Friday, June 27, 2008

Bootprints and bullet holes

Every once in a while the stars align and the world makes perfect sense. This could very well be THE most dangerous time of all for dedicated employees of the Evil Corporation because:

a) It happens so rarely, and
b) It means something has gone ... right.

I brought some of my wicked henchpeople over to our fearless new Unter-boss' assigned space in Cubicle Hell in order to perform an Act, albeit a small one, of Corporate Social Responsibility. After all, I have a reputation to maintain.

The assembly of hellishly blue cubicle walls and furniture isn't a very hard thing to oversee really. It has ends that fit neatly together using a simple screwdriver, profanity and a big assed hammer - our Corporate "Fix-It-All" tool.

About this time my perfectly-groomed, new Unter-boss stopped by to see the progress on his brand new office. Using that opportunity to show off a little of my own management skills, I issued a couple of deftly worded exhortations to the hourly employees, reminding them of our loftly purpose here, how much all the work that WE were doing meant to Corporate success, and that bleeding on the job from an accidental screwdriver injury should NOT be seen as an opportunity to file claim for Workman's Comp against US, but rather an opporutnity for US in management to sue THEM for, you know, practicing medicine without a license during regular duty hours.

Pleased as he was with my witty repartee, and dare I say it aloud, social prowess, the new Unter-boss told me of how he had just reprimanded a couple of finance sluggards on the Staff for sending out unauthorized emails to the Senior Leadership (Dream) Team in the Sky. Naturally, messages like these were unauthorized ... because he hadn't read them first ... and sent the information up ... from his own account. So, he had carefully drafted an edict and sent it out on a one-over-the-world basis.

(His very first one. The power. Can you feel it? Woo hoo! I can feel it.)

His memo said that absolutely no one was to talk, utter a word, not even a slippery, wet fraction of syllable to management without his express written approval.

When managers clamp their hands onto such fearsome power, I've found its best to perform a little ego stroking and then slowly back away from the scene (of the impending accident) before Circumstance claims YOU as "a victim" too. I spoke. He laughed ... and then pointed at the door segment and said, "Bootprints and Bullet holes. I like that." He pointed his finger like a cowboy six shooter and blew the gunsmoke off his stubby, yet immaculately manicured gun barrel. I backed away slowly never taking my eyes off him. Oh yeah, jump back Loretta. There's a new Sheriff in town.

Before we got to hang that very door segment, the Mighty One (the ONE guy who runs the whole damn business) came stomping by. He was mad as Hell. It turns out that his boss had just called him asking for some ultra-important financial information. The Mighty One (for lack of a better name) thought he would just buzz over to the lowly financial staffers who knew that stuff right off the top of their heads, and ask them one simple question ... The staffers told Him, Who's Wrath Now Knows No Bounds that they were sorry, but they couldn't even speak to him any more without first securing the Unter-boss' express written permission.

The Mighty One reminded me (and everyone else who was not hearing, sorry, screaming impaired) at that very moment, that everyone on the Staff, worked for HIM. That's when I realized that all those bootprints and bullet holes on the door we were just then hanging, were from hapless managers shooting themselves in the foot.

Monday, June 23, 2008

Justin & the Peach Dealios

How do folks? My buddy Walt and I had a great time visiting Katie and Justin. There were good times to be had by all. Then out came the instruments of destruction! This has got to be the strangest Rock Band of all time, and NO, I did not take a picture of myself living large. If I did, then either my real red and white Fender Strat or shameless self promotion would give me away!

Here's Big Daddy Walto rocking out with a itty bitty Gibson.

And Justin pounding electronic skins.

Every rock band needs a singer.

The name for the band came from something that happened to "I Go Commando" Justin a while back. He had a hole in his jeans and his Mom said that she liked his peach colored ... ahem ... underpants. Sarcastic, edgy, exceedingly cool AND funny! She's a genius! On the other hand, the name does sound like a drink that comes with an umbrella in it. What do you think?

Happy B-Day to Justin. We will celebrate on Friday. Walt is off to a gig in Arkansas and probably won't make it back in time, but I certainly will. More on that later!

Got a meme tag from Kylie at the Wild Onion Cafe. I'm supposed to write my memoir in six words. It's a toughie, but here's what I've got so far ...

Farm raised soldier physicist finds Love.

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

It Happened Again ...

A terrible, explosive sound woke me up this morning. The wind was howling and the thunder was so loud it seemed like it was in the house with me. Fortunately there weren't any tornado sirens wailing, so I shuffled off to the backdoor to see what was happening. This is what I saw:

The thunderstorm had blown down the tree. It landed in my garden and then spilled onto and over the fence. This was the last big tree in the yard. The big winter ice storm murdered all of the others. Since this was laying on the fence, I had to saw it up before it broke the fence down ... just like the others did this winter.

