The Angriest Man in America

You will not RE-Member

2009-12-30T00:11:00.031-05:00

Some years ago, a good friend of mine invited me to lunch at a Private Club. Oooohhh… big deal that was! I was kind of excited, and thought perhaps I’d get to name-drop afterword… you know, show all my friends what a cool cat I was – perhaps rub elbows with the swells while waiting for our table…

Should I wear a suit and tie? Should I go formal? Nooo, he assured me – this would be extremely casual. “How cool is this”, I thought… Just me and my friend .. sailing past the guards at the gate…. Hey… don’t mind us … we’re MEMBERS!

I spent a great deal of time anticipating this luncheon and how I was about to enter a new paradigm of consciousness. I was excited about my big new adventure amongst the jet set.

The big day arrived. He picked me up on time, just as he’d said he would. I didn’t ask too many questions, as I didn’t want to seem naïve… or ill at-ease with the prospect of having lunch with the high brows. I wanted it to seem as though this was completely natural - just the everyday norm for me.

I soon realized that it actually WAS the norm for me… as my jokester friend pulled into the parking lot of Costco – the wholesale warehouse.

(Private Club: Get it??) We walked to the front door - he showed his membership card, and we waltzed right up to the lunch counter and ordered those wonderful Polish sausages they sell, and had lunch at the 'private club'. Wow.

A HUGE learning experience for me that day. Membership does not always have its privileges. I expected one thing and got another. Hopes for the High Life sacrificed on the alter of comedy.

Fast forward 20-some years: I’ve long since been a member of that August private club… But not for long.

You see, Costco sold me on this idea… that even though you couldn’t play golf on the back Nine, or hob-nob with the elite at their private club, they did insinuate that membership did indeed have some advantages. Many of which I’m still trying to determine. In essence, I'm still expecting one thing and getting another.

“You’re not just a Customer”, they said. “You’re a MEMBER” and that Means something!

So what the hell DOES this mean? Really...?

What it means.. is that When I call to ask about tires for my car… they will not have my particular size or style on hand. However they are Really VERY Sorry…and can order them.

It means that when I call to ask about ANYthing they might have in stock that I’ll get put on hold for roughly 20 minutes until someone finally picks up the phone and says: “Who you hoe-din for?” OR… they will pick the phone up and say “I’m sorry.. but we’re out of that.

*Blink

OUT? How can this be?

I’m doing the math in my head right now, and I just don’t see how it’s possible that you can be out of ANYTHING.

Let me explain what I mean:

Whereas Costco is a Membership warehouse, which means you Must be a member to shop there; and whereas each basic membership (on average) is now Fifty American dollars. (now, they do sell something called a Premium membership, but for the sake of this exercise we’ll just assume that all current members paid the base fee of $50.00); and whereas Costco boasts roughly Fifty Five Million members…

Hmmm…..let me see now.. 50 dollars……times Fifty Five Million … Hmmm put this number here… and carry the one…

Whooolly Scam of the Century Batman!! That’s 2.75 Billion Dollars!!

Let me say that again – Two Point Seven Five Billion Dollars…

In positive revenue flow – before they EVER stock or sell the first item.

Now I ask you – is that a great scam or WHAT? What other business (other than Sam’s and BJ’s, and a few other sordid warehouse enterprises) have the unmitigated CHEEK and GALL .. to ask for Two Point Seven Five Billion (with a B) right up front before offering Anything of Tangible Value? And then turn around and tell you about all the money you’re saving by “Buying in Large Quantities”??

Can you imagine saying to your prospective employer during the interview process: “I’ll need to have a Hiring Bonus of $20,000.oo, before I ever touch a keyboard or ever clock in, please.” And when the boss, looking at you in utter amazement, says: “For WHAT?” And you were to think about it for a moment and respond: “You know, I'm not really sure – I just know that Costco does it and it seems to work for them. Now how would you prefer to pay that? In a lump-sum check?? Or by direct deposit into my account – it’s entirely up to you.”

That boss person would look at you as though you had actually declared war on rational thought. Not only would you NOT get the $20,000.oo, but you would also NOT get the job. And moreover what you probably Would get is escorted to the parking lot by a member of the security team.

But yet EVERY year – Costco says to its “Members”: Pay up. Don’t ask – just pay.”

Well – you know me. I DID ask. HAD to ask. And frankly wasn’t too enthused with the answers I got.

A few weeks ago I called the local Costco warehouse. I asked to speak with someone who could answer some questions about membership.

“Good afternoon, Sir, and how can I help you?”

“Well, I was looking for someone who could answer a few questions about membership, and why it might behoove me to join your club.”

“I would be happy to help you with that, sir…. What are your questions?”

“Well, first off – What do I get?” “I mean… What distinguishes YOUR shopping experience from that of say… Safeway or Kroger, or perhaps Dominick’s??” What’s the one big deal about shopping at Costco that makes it worth Fifty Dollars for the year? I sure as heck wouldn’t pay Dominick’s Fifty Bucks a year for basically nothing, just for the privilege of giving them more money for... ‘something’.”

There was a long pause. I don’t think she’d ever been hit with that question in quite that way before. I really felt uncomfortable for her.

She began slowly and nervously: “Well…you do get the added bonus of getting to visit with US each time you stop in.”, she said with an obvious smile in her voice. I know she meant it to be funny, but I also couldn’t help but think she was stalling.

She grasped for more facts about the Shopping Experience: “Actually Sir,,,, (as her confidence was building) … The products we carry are much more superior than the average store. The lines and brands we carry tend to be top of the line".

I couldn’t help but think that since the whole big deal about buying a membership and shopping at Costco was the SAVINGS – that she didn’t have some sort of data she could fire off from memory… something like…… “Well, Sir, because the average family saves roughly blank % per year by shopping with us. But that never came up.

She asked at that point if she could put me on hold and would be right back. “Sure!” I said. But the odd thing is that she never did come back. At least not in the next 13-15 minutes; the point at which I decided to give up and think more in terms of how to get my money back for the MEMBERSHIP I’d already been suckered into.

Tip.. for the membership recruiter: If you’re going to ask us to surrender TWO POINT SEVEN FIVE BILLION dollars a year, before we even purchase the first product, you’d damn sure better have a pretty good reason to proffer as some sort of inspiration for the investment. If you’re going to ask us for Two Point Seven Five Billion dollars right up front, you’d better, darned good and well have someone with the voice and talent of Paul Harvey or Katie Couric answering the phone. And you’d sure as heck better keep enough of that nearly three billion dollars handy so that you can BY Gosh stock your shelves with my 'blanking' Tires when I call for them.

So this week, looking at my annual correspondence from the Costco Membership office… the one which naturally assumes I will just be mindlessly renewing once again, and doesn’t even ask “yes” or “no” – but simply wonders whether I'll be taking the 'standard' or the 'premier' membership. I’ll have to find some way to let them know that I do seem to recall something about major value for dollars spent, but it’s been so long since I’ve experienced any of that at Costco… frankly, I just can’t ...

RE-Member.

"Potee-wah Sainyo Schain"

2009-09-05T22:13:00.065-05:00

Ok – Now this has really gone too far.

And there’s really no clever or funny way to ask this: But Where in THEE HELL did all the Americans go??

This disappearance of pretty much MY ENTIRE CULTURE has left me to wonder: Did Jesus Really come back and perhaps I got left?? Maybe Preacher Maddox was right! Or... perhaps, like in Atlas Shrugged, they all just got tired of it, ran off to the mountains of Colorado to create an Achievers' Paradise and I just never got the memo. But either way, this has now become so bizarre that I can no longer wrap my mind around it.

Some time ago, I remember watching the movie “I Am Legend”, with Will Smith. The premise of the movie was something about nearly every human having been finished off by a mutant virus, and he alone is left to figure out what to do or how to fix it. (It is also a rather handy convenience that his character just happens to be a gifted and talented scientist, but I digress.)

So there’s our Will, roaming about the streets of New York with only his gun, his trusty German Shepherd, and his non-stop, overly-insipid flashbacks and memories to keep him company, (a technique that filmmakers use, incidentally, to fill in the blanks of a story when there isn’t time enough to cut into the adventure and mayhem parts – you know, the parts that sell tickets. Ahhh... the mighty flashback!) as he looks for signs of intelligent and unaffected life.

But poor Will, there’s just NO one in the streets. No one to be found anywhere – Not a single soul with whom he is able to communicate.

I know exactly how that feels.

How on Earth... can there not be one single English speaking American within our borders who doesn’t want to earn a living or support their family by way of a motel, a donut shop, a Fast Food Restaurant…?? A Seven Eleven, for God’s Sake??

When I go to the deli counter at the local grocery, as an ADULT, I really don't think I should have to resort to the old parlor game of Charades in order to ask for a simple half-pound of smoked turkey, very thinly sliced, thank you. It’s the most humiliating and embarrassing thing. Please press WHAT??!! And in my own country?? How did this happen??

