kid who knows the craftsman tool pledge.
Sayings like "A tough row to hoe" came out of agrarian culture not baby daddy woes with the law and relationship issues. Bit of history there. Sad, but I lived long enough to be exposed to both modes of dialog. Otherwise, I'm not that much of a resource on anthropology or history of people. Then again, in today's world my little bit of historical knowledge is probably above average.
Be that as may, and who cares about what I think I know? So, after reading about this insistence that the broken, second hand hoe, bought around the corner from where I used to live in Memphis, just had to be repaired and any thought of shelling out 10 or 20 dollars for a new one was unacceptable, I found myself profoundly and sincerely envious.
I'm the type that if I had $40.00 to my name would have gone and found a cheap new hoe (or ho, possibly) for $20 or less, come home turned some dirt and been done with it. It could be why I am always po. Po is from the same lexicon as ho. To be a po ho must be a sad condition. Actually, in a sense I've felt like a po ho a time or two.
Anyway, I wish I knew when to hold 'em and when to shell 'em out. Usually the first place I don't spend is food. If I think money is tight, I starve. Yet I'd by some extra tool, drive to a pretty spot 40 miles away just to clear my muddled mind, etc. The smart thing is to buy the cheap food you can make yourself and be healthy--rice beans, etc. and change my own oil in the car rather than burn precious petrol. Earth be damned--I have yet to believe I contribute to climate whims or the "earth's fever". I have fairly fuel efficient transport because I hate to buy lots of gas, not out of the slightest sense that I am "doing something for the earth" or that such choices are in any stretch of the imagination, noble.
Back to the envy. I really do admire those who can find bargains, dress like a million bucks with startling finds at thrift shops, and just generally get it right. My luck with bargains is rarely good. I do OK on my car purchases but never on bargain clothes. My impatience often leads me to buy a hoe, (not ho--really!!) when a clever person would figure out it is a Craftsman and maybe Sears will replace it like they do all Craftsman tools when they break. I did that only one time in my life, as a kid, with a socket wrench, the ratchet thing, 3/8".
On a day like today, it tweaks my jealousy nerve when someone has the ability and gumption to keep their money instead of giving up and giving it away. Of course she'd still be trying to fix the thing with band aids and tooth picks if she hadn't married the wiz kid who knows the craftsman tool pledge.
Monday, April 27, 2009
What Luck, a stranger wants to know me better
My journalspace ( the new one) blog remains pretty much dormant. I opened one there but do all my writing here.
Imagine how my heart lept when I received this lovely message from the lovely, articulate Doris:
Journalspace.com Blogs to me
show details 2:57 AM (19 hours ago)
Reply
Doris sent you a new message:
"
My dearest;
And your health which is the most important;
my regards to your family and friends over there.
My name is Doris Zarki. I was impressed to invite for a private discussion after my intensive search for a trusted and honest many.I will like to demand your trustee and sincerity as a friend;a long-term loving relationship from you.Also know more about you,your country and culture,i will also like to seek your advice too.i think we can help each other.I will send you my details with my pictures after you have replied to my email.(zarkiidoris@yahoo.com )
I look forward to hearing from you.
Have a nice day.
Love from Doris
Must be my lucky day. I can tell she's hot and head over heels infatuated with me. Feel free to email her yourself, and of course ask for her pictures. I know we have a mental connection so strong that I needn't bother with the email.
"
Imagine how my heart lept when I received this lovely message from the lovely, articulate Doris:
Journalspace.com Blogs to me
show details 2:57 AM (19 hours ago)
Reply
Doris sent you a new message:
"
My dearest;
And your health which is the most important;
my regards to your family and friends over there.
My name is Doris Zarki. I was impressed to invite for a private discussion after my intensive search for a trusted and honest many.I will like to demand your trustee and sincerity as a friend;a long-term loving relationship from you.Also know more about you,your country and culture,i will also like to seek your advice too.i think we can help each other.I will send you my details with my pictures after you have replied to my email.(zarkiidoris@yahoo.com )
I look forward to hearing from you.
Have a nice day.
Love from Doris
Must be my lucky day. I can tell she's hot and head over heels infatuated with me. Feel free to email her yourself, and of course ask for her pictures. I know we have a mental connection so strong that I needn't bother with the email.
"
Tennis Tip #1 and PC tips and else
First let me say that "special needs" does not mean that A. can't hit a forehand ground stroke at maybe 150 MPH straight at your feet. Needs to get whupped is what I say. Special needs, schmecial shneeds is what I say; this is war. Really, that kid just keeps getting better. His power shot used to just go out of bounds, providing you got your head out of the way. Now it is actually a thing of beauty. Special whatever does not mean one has no athleticism or grace. I've grown rather fond of him and his partner in running me ragged.
