The $600 Root Beer Float

Earlier this year, I upgraded my wireless phone to a HTC Touch Pro. It was an order of magnitude improvement over the old Palm Treo. Not long after I had purchased it, Terri and I stopped at a favorite eatery for dinner on the way home after work.



When we left the restaurant, Terri topped off her drink for the drive home. Terri was drinking root beer. When we got in the car, Terri committed an irrational act by placing her cup of root beer in the cup holder between the two front seats. Everyone knows that cup holders in a car are intended to hold a person's cell phone, not beverages. As we left, I removed my cell phone and placed it in its proper spot, the cup holder. Since it was dark, I did not notice anything unusual.



A few hundred yards down the road, Terri reached for her root beer and took a swig. The first sign of a problem was when my cell phone bumped into her nose. She immediately let me know of the problem. I yanked my new HTC from it's carrying case and popped the battery out as I drove with my knees. After pulling into a nearby parking lot, I inspected the damage. It was bad. The entire phone was wet and appeared to have been fully immersed in the root beer. The red stickers on the battery and in the phone that signal liquid damage were both activated. Things were grim, but I still had hope.



When I arrived home, I carefully disassembled the phone as much as I could and gently used a blow dryer to dry all components. I then put it all together again and turned it on. No joy. Instead, the phone began to continually vibrate, and the camera flash came on and remained on. I turned everything off and conceded defeat.



I never purchase product protection insurance because I know the odds are against me. More often that not, the manufacturer is the only one who comes out ahead in that deal. But for some reason, I had bought the insurance for my new phone. One call to the insurance company and a new replacement phone was on its way. My cost, $50 versus $600 without insurance.



The insurance plan requires you to return the broken phone once you receive the replacement. Out of curiosity, I turned the root beer damaged phone on before mailing it in. It worked! The inside of the screen was root beer stained, but otherwise all functions seemed to be working.



Regardless, I felt fortunate that I replaced my phone for far less than retail price. I continue to work with Terri on the purpose of cup holders.

Bathroom Campers

Over the past 8 years, myself and many of my co-workers have endured multiple lay offs and ever increasing workloads. Quality of work life has suffered drastically. We all cope in different ways. Some resort to the gym or walking. I think I have discovered how others are coping with the stress. I believe they have taken on a survivalist mentality, and have holed up in the company restrooms. I base this on my observations.

I am now 53 years old, drink coffee all morning and diet Pepsi all afternoon. The result of these three facts is that I visit the restroom often. I probably average one visit per hour. What I have noticed is that the same shoes are visible under many stalls over multiple visits. I must conclude that some of my co-workers are hiding out.


The only reason I can conceive of is that it has become their happy place at work. Nobody can stop by for a chat about their projects. The desk phone goes unanswered. If they doze off, nobody notices. They must feel it is a safe harbor in an increasingly frantic environment. It is also a place that management does not have the nerve to monitor or measure ... yet. That is until now. I submit for your consideration, a new and innovative program for performance management and corporate fund raising.


I think we can all agree that employees are not especially productive when they are in the restroom. We can use that fact as the basis for evaluating relative performance on our teams. If our staff were required to badge in and badge out of the restroom, we would receive the necessary metrics. With this information, we can Pareto chart our employees to find those who are significantly different than their peers. Who is in the top quartile of frequency and/or duration? Who is in the bottom quartile?

For fairness, we can normalize the measures by developing formulas that consider age, typical bowel habits (TBH), and urination frequency of the average person (UFAP). All new terms and acronyms added to the corporate lexicon. The wealth of data would become the basis of new performance evaluation criteria. Managers would be able to rank their team using non-performing bathroom time. It could become a better performance system that what is typically used today. Coaching would sound like this:

• Stan, I would like to see you lower your bathroom dwell time by 50% next year.
• Mary, I want you to work on holding it a little longer. We find that many of your bathroom breaks occur during the last half hour of the day. With just a little effort on your part, you could wait until you get home and raise your performance grade by one level next year.
• Wally, your non-productive bathroom time is the highest in the organization. If that continues, I am afraid that we will need to let you go.

There is also a fund raising dimension of the strategy. Today, corporate fund raiser campaigns often auction off a preferred parking space to the highest donor. This can be extended to the restroom. Imagine auctioning off a stall. The winner would own decorating, naming and exclusive use rights to their own commode. Naming could get imaginative. Paul's Stall, and Pete's Seat immediately come to mind. What better way to reward those that contribute to their community while encouraging a sense of ownership.


Any new program with a reach this far into corporate practices would require a significant level of governance. I have a possible solution. The company parking lot security people - those who boot cars that park in short term parking or reserved spaces - could take on the added role of restroom patrol.

The first order of responsibility would be to enforce ownership rights. Those in a reserved stall would be required to show ID and a title. If found using an unowned reserved stall, the perp would be sent home for the day. The second violation would be grounds for immediate dismissal.

The second order of responsibility would be to monitor duration for all stalls. Parking lot security would visit each restroom on the half hour and chalk the shoes of each stall dwellers. If they return the next half hour and see the shoe and floor chalk lines still match up, they would assume the inhabitant of the stall is having a medical problem and break in to check on them. If they find anything other than a medical problem, a ticket would be issued. Tickets would be consider disciplinary written warnings and fold into the performance management criteria.


I may be on to something here.

Management

I just realized that I have reached a milestone. It was 10 years ago that I was promoted to manager and allowed to hire 3 direct reports. Since then, I have developed a management style that can be summed up with a few management principals. Please indulge me by allowing a blog on the subject. My management principals are:

1. The team you are part of is more important than the team you lead. If you are not leading your team to deliver on your manager's objectives, your team is at risk. They will become irrelevant and broken up, reassigned, de-prioritized, or even laid off.


2. Your team should operate as well when you are gone as they do when you are in the office. If you are required to get a day or week's work accomplished, you team is not self-sufficient, empowered, or have a sense of ownership.


3. Managers should be evaluated by how few phone calls they get. A manager peer and friend once told me his goal is to avoid every phone call by either anticipating and satisfying the needs of his customers, or clearing defining, communicating and fostering a clear sense of ownership for every member of the team. He went further and said that he knows when his phone quits ringing, its time to look for a new job. He was one of the better managers I have known.


4. A manager's primary role is to ensure that everyone on his team is pulling in the same direction. A well articulated vision of team responsibility, goals, and tactics to achieve the goal will encourage self-sufficiency and unleash innovation. Every team member should understand how their role supports the team's objectives.


5. A manager should take credit for nothing and give credit for everything. A manager should not be receiving awards. If they do, they are either not leveraging their team or taking credit for the work of their team. A manager should make sure that every accomplishment is communicated upward and the responsible team member is clearly identified in the communications.


6. The manager serves the team, not the other way around. A manager's job is to enable their team. The best enabler of a team will solve the problems that create obstacles to their team's progress. A manager of 10 must enable his 10 team members to produce like 11 or more. If they do not, the manager is not earning their own wage.

There are 2 kinds of managers. I have had both, and been both. The first is the Expert Manager. This type of manager usually rises through the ranks as an expert in a certain discipline. Along the way, their leadership recognizes potential and promotes them to a manager position.

Expert managers tend to lead in a command and control style, much like the military. They dictate what should be done and become their team's primary problem solver. Self-sufficiency and innovation suffer. Individual development can also suffer as the team relies more and more on their manager to solve problems and provide the answers. Expert managers find they rapidly become overwhelmed. All of the team's workload is funnelled through them. The manager either does the work, or assigns each specific task to a subordinate. They sometime dictate to the team member how to perform the assignment. Team members do not develop a sense of empowerment or ownership. They simply wait for the next assignment with instructions.

The second type of manager is the Generalist Manager. The Generalist manager can lead virtually any team since their style does not require subject matter expertise, or a deep technical background. The Generalist starts his tenure of team leadership with a thorough inventory of the skill sets, strengths, weaknesses of each team member. He then couples that with the big picture vision his team plays within the larger organization. As requests come in, he develops a sense of ownership with the team member most suited to deliver. Elegant delegation is a key skill used to communicate the desired result and ancillary requirements without dictating the specific steps to follow. This gives the team member some latitude in developing their own solution that meets the desired result. Innovation, ownership and empowerment can be the product of such a style.

Both styles can be effective, and both can blow up in the manager's face. I have found that Generalist managers are usually the ones that go on to higher positions. Very few corporate officers can claim a deep technical knowledge in the area they lead. They must learn to rely on their subordinates to be the experts. A true and unfortunate fact is that Expert Managers can also become too valuable to promote out of their current position.