And yes, I’ve heard it until I’m blue in the ears: “They take the jobs Americans don’t want to take.” Blah blah blah… My response to that is NO… No they don't... they take the jobs that Americans Can No Longer Get, because our government makes laws regarding border security and protecting our interests and then refuses to enforce them.

How is it that a Border Patrol officer can shoot someone trying to enter my country illegally, and then be railed and razzed as a criminal while the ‘victim’ is allowed to SUE, yes, SUE the border patrol agent who was simply doing his job?? (Think about that: Being sued by the people who HIRED you... for Doing Your Job!) And please explain to me how ANY judge or court in this country could not automatically rule in favor of the border patrol agent (who was simply doing what was asked of him when hired) if all the details in the case were deemed to be accurate?

It just seems to me that any barely-thinking person who wanted to cross borders illegally would naturally assume that Part of the Inherent Risk of such a stunt…would be gunfire. Part of the built-in gamble of breaching sovereign borders would be the danger of being stopped by any and all means necessary; up to, and including bullets.

For several weeks now, on Saturday evenings I make my way down to a small town in northern Indiana to play a little music with the old timers. And each week, because I just can't seem to make myself leave the house at a reasonable time, I tend to end up at the same McDonald's drive through(that's in Chicago... in AMERICA, by the way...)for a little on-the-road food. Simple enough. I mean, how difficult can it be to put a #2 order in a bag and send me on my way…?? Unless of course, I should be ordering a “Numero Dos”.

But every week when the order is complete, and I'm instructed to “please drive around”, I pay, receive my change,,, and then hear just about one of the strangest phrases I've ever heard in any language:

“Potee-wah Sainyo Schain”.

This is typically accompanied by a pleasant but not overly enthusiastic smile. And until recently I had just NOT been able to figure it out. I mean, each week I'm thinking to myself Whutin-ee hey-ul?? What could it possibly mean? Is it some sort of curse, or perhaps a blessing in her native tongue?

Well,,, I needn't have waited much longer, as it seems I've finally discovered the true and hidden meaning of the McDonald's Mystery Phrase.

Now shaken from a recent self-imposed state of attempting to at least trying to “look on the bright side”, this now comes full circle to bask in the light of blatant reality.

So after looking at my receipt to make sure the right order was in the bag, for some strange reason, this time I happened to notice the change due: *41¢*

Finally...! The mystery revealed!!

Potee-wah Sainyo Schain
FORTY ONE CENTS YOUR CHANGE!!

NOW... I get it.

And I give up.

¿Cómo se dice en español? “Doomed”

Don't leave school without it

2009-04-17T02:21:00.012-05:00

Most people who know me have heard more than once the story of Mr. Abell and how he took me under his wing years ago, helped shape my philosophy and set me on a lifelong search for things of value.

I can remember clearly, as if it were yesterday, his words to me - "No excuses, only Results... the name of the game is Results." "The market won't pay for excuses and apologies; apologies are not solutions to problems, they are a salve, but not results. The marketplace will pay only for results!"

What an amazing time in my life, and it's only taken 20-some years for the power ideas of Mr. and Mrs. Abell to come full circle in my consciousness. But they are just as poignant today, if not moreso, than they ever were.

Another great awakening for me were his thoughts and ideas on education:

"It doesn't take money to make money. Get that idea out of your head right now. It takes Education to make money and to make something out of yourself. The Lord himself created the Earth in six days and didn't have a business plan." "Ignorance is NOT bliss... Ignorance is devastation! Ignorance is illness and poverty!" "What you don't know CAN hurt you.. can hurt your bank account, can hurt your future..."

"That's the thing about education, Allan, Don't leave school without it."

"Learn now to Love and Master the disciplines it will take to turn Your dreams into reality."

And so I did - and still do. So much so that education and the education process has become a major passion of mine. As my dear friend and Master Educator Ms. Dianne Gum says: "The goal of education is not just to teach, but to ensure that Learning Takes Place." Incredibly powerful words to be sure.

In recent days, I've been hearing about the mass layoffs in the Los Angeles public education system. It seems the system...

(by the way, the system that says to parents:
"We're NOT going to allow you the freedom to alot your dollars for education the way that YOU see fit to educate your children, because WE know best. Instead we're going to require you, by force and government mandate, to surrender a substantial portion of your income to us and in turn WE shall decide what is best for the education of your children - grades K - 12." And whether or not WE achieve the desired RESULTS (oops... There's that word again!) is of no consequence here. There are Plenty of excuses to go around, and we're actually not accountable to anyone and there's really not much you can do about it.")

.... is having some difficulty living up to its promises. And so their answer is to just reduce the number of educators, increase class size and in general make an already horrific system with zero accountability just that much worse.

Excellent! And this is from the same mindset which is hell-bent on taking over health care, but I digress.

And so in the recent news story I heard on the way to work this week, there are outtakes of recordings of the teachers' protests on the steps of the Los Angeles County courthouse. You can hear them shouting:

"Who got the Pow-ah??!!" "WE got the Pow-ah!!"

"Who got the Pow-ah??!!" "WE got the Pow-ah!!"

UH-mazing.

Could I just make this one little observation, please?:

If .......... I were an 'educator'... and RESULTS.... (i.e. ensuring that learning takes place) were the goal... and my job was about to be cut due to budget shortfalls...... and I wanted to prove to society at large that I brought a certain sustainable Value to the marketplace as a professional....

I would CERTAINLY not be standing on the steps of the courthouse, attempting to plead my case at the top of my lungs,,, using the most HORRIFIC GRAMMER possible to prove my point:

"We GOT the power." (???) Good Lord, my parents would have been mortified.

To me, this would be like the surgeon who wanted to prove his value by NOT washing his hands before he operated. It's just difficult to fathom.

~~ A little boy on the street corner with a little stand and a sign: "Smart Pills - only ten cents."

One of his friends happens by and asks with great skepticism: "Smart Pills? Are you kidding me? No way!"

The young man reassures him: "Yes, they are bona fide Smart Pills; you won't BEElieve the results!

At this, the young man can't resist and reaches into his pocket for a dime. Sampling the pill he notes: "Hmmm,,, I don't feel any smarter..."

His merchant friend replies "Maybe you should try another one." And so he digs for another dime and pops another pill. Still no change.

"I'm not sure about this; I tell ya I just don't feel any smarter and I only got one dime left!"

The clever young entrepreneur counters - "Well, try just one more and if you don't see it working the rest are on the house!"

Seems like a fair offer and so he profers his last dime and takes a Third pill.

"HEYyyyy... These don't taste like Smart Pills! These taste like Rabbit Turds!!"

And running away, laughing, his friend yells over his shoulder "See?? You gettin' smarter already!"

Will we ever learn?

StRaying The Course

2008-04-01T20:28:00.022-05:00

~”….Now, for when (not "if" but "when") Russia decides to set their foot over there I sure am glad that Bush already has us standing and waiting. It's going to happen, it's just when is it going to happen.....All in the name of Oil….”~

Recently, a well-meaning friend made this comment on an earlier post: "And He is Us." I started to respond with a comment in that same section, but it sort of took on a life of its own and I felt it significant enough to warrant posting in this forum. Enjoy.

First things first:
So that someone reading will understand when I use the word ‘poster’ here.. I am referring to the person who Posted the response to my blog; as in “one who posts”.

MY RESPONSE: to the delusional tirade, or notion that The President knew what he was doing all along:

I was going to ask the 'poster' "is that your final answer"?? - and are you SURE that this is the point you want to make? I wanted to mercifully give you some avenue by which you could back out.. to give you the opportunity to say.. "Gotcha! I was just kidding." But since I know you well old friend, I'll forge ahead.

However, before I do:

Let's first of all define and illustrate (that would be "explain" for those of us educated in government schools) the concept of an incorrect premise vs. a correct premise:

If I were to ask you if your mother still "works the corner" at Peachtree and Sixteenth street - Yes or No?? You could not Answer that with a yes or no.

The reason you cannot answer with a yes or no is for the simple fact that your mother does not, nor has she EVER worked the corner at Peachtree and Sixteenth. My question to you is based on a completely Incorrect Premise; the premise your mother ever worked ANY corner anywhere; which in fact, she has not.

Your comments on this blog speak to a premise that is non-existent in this debate. (Like the politician who would not dare answer the question he had been ASKED, but will instead answer the question he WISHES HAD BEEN ASKED).

I understand that your hatred for liberalism (whatever that is) is so strong that you will defy logic to support ANY supposed opposition. But in this case...the so-called opposition is so unbelievably and provably spot-on that it is difficult to imagine any rational person taking exception.

My point was, and still is, that they claimed there were weapons of mass destruction - and there were none. They said THEY KNEW... that these were not suppositions... They KNEW. They lied.

