Regrets

Some days it just doesn’t pay to bludgeon a stranger senseless with a math book.

Dichotomy

My wishes exceed my expectations.

I sincerely wish that all people are basically good, and systems designed to help the good people will succeed.  I expect that people will act like garbage toward one another, and the systems will be exploited to the point of uselessness.

It is my hope that it’s really just an oversight for most people when they leave dog poo behind at the ballpark. I expect that actually doing the math, as I dodge between the piles, would require near 100% amnesia for many people.

When I turn on my blinker well ahead of my intention to change lanes on the expressway, I’m putting pennies into the bank of human courteousness.  I expect that I will lose my shirt on this investment, as the guy 6 car lengths back suddenly floors it to close the gap.

I trust in the favor earned, as I bring my own tools to the corporate office to assist on that project that will help out the group.  I expect a sinking feeling, watching the cordless drill falling from the second floor towards the sidewalk in slow motion.

I don’t think I can count how many times I do this in the course of one day.  I can’t tell if I’m any better or worse off constantly rotating through this yin-yang cycle every day, but I do know it is damn tiring.

I’m in the same hell space with my whole business right now.  Ask me about our purposes and goals and I can go on for hours about all the potential of our various enterprises, but in the same breath tell you that I fully expect that we are living during the fall of the empire.  We’re probably all headed towards rougher times more likely than better, and we need to think about things like where does our food and water come from, and how do I maintain some supplies in case of public strife?

…

But, then I take a deep breath and say “let’s get back to it” – and I work my ass off towards the dreams of flight.  So far, it seems to work, but I wonder what tough choices might lie ahead, and what kind of person will I be?

I dream that I am the best I can be, but I expect…

The Non-Elitist Group

The Non-Elitist Group takes all comers, regardless of their skill level.

The Non-Elitist Group is colorblind, all specs are embraced here.

The Non-Elitist Group enjoys taking frequent breaks while you get the lawn mowed.

The Non-Elitist Group thinks it’s still funny the fifth time you wipe the group because you had Tigger on aggro.

The Non-Elitist Group feels that six months in the same raid dungeon is “a darn good start.”

The Non-Elitist Group thinks you people all look the same.

The Non-Elitist Group’s bar of entry is whatever includes you, but not the next person behind you.

The Non-Elitist Group knows that /flirt always trumps math when things get tough.

The Non-Elitist Group is a myth.

Ode to Ouzo

Ouzo’s a taste some would say
is acquired along the way.
Although some prefer candy,
If you want to get randy,
it blows Good & Plenty away!

Dear Forum: Cheeseburger, Meet Vegetation

I looked up, and I knew she was there, somewhere in the darkness. Hiding just out of sight. But she was there, oh yes. The air was intoxicating with the tang of Miracle-Gro, there was no mistaking it.

I wondered what she’d be wearing tonight – the Ketchup and Mustard or…naughty girl…Thousand Island? But before I dallied too long on the question, she stepped out of the shadows and my breath caught in my throat; helpless victim to the image of her magnificent roughage.

She had gone entirely au naturale, nothing on that endless leafy greenage besides a spritz of sparkling water. It beaded dutifully and the drops glinted like a thousand tiny photoreceptors across her verdant plain.

I shall not burden you further, gentle reader, with the lurid details of our sandwich of sin, but I will tell you that we started a grand adventure then – and who knows where it will lead?

We both agree that heaven on Earth would be an onion slice.

The Cowboy Code

Is there any situation that can’t be handled by following this code, or has the gray haze of the modern world rendered a simple approach moot?

Says Gene Autry:

A cowboy must never take unfair advantage of an enemy.
He must never go back on his word, or (betray) a trust confided in him.
He must always tell the truth.
He must always be gentle with children, the elderly and animals.
He must not possess racially or religiously intolerant ideas.
He must help people in distress.
He must be a good worker.
He must keep himself clean in thought, speech, action and personal habits.
He must respect women, parents, and his nation’s laws.
The Cowboy is a patriot.

Tiny Feet

I love the rain.

Not just any rain, mind you. I like a nice steady rain, just short of a downpour.

Especially at night. Right about midnight. Dark and quiet, but for the rain.

Fifty degrees, what we in Michigan consider “slightly chilly.” When you need a fuzzy blanket out on the sun porch.

Right at this moment, in Dearborn, Michigan – it is perfect. Damp and chill and dark, though cozy under the blanket, all alone with the thousands of tap dancing feet on the rooftop. It’s a rhythm both deafening and peaceful at once, and it invites reflective thought.

Eh, who am I kidding? I wax analytic when I get change back at the gas station, I don’t need much prompting.

I did notice something tonight, though. Wherever you happen to find yourself sitting quietly, listening to a rain like this, there always seems to be one dissident out there. Most of the rain blends into a homogeneous whole, a static wash if it’s raining hard enough. But somewhere out there is that one ‘WHONK’ drop, at a completely different pitch and speed from the rest of it. One brave loose coalition of H2O, taking a different path through gravity, going it alone in a world of landslide sameness.

I can hear that little fella right now. He’s getting some sweet play in the back porch gutter runoff. A delightful and bold POINK against the steady SHHHHHHH of his counterparts.

Well done, drop, well done.