Generalist managers usually cannot perform the work conducted by their staff. For that reason, coverage and contingency planning can occupy much of the generalist time. A lazy generalist manager can be seen as incompetent. When they blow a project, the boom can be very loud.

I started my management career as an Expert Manager. I was good at identifying process issues and re-engineering processes to be more effective. I typically described what I wanted my team to do, and dictated how each person would support that end. I soon found that I was a very busy guy. I felt that I had to be at every project meeting. Soon I could take on nothing new. On an especially overwhelming day, I applied to move out of my comfort zone and into a new organization.

I got the job. I knew nothing of the world I was entering. The result was that I was no longer able to be an Expert Manager. I began to make the shift to Generalist. I began relying on my team. My role is to help them be effective at what they are already good at. Not only did I become more effective, the team did also.

I remain proud of the teams I have led. From that first team of 3 members to my largest team of 35, each have been innovative and highly productive. They remain productive whether I am in the office or not. I receive personal gratification when they succeed. I am also blessed with such a capable team. One advantage of yearly lay offs is that all the survivors are very capable. There isn't any dead wood left in the organization. Of my current staff of 29, 6 either have been managers or are capable of doing my job. The rest are subject matter experts in their field.

We are ready for whatever Ericsson has for us.

A Good Day

I previously posted a description of an extremely bad day in my life. In the interest of equal time, I thought it might be interesting to describe what a good day in Terri and my life would look like. A particular day came to mind that did not relate to weddings, births or other positive life events. The day I will describe has occurred many times while on vacation.

This particular day occurred during one of our vacations to North Carolina. We love the time we spend along the Outer Banks. Sunset Beach , an area just north of Myrtle Beach, is a favorite vacation location. The beaches are wide and flat, the seafood is great, and the golf courses are plentiful. The day I remember most was the last day spent on one particular vacation about 3 years ago. It is also the last time we were there.

It started how all days do while vacationing in Sunset Beach. We played golf. We always rise early to get a good tee time, so we were probably on the first hole by 8:00. There is very little competition for early tee times in a resort community. I suspect that we played The Pearl, since we usually save that challenging course for the end of our golf vacation. Since we go off early, we usually walk off the course around 11:00 AM.

From golf we always go to a local breakfast stop called the Sunrise Cafe. We always have breakfast there since Terri loves their strawberry pancakes. By the end of our vacation, the waitresses know us. I normally get a bacon omelet. It is not on the menu, but I asked and they supplied. I guess that non-menu items do not have preparation standards because their omelets contain more bacon that I have found anywhere else. I suspect the next time we are there, bacon omelets will be on the menu and will contain only 2 strips of bacon. Nothing stays the way you remember it.

From the restaurant, we head back to the condo we rent while in Sunset Beach. A quick change into swimwear prepares us for the beach or the local pool. On this day we decided to just lay about, nap and read on the beach. We rarely swim in the ocean, preferring instead to walk in the surf and enjoy the cool sea breeze. After a couple hours there, we return to the condo to clean up and get ready for the evening activities.

Each evening while in Sunset Beach, we have dinner at a restaurant in Calabash, North Carolina. Calabash is a small town with a reputation for good seafood. The myth goes that Jimmy Durante stopped in Calabash while on the vaudeville circuit and was served by a local waitress he named Mrs. Calabash. From that point forward, he recognized her on his radio program by saying good night to Mrs. Calabash. Jimmy was far before my time, but I do recollect his signature sign off.

On this night we probably went to the Grapevine and had their huge crab cakes. We might have gone to the Seafood Shack, or one of several bay side restaurants. The food is always superb and comes with local recipe hush puppies and a cole slaw that contains dill pickle for a distinctive flavor.

We finished our evening and vacation with a stop by a local ice cream parlor. We sat on the front porch of the establishment in rocking chairs, eating our ice cream and watching the sun set over Sunset Beach, NC. I remember my thoughts at that time. I thought how much I liked it there, and wondered when I would return. We planned to return the next summer, but did not due to health issues. We did not return this year, opting instead for a trip to Destin with my brother and sister in law. So there is always next year. One thing is a certainty. We will return.

My Summer Project

I had the mistaken impression that when you buy a new house, your projects diminish. I was wrong. Instead, I find my self tackling projects I would never have considered in the past. My current project is a good example. Our home is located next to a common area and retention pond for the neighborhood. The area adjoining our lot is a large undeveloped space that has not been maintained after our developer went bankrupt. So taming this space has become my summer project.


The area was uneven and completely covered by waist high weeds and grass. Terri and I were afraid that nasty critters would take up residence in the lot and occasionally visit our yard. I did spot a copperhead in our yard late last year, so there was evidence to support our theory. So this Spring, I got busy with an approach that would require the entire summer and fall to execute. First, I hired my son-in-law to clear out and level the area. That was completed in June and enable me to keep the weeds and grass manageable with weekly mowing.


The next step was to use Round Up total vegetation killer to kill the noxious weeds and grasses. I completed that in July. The summer heat helped me get a complete kill of all vegetation. It now looks like a desert area. During the same period I began to scavenge rocks from developing areas in my neighborhood. I would haul the rock home and dump it in a drainage area created to carry water from my lot to the retention pond. I have hauled several tons of rock so far and am close to having enough.

So this past weekend, I took the next step by verticutting the entire area and sowing a tall fescue grass seed. My hope is that our wet year will continue through the fall as I refuse to water the area. It is a gamble, but a great year to take that gamble. My goal is to have a good stand of desirable grass by November. I am posting a picture of the current state, and will post updates as the area changes.

Stupidest Mistake Ever

The year was around 1976 or 1977. I was dating Terri and working at Association Services Limited, a property management company. My role was maintenance of clubhouses and common area lighting for several Home Owner Associations. I relied on tools to do my job.

The job required that I drive to many locations each day. My current car was a 1969 candy apple red GTO convertible. It was a great car, a real classic muscle car, but also a gas guzzler. Even though gas was cheap then, a lot of miles in a guzzler started me thinking of a more economical car. I soon found an old powder blue Toyota Corolla station wagon with well over 100k miles. It was on its last legs. But it was cheap to operate and with the rear seats folded down had plenty of room for what ever I might need to haul to the job site. I traded the GTO in for the Corolla, (close, but not my stupidest mistake).

One summer evening, Terri and I headed out to the drive-in movies. We chose the Corolla over her ugly green Ford Pinto. I backed into a parking spot so the rear hatchback would face the movie screen. We opened the hatchback and enjoyed nice space to either sit in the back, or lay back over the folded down rear seats. The only impediment to our comfort was my tool box. I set the tool box down under the rear bumper.

Midnight or after, the double feature was over so we pulled the hatch shut and climbed in the front seat to head home. I drove off leaving the tool box in the drive-in parking lot. It was 15-20 minutes later that I remembered them and returned in search of my livelihood. They were no where to be found. Several hundred dollars in tools were lost.

Since I could not afford to replace them, before work on Monday I bought or borrowed a couple screwdrivers, a crescent wrench and a hammer. That would be my suite of tools for weeks. Over the next birthday and Christmas, I was given tools from relatives that knew of my need. But for 6 months, I performed my handyman role with a limited set of tools.

I did however learn a great deal from the experience. I learned how to improvise when faced with jobs that could not be performed with screwdrivers, a single wrench and an hammer. I also learned to protect the tools of your livelihood. Today those tools are my laptop computer and smart phone. I do not know how I would function with out either, but would probably improvise a solution.

Kentucky is Great, I am Now a Fan

With a contrite spirit, and longing only for family unity, I am officially changing my allegiance from KU to UK*

• I now acknowledge that Kentucky's men's college basketball program has always been the class of the country*


• The birthplace and home of college basketball is Kentucky*


• Kentucky have the richest tradition in division 1 college basketball*


• No other program is in their league*


• Kansas only wants to be as good as Kentucky*


• On December 9th, 1989, Kansas routed Kentucky 150-95 in a fluke victory*


• My grandson is correct, I have been delusional*

But I am a new man. I will never disparage Kentucky the rest of my life*

Kelly - I need a replacement for this picture. Please send one wearing a UK hat. And if you could hold up a blank page of paper it would be more convenient for me. Thanks.

* All comments are tentative pending outcome of NCAA investigations begun during 2009-2010 men's college basketball season.