Our Commander in Thief NEVER, EVER made assertions about protecting Iraqi or Iranian oil deposits from the Russians, with regard to the march to war in Iraq. What he did tell us however was that Saddam Hussein had "Weapons of Mass Destruction" and that he was a "Threat" to our national security. He spoke of "Mushroom Clouds" and "Unmanned Aircraft", possessing capabilities which would allow them to easily deliver "Chemical Weapons" to any of our major cities. THAT's what the President said.

Think about that for a moment - The Commander in Chief of the world's preeminent fighting force and intelligence gathering apparatus NEVER EVER, EVER, EVER TOLD US that we needed to protect 25% of the world’s light crude (as YOU Said) or that we needed to keep the Russians out of the thing they’d long hoped for: a Warm Water Port. I might have even been able to accept that, HAD THAT BEEN THE PREMISE he chose to send us into battle. But he didn’t.

He ……Never ……Said those things.

What he SAID was that we were in "Grave and Immanent Danger".

What those “Democraps”, as you call them, DO understand, for the most part …is the English Language, and those words or assertions NEVER CAME UP …in English.

(For the record, I am neither a Democrat nor a Republican, as I cannot see any difference in either party other than the spelling of the names. I am a registered Libertarian)

He NEVER said “All in the name of oil” Never said that, my friend. He said: “Immanent Danger”.

And when ambassador Joseph Wilson went to Nigeria, Africa to substantiate the claim that Iraq was purchasing yellowcake uranium from them, and came back with the news that there was no sale of yellowcake uranium from Niger to Iraq – his wife, Valerie Plame, an undercover CIA operative was thrown under a bus and out-ed by our very own vice president and his own henchmen, destroying years of networking and undercover status for many covert operatives working in the area.

Apparently the only Real parties to be in “Immanent Danger” were those who understood (Please see the ‘Downing Street Memo’) that this whole Iraq thing was totally bogus, and would seek to expose the madness and lies.

From the United States Senate Iraq Report, July 2004:

1999
An Algerian businessman, Baraka, allegedly arranged a trip for the Iraqi Ambassador to the Vatican, Niger and other African countries.

2001
On 11 September 2001, terrorists attacked the United States.

On 15 October 2001, the CIA issued a report, credited to a foreign government service, that Niger planned to sell several tons of uranium to Iraq.

On 18 October 2001, the CIA wrote a finished intelligence report that said, in part (36-37)
According to a foreign government source, Niger as of early this year planned to send several tons of uranium to Iraq under an agreement concluded last year.

Iraq and Niger had been negotiating the shipment since at least early 1999, but the state court of Niger only this year approved it, according to the service.

There is NO corroboration from other sources that such an agreement was reached or that uranium was transferred.

United Nations Security Council (UNSF) Resolution 687 prohibits Iraq from purchasing uranium although the transfer would not require the application of safeguards.

In view of the origin, the uranium probably is in the form of yellowcake and will need further processing to be used in an uranium enrichment plant.

Iraq has NO known facilities for processing or enriching the material.

The quantity of yellowcake to be transferred could support the enrichment of enough uranium for at least one nuclear weapon.

On 20 November 2001, the Director General of Niger's French-led consortium said "there was no possibility" that Niger had diverted any of the 3,000 tons of yellowcake produced in its two uranium mines.

2002
On 5 February 2002, the CIA issued another intelligence report from the same foreign government service. This report included more detail and indicated that the agreement between Iraq and Niger totalled 500 tons of uranium a year.

In a 15 February 2002 report, the DIA (Defense Intelligence Agency) aserts: "Iraq probably is searching abroad for natural uranium to assist in its nuclear weapons program."

NOTE: that two key qualifiers observed in the original CIA report are unchanged: there is no new source corroborating the claims and no new data on Iraq's (in)ability to process yellowcake. Also, there is no evidence offered to counter Niger's denial. However, the DIA reports to Defense Secretary Rumsfeld.

This is from the United States Senate Report on Iraq, for the love of God – And even if any of the Complete Fabrications (those would be "LIES" to you and me) were even remotely true – none of them reflect the PREMISE that you, the poster, established in your response to my blog, which was that we were actually there to KEEP RUSSIA FROM GETTING IT’S HANDS ON A WARM WATER PORT SUCH AS IRAN.

I could go on all day, literally, and put up one fact and truth for every lie the administration wants to tell, but A: I don’t have the time, and B: nor do I have the space.

What I do have, however, is the wonderful use of modern-day technology to show them in their own words just what miserable, lying, treasonous bastards they are:

"Misperception"???? Good GOD!

In conclusion –

Liar in Chief??…..you be the judge.. EITHER…. We went to war….to keep Russia from getting their hands on a Warm Water Port…. And to control 25% of the world’s light crude...

OR…… as the President Said, we went to war because Saddam Hussein had weapons of mass destruction.. and we must act Now.

I’d have just much rather seen him come out and tell it like it REALLY is/was… rather than to have to wonder constantly about what other lies were being told to me.

(You see, a liar isn't a liar because he tells lies,,, he tells lies BECAUSE he is a liar... and can't stop... any more than the alchoholic can stop drinking 'any time they want.'

"A double-minded man is unstable in all his ways." (James 1:8 KJV) )

But what is disconcerting to me in the extreme is that it's not just that he seems to lack the ability to do that ..... apparently, what he lacks is the capacity.
_____________________________________________________________

Addendum:

The story is told of a man in a mental institution who is convinced that he is dead. His Doctor, his wife and his children exasperated, keep telling him he is not dead. But he continues to insist that he is dead.

They try telling him, "Look, you're not dead; you're walking and talking and breathing; how can you be dead?" But he continues to insist he is dead.

Finally the doctor, after a bit of inspiration, thinking that the man simply doesn't have enough information; that once he is shown by way of medical fact and data that there is no way that he can be dead - will see the light and come to his senses.

So the good doctor pulls out some medical books and is able to demonstrate to the man that dead men do not bleed. After some time, the man is able to admit that dead men do not bleed.

The doctor then takes the man's hand and a needle and pokes the end of his finger.

The man begins to bleed. Armed with his new awareness he looks at the wound and says:

"Well, what do you know? Dead people DO bleed!!"

This Space...

2008-02-16T06:47:00.000-05:00

Intentionally Left Blank.

And he is Us

2007-05-01T08:13:00.000-05:00

I read early this morning about a shooting at a mall in Kansas City this past Sunday afternoon… A few people are dead, including the gunman.

Just two weeks ago, a student at Virginia Tech, shot and killed at least 30 students before turning his bullet launcher on himself. (If this had been in Iraq, he’d have been referred to by our media as a “Suicide Bomber”… an “Insurgent”, if you will. )

I live and work about 15 minutes from a not-so-cozy area here in south Florida known as Riviera Beach, where there is literally …and hardly a week that goes by that you don’t read about yet another murder or two in that town. The chances are better than average that as you drive through Riviera Beach at night that you will hear the strains of the local “Insurgents” battling it out in the streets, if not actually see people running across Broadway with their heads down, trying to escape the madness. And yes, I have seen it with my own eyes and heard it with my own ears, which is precisely the reason I no longer short-cut that route to North Palm Beach.

In the past three years, I can’t even begin to recount the number of news stories coming out of this part of town involving innocents just walking down the street and suddenly taken down by random gunfire, or gutted by a hunter's knife; or the many children strapped into their car seats – devices, ironically, that were designed to offer these precious youngsters some degree of safety – just snuffed out.

When I read about these things my heart is poured out to parents and family. But even more so, my heart goes out to all of us; to society as a whole. These mindless, guideless freaks and predators, who would unconsciously, and instantly choose to take the life of a child, and all of that potential for good, rather than to even consider that there might be… nay… MUST be a better way.

In contrast, I think about someone the likes of Gen. Colon Powell - who stood before the United Nations, in a mad rush for approval to make war with a country that not only did NOT attack us, but did not possess even the mere capability to attack us – pointing out, with stern and grave visage, the aerial photos depicting what appeared to be trailers, mobile launch sites for delivering their horrible "Weapons of Mass Destruction”.

"We must act NOW.", he warned.

“If we do not fight them (whoever ‘them’ are) over THERE we will fight them over HERE.”, our president has said repeatedly. The ‘THEM’ in this case, incidentally, seem to be nothing more than native Iraqis fighting for power and turf.

Amazing.

So let me just see if I have this straight now: We were going to “fight them over THERE” to protect our Liberty and Way of Life, so that we would not have to “Fight them over HERE.”

And yet somehow, despite all the ranting I hear from Washington, I still do not feel one bit safer HERE in the streets of my own country than I did 5 years ago – for the simple reason that I am not any safer.

All this time in Iraq now, untold thousands of our best and brightest sacrificed… wasted,,, the billions of dollars spent (and profited, I might add), and all the other losses along with it... I know we’ve all heard those various losses mentioned over and over and so I won’t bore you with the list - and yet I STILL do not feel safe enough HERE to drive down the center boulevard of Riveria Beach.