I needed some 2 cycle oil for the chain saw before I could start. You have to mix the lubricating oil right in with the gasoline in that little engine. So I got out the rain gear and went to the big hardware store. This is what I saw driving through the neighborhood:

All those fat raindrops and whipping winds broke apart the blossoms on the hedge roses ...

But this little bloom came through it just fine.

Monday, June 16, 2008

Ya know?

Someone lost power this evening ... I guess there's different ways to take that. Literally and we're in the dark for a few hours. Figuratively and, oh what the heck, I'm going to bed.

This is my favorite Clare Boothe Luce quote. Thought you might like it too.

G'night everyone. It's been a long, tough day. I'll see you in the morning.

Saturday, June 14, 2008

Somedays Are Just This Good

I love these kinds of pictures. They're such a bold statement about the Future, so full of connection, promise and hope.

These tiny fingers belong to a brand new baby girl named Riley. She wieghed 7lbs 2ozs and was 18 inches long at birth, which was just about a week ago. The big thumb belongs to Poppa S. Best wishes to Riley and her very happy family.

My best wishes also go out to dear Bindi and her baby on the way.

Friday, June 13, 2008

Vietnamese Noodle Soup anyone?

Today's taste treat comes from the Little Saigon district of Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. The best Vietnamese Noodle Soup shop in the Metro is a little place called Pho Hoa. Everything in the restaurant is perfectly ordinary ... except the food, and that is really, really good. Bring an appetite because the portions are huge. Bring cash because they don't take plastic.

Pho is a soup dish that begins with a nice big bowl of beef stock soup with a heap of rare flank steak, tripe, tendons and rice noodles. When it arrives at your table, squeeze in some fresh lime, a few drops of hot sauce to taste, and shred some oriental basil. Mix it all together and enjoy. It is polite to eat with both hands - chopsticks in one hand and an Asian soup spoon in the other.

You might also enjoy some of the finger foods. Here's a motivational image of what came to our table.

PS. If you have an extra minute or two, today is a really good day to visit Katie's place and post a great big Happy B-day smiley.

Wednesday, June 11, 2008


There's no reason to get snippy about it dear. I really am working on a new blog posting. It will be ready ... soon!

Saturday, June 07, 2008

Short grass prairie

Have you ever been to the short grass prarie country of southwestern Kansas and the Panhandle of Oklahoma? Clear, unbroken blue overhead and grass, sage and soon-to-be tumbleweeds crunch underfoot. Can you imagine the buffalo in a pasture like this?

The would have to avoid these brushy red cedar saplings and spiny yucca clusters to get at the best tufts of blue gamma and wirey buffalo grasses.

The prairie is very large and very dry, but not without color.

Here is a prickly poppy.

We better not get any closer to the critter who lives in the lacework of tunnels under this patch of prickly poppy.

That buzzing sound is this baby western diamondback rattlesnake's way of saying "No visitors please." (The image isn't very good because I took this photo with my cell phone camera and I didn't want to get too close or agitate the animal during the hottest and most stressful part of the day.)

Here is a wild sunflower. Most states classify this flower as a noxious weed. On the other hand, it is the state flower of Kansas. I've always wondered why.

Don't step on this bull thistle.

Here is the most commercially important grass that grows on the Great Plains, hard red Russian winter wheat. Harvest is another three or four weeks away depending on the field.

You can see how dry the plains are. Please support efforts to care for and responsibly use these lands. Thanks.

Thursday, June 05, 2008

Case of The Disappearing Dumpster

Has your dumpster ever disappeared? Don't ya just hate it when that happens?

I came back from work and ye merry olde Dumpster was just gone. Normally on trash day, it's right there where I left it ... or at least where the garbage truck threw it. Not today.

Mrs. Skeeter thought someone had stolen it.

"Why would anyone steal a dumpster?" I asked.

"To throw away more trash!"

I suppose it's an artifact of our comsumer culture that someone would have so much stuff to throw away that they would steal my hapless, yet relatively environmentally-friendly Dumpster. It was dark, so I got the little flashlight and went looking for the purloined dumpster.

Occam's razor. "entia non sunt multiplicanda praeter necessitatem." Could there be a simpler explanation?

This is Oklahoma after all. Flags sticking straight out from their flagpoles as the wind came sweeping down the plain and blew the hat off my head. The Dumpster has a large cross section for catching wind ... especially where Mrs. Skeeter backed into it with her car. Dumpster's got wheels that roll .. and roll ... and roll.

I followed the wind down the street around the corner and out toward the pond. There, where the ducks were quacking soft and low, I found it. Can you believe that this evil beast in my Dumpster by Day?