Men and Women

Regardless of what the politically correct crowd might say, men and women are different. One difference became evident last night, after my shower. Terri asked that I put my dirty clothes and towel in the washer. She had already added soap, so her last request was to press the start button. I did, and lights started to flash which seemed appropriate to me. We have a fairly new washing machine and I am convinced that it is more intelligent than I because I do not understand anything about it. An hour later Terri went in to move the clothes to the dryer. The clothes were not wet. The washer had not come on. She called me in to replicate what I had done. I pressed the start button again and the lights began to flash again. Apparently you must press the start button twice on our machine. I did not know that, and I had followed Terri's instruction perfectly. She had assumed that I knew how to start the washing machine.

A few days before, Terri asked me to pick up Jello at grocery store. I found the aisle where boxes of Jello were sold, and selected 3 flavors so she would have a selection. I again disappointed my bride. It seems that modern Jello is sold pre-made in plastic containers with tear off foil covers. That is what Terri wanted, but I had purchased the Jello that I remember my mother made. Again, she assumed that I knew better. Even after 32 years of marriage, our failures to communicate pop up from time to time. I think it is more about how men and women are wired, than a failure in our relationship. So I searched the Internet for irrefutable examples of the differences between men and women. I found too many to absorb, but will share a few here.

Did you know that when a man talks to another man and the male listener shakes his head up and down, it means that he is agreeing with the speaker. When a man talks to a woman and she shakes her head, it only means that "I am listening." How many business meetings do you think end with the speaker feeling he had gained consensus only to learn later he did not?

The blue text below is copied from various Internet site.

Women tend to communicate more effectively than men, focusing on how to create a solution that works for the group, talking through issues, and utilizes non-verbal cues such as tone, emotion, and empathy whereas men tend to be more task-oriented, less talkative, and more isolated. In my house we called that "the voice". Terri becomes a very effective when she switches the voice. I believe that all women are born with 2 voices. Men have a more difficult time understanding emotions that are not explicitly verbalized. Really? Is that why I tend to repeat 2 sentences? "Is something wrong?" and"Why are you crying?"


Men tend to process better in the left hemisphere of the brain while women tend to process equally well between the two hemispheres. This difference explains why men are generally stronger with left-brain activities and approach problem-solving from a task-oriented perspective while women typically solve problems more creatively and are more aware of feelings while communicating. That sucks since I have a damaged left brain. I guess that means that Terri should be solving all our problems.

Mathematical abilities. An area of the brain called the inferior-parietal lobule (IPL) is typically significantly larger in men, especially on the left side, than in women. This section of the brain is thought to control mental mathematical ability, and probably explains why men frequently perform higher in mathematical tasks than do women. Interestingly, this is the same area of Einstein’s brain that was discovered to be abnormally large. I think I believe this. I have always had the better math skills, with the exception of Algebra. Allison was the wizard in that subject. The IPL also processes sensory information, and the larger right side in women allows them to focus on, "specific stimuli, such as a baby crying in the night." Right again. Terri would always wake up hearing things in the night. I remember being awakened once in the middle of the night by Terri saying "Someone just came through the front door!" I searched the house with shotgun in hand and found nothing. I think she heard a gnat land on the dresser.

Typically, men’s brains are 11-12% bigger than women’s brains. This size difference has absolutely nothing to do with intelligence, but is explained by the difference in physical size between men and women. Men need more neurons to control their greater muscle mass and larger body size, thus generally have a larger brain. Unfortunately and in a related note, men only have enough blood to operate 2 major organs at once. The brain suffers when a third organ requires additional blood flow.

Women prefer 30 - 45 minutes of foreplay. Men prefer 30 - 45 seconds of foreplay and include brushing their teeth as foreplay.

Women mature much faster than men. Most 17-year-old females can function as adults. Most 17-year-old males are still trading baseball cards and giving each other wedgies after gym class. I still like to give wedgies.

Women look good in hats; men look like dorks. We see hats as a way to avoid combing our hair.

Let's say a small group of men and women are in a room, watching television, and an episode of "The Three Stooges" comes on. Immediately, the men will get very excited; they will laugh uproariously, and even try to imitate the actions of Curly, man's favorite stooge. The women will roll their eyes and groan and wait it out. So true. With Terri and I it is even more dramatic. I am a funny guy at times, but she never laughs at my jokes. More often than not, she becomes offended. On the other hand, Terri will laugh during a crisis. She has been with a friend who skidded into the median on a snowy day, and she burst into laughter. She also laughed when I first told her that I loved her.

A man has at most six items in his bathroom - a toothbrush, toothpaste, shaving cream, razor, a bar of Dial soap, and a towel from the Holiday Inn. The average number of items in a typical woman's bathroom is 437. A man would not be able to identify most of these items. Terri has 450 bathroom items and all I recognize were a comb, toothbrush and blow dryer.

When a man says he is ready to go out, it means he is ready to go out. When a woman says she is ready to go out, it means she will be ready to go out, as soon as she finds her other earring, finishes putting on her makeup, goes to the bathroom, picks up the living room, starts a load of wash, and swifters the floor.

When a woman reaches menopause, she goes through a variety of complicated emotional, psychological, and biological changes. The nature and degree of the changes varies with the individual. Menopause in a man provokes a uniform reaction--he buys aviator glasses, tighter jeans, and goes shopping for a Jeep Wrangler.

If a woman is out driving and she finds herself in unfamiliar surroundings, she will stop at a gas station and ask for directions. Men consider this to be a sign of weakness. Men will never stop and ask for directions. Men will drive in a circle for hours, all the while saying things like, "Looks like I've found a new way to get there", and, "I know I'm in the neighborhood. I recognize that. I will follow my GPS to the end of the earth before stopping for directions, so we compromise. I pull in to the gas station and Terri goes in to ask for directions.

A woman knows all about her children. She knows about dentist appointments and soccer games and romances and best friends and favorite foods and secret fears and hopes and dreams. A man is vaguely aware of some short people living in the house. Does Lyndy still live with us?

A woman will dress up to go shopping, water the plants, empty the garbage answer the phone, read a book, get the mail. A man will dress up for: weddings, funerals. Heaven forbid that someone would see my wife without her make up. She is even reluctant to go out without makeup while we are out of town on vacation.

Women do laundry every couple of days. A man will wear every article of clothing he owns, including his surgical pants that were hip about eight years ago, before he will do the laundry. When he is finally out of clothes, he will wear a dirty sweatshirt inside out, rent a U-Haul and take his mountain of clothes to the laundromat. Reference paragraph #1.

Little girls love to play with toys. Then, when they reach the age of 11 or 12, they lose interest. Men never grow out of their obsession with toys. As they older, their toys simply become more expensive and impractical. Examples of men's toys: TV's, wireless phones, Blue Ray players, computers, surround sound systems, video games, anything that blinks, beeps, and requires a a battery to operate.

Search for yourself. There are hundreds of differences.

38-2 becomes 0-40

Little did KU fans know that even before Mario sunk the miracle 3 pointer at the end of regulation, their team had already won the national championship fo the 2007-2008 season. Coach Cal is making a habit of running loose programs. First it was 1996 and UMASS, and now 2007 at Memphis. Unfortunately, Cal will not be punished. Memphis will.

Will cCal take his lazze faire style of running a mens basketball program to Kentucky? If history is an indicator, he will. Kentucky has the #1 recruiting class in college basketball this year. It appears likely they will be invited to the NCAA tournament next March. They may even do well. The one thing that is certain is that whatever the regular season and tournament record is, there will be an asterisks in everyone's mind. Only after the investigations are complete will Kentucky be able to claim any accomplishments in the 2009-2010 season.

That's what happens when you sell your soul to the devil. If Kentucky is a class program as some would indicate, they should step up and punish John Calipari. It won't happen, but if it did they would have my respect.

High School Football

I am a football player. I ended my last post saying that I rode the bench. That bench riding was on the freshman B team at Shawnee Mission Northwest high school. I was 5'9", 150 lbs of pure athlete. Too small to play on the line or linebacker, so I was a backup corner back and running back. My hair was not good enough to be quarterback, so that went to Phil Wood.

A few plays sum up my career as a football player. The first play was during summer practices. I knew the playbook and how the plays were supposed to work. As a running back, I would keep my eye on the butt of a lineman that would be the key blocker for a running play. By doing so, I could blaze through the hole he created and look like a superstar. On this particular play, the lineman opened up a nice hole. I was in the zone. Like a gazelle, I was through the hole, running tall. Nobody had even touched me. I thought to myself that it was just too easy. It must be my athletic ability. I hope everyone is watching. Maybe I can get a scholarship, maybe I'm NFL material.