There is evidence which now Demands a verdict showing clearly that they are already fighting HERE, and have been for quite some time; seeking to destroy what little sense of Liberty we once took for granted – and along with it our “Way of Life”.

(And they don’t wear turbans, or ride camels or any of the other stereotypical B.S. that our elected hate mongers would have us believe)

It may sound Uber Cliché, but I think we have met the enemy, Mr. President –

and darned if he doesn’t look exactly like us.

(Actual White House Photos ^)

________________________________________________________________________

Proclaimed Upon the Housetops

2007-04-23T18:24:00.002-05:00

Or –

“A Rather Disturbing Tail”

KJV – Luke 12:3

“….and that which ye have spoken in the ear in closets shall be proclaimed upon the housetops…”

I know it’s been a while since I’ve posted here. Nothing really inspiring happening and can’t seem to find my groove. But this………

This is a great story ……or one of great embarrassment, depending on which side of the tale you sit. Short, and not so sweet – but it’s all part of operating in this thing we call the Human Condition.

And it’s one you couldn’t just tell to ‘anyone’, but it still needs to be told. So here we go:

My bathroom is divided into two separate sections. The shower/watercloset …

(Folks in my hometown would say toilet, or “Toh-let”)

….is separated by a door from the sink and vanity.

Over this door, which is rarely closed (I live alone) hangs one of those really nice deluxe hooks for hangers/clothes, etc., (seven bucks at Bed Bath and Beyond - ; )

And over this hook hangs my long, flannel bathrobe, which proudly shows the red horse and rider over the left chest…. And hanging down from the belt loops on this bathrobe is my extra long flannel ‘tie’ for cinching the thing up when I have it on.

Not that ANYone in polite society should ever have to visualize what happens in that room …..as opposed to the much less graphic washing of face and hands in the Vanity room…..

This past weekend…..as I was cinching up my belt ,,, completely unaware that I had backed into the robe in the process, and thereby trapping the end of long flannel tie-cord IN my soon to be fastened shorts –

too light in weight …..to be felt…… as it pulled OUT …… of …… the robe……

Subsequently following me around my apartment, (and completely unbeknownst to me) giving me sort of a Cowardly Lion / Wizard of Oz look, for the better part of an hour.

SHIT!

First off… As if the mental picture weren’t bad enough. Like something you’d see in a really bad comedy thinking to yourself – “That’s so Fake!” “That would NEVER happen!”

I did NOT intend to get old this way…….this was NEVER my intent – people who meet me for the first time will declare in shock that they’d have NEVER guessed my age…..

Oh well…… as one friend told me a long time ago… “I can’t wait to see you when you’ve gone totally senile – something tells me it will be a very smooth transition…”

Secondly, the sadder part in all this is how I actually discovered the offending tail, as if the whole scene weren’t horrific enough anyway.

After about an hour of pacing back and forth in my house getting some odd organizing done, I realized I had no music playing, which is rare for me when putzing about the house. I cranked up a new Chet Atkins CD, and as I turned away from the player the back of the tail brushed my leg. …

Living in south Flori-duh… on an island…in the sub tropics…there are any number of opportunities for native wildlife to enter one's abode. And so this thought quickly flashed through my mind as I jumped out of the way of what I assumed to be some wild creature grazing the back of my leg. Only to have the thing whip around yet again to brush the back of my other leg, which REALLY sent me jumping … Now I'm thinking I'm under attack!!

I tried to make my life flash before my eyes, but it Wouldn't! So there I was, doing that mini 'dance of death' trying to escape...

…until I saw the (insert inappropriate expletive here) –ing thing for what it was, and breathing a sigh of relief.

You know, some days……it’s just not worth chewing through the leather straps...

R.I.P. 124 Miller Lane

2007-03-11T19:30:00.001-05:00

I was driving the back roads home this fine Sunday afternoon after playing a festival with The Band up in the central part of the state. We’d had an extremely successful weekend and we might have even picked up an extra partner – or at least we’re hoping. But the response to our music was very positive and so we were all riding high. It was a nice time.

I love these drives.

I need these drives,,,

they offer a change of scenery and perspective; a way to recharge my batteries and think outside the box. They’re also a great time for catching up on what I call ‘phone correspondence’ without the clock breathing down my neck as it does during the week. And while some folks can’t abide them, I Love a road trip – even a mini one.

I noticed on my phone, the annunciation: “You have new Picture Mail!” and hit the button.

How nice, I thought. It was from my sister, Mighty Moe, who still lives in our hometown with her husband, along with 'World’s Smartest Nephew’. A slide show – by text message! What’ll they think of next? I’d supposed the pics to be of my nephew involved in sports or some church choir activity, but not for long.

At first they were a bit confusing – a grey mass of what appeared to be smoke and trees, all blurred in together. But then it took only a brief moment to recognize the steps leading up to the front porch and foundation of what was once my parents' home and the house where I grew up.

Talk about memories flashing through your mind all at once – wow….almost too much to process. I could go on and on about the all ‘nearly’ all-nighters my parents would throw for the old-timer musicians who taught me how to play, or all of us kids at one time or another bringing home the ‘newest’ love of our life to subject them to the meeting of the Miller clan – bless them all; the countless Sunday dinners around the table - and I know that all of us have clear recollections of the last time we drove away from the house, Mother waving to us from the front porch as we backed out of the drive – each of us wondering if this would be the last time.

The fire is supposed to have begun around 2:00 a.m. My brother was the first to be notified by a friend.

“Louie?? I was just listening to the police scanner in my bedroom, and they say there’s a house fire up on Miller Lane.. think it’s your folks’??”

(Now, before I go on – no, this is not a misquote. This is Kingston, Tennessee. And it’s just not uncommon for someone in my hometown keep a police scanner in their bedroom - OR, better yet, to be listening to it at 2:00 a.m.)

So up he ‘got’ and pulled on his drawers – (not makin’ this up!) as he only lives about half a mile away, and looked out toward the hill to see the flames - about three hundred feet high, from several accounts. A sinking feeling came over him, and he knew instantly: “Yup, that’s The House”, and drove up to greet the fire department.

My brother and two sisters – a set of triplets, incidentally – have had ongoing interactions with a neighbor who has been aggressively trying to purchase the property. With each refusal to sell, this party would make some snide comment; something along the lines of “Well, let’s just hope you keep those tax notices up to date, that is, if they don’t get lost in the mail.”

This person had even spoken to my brother again, just the day before the flames, about the possibility of purchasing the property – in that pragmatic, caring, neighborly way that they have…. My brother explained that at this point he most certainly did not see that happening as he would be moving back into the house in the next few weeks to do some remodeling, making it ready for rental. The frustrated neighbor walked away in disgust, shaking its head.

This afternoon, as I he and I discussed possible causes, he assured me that it couldn’t have been electrical, because the power had been off for quite some time… and so we all can’t wait to hear the results of the investigation. This should be very interesting.

There is one other strange little item in all of this – and no story about a homestead fire in a small southern town would be complete with out this kind of peculiarity -

When the house went – apparently EVERYthing went. The garage, out buildings – everything. My brother said the fire was so hot that it melted his tools in the garage, just to give you some idea.

Now…

My mother had two bibles......one she kept on her night stand - always.....which my sister now has in safe keeping......but she had another study bible; one with large print and in which she kept notes in the wide margins for teaching Sunday school, etc..... this bible was in a box out in the garage.. (and why there I'll never know) But anyway, when my brother began to sift through the rubble late this afternoon, seeing basically nothing but ash all around ......melted tools, etc…

There on the ground… although slightly frayed around the edges, but readable, was Mother's study bible.

And not only that, but the old church bulletins with back notes she’d made on them as well, from years worth of sermons – all perfectly in tact.

At first I thought, rather smugly:

“This is a good sign.” “And it appears that Mom must have thought Louie needed to find these things Much more so than I.”

Because I’m not sure how, but knowing her as I did, I’m almost certain that since I don’t live in town that if I had been the chosen one she’d have found some way to mail them to me.

And then my brother said:

“In talking with the girls, we agreed that you should probably be the keeper of all the religious stuff. So I’ll just mail ‘em to you later this week.”

It didn’t hit me until after I’d hung up the phone.

On Not Counting Your Chickens Before the Fat Lady Doesn't Sing

2007-03-04T16:46:00.000-05:00

O.k… so the New York thing didn’t happen. So much for the mental or physical disaster I mentioned.

But the most disturbing thing about the New York thing not panning out wasn’t

“not getting the job”.

I’ve had similar turns in life and expect them again.

No, the thing that really ‘T’’s me off about the whole thing is that it was Such a Great Post in this Blog, that I Hated to not be able to follow through, if only for that sake alone. O well… I’m really not crushed. Too much going on for that. A little shocked, perhaps, but not devastated.