On to the helpful hint. It is highly possible that one of A's fast moving deep line drives might bounce just where you expect and you may be perfectly positioned to get the racket in front of it so that it will be sent back over the net. That is my number one goal; get it over the stupid net. My number 2 goal is for it to land inside the lines once it makes it over the net. That's it. Easy peazy.
OK. So, there you are, just where you think you should be, all set to finally return that runny nosed kid's rocket shot. Beware such apparent good fortune. A may have somehow put the most bizarre spin ever on the ball such that it bounces then turns so that instead of continuing in the original direction it makes a bee line over toward your chest. Since you were so smugly positioned just right you assume you can plant your feet and rest them there.
What can happen is that your feet now become clay as you beg them to move the rest of you to the left so you can hit the ball. As you stumble about while trying to swing the racket to hit the ball, you can smack yourself smartly in the face. Once you do this, recovering dignity is not easy task.
The best I could do, after ascertaining that my glasses hadn't broken and that I wasn't bleeding, was to declare that this was a warning; "OK. You've seen what I can do to myself with this racket, just think what I could do to you!!"
The moral of the story is, either refuse to play against A and T, or be prepared to get out of the way. Whatever you do, if the cause is obviously lost, do not hang on to the idea so long that you smack yourself in the face. Self flagellation with the racket is not considered good form in any tennis venue where polite or semi-polite company is to be found. People will, however, give you a wide berth, if that's your goal.
--------------------------------
If you have a PC and you go to open a page on the net, and all of a sudden official looking pop ups claiming to be microsoft or someone tell you it is urgent you click here to run a spy sweeper because you are being invaded by trojan this or that, don't do it. A friend got caught off guard and this resulted in big trouble. Getting the computer straightened out involved loss of data and a long phone call with Gandhi. McAfee didn't do any good in this case. Apparently there are fake spyware things out there as well that offer free goods but they are just trouble. I believe one is called spy something 360.
It makes me feel better about deciding to get a mac for the Tour.
------------------
This is long enough so else should be a short bit of babbling. Nerve, clear objective, and the target of affection are things I want to bring into my life at this juncture. I believe it is all possible. The idea of parallel universes makes sense to me so I'm one who can believe most anything that holds promise of a bright future. The realm of possibilities is not finite, or at least so vast that for all practical purposes it may as well be considered limitless. But none of these is likely to be found looking at the realm of limited things that lead nowhere. That's today's pep talk to self.
On to the helpful hint. It is highly possible that one of A's fast moving deep line drives might bounce just where you expect and you may be perfectly positioned to get the racket in front of it so that it will be sent back over the net. That is my number one goal; get it over the stupid net. My number 2 goal is for it to land inside the lines once it makes it over the net. That's it. Easy peazy.
OK. So, there you are, just where you think you should be, all set to finally return that runny nosed kid's rocket shot. Beware such apparent good fortune. A may have somehow put the most bizarre spin ever on the ball such that it bounces then turns so that instead of continuing in the original direction it makes a bee line over toward your chest. Since you were so smugly positioned just right you assume you can plant your feet and rest them there.
What can happen is that your feet now become clay as you beg them to move the rest of you to the left so you can hit the ball. As you stumble about while trying to swing the racket to hit the ball, you can smack yourself smartly in the face. Once you do this, recovering dignity is not easy task.
The best I could do, after ascertaining that my glasses hadn't broken and that I wasn't bleeding, was to declare that this was a warning; "OK. You've seen what I can do to myself with this racket, just think what I could do to you!!"
The moral of the story is, either refuse to play against A and T, or be prepared to get out of the way. Whatever you do, if the cause is obviously lost, do not hang on to the idea so long that you smack yourself in the face. Self flagellation with the racket is not considered good form in any tennis venue where polite or semi-polite company is to be found. People will, however, give you a wide berth, if that's your goal.
--------------------------------
If you have a PC and you go to open a page on the net, and all of a sudden official looking pop ups claiming to be microsoft or someone tell you it is urgent you click here to run a spy sweeper because you are being invaded by trojan this or that, don't do it. A friend got caught off guard and this resulted in big trouble. Getting the computer straightened out involved loss of data and a long phone call with Gandhi. McAfee didn't do any good in this case. Apparently there are fake spyware things out there as well that offer free goods but they are just trouble. I believe one is called spy something 360.
It makes me feel better about deciding to get a mac for the Tour.
------------------
This is long enough so else should be a short bit of babbling. Nerve, clear objective, and the target of affection are things I want to bring into my life at this juncture. I believe it is all possible. The idea of parallel universes makes sense to me so I'm one who can believe most anything that holds promise of a bright future. The realm of possibilities is not finite, or at least so vast that for all practical purposes it may as well be considered limitless. But none of these is likely to be found looking at the realm of limited things that lead nowhere. That's today's pep talk to self.
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About Me
- John0 Juanderlust
- Ballistic Mountain, CA, United States
- Like spring on a summer's day