That was my last vivid recollection of the play. A linebacker running at full speed put his helmet right on my chest. It was a big hit. To add insult to possible injury, he then leaped to his feet, and looked down at me asking "You okay man?" A couple minutes later, once I caught my breath, I said "Yeah, I'm fine. I must have slipped." In reality, I am surprised I stayed conscious. He cleaned my clock and it hurt bad. I think my style of play from that point forward became one of just trying to stay alive.

The second play I remember was being put in to run back the opening kick off. This was the only game that my father attended. I recovered a fumble on that kick off. Without regard to my own health, I threw myself on the ball and made sure my team retained possession. This new found dedication was probably because I was the one who fumbled the kick off. It hit me in the chest and bounded away. After a couple failed attempts to pick the football up and run it back for a touchdown, I settled for just recovering it. So we started the drive from our own 3 yard line.

I was once put in to play corner back during a goal line stand. Since each play was run to my side, my role was to rotate up and stop the run. The opposition ran 3 consecutive plays into our linemen and were knocked down each time. I then blocked any attempt by the runner to crawl forward. I did so by positioning myself between the tackled running back and the goal line. It worked perfectly and they did not score. I did not even get a grass stain on my clean white pants.

My career in organized football was over. I was able to walk away with perfect stats. I had 0 yards on zero carries, 0 interceptions, 0 tackles, and 0 lost fumbles. Our team finished 6-4, which at the time was the best record by any football team, any year for the newly opened high school. I decided to move on to other activities, having proved beyond a doubt, my abilities on the gridiron.

The sophomore team went on to a better record during the next season. Their success became a source of pride for me. I made each and every one of them better just by being part of the freshman team.

The Musician in Me

I am a musician. I played the trumpet in grade school and junior high. I was good. My mother was very strict about practice. When the other neighborhood guys were out playing baseball, cowboys & Indians, or war, I was in my room practicing the trumpet with a 30 minute timer. Thirty minutes each day, no days off.

The reward for all that preparation came during the 6th grade talent show. I on trumpet, Dave Ranney on clarinet, Mike Giles on saxophone, and Charles Magruder on drums performed Dixieland Parade in front of the entire school. We practiced that song so much that I still remember the tune, and can still play it on trumpet. We named ourselves the M. Giles Band. Not that Mike started the band, but only because there was a popular group out at the time named the J. Giles Band. We must have thought that we could ride the coattails of that name to success.

The day of the talent show arrived and we were ready. We performed perfectly. Absolutely no mistakes. First place was assured. We waited around for the award ceremony. Much to our shock and dismay, we did not win. Neither did we place in the top 3. It was then that I learned a lesson, proved over and over by American Idol - talent shows are not about talent, but are merely popularity contests. Phil Wood had won first place. Phil was far more popular than I. He had better hair. The girls thought he was cute. Phil was just like David Cook and Kris Allen.

Phil was my nemesis in grade school. He also played the trumpet. His mother must have made him practice 35 minutes each day, with no days off, because he was slightly better than I. All the way through grade school, Phil was first chair trumpet, I was second. When Christmas concerts came around, Phil got the solo. I remember one year he played Sleepy Pedro, a trumpet solo. He was awesome, he hit every note of a difficult song. I was part of a duet with the band's only bassoon player.

Then came junior high. Along with a new school came a new band leader, Mr. Young. Mr. Young was not aware of Phil's long time ownership of first chair. Phil's better hair held no influence over Mr. Young. For a time we were on equal footing. During the very first week of junior high band, we had tryouts. I became first chair. I reveled in the accomplishment and associated acclaim. I was first chair trumpet player for the very first time in my life!

Then we graduated to the second week of junior high. Mr. Young began to more fully grasp the talent levels of individual band members. I was again relegated to second chair. I lost interest after my few days at the top of the mountain. I began a slow slide to the last chair trumpet player by the end of 8th grade. I would read a book instead of practice, occasionally blowing a note or two just to sound like I was practicing. My mother may have lost interest also, as she became less strict about practice time.

As senior high approached, I began to lobby for dropping out of band. My reason was that in high school you were required to participate in marching band. Marching band was nerdy. Only the pimply-faced ROTC guys were in marching band. I was far too cool to be in a marching band. It worked. My parents agree that I could drop out of band in senior high. Despite the promise shown during the 6th grade talent show, my chance for a career in music was nearly over.

Phil continued on to high school band, but found a way out of participating in marching band. He played football. He was the quarterback on our freshman team. I rode the bench.

Baseball

Over the course of my entire life, baseball has been my game. I played little league and was pretty good. I was a better fielder than batter, and found myself at third base on most teams on which I played. I am also a baseball fan. Less now than in my younger years. In later years, I played softball. I was also good at that also. I played well into my 30's and only stopped after severely tearing my hamstring twice. But more that a player, I am a baseball fan.

I followed the KC Athletics religiously through my grade school years. Charlie O. Finley was the owner then. Charlie was always a couple french fries short of a happy meal. While the team was in KC, he constantly redesigned the stadium to spark interest in an otherwise boring team. One year, he brought the right field fence in to less than 300 feet. The wall was only 1-2 foot tall, with bleachers just on the other side. Outfielders could literally step into the bleachers to catch a ball.

Charlie Finley also created a home plate that would rise up from the ground exposing a mechanical rabbit with a basket on it's head full of extra baseballs. The umpire would replenish his supply during the game from this source. Whenever the Athletics hit a home run (not too often), a mule would run around the field. The mule's name was Charlie O.

Finley also brought white shoes to the game, creating a controversy. Other teams thought the reason was to confuse batters with other flashes of white in their peripheral vision. One night game, Charlie decided to leverage the only player on the team that had a following. The player was Dagaberto (Bert) Campinaris. "Campy" played shortstop on the team and was usually the lone KC representative at the yearly All Star game.

On this night, Campy was to play all 9 positions, rotating position each inning. I was at the stadium. The first 8 innings went pretty well. He even played well the inning he pitched. In the ninth inning, Campy played catcher. There was a play at the plate and Campy got steamrolled. It knocked him out cold and he was removed from the field on a stretcher. To this day I still wonder if Charlie Finley orchestrated that event. I would not put it past him, but it would have taken a lot of effort to get the other team on board.

I have many great memories of going to see KC A's games. My father would take my grandfather and I to the old stadium at 19th and Brooklyn. There were not parking lots, so we would pay a nearby resident $5 to park in their front yard. From there we would walk to the stadium and watch major league baseball with up to 17,000 other fans. I still have a vivid memory of the smell of hot dogs and cotton candy at the old ballpark.

The Athletics left KC for Oakland in 1967. On the team that left were Reggie Jackson, Vida Blue, Catfish Hunter, Sal Bando, and Joe Rudi to name a few. This was the nucleus that won several world series over the next decade. But KC had no team. That was until 1969 when the American League expanded and added the KC Royals. I was 13 when the Royals played their first game. Lou Pinella was the only notable name on the team, but that soon changed. Over the next few years, an American League powerhouse was forming. George Brett, Fred Patek, Dennis Leonard, Steve Busby, Dan Quisenberry, Amos Otis, Frank White and others formed a strong team that won the American League Western Division 3 times in the mid 1970's.

But the New York Yankees were winning the East Division during this same time. In 76, 77 and 78, the Royals and Yanks met in the American League playoffs. Each year, the Royals started strong only to lose in come from behind fashion. Chris Chamblis' 8th inning homer in game five, 1977 was a knife to the heart. I and a good friend spent the next hour in my backyard releasing our frustation by kicking trees. Each kick was intended for a specific Yankee.

In 1980, the Royals were able to get past the Yankees on a George Brett homer off of Yankee closer Goose Gossage. We lost to the Phillies in 6 games. In 1985, the Royals accomplished what they had not during the past 4 post season appearances. They won the pennant over Toronto and advanced to the World Series against St. Louis in what was dubbed the I-70 series. The Royals came back from a 3 to 1 game deficit to win in 7 games. It was Kansas City's first title since the 1969 Chiefs won the Super Bowl.

The Royals brought much entertainment during their "good" years. I was in the stands when George Brett hit a double and raised his average to .410 late in the season. He stood at second base and tipped his hat to the fans. His run to become the first modern player to bat .400 failed, but .390 wasn't bad. I also watch Bo Jackson perform feats on the field that no other baseball player had ever done. He would hit massive home runs, break bats over his own head or thigh, beat out ground balls, and throw runners out at home from the outfield wall. He was a talent that we will never know the full potential as football ended his career prematurely. Yet, I am glad that I saw him perform.