I can’t recall ever having gone after a position in my field that I really wanted and not getting it. I have all the required ‘stuff’: background, references, etc. I interview very well. So what the hell happened??

Let’s see… (*fade-out harp music) When last we left Me and Mr. Potential Employer – the dialogue went something like:

“...., thanks for your e-mail outlining the issues we discussed during our recent talks. I will review the letter over the weekend to avoid any misunderstandings, and get back to you on Monday, and we can finish this thing up. Have a nice weekend and we’ll talk then.”

Monday

Tuesday

Wednesday

Thursday

Friday
“Dear Mr. L, Just touching base (to use a phrase I HATE with a passion) to see if I might be able to address any questions or concerns you might have regarding our recent correspondence. Please feel free to either call or e-mail at - blah blah blah…”

Weekend

Monday

Tuesday…

It is now the end of February and I have long since stopped looking for Mr. Potential Employer’s picture on the side of the milk carton. He's gone and he ain’t comin’ back – and what’s more, I don’t care. Just not that thrilled and never really was – other than the fact that it would have been a very nice salary increase with hours which were much more conducive to a sane, healthy, rational personal life.

I have an idea and some speculation as to why, but over all I’m not sure way deep down that this may have been meant for me. Even after having returned from NY last month….there was still something in my gut that said ‘this still may not be right for you, MrM’, and not because I was scared of ‘The Job’. I know that I could have done ‘The Job’ with my eyes closed. But I think that if there was just one thing that kept a check in my heart about it all was that it would have taken me out of the one thing that I truly enjoy most about this profession: The day-to-day ops of the houses I would be managing. I don’t know if I’m ready to give that up yet. And that may have been the one thing that kept me from projecting the energy I’d need to follow through. Who can say?

I am fortunate enough in my profession to work within a network of agencies, and two incredible agents in particular whom I’ve known for years. So I don’t really sweat the search like I probably should, and it’s kind of spoiled me in a way.

Unlike most people who begin the dreaded process, when I begin looking I don’t have to check in to Monster.com or any other e-source, or mail out a bunch of resumes. I just pick up the phone and say: “I wanna throw my hat in the ring – whaddaya got goin’ on?” I have to laugh when I think about how easy it is. I think of it sort of like Hallowe’en night, standing on the front porce of the agency with my bag held high, yelling:

“Trick or Job!”

So there are currently a couple of interviews in the works pending the scheduling of travel and meeting times ( I secretly love using vacation time for this – so help me, I don’t know why) and so when the time is right I’ll fly to Chicago to meet with all three them on “one of them’s” dime.

I know it won’t happen overnight. From the time an employer shows an interest in a candidate it could be anywhere from two to four months before moving day – which should just about cast my moving van tail lights on the northern bands of the first hurricane of the season before leaving town.

What would I ultimately like to do?

My goal, and I do have one…

After struggling through the first 20 years of this adventure in private service, I think I’d just like to find the job and the salary that my education and experience and demand - a workplace where communication is a two-way street, rather than a dead-end alley. I know these are both realistic and attainable.

And then, quite simply, I’d like to funnel the outcome of both these goals in to a real estate portfolio that would usher me into what I call ‘financial independence day’. And then……I think I’d like to direct.

It's All about Emma

2007-03-04T10:53:00.000-05:00

...or at least today it was.

Now, I ask you…. how does anyone say NO to Disney?? Especially when the numero uno entertainment complex in the entire universe is just about three hours up the road?? And how does one say ‘no’ to the most engaging seven year-old on the planet, when she asks: “Are you coming to see us at the Magic Kingdom, Uncle Mr. Miller?”

Does a one-legged duck swim in a circle?? Did Rose Kennedy own a black dress??
Of course I am coming to see you, Emma; I’ll be there late Saturday afternoon.”

Someday,,, when I sit down to write my memoirs, the chapter about Emma’s mother and my friend, Korie, will begin with the words: “I liked her instantly”.

Korie, or as I call her, "Kortense", and I have been friends since our accidental meeting at a Media Play store in Alpharetta, Georgia over 12 years ago. We just began chatting one Saturday afternoon and have been talking ever since.

Last week, Korie’s husband was going to be tied up with some extra long hours at the office, and suggested she take her mother and the girls down to Orlando for a long weekend, and when either of us are nearby the other is always assured an invite, although sometimes it may be last minute. So when I got the call I didn’t hesitate: change of clothes in the duffel and up the turnpike I went.

Now without trying to sound too sappy here, I just don’t see how anyone, of any age, can drive onto Disney property without feeling different. Something happens to you when you are about to leave reality and enter his world. As Walt used to say, “Magical”. But truly, the only way to really enjoy this experience is through the eyes of a child.

It’s a given: As soon as Emma and I see each other … right after the hugs.. she immediately ends up on my shoulders for conveyance, and a camel’s-eye view of her surroundings. And this visit is no different – off we go to plan our strategy, with Korie dutifully in tow. We only have about 7 hours to see and do what we’d like to see and do – and so we plan wisely. Which in this case means NO agenda..and we do whatever we feel like - and WHEN we (she) feel(s) like it.

First stop, Space Mountain, and then on to the Tomorrowland Speedway, where we came in pretty much first in our race; that is if you don’t count the cars in front of us. We took a spin on the Carousel of Progress (it was sort of spooky that we knew pretty much the entire song by heart before it was over!)

Next was Buzz Lightyear’s Spin, and then down the 52 foot drop at Splash Mountain.

Mercifully, the park wasn’t all that crowded so we didn’t have the usual irritations of long lines or immobility, but instead were really able to enjoy the visual aspect that the creator worked so hard to achieve.

Everything the public takes for granted didn’t ‘just happen’. It was well thought out in advance, after the style and inspiration of Mr. Disney himself. I was told that he would anonymously follow guests out of a candy shop and count the number of steps they would take before the wrapper fell to the ground, giving him a guide as to where and how far apart trash cans should be positioned.

And while these are the things that might intrigue an adult, by far the most enjoyable thing to me that day was watching it all through the eyes of Emma. Seventh Heaven! -and completely contagious. Just a little girl, so happy you could almost patent it, on overload, without a care in the world, other than how quickly she could get right back on my shoulders when each ride was done and on to the next one. It transported me to a different place for a while, and sort of made me remember what matters most.

So now we’ve been at it a few hours and it’s time to refuel.

But wait.. not yet?? “What’s that, Sweetie…? One more? “Sure!!” “The Haunted Mansion?” “Of Course!”

It was kind of odd this trip in that there really was no line or wait – just straight into the front hall elevator and let the games begin!

Time is moving on though… we’re beginning to feel the tug…

Ok – now we’re startin to see some exhaustion, and perhaps a bit of crankiness workin’ It’s definitely time for some grub. Due to the diminished crowds, most of the sit-down restaurants seem to be closed, or not taking any more reservations, so we make due with a fast food joint and order up.

Uh oh… now we ARE getting a bit tired and whiney, awwww.. Dinner's done, but there's too much STUFF to do and not enough Emma to do it ...

So Korie says, I’m goin’ over here to wait, Mr. Miller, would you mind to do ‘that thing you do’?? "She'll listen to you."

“Certainly.”

Sitting down on the café chair, just inside the door, Emma standing just in front of me, with the cutest, pouty, tired-lil-girl face ya ever saw – I explain to her, as calmly as I can:

“Now honey, we know you’re tired… in fact we all are, just a bit, but we only have a certain amount of time to visit together before we all have to head back home. So even though we don’t have much energy left we still have to save what we Do have so that we don’t mess things up for the rest of us – does that seem fair?”

*Emma nods.

“But we DO have only a couple of choices here, so I want YOU to tell me what we should do, o.k.? “

Again, Emma nods.

“You know that Uncle Mr. Miller doesn’t really care to be around little girls when they act like that, right?”

*Nod.

“So… if you like, and this is all up to you… we can either just say goodbye now, and I can get into my car and head back home, knowing that we probably won’t be able to visit again for a long time…OR …

We can pull our shoulders back, and readjust our attitude and remember that WE’re not the only people here,,, and think about how what we do affects others, and just chill out a bit for a little while more and have some fun.”

(faced with the prospect of losing her pal (and favorite mode of transportation), Emma considers very carefully now)

“So, Sweetie,,, what’d’ya think??”

(Interesting, what a child will do when not backed into a corner, per se, but given a couple of choices that that allow them to think through ‘decisions vs. consequences’. No one gets forced or embarrassed; just a calm, rational discussion between two humans, and workin it all out... No need to yell or threaten, no “time out” (shudder!!!) just impart some information that they can use to make informed decisions – very interesting, indeed. – I wish my father had thought like that – ha!)

“Mom…??” (her hands on hips, head tilted slightly, looking as if she were the chairman of the board, and completely in charge…) I think we're just gonna chill now, and ride some more rides before Uncle Mr. Miller has to go.., o.k?”