The Royals stayed competitive for 10 more years. But in 1995, their long time general manager left for Atlanta and nothing has been the same since. The new tradition of losing began and is still in full swing. The KC Royals are again set to be the worst team in baseball this year.

I really don't care that much. My love of baseball faded when the union became more of a story than the game or the ballplayers. The second strike left me cold to the sport. I continue to go to the games a couple times a year but my interest is the other team, or this year the newly remodeled stadium. I have resigned myself to the fact that Kansas City will probably never have another championship in baseball. Baseball is too slanted in favor of large market teams. Kansas City cannot compete for the best players. We get them through the draft, develop them, and watch them go to teams that can afford the salary demanded by star players.

I think I need to get a new favorite team. Or, I can favor whatever team is playing the Yankees that day. The Yankees drool too.

Golf

Non-golfers cannot and do not understand golfers. I think they have good reason. We are difficult to figure out. After all, why do we spend our excess income and time on a game we will never master? Bowlers can always strive for a perfect game. Baseball players can achieve a no-hitter, hit for the cycle, or play error free. Football players can score every time they have the ball, shut out the opponents, and never fumble. Basketball players an try to match the perfection KU did on December 9th, 1989, when they routed Kentucky 150-95. There is nothing analogous for a golfer. A golfer always has an opportunity to better their best. There is no such thing as a perfect golf game.

I am not a good golfer even though I have played the game for the past 37 years. If I played any other sport as poorly as I play golf I would have quit a long ago. Yet I continue. I think it is because when playing golf, I occasionally hit a shot or putt that is as good as the best players in the game. I don't think I could replicate such a feat in another sport. I have sunk a 40 foot double-breaker. I have chipped in from 50 yards out. Pro golfers do that more often than I, but I can still do that if only less often. I could never throw a no-hitter, or play a single down of a pro football game. Maybe that is why so many of us spend so much time and money on the silly game called golf.

When a person plays golf for the first time, they react in one of two ways. They either love it and can't wait to play again, or they hate it and never play again. There isn't an in between. I can tell if you are a golfer by telling you golfer jokes.

Q: Why do we call the sport "Golf"?
A: Because it is an unused 4-letter word.

Q: What do you call a group of white guys with sticks in their hands and chasing a black man?
A: The KKK. Wrong! A lynching. Wrong! The PGA. Right!

A husband and wife are playing golf one day when the man shanks his drive off to the right behind the course's maintenance shed. After finding his ball, he visualizes the next shot going through the large door used by the mowers, through an open window on the other side, and on to the green. He hits the shot that misses the door, hits the wall and the ball ricochets back. The ball hits his wife between her eyes, killing her instantly.

The following year, the widower is on the same course and hole with a buddy. The buddy shanks his shot to the same location behind the maintenance shed. His buddy sees the same opportunity and tells the widower of his intent. The widower says "Oh no, don't try that. I tried that shot last year and made double bogey".

If you get these jokes, then you are a golfer. If not, find a golfer and ask them.

Cats Rule, Dogs Drool - Part II

I left off with the fact that Terri and I did not learn our lesson on dog ownership. We thought we did. The lesson we thought we learned was that we shouldn't own a large dog. So our next dog was a wiry haired terrier mix named Maggie. That dog was a bundle of energy that was hard to keep up with. And like most dogs, it stank. We had a fenced in yard, but the 3-4 foot high chain link fences were not an obstacle to Maggie. It would climb the fence like a ladder. Nothing we could do short of chaining the dog up would keep it in our yard.

So we chained it up. The first attempt was poorly designed. The chain was long enough to allow Maggie to get to the fence, climb the fence, but too short for her to land on the other side. The result was that early one morning the dog hung itself on the neighbor's side of the fence. The yelping woke up our kindly, elderly neighbor and he went out to free the hung dog. We learned from our experience and shortened the chain, but Maggie did not learn a thing. Anytime it could slip it's collar, over the fence it went and out into the neighborhood. Maggie's demise came one day when it met a car on a fairly busy street near our house. I was called by the city animal control officer who had found me via the rabies tags on the dog's collar.

Animal Control: "Mr. Bryant, do own a small, stinky reddish terrier with wiry hair?"

Me: "Yes. "
Animal Control: "I am afraid I have bad news for you. We found the dog today out on 67th Street. It had been hit by a car. I am sorry, but your dog is dead."

Me (to myself): "Yes!"

Me (to the animal control officer): "Oh, no."

Animal Control: "Would you like us to return the body?"

Me: "No, that will not be necessary."

Animal Control: "Would you like the collar back?"

Me: "No, we won't be needing it again. But thanks (a lot!)"

Sometime during the fairly short lifespan of our terrier, we acquired a cat named Missy. Missy was a good natured house cat for the first part of it's life, but became incontinent. That exiled it to the garage, where it slept and ate, and had free reign of the neighborhood via a pet door. Missy lived several years as an outside cat.

The beginning of the end came one afternoon while I was preparing our house for a coat of paint. I was replacing siding on the second story of our house over the garage. I dropped a hammer from approximately 20 feet over the driveway. About that time, Missy strolled out of the garage. She never knew what hit her. The hammer hit her squarely on the back of her head. She flopped around for a few moments. Terri and I were sure that she was dying, but she did not. After a few minutes, she got up like a punch drunk boxer and hid behind a bush. She never was right after that. She preferred to hang out in the garage for the rest of her life. We had her put down after she became pitiful.

Maggie had not learned that climbing the fence led to bad things, and Terri and I did not learn from Maggie that we are not dog people. Our next mistake was named Polly. She was a beagle mix who's purpose in life was to drive me nuts. Polly barked at everything. If there was nothing to bark at, she barked for her own benefit. Polly started as a fit puppy, but rapidly transformed into the shape of a horizontal fire hydrant. For most of her life, she was a fat, smelly, ugly, stupid dog that barked incessantly. Because of her size and shape, she could not climb a fence. She could occasionally escape from the backyard.

One of these escapes occurred on our youngest daughters birth day, and may be the reason that Terri went into labor. I was called at work by a hysterical wife who stated that she was having labor pains and the dog was in the front yard bleeding from the head and leg. Terri's father I and headed to the house. I took Terri to the hospital, while my father-in-law took Polly to the veterinarian.

The birth of Allison was insured, but the repair of Polly was not. The vet informed me that she could patch the dog up for $300. I asked what it would cost to put her to sleep. The vet then saved Polly's life by reducing her charge to $150. Polly was patched up and healed. She was no worse for wear, just a little uglier. A few years later, Polly developed cancer. After a few hundred dollars to remove tumors on her back, she was put down.

Terri and I had finally learned our lesson. No more dogs. After the marriage of our oldest daughter, we did fill the void with not one, but two cats named Chumley (the second) and Chancey. Chumley is a docile, laid back lap cat, while Chancey was a hyper, bundle of nerves. Eventually, Chancey became aggressive and impossible to live with. She was put down. Chumley is now 8 years old, and my pal. He requires a few minutes of lap time every day, but is otherwise self sufficient. He stands beside the bedroom door most mornings waiting for me, and follows me throughout the house for both of his awake hour each day.

So, Cats rule. They are like jazz musicians of the animal kingdom. Everything they do is smooth and athletic, almost choreographed. A dog's demeanor is more like Mick Jagger, jumping all over the place begging for attention. Cats require more effort than the value they provide. Dogs require walks, discipline, and much training just to be somewhat well-behaved. Dogs trash your yard with poo, tear up the lawn and create noise pollution.

A cat would say "I am going to jump on your lap for a few minutes. Feel free to pet me". A dog would nuzzle your crotch, hump your leg and say "Pet me, pet me, now. Come on, pet me, okay? Okay, come on pet me, pet me, pet me, please PET ME!" Dogs drool.

I usually don't mind other people's dogs. Terri's parents have always had well behaved dogs that were okay. They spent a lot of time training them to be good, far more time that I am willing to invest in a pet. Those dogs are the exception. The norm seems to be our neighbors who own 4 dogs. That pack has turned our quiet neighborhood into what can sound like a kennel. And then there were those 2 Pomeranians a former sister-in-law had. Those yappy monsters served absolutely no purpose and were possibly the most annoying animals ever created. Every time they barked, (about 80 times per minute), I would dream of kicking field goals with them and it made the time a little more bearable. Even now I now have visions of them starring in an episode of "Man vs. Wild", where Bear skins them, shoves a stick up their rear,and roasts them over a fire. That made me smile. Dogs drool.

Cats Rule, Dogs Drool

My youngest posted last night so I am back in to blogging. If you haven't seen the post I was waiting for, check out http://aebub.blogspot.com/2009/08/my-horrid-childhood.html.

Over my lifetime I have owned several pets. The first was a dog named Sparky. My parents gave me that dog around my second or third birthday. Sparky was the only dog that ever walked the earth that was not a waste of skin. We grew up together and were best pals. Sparky was a terrier mix and looked much like the dog in the RCA trademark - the one looking into the cone of a phonograph with it's head cocked. Sparky died when I was in my early teens. I think he succumbed to old age.

My second pet was a free cat that we added to the family on the day The Beatles played a concert in Kansas City at the old Municipal Ballpark. The year was 1969. We named the cat Ringo. The name was partially after the Beatles drummer, Ringo Starr, and partially because Ringo the cat was all black other than a white ring around one rear leg. Ringo started life as a house cat, but was soon banished out of doors by my mother. Ringo became the definition of a Tom Cat. Over the years, we began to notice other cats in the neighborhood with that distinctive white ring on a rear leg. You can still drive through the old neighborhood and spot a few descendants of Ringo.

Around 1974, I moved away from home. Within a few weeks I had taken in a new pet. His name was Chumley (the first). My roommate and I found a litter dumped in our apartment dumpster, all far too young to survive. I selected the all black cat for my own pet. Since he was so young, we fed him via a bottle for a few weeks until he could feed himself. Being the pet of an older teenager meant that Chumley had a few rough experiences especially during parties. He handled it well, never became mean and was a very playful cat. He would not need much encouragement to begin a fight with your hand or foot, and would bite just hard enough to prove a point without drawing blood.

Chumley remained a pet after Terri an I were married. He had a distinctive personality that was characterized by one example. Terri and I went on a vacation one year early in our marriage. We were away from home for around 10 days. Chumley was cared for each day by a parent or neighbor, but obviously did not get his daily requirement of attention. When we returned from vacation and began unpacking from the trip, a pile of dirty clothes were placed on our bed for sorting. Chumley decided to let us know his thoughts on the lack of attention, and jumped onto the pile of clothes, looked right at us and peed on them. It was the only time he ever peed anywhere other than the litter box.

Shortly after that, Chumley became an outdoor cat. For several years he ruled the neighborhood. We saw him jump 8 feet vertically to catch a bird, come home with mice, rabbits or other critters in his mouth, and even hold his ground against dogs 4 or 5 times his size. Chumley lived for 18 years. He died in 1992 while laying out in the warm Spring sunshine behind a neighbor's home.

My next pet was a dog. Terri and I were given a black Labrador. We were young and stupid. Since we both worked, the dog had to be penned up during the day. Labrador's are very energetic dogs that do not react well to confinement. Within the first week, the dog had chewed the window sill off a window, scratched a door and trim, eaten part of a mattress, and caused other miscellaneous damage. Without constant supervision, the dog was a destructive machine. Fortunately for us, that dog's mother died the week we became dog owners. The mother's owners were devastated and wanted to keep one of their dog's puppies, but all had been given away. Like angels of mercy, they came by our house, knocked on the front door, and asked us if we would consider giving back our puppy. Yes! We got rid of the dog, but did not learn our lesson well.

I will finish up on my pet history tomorrow and make the undeniable case that Cats Rule, and Dogs Drool.

On Strike

I am on strike and will remain there until my youngest blogs again. Go to http://aebub.blogspot.com/ and help me encourage her to add a new post to Procrastination Postponed.

She may need your ideas on what she could write about. I have already suggested that she write about her rotten childhood caused by domineering parents that enforced too strict a curfew. She was also the first in the family to receive a colonoscopy, so maybe she could write about that experience.

Interim Reviews

It is Tuesday evening as I write this, and I am a little worn out. Today was the first day of our yearly performance planning interim review process. My team now numbers 29 direct reports, so what used to be a easy task is now very time consuming. I was able to complete 15 today and will finish most of the rest on Thursday.

For a manager that takes this aspect of the job seriously, the level of effort is fairly large. For each review, I must make sure that I understand what each person's yearly objectives were, and their progress towards meeting those objectives. With that I can formulate a message that includes my assessment of their strengths, weaknesses and areas for improvement. And that is merely to prepare for the review session.

During the session, I ask each person to describe to me in their own words what were their most significant accomplishments so far, and identify any risks they see in completing all objectives this year. That usually consumes 15 minutes. The rest of the 30 minutes allotted is used to provide feedback on their accomplishments, along with the prepared strengths, weaknesses and development opportunities. We finish with a discussion discussing whatever is on their mind. With all the change in the past few months, there is a lot on their mind.

I have always looked at this time as a great way to connect with my team, and understand what makes them tick. I always find this exercise as time well spent. Because of the preparation and the actual time spent with each person, I fall behind on my normal work and must catch up later. Did I mention that I am worn out?

One of my team sent me an email a few minutes ago and thanked me for spending the time today and providing my feedback. That always makes it all seem more worthwhile. She ended the note with a suggestion that we do this every quarter instead of every 6 months. I am not sure I can take that.

Same Rant, Different Angle

Imagine that you know someone who has a 6 figure income. Let's say their total earnings was $150,000 in 2008. Not a bad living for sure. In fact, they should be living pretty well with that income. But let me add a few more facts and see if the picture changes.

Now consider that between home mortgage, car loans, credit cards and other personal loans, this person has a total debt of $750,000. In 2008, they spent $70,000 more than they earned. Not single dollar of principal was retired, but $25,000 was paid in interest during the year. The financial picture is not quite as good now, is it?

To finish the picture, this person has a declining income this year, but has increased their spending dramatically. They have applied for a loan to borrow another $500,000, which would bring their total debt to $1,250,000 on an income of less tan $150,000 per year.

How would you characterize this person? Irresponsible and foolish? Do they have an income or a spending problem? Could you think of any justification for this behavior?

You may have guessed that my fictitious person is really our federal government with income and debt made proportional to a typical family. The conclusion you and I reached about this person hold true for our elected representatives. They are irresponsible and foolish, and no excuse can be made for their behaviour. The United States does not have an income problem, we have a spending problem. We want everything, regardless of whether we can afford it.

The Cash for Clunkers program is the best recent example of our problem. We cannot afford these programs even though they are well-intentioned. Did you know the program has given over 50% of the dollars to foreign car manufacturers?

Many believe that those who have taken advantage of the program were in the new car market anyway. All that was done was to incent these buyers to buy now. When the program concludes, car sales will plummet to new lows.

Any idea what taking 750,000 cars out of the used car market will do to used car prices? Supply and demand principals indicate that reducing supply will increase demand and cost. Those of us who might have wanted to save money by purchasing a used car may pay an unexpected premium.

And then there is my favorite rant:

Let's say that you wanted to buy a new car and made a deal with the dealership. After trade in, you needed to pay an additional $20,000. But the finance company was only willing to loan you $15,500 dollars. Would you then ask your children to take out a loan for the difference of $4,500? I would guess that the answer is an enphatic no! So why are so many people doing just that?

Near Death Experiences

Many of us have wondered just how close to death we may have come at some point in our lives. God's hand creating a few seconds delay in our schedule or someone else may have turned a devastating event into a near miss that saved our lives. I think it happens more often that we realize. Survivors of 9/11, those who did not get on a plane, or were late for work are well known examples of what I am referring to. I can think of 2 instances in my life when I may have cheated death.

Very late one Christmas eve, Terri and I were travelling south on Quivera Road after spending the traditional time with Terri's parents. I was driving the ugly green Ford Pinto that Terri owned before e were married. Because of a poorly engineered gas tank, Ford Pinto's had a nasty habit of exploding into flames when struck in a certain way. On this evening, I was stopped at the streetlight at Johnson Drive. When the light turned green, I slowly pulled into the intersection. In a fuzzy blur, another car headed west blew straight across the front of our car. Just one second faster to the accelerator, or the other vehicle delayed by a single 1 second , and Terri an I would have been T-boned in an exploding vehicle hit by a speeding motorist. I don't think we would have made it.