“Sure, Sweetie, that’ll be just fine…“ and off we go.

And so we did “chill” .. and we did realign, and we did finish out the day under fireworks and a visit with the Pirates of the Caribbean – and Our Gal had a great time.

It’s funny, I went with the sole goal of making sure that Emma had the best time possible and in return, just being able to live it all through her was the best time possible for me. I don’t know how it all works, but it seems like a fair trade.

An Evening with Arlo

2007-02-14T11:01:00.000-05:00

I first heard the music of Arlo Guthrie in the late fall of 1981, or what I like to call the “Season of the initial death throes of any aspirations I might have had toward a college degree”.

(And that whole college experience/thing is a another great narration, but we’ll have to save it for later.)

But like most of my musical awareness, it came to me by accident. A friend had given me a tape, and with not even so much as an intro or description of who he was,,, I suppose he thought that I was hip enough to know, and so I just popped into the player and listened. I liked the music, and I really enjoyed his stage presence, but like most other things of any cultural significance at that time in my life.. I didn’t catch the ‘big picture’.

Arlo is the son of the legendary American songwriter and folk music balladeer Woody Guthrie, who wrote This Land is Your Land, and Oklahoma Hills (which by the way, is now the official state song of Oklahoma). It is often said about a number of entertainers, but Woody, with over 3000 songs to his credit, truly was years ahead of his time.

Woody’s son, however, is also a brilliant musician in his own right. Having grown up with friends like Pete Seeger and Bob Dylan, Arlo cut his teeth on pretty much everything considered sacred to folk/rock/protest music. He is has the definitive recording of Steve Goodman’s “City of New Orleans”, and you could not mention Arlo Guthrie in the same breath without a nod toward “Alice’s Restaurant”.

So years passed, and every so often I’d pull out that tape of “One Night” and give a listen for a few days before tossing it back into the box… never thinking that I should probably make a copy.. that it would always just ‘be there’ – and fortunately, it always has been. During those years I was able to learn and fill in the blank spots in my musical education about just how important the music of Woody was to the Union Protest scene and every other ‘Cause for Folk and Right’ over the past 80 years. Somehow I don’t think that this visit with Mr. Guthrie would have been the same without the 20-plus year wait though.

Looking back, I guess you could say that I’ve been pretty lucky with regard to the music that I love and play, because I have been blessed to be able to ‘pick’ with just about every hero of mine.. Some of them I call by name and we stay in touch by phone or mail. It’s been nice. And too, I’ve been able to see most of them live on several occasions and meet with them back stage and catch up on gossip, etc. But the one performer I’ve always wanted to see live, and still hadn’t, was Arlo.

This past November, as a birthday present, someone gave me tickets to see him live. Finally! And they were good seats too; row C, orchestra.. very nice, indeed. I don’t think the givers had any idea what it might really mean to me, except they were aware that I loved that ‘type’ of music and would most likely enjoy an evening out.

The performance was beyond anything I’d ever hoped.. it was so much more than just good music and great, light-hearted humor. Now 60 years old, and a grandfather, this was not the Arlo of old. The rough-edged Arlo .. the Arlo with something to prove. But rather, this was a much more mellow, ‘don’t-have-anything-to-prove', and 'comfortable-in-his-own-skin' Arlo, who looked as if his true and natural place in the universe was on that stage, and connecting with that audience… on that night.

He told of how the story of Alice’s Restaurant originated, and the roll that he actually played in it. It turns out that Alice’s Restaurant wasn’t really a restaurant at all, but an old church where she would serve Thanksgiving dinner to the less fortunate – “You can get anything you want at Alice’s Restaurant – excepting Alice”… Arlo has since purchased that property and begun his own worship center which will be a testament to honor All faiths. When one of his friends asked him: “What on Earth kind of church are you going to have there??” He replied, after much thought: “It’s gonna be kind of a ‘bring-your-own-God’ kind of church". Something about that sat very well with me and made me smile.

Adding to the experience was to see him accompanied by his oldest son, Abe, and daughter Sara Lee and husband, Johnny Irion. (and what a neat concept for a family band, hmmm? A father, son and daughter, hmm?? http://theuntoldriches.com) But they were all equally gifted entertainers, having one goal in mind: To give the audience what they came for.

It would be difficult to describe what the evening meant to me personally, but suffice it to say that it was, in some ways, one of coming full circle for me as a musician.

It was a nice break, and just one of those evenings that made you glad to be around.

Taking a bite out of the Big Apple

2007-01-29T12:46:00.000-05:00

And some things are changing…

“Mr. Miller,,, my name is Vita C, and I am personal assistant to Mr. D.L.”

“It’s nice to talk to you, Ms. C, thank you for calling.”

“Oh, please, Mr. Miller, call me Vita!”

“Certainly, thanks, and call me Allan.” (That felt strange to say!)

“Mr. L would like for me to help with travel arrangements to New York next week, does the 27th still work for you?”

I’ve been told a little bit about Vita and I can’t resist:

“Oh…” I say, fishing “ …. is that still on?”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Miller… Mr. and Mrs. Chief are very much looking forward to meeting with you again.” “I’m not supposed to say this but he’s said he wishes you’d move up two weeks ago!” We laugh and I make mental notes. (I have been meeting with Mr. L for nearly two months, since he first called after reviewing my resume given to him by a mutual friend.)

There can be no auto-pilot for this trip. My radar is up and fully functional and searching the airwaves for any discrepancy, any awkward or sideways glance; anything that might tip me off to this being a bad move. In the past two months there have been none.

Fast forward: “… here are the travel times and so I’ll send you the itinerary by e-mail and you’ll be on your way.” “If there’s anything else I can do for you in the mean time please don’t hesitate to call.”

“I won’t, Vita, thanks for all your help.”

Now,,, getting out of this house for anything other than making music has become just about as strategic in its planning as the Israelites leaving Egypt – let alone, an exodus for a job interview. (I’m just going to assume for the sake of brevity that most people reading know the ‘house’ I’m talking about.) So, out I sneak early Saturday morning at 6:00 a.m. in order to catch a 9:00 a.m. flight.

(Incidentally, the plane flies right over my neighborhood giving me a bird's eye view of The House. As well, I am able to note the absence of my housekeeper's vehicle this morning, leaving her to wonder yet again on Monday how on EARTH I know she was late ;)

I am retrieved in ‘grand style’ by one of The Chief's drivers and carried directly downtown to meet with Mr. and Mrs. L. As I am standing outside of the vehicle in front of the high-rise building, watching the sun duck below the Manhattan skyline, I notice the chauffeur and the doorman exchanging knowing banter; an insider's shorthand of sorts. All of us in private service do it so I am not alarmed. I have no interest in what they are saying and yet I know exactly what they are saying, and have to laugh a little to myself.

While in NY one my first unofficial duties is to tour each local property, meet the staff, assess service styles and needs and to also, upon initial “look-see” in Mr. L’s vernacular, attempt to discern if there is anything we can do to bring the ‘back of the house’ up to par with regard to Service Flow; (which is another way of addressing whether or not the work environment is “set up in such a way as to make service delivery functional”) Not that there is anything wrong necessarily, but perhaps there are some things that could be done better. And so this doesn’t concern 'the people’ so much as it does the tools necessary to do their jobs.

Still standing in the street, I look down at my feet to notice my bag is now gone and for a brief second the thought runs through my mind (seriously): “Wholly Crap! I’ve been in NY for FIVE Minutes… and already I’ve been Robbed!” Now about the same time I also notice down the inside of the front hall of the building that the friendly doorman has already ported the bag down to the elevator. These guys are Good!

Mr. and Mrs. L are friendly and gracious without even a hint that they are pressed for time in having to make an evening event. But this has already been discussed and I am fully aware, and will be leaving shortly anyway to begin visiting the properties and meeting staff. I am told by Mr. and Mrs. L that I am free to use any verbiage I choose to reassure each staff member that no one’s job is in jeopardy and that I am operating in a much different capacity than the on-site people.

My tour of the properties is not really for reasons the Chiefs imagine, although it’s still an important part of the process. My true goal in these visits is to glean from staff just what the potential for overall success might be.

I’m pretty sure I ‘get it’ when it comes to reviewing a job, for the most part. I have been doing this a long time and worked with many different personalities and service styles. I also know full well most principals can act circles around ANY Oscar winning performer on their best day, and at any phase of their career. And so I’m hoping to be able to tell by interacting with the current insiders as to whether or not this thing is actually do-able.

And it is – hands down.

Having come to the realization that there is NO such thing as The Fantasy Position, I no longer kid myself on this. But if there is such a thing as a viable fantasy in this line of work it is the “Fantasy Salary” – and this one is it. I don’t mind most of the B.S. and the weird work schedule so long as the principals are reasonably easy to get along with – but at this point in the game I’d still like to be properly compensated for what I bring to the table. Bottom line is… if I basically like being around them I no longer mind the hours, as this is no longer about The Fantasy Position for me. My focus is now all about using the dollars I earn to create the fantasy investment portfolio.