The second instance that comes to mind was poor judgement on my part. I was 18 years old and owned a candy apple red 1969 GTO convertible. It was the fastest car I have ever owned. Late one night I was driving with 3 friends. They dared me to see how fast it would go. I found out - 120 mph, which pegged the speedometer. The top was down, and 1 friend was sitting on the back of the rear seat. The front tires on the GTO were completely bald. A blow out would have meant certain doom for everyone in the car. We did not have a blowout ... that night. The blowout waited 1 more day at a time I was travelling 25 mph. Just another case of death avoided.

All I can do is thank God that he allowed me to live for at least 53 years.

Past Jobs

I have joked with my wife and a certain sister-in-law that my current job as a manager means that I have no skills. In many ways this is true, especially when compared to past jobs. In reality, the manager position only requires organizational, leadership and communications skills. Those usually do not equip you to succeed in non-management positions. Certainly not in the jobs I held prior to my current one.

Paperboy - I had 2 different gigs. The first was delivery of the Kansan to approximately 100 subscribers around my home. I was an entrepreneur. I purchased the papers-rubber bands-bags, rolled or bagged them, delivered them from my bicycle each day, and collected the monthly subscription fees. In the second job, I got up at 2:00 AM every Sunday morning to deliver the Kansas City Star to residents at the Barcelona apartments. Pay was very low per hour, but they were my first paychecks so I was happy.

Busboy/Cook - At 16 years of age, I began working at Red Lobster, first as a busboy for $1.60 per hour. I soon moved back to the kitchen and worked in various positions. I enjoyed the job because of the variety of people I met. I was also very good at it and was given the opportunity to train new employees at new Red Lobster restaurants.

Association Services - Pay was not great, but autonomy was fantastic and stress level was very low. I worked for a property management company, and was responsible for clubhouse maintenance, all common area lighting, sprinkler systems and other general maintenance. I knew what I was responsible for and planned my day accordingly. I learned to be handy, something that has served me well as a home owner.

Draftsman - I was the poster child for why good interviewing skills are critical for any boss. I was able to talk my way into a job I was nowhere near qualified for. My mediocre drafting skills learned in junior high school wood shop were exaggerated into a job offer. It was my first white collar position, and I found it very uncomfortable. Since I was not qualified for the job, stress was extremely high. The end came 2 weeks after I started and was a relief. I went back to my former handy man position.

House Painter - I took the job because the pay was better.I worked for and with friends, which was another benefit. I had a lot of fun on the job, but took nothing of value away other than how to paint a house.

Cable TV Technician - This was my first real job with benefits. I started as an entry level installer and moved into increasingly knowledgeable service functions. The job was challenging, and required patience when dealing with end user customers. During the first few years of this job, I became an expert in a technical discipline, and learned customer service skills. During the second half of my cable TV career, I learned how to develop, test, maintain, and document software applications. I was a one man development shop with lots of autonomy to decide what value I should develop next. This was my most favorite job in my professional career to date. The job had great personal satisfaction level and provided immediate gratification every time I compiled new code.

Of my past jobs, paperboy and busboy are the only ones I am still qualified to do.

I have the Knack

...for spotting musical talent. I can hear a short snippet of a song, or see part of a music video and quickly determine if there is potential. I have several proof points over the last few years.

Sugarland. I bought their first CD "Twice the Speed of Life" after seeing one music video. At the time, Sugarland was getting no airtime on country music radio. The CD confirmed to me there was talent. I discovered that Jennifer Nettles has a world class voice, and that the group has a distictive and unique sound. Plus, they write their own stuff. Months went by. Radio started playing their music, but the awards did not come. I became upset that each award show would give the trophies to the same people - Brooks and allDunn, Pretty Boy Kenny, and so on. It didn't seem fair. Finally, Sugarland broke through with best new artist, best song and best vocal duo awards. Now, after releasing 4 CD's, and years of opening for other performers, Sugarland has hit the big time and fill arena's on their own. On Monday evening, ABC broadcast a 60 minute special concert. Sugarland have come a long way in the past few years. Their act now resembles a high energy Las Vegas show. I am not sure I like the new act, but will admit they have entered the top tier of country music performers, and it is well deserved.

Miranda Lambert. Again an artist I began following after seeing a music video of "Me and Charley Talking" from her first CD. Miranda can move seamlessly from hard rock to soft ballads, and hit everything in between. Her strength is in the songwriting. Her lyrics paint rich pictures using very few words. Miranda won a best album award in 2008 for her "Crazy Ex-Girlfriend" CD. Musically, it was a great CD and proved her range of styles, but the lyrics are what got her the award. Each tell a story. Miranda has a third CD due in September, and it could propel her to country music elite status.

Lady Antebellum. This group was already getting airplay when I first noticed them. They are basically a vocal band. Only one member plays an instrument, so of all the artists I mentioned, these guys are my least favorite. Regardless, the do have a distinctive sound and produce nice toe-tappers. Lady Antebellum was the latest recipient of the best new artist award.

Taylor Swift. I first noticed her after hearing her first big hit, "Tim McGraw". Taylor is not the best musician out there. Her guitar is average at best, and her vocals are inconsistent. Her strength is songwriting - she is a song writing machine. Her lyrics can be adolescent, but after all she is only 18 years old. My prediction is that her lyrics will mature as she does, and she will become one of the top singer/songwriters in country music.

My wife believes that I am too full of myself, so I will put the self awarded reputation on the line. Today, as I write this, a new band is releasing their first CD. The band is called Gloriana. I believe they meet the criteria of a distinctive sound, good talent, and above average musical ability. I am disappointed that only 1 of 13 songs on the new CD was written by a member of the band. That may hold them back. Gloriana may not rise to Sugarland or Taylor Swift levels, but should be on par with Lady Antebellum or Miranda Lambert. We should know if a year or so.

Full of myself. Hrrrumph. Did I mention that Lyndy and I picked Carrie Underwood as the American Idol season 4 winner after the first round try outs?

I am Prepared

Be Prepared. That is the Boy Scout motto and I am a Boy Scout. The Boy Scouts is a private club, open to any male between certain ages who wants in. Their scouting principals are not secrets, and they do not hide why they exist. Their goal is to equip young men for manhood. It build character, teaches morals and has a religious theme. Whenever the ACLU brings a case against them, I cringe. It is just another attempt to chip away at the foundational beliefs of America. It is too bad that girls can't join, but there is a thing called Girl Scouts. If a person is offended by pledging to God and Country, then they shouldn't join the Boy Scouts.

I started my scouting career as a Cub Scout. My mother was a den mother so we had den meetings at my house. I can't remember any significant learning coming from Cub Scouts. Maybe that is why the ACLU leaves them alone. I suspect the Cub Scouts is just preparation for Boy Scouts.

My Boy Scout experience is one of camp outs, canoe trips, camaraderie, 20 mile hikes, service projects and fund raisers- all good. When you first join the Boy Scouts, the initial goal is to achieve the first level. I think it is called becoming a 1st class scout. The requirements are low, if you can maintain body warmth and breath occasionally, you make it. The next few levels require an ever increasing effort. Those levels are ranks of Star, Life and finally Eagle Scout.

I achieved the Life rank. To do so I had to study certain topics and participate in activities that proved you had learned something. For each topic mastered, a merit badge was awarded. As you accumulated merit badges, your rank increased. Achieving the Star rank was fairly simple. You made the Star rank by earning 5 merit badges. I think I earned camping, cooking, hiking, basket weaving, and bugling. I played the trumpet in grade school so bugling was easy. The rest required that I participate in scheduled Boy Scout activities.

Life rank was more difficult. I think you had to earn an additional 10 merit badges. I have no memory of what badges I earned, but can assure you they required the least effort to earn or I would not have made it. Once I achieved the rank of Life, I lost interest. Eagle award requires even more merit badges, including some with a very high degree of difficulty. It also requires planning and execution of a service project, including raising the funds needed by the project. When I saw the Eagle requirements, I thought it a good time to end my Boy Scout experience. I hold great respect for the guys that earned the rank of Eagle Scout. It was a test of their abilities and perseverance. There is a reason they normally achieve much in later life.

There are many other things a boy learns in Boy Scouts that are not planned or sanctioned by the organization. These learning's are typically those discovered whenever a group of boys spend a lot of time together and away from their parents. The first was the discovery of pornography. Each scout troop is made up of smaller squads. A squad is usually under 10 members, and these members become their own "club" within the larger troop organization. Squads always camp and eat together, and compete against the other squads. Over time, each squad would accumulate old Playboys which were carefully stored in the packed up tents and available for the next camp out.