And I am now satisfied that this is the one.

Out of two month’s banter and glad-handing, the talk of salary and other compensation for a position of this scope is what most people would consider unnaturally brief:

The Chief: “What’ll it take?”

Me: “It’ll take X.”

The Chief: “Done.”

And that’s it.

At this level, that’s the way it’s always been though. Two gentlemen shake hands and it’s done. (Barring mental or physical disaster, of course, but that’s a story for different time.)

“Just put it into an e-mail with some of the other things we’ve discussed and send it on to me and that’ll be fine.” “If you would though, call me tomorrow morning and just touch base and let me know what your impressions are. I really don’t think we’ll need to meet again unless you feel it’s necessary… and other than that you can be on your way.”

“Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Chief, it was very nice to see you again.”

“Likewise, Allan, we’re really glad to have you on board.” However, it is the tone of the exchange which conveys this to me more than the words. This is a good thing.

It’s been a tough recent three months and I am tired. I am looking forward to moving and beginning something I've been working toward for a long time. I am looking forward to plunking money down on some investment property. I am looking forward to the time when I can sleep in on Saturday morning if I so choose, or travel on weekends if I like. I am looking forward to cooking for myself again and having friends over…. But most of all I am just looking forward.

Like Buttah

2006-11-26T08:06:00.000-05:00

Two little mice fell into a vat of cream. One of the mice gave up... and quickly drowned.

The second mouse continued paddling.

He paddled so much that he churned that cream into butter and walked right off the top.

Fortitudine Vincimus - By Endurance We Conquer

Aaannd ... STAY Out!!

2006-11-09T17:10:00.000-05:00

Rapture is fine, then it's smoke up the chimney
A law suit is longer by far..
How Glorious were your 12 years in Congress
Compared to the Thirty Years' War

Toothaches, deep-rooted.. but bliss, it's a rover
A time comes to bid it so long...
For it's better that something should be good and over
Than rotten, and still going strong.

How sweet were the moments when you were in clover
Sometimes you don't know 'til they're gone...
So celebrate late companions 'cause that is what they did...
And live for wine....persons.... and song.

And I VOTED for you!!

You had 12 years in which to honor the original intent of the Founding Fathers, restore liberty, decrease the size and scope of government and federal control over our lives. In that time you nearly Doubled Government Spending. TWELVE years to stem the flow ... actually, the INVASION of immigrants, pouring across our border - the cascading, torential waterfall of illegals eating away at our wallets to the tune of 60 billion - WITH A "B" - dollars a year. Monies we could have, and would loved to have used for funding our own retirments, sending our children to college, vacation and travel, supporting our own favorite charities rather than the ones that are forced down our throats by an all-powerful, imperial federal government.

You allowed and funded a completely MAD Commander-in-Thief to go to war based on the false premise "They have Weapons of Mass Destruction". He landed on the flight deck of the USS Abraham Lincoln (ironically, namesake for the president we reverently call "Honest Abe") in a Flight Suit (Funny, he could find that flight suit NOW, that he is no longer needed in the Texas Air National Guard - o well) to arrogantly declare in front of all the world and that big, block-letter sign to see:

"Mission Accomplished".

And now three years later there are still 50 - 100 of our troops dying there every month.

This is the man who stood on top of the crumbling, still-smoking remains of the World Trade Center with a bullhorn declaring "I hear you, America... and soon, the people who knocked these towers down will hear you..." Only a year later to be seen on national television, in a prime-time interview when asked about the whereabouts of Osama bin Laden: "So I don't know where he is. You know, I just don't spend that much time on him, Kelly, to be honest with you." (White House press conference, March 13, 2002) Yup... they hear us loud and clear, sir... they hear us snoring.

Regarding those weapons of mass destruction: Secretary of Defense, Donald Rumsfeld, actually said (and I've heard these words coming out of his mouth) ".... not only do they have them, but we know where they are. They're in the area around Tikrit and Baghdad and east, west, south and north somewhat." (May 30, 2003 - ABC Interview)

The Vice Commander-in-Thief actually said more than a year ago: "I think they're in the last throes, if you will, of the insurgency." (May 30, 2005 - Larry King Live). Looking back now, a statement so bizarre I cannot wrap my mind around it.

Scandal after scandal... while the party of the supposed Moral High Ground completely went to sleep... And brushed off the concerns of the electorate as you might brush the dust from your coat sleeve. For TWELVE years...

So what DID you do with all this time...? We know what you DIDN't do ... so the question now must center around what you did do. So you instead focused on probably the most pivotal issues of our, or any other time. You chose the road less traveled... and made the TOUGH decisions. I mean, any wimp could have chosen the road to war against a country which did not attack us, nor had they the capability.

Nope... you instead chose to champion those two essential causes most central to maintaining our liberty and way of life: Gay Marriage and Flag Burning.

Whew! I simply cannot tell you how much better I sleep now that our duly elected representatives, in the aftermath of the destruction of two of our most revered cultural symbols, The World Trade Center and the Pentagon, took up the causes of Gay Marriage and Flag Burning??!! (I know, I know, someone will bring up the fact that I didn't want them to go to war and that this particular paragraph sounds like they didn't focus enough on war. HINT: Osama bin Ladin was NOT from Iraq.

And on and on it goes - Look.. I'm NOT anti-Republican - at least not in the literal sense or the true spirit of the word. But what I am against is Elected Officials who hold a sacred, public trust and swore to uphold the Constitution of the United States looking me square in the eye and lying. And while I KNOW beyond the shadow of any doubt, this next bunch will do exactly the same - But at least (most of) the former thugs in pinstripe are no longer receiving a check every month funded from my paystub.

To hear people like Limp.baugh and Neal Boortz (once actually heroes of mine) talking as though the American people have really done it now... These supposedly smart, learned men who failed, at least from the view of this eye, to understand that it is NOT the voters who didn't get it - but the failed band of miscreants in Washington who left us no choice.

And that, as Forrest Gump would say, is all I got to say about that.

"Able was I, ere I saw Elba

2006-11-06T20:05:00.000-05:00

These words were supposed to have been spoken by Napoleon Bonaparte just before being exiled to the island of Elba, following his abdication at Fontainebleau.

However, it's probably more likely that some clever writer crafted this gem some years afterward to humorously honor the event - as strangely enough, it reads exactly the same either forward or in reverse.

*ring …..riiiing……ri…….*

“Hello….”

“Mr. M..., this is Elba….”

“Oh hi, Elba.. how are you ??”

“I’m doing good, Mr. M, How are you?”

“O.k., thanks… And your mom?”

“She’s fine.. I can leave her by herself finally, and she can dose her own medicine now, which is good…”

You see, Elba worked for me as head housekeeper for two years and left for a time (which I’m sure she thought was temporary) to tend to her ailing mother after a stroke.

“Wow… that’s great, Elba.” “I’m glad to hear that.”

There is an uncomfortable strain now in the conversation…. I know where this is leading, and although I don’t really have the time just now to do anything other than ‘nip this’ at the outset, I have this nearly congenital need to allow her to save face if I can.

On many levels Elba is an amazing woman. At age 57, she has not only grandchildren, but great grandchildren, all of whom adore her. As well, she’s also very proud of the fact that she’s one of the few adults in her extended family to own a house. Now, with that house comes the true pride of ownership, and even a bit of well-justified arrogance (and I honestly don’t mean that in a negative way). But with that house also comes monthly payments – and you can’t make those without a j-o-b.

“So, Mr. M, how’s things around the house?”

“Good, Elba… things are moving right along.” “Mr. and Mrs. Boss have purchased land on a lake way up north somewhere and are going to build a summer escape house on it.”

“Oh…that’s nice... yeah, you really don’t want to be around here in hurricane season if you can help it”, she offers, with a weak laugh.

(Now, if I may describe our work-place setting her for a moment: I am a certified butler and private chef, and I manage an estate on the island of Palm Beach in south Florida. I have been in private service most of my adult working career and, for three of those years I served as Dean/Director of Education and Headmaster of the somewhat world -famous Starkey International Institute for Household Management in Denver, Colorado. My educational staff, which included one of 64 master sommeliers in the world as well as our chef instructor, whom was named amongst Who’s Who in American culinarians in 1992, was considered at the top of their game for their skill in service education - for not only private homes, but for luxury market hotels and resorts worldwide, as well as the personal service staff at the White House, Camp David and the Vice President’s Residence.)

“How’s the new girl working out for you…?” She asked.

Ahhh… there it is…… the line has been tossed off the back of the boat now .. I see the shiny object on the end of it ….but I have been hooked before. And the difference between the poor sucker in the water who will chomp away toward his own self-inflicted doom is that I am able to learn from my mistakes. I have seen this lure before – and this time I will not - I cannot - bite.