I learned more about the "birds and the bees" in Boy Scouts than my parents ever taught me. Most of what I learned was technically correct, but flawed. I remember the evening when my Boy Scout friend told several of us how babies were made. After describing the physical mechanics, he stated that it is call "raking". I suppose he was referring to "raping", but had confused the explanation of rape for the mechanics of sex when described by his parents. We thought we knew the facts of life, and had corroborating proof from our stowed Playboys.

I learned not to eat undercooked sausage. That lesson was learned over a rainy weekend camp out. We had difficulty keeping our campfire lit much less hot. The result was undercooked sausage which we ate anyway. I blew chunks for more than a day. It took me 10 years before I could eat sausage again.

I learned there is no value in camping in the snow. Every winter on the anniversary of Scouting, our troop would camp out on the grounds of our sponsor church. In this case, the Shawnee Presbyterian church. The anniversary falls in January, so most years were cold. One in particular was brutally cold with a foot of snow on the ground. All the scouts spent the entire weekend in our tents and in our sleeping bags. We never went out until it was time to pack up and go home.

I learned how to sleep in the woods with nothing but a sleeping bag. It was part of the Order of the Arrow initiation. We were given a match, a grapevine ring, and allowed to take our sleeping bag with us. The challenge was to start a campfire, burn the grapevine and then bed down for the night. Then we were led to a spot deep in the woods, told to sleep there. Our guide then left us alone. Do you know how difficult it is to start a fire with one match in total darkness? Most of us simple used the match in an attempt to burn the grapevine, and when that failed threw the grapevine away. I remember lying in my sleeping bag with the opening pulled tight around my face to keep out the snakes. I fell asleep that way and awakened the next morning still clenching the sleeping bag tightly.

I learned how to cook a rattlesnake. During one week at summer camp a group of us scouts happened upon one of the plentiful snakes in the area. At Camp Naish, when someone yells "snake!", nobody runs. We were Boy Scouts, so instead we gather. This is how the rest of the conversation goes:

"Where?"

"Right there, see by that tree."

"What do you want to do?"

"Let's catch it."

"Then what?"

"We'll kill it!"

Okay, now what do we do?"

"Let's eat it."

So that's what we did. I had no part in spotting, catching or killing the rattlesnake. I assisted in the cleaning of the snake. The rattle was award to the kid who cut it's head off while another kid pinned it down with a stick. He deserved it. I did fry the snake up and shared it with the guys. It tasted like chicken.

I learned how to use toothpaste in practical jokes. It was the first night of a week at camp. All of us were excited to be out of the house for the week, so we did not sleep much. Instead, we did what young boys do - create mischief. That night we thought it funny to go into tents of other squads and squirt toothpaste on the side of their heads while they slept. I think I used the whole tube on the first night. When I returned home the conversation with my mother went like this:

Mom: "Did you remember to brush your teeth last week?"

Me: Yep, check the tube of toothpaste."

Mom: "You used the whole tube?"

Me: "Yes, I brushed them real good!"

I learned that you must tailor your message to the audience. Each squad was required to perform a skit at monthly troop meetings with our parents. One month, it was my turn to decide what to perform. As was my pattern, I took the easy route and decided to perform a recent joke that I had heard. The skit required 2 guys to argue about who's was longer. The debate continued for a minute or so until both stood up and began unbuckling their belts. The punchline was that they would remove their belts and compare the length of each. The guys in the troop roared with laughter, but the parents were less than amused.

I still occasionally see a couple of my old Boy Scout buddies. They are doing very well. Neither of them has served jail time, and both are in stable marriages with children. I believe at least of small part of the credit goes to our Boy Scout experience.

New Neighbors

One of the new homes in our neighborhood was recently sold and a new family moved in over the past weekend. The family is black. I realized this is the first time in my life that I have had a black neighbor. I was in junior high school before I had a black class mate. There were only 2 in a school size of several hundred. Blacks did not live in the part of town that I did. In fact, there was a neighborhood called "colored holler" where all blacks in my county lived.

Terri was brought up in a different environment. During her childhood in Memphis, she was the minority. Living with black neighbors is nothing new to her.

Racism was blatant, even though I never saw "whites only" signs during my childhood. My father would have a reacted very negatively if blacks had moved into the old neighborhood in Shawnee. My father was a quiet racist. He was not overtly racist, he did not burn crosses, but he did hold blacks in low esteem simply because they were black. That was a different time. In that time, a black family moving into a neighborhood brought concerns over crime, fears of declining property values, and even hate. My father would have reacted the same way most white people reacted to blacks in those days.

I feel good that I don't have those concerns about my new neighbors. Terri and I introduced ourselves to them last Sunday afternoon and delivered a fresh-baked chocolate cake. We found both to be pleasant and friendly. One is the chaplain for Providence Medical Center nearby.

Still, I wonder if I am really different than my father? Are we both reacting in the manner our cultures consider acceptable? Or am I really different?

Credit scam

For those that may not have heard, there is a new credit scam running rampant in the country. This scam targets those who are already in debt - average $37,799 debt per person in family - an amount so high it will take the rest of their working lives to repay, if ever.

The scam offers these people additional credit. Part of the offer is they will not be held responsible to pay back the debt. Instead, they must assign the debt to their children, (born or unborn), or their grandchildren. If they have no children, repayment of the debt may be assigned to other people's children or grandchildren.

The scammers then use this new credit to purchase goods and services. Sometimes the purchases are provided to the person issued the credit, while other times the the goods or services are given to others or even kept by the scammers.

The enticement is that new credit is necessary in order to keep failing business solvent, or to pay for new programs. After all, the businesses will be saved for your kids and grandkids, and the new programs will be around to provide them with the same value they will for you. You shouldn't worry about it. Just trust them to do the right thing.

Who could fall for such a scam? You and I.

Surprisingly, the scammers are United States Senators, Representatives, cabinet officials, and even the President of the United States. They are offering US citizens, already in debt by nearly 12 trillion dollars, ($12,000,000,000,000), government provided healthcare, cash for clunkers, billion$ to failed businesses, and many other programs. The increasing debt for these programs will be assigned to future taxpayers - our children and grandchildren.

Many otherwise rational people are supporting these debt generating programs and not holding our representatives responsible for paying for them. Would you agree to max out a credit card in your children's name? How about take out a loan to buy a new car and promising that your grandchildren will make the payments? Responsible people would never agree to these terms, but are allowing Congress to do it on their behalf.

Every American should consider future debt before supporting any new program, regardless of the sponsor. We have already saddled future generations with enormous debt. This must stop now.

Down he goes

In a previous post, I described Obama's downward trend in job approval rating and speculated on the reasons why. That post was dated June 30th. Since then the polls still indicate that his job approval is in decline and may be picking up speed. In one short month, he has gone from 59% approval to just a hair over 54%. Disapproval has risen from 34% to just under 40%. At the current rate, they will cross over as soon as October, but definitely before year end. So let's look at what has happened over the past 30 days to cause an acceleration in decline.

First and foremost, details of his healthcare plan are becoming more widely known. People are starting to understand that we do not have a health care problem, but may have a health insurance problem. Those of us that have good insurance do not want the government to impact the quality of our healthcare by instituting a low cost, low quality plan that businesses will run to. Those that do not have good insurance want a low cost (free) option, but do not want to be fined if they do not purchase. They also do not want those that have insurance to derail a national healthcare plan. The two sides are aligning against each other as the debate grows louder.

Secondly, Obama called out a local law enforcement officer during a prime time press conference. Even those that were not aware of the details of the event were shocked and surprised that a sitting president of the United States would call out the actions of a private citizen. Many knew enough details from the situation to know the reputation of the police officer. He had an exemplary record and even taught classes on how to avoid racial profiling to other officers. While Obama said the police acted "stupidly", many understand that Obama was the only one who was acting in that manner.

Some now believe that his apparent mistake was intentionally made to redirect attention from healthcare just long enough to get it rammed through the Congress. I don't think he is smart enough, not that he isn't smart, just that the uproar and effects of the comment could not be accurately gauged prior to saying it.

The irony is that two different situations both hurt Obama's approval rating and create conflict between races, or between the insured and uninsured. This from a man who is supposed to be a healer of our nation? I firmly believe that Obama had no clue how his proposal and comment would be taken by the people. It is not that hard to understand. He has so little leadership experience.

If you hire an unqualified cab driver, you soon find yourself lost.

If you hire an unqualified financial advisor, you will lose money.

In virtually any profession, and unqualified person will fail.

When you hire an unqualified and unprepared president, the country endures ineffective leadership. We should not be surprised that our country is moving in the wrong direction.