Elba was sent to me by “The Agency” with the promise that “…. she’s kind of small, but….she does everything well and you almost have to hit her in the head with a hammer to make her stop.” Interesting choice of words, but effective nonetheless.

She was truly a godsend in the beginning. And at four foot and seven inches tall, there really wasn’t much she couldn’t do, nor wouldn’t do, for that matter. She kept all those promises and more, and did a great job for me over time.

She tackled not only the cleaning of sixteen thousand square feet, including the pool house and gym. As well, she kept the place in perfect order, managing laundry and fine clothing care – no small task I can assure you. And it was because of the alchemy of these particular and valuable skills, to some degree, that I was able to manage my own responsibilities with greater ease. Yes,,, with Elba on the job I had nothing to fear.

But toward the end of year two, in the last six months, I began to notice some chinks in the armor. Granted, everyone has their bad days, and not everyone can, nor wants, to be ‘ON’ all the time. But this was different. It became like something from a ‘B’ horror/dark comedy movie.

She knew that my scheduling needs at the residence were tight. She knew that my day to day plans were literally a house of cards and depended greatly on everyone doing their part. And while I can certainly make allowances for a sick day here and there – I’m just not staffed for the type of unusual occurrences that began to keep Elba from her duties.

It might have been a third cousin who’d had an auto accident…. Or a granddaughter who was having trouble with home work (in the middle of the school and work day!?) It might have been because the moon was blue or it might have just been because it was another day that ended in the letter “Y”, that kept her from coming in. It really might have been any number of truly and brilliantly worded excuses, but the bottom line was that I really needed to have someone in the shoes she filled, with very little room for variance, and the poor dear seemed to have just given up. And on top of everything else, was getting just a bit pissy, and moody to boot!

I began having to make one excuse after another for her to the employers: “Well, ma’am.. it’s probably just for today, she thinks, and then she’ll be back in tomorrow”. What had once been a beautiful relationship and a true symbiotic, work-related service team was now keeping me in the react mode most of the time. And in my profession I can only react to ONE party – and that is the Boss.

The last straw… (and believe me, I know what it’s like to feel so burdened down at, or by, your job, you just don’t care about doing the right thing any more. Sometimes it just gets so bad that the number one goal upon entering the work place is no longer about doing your job well but simply surviving just one more day!) …was my having to sacrifice vacation plans for this utter folly and nonsense.

Elba knew how important this trip was to me and just decided to pull a full-on power play and it caused me to have to sacrifice – in a major way. (to begin to tell you how difficult it is to schedule time away from my work is almost an impossibility, by the way. Suffice it to say that it’s tantamount to the Israelites packing and leaving Egypt, and that should give you just some idea)

But how did it come to this?? I began to wonder? How did I get from There ….to Here?? No matter,,, I knew what had to be done. But the planets and the universe must have mercifully aligned to spare me THE Talk: Her mother had become gravely ill and so Elba had to take some down time to help care for her.

The Agency sent a replacement, who has caught on brilliantly and is still doing a wonderful job, and that was that …. I really didn’t expect to hear her on the other end of the phone hinting about reclaiming the position she seemingly at one time couldn’t wait to vacate.

After having broken the ice, the two of us talked about job possibilities on the island and perhaps using the same agency that represented her to us. But she understood before the chat’s end that there just wasn’t a spot for her here and she’d resigned herself to that.

I was able to offer this solace however, that I would be happy to write a glowing letter of reference for her, which in this profession is ‘gold’. (since employers in our world typically do not have Human Resources offices in their own homes, and sometimes will move or pass away, making it impossible to retrieve a reference from them.)

I had wonderful ideas for a stellar work on letterhead, when a very dear friend of mine offered this perspective…:

“Knowing everything that you know about her work and attendance record overall, do you really want to represent her on paper – and over YOUR signature??” She wisely pointed out that because my name does carry some weight in my profession that it might not be worth the risk to align myself with that kind of endorsement. “I know what you’re trying to do”, she said, “and can certainly appreciate that, but there are some issues bigger than just being ‘nice’ here that you might want to consider.”

After thinking it over …and wondering … so… do I allow her to save face and go the whole nine yards – and just be nice?? ……Do I just tell ‘everything’? …. Do I warn all the others about what I know – all the lack of caring and conscientiousness on her part?? What to do, what to do??

In the end .. it doesn’t really matter what I might have to say since the new bosses are typically so desperate and eager to get a ‘New Elba’ in to take the place of the ‘Old Elba’, they’ll just hire away and hope for the best.

So did the only thing I could do and still live with myself. (My dear friend who knows me better than I know myself knew I would...) I made the letter short, sweet, professional and to the point without any embellishments. Sparing the potential new employers any of the details of my trip to the Island of Elba – (certainly don’t want to be branded as bitter or negative – ha!)

I’ll make nice… spare them all, the warnings,,,, the dark side,,, and just be pleasant…they’ll learn soon enough…

What's in it for Me(n)?

2006-10-29T21:13:00.000-05:00

About a week or so ago, msn.com featured a little article: "Marriage, and What's in it for Men?" It begged the question "Should men get married?", and if so, "why?", along with all sorts of conjecturing about the subject.

I thought about it for a bit and decided that since the feature allowed you to post an opinion at the end, well... I just couldn't resist.

Anyone reading is certainly welcome to chime in, but here were my thoughts as articulated on that particular day:
____________________________________
In this day and age there really is absolutely NO justifiable reason for a sane, healthy, rationally thinking man to get married. Period.

For certain, while love and commitment are noble concepts... for most people those things become designates only of the MOUTH, whereas true love is not a 'mouth' word at all - it is a 'foot' word.

You don't 'say' love... you 'do' love. You don’t ‘say’ commitment… you ‘live’ commitment – on a day-to-day, moment-by-moment basis. And sadly, most people just do not possess the emotional maturity or wherewithal necessary to grasp this.

You see, no matter how well either of the “Happy Couple’ mean on the 'big day', the 'foam' subsides and eventually bubbles right on down to the 'coke'. And what most people miss is that it’s not until that point that you are able to experience one of the most beautiful phases of any relationship: the plain old day-to-day business of just living together.

But again, too bad most people just don't have what it takes with regard to the emotional or intellectual maturity to manage that.

So... Enter The Lawyers!

For men considering marriage, the bottom line is simply and sadly this: that almost any court.......will allow almost any woman........ for almost any reason........ to utterly SMASH a man in a divorce. Period.

And certainly, I can almost hear the howling cries of the incurable romantics now – they will side with true love... ".... you're so jaded and shallow...", and they will side with this noble, revered institution called marriage at all costs – and for a man those costs can be devastating.

But men no longer have the luxury of thinking like an incurable romantic as they once did. Men must now think as Gen. Norman Schwartzkopf when he said: ".... you cannot prepare for your enemy's 'intentions' ..... you must prepare for their capabilities."

And until that changes, the best way to prepare for such an eventuality, would be to stay as far away from the altar as humanly possible.
_____________________________________

(A few days after I set these notes down I shared them with a friend who asked if I thought I'd ever get married again.

I responded without hesitation: "Why, hell yes... of course I would!"

Tempus Fudge it

2006-10-12T11:19:00.000-05:00

"O what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive."

This past Sunday morning, on my way to Miami, I didn't have time to sit down to breakfast so I stopped in at McDonald's for a little grab-it-and-go.

I had just ordered and was waiting off to the side, when I noticed the young man now ordering was wearing the exact same watch that I was.

Now granted, Elgin makes a lovely everyday watch. This particular piece offers a lot of flash for the cash, and I get a lots of compliments on mine when I wear it. Most people just naturally assume it was expensive, but it's really not that bigga deal. I'd venture to say that this particular watch would retail anywhere from $120.00 to $139.00 in most mall stores - tops.

And so it eventuated that the lovely young chick taking this guy's order noticed the time piece and commented on it:

"Oh, what a beautiful watch!"

"Yeah... it costs a lot..."

He responded, very nonchalantly (hey..look it up ..spellcheck says it's ok), almost arrogantly, looking off into the distance:

I couldn't resist, and just had to say:

"uh........... No it didn't..."

He turned his head in my direction very slowly.... as if to question the mortal who dared throw him under a bus,,,

until he saw me holding up my own identical watch.....smirking.....

Four Part Harmony

2006-10-09T23:43:00.000-05:00

Let me just say that this particular post is going to cover a lot of ground. There are many thoughts and memories burning in my brain this evening, so if you can hang in there with me for a bit I think I'll be able to tie them all together and we'll some fun with it.

Speaking of burning... I burned the crap out of my hand today, by the way. Grabbed ‘hold of a pot handle without thinking about it, and now some of the fingers on my left hand are sort of striped, not unlike a zebra with a bad cosmetic surgery job. Oh well….it really has nothing to do with this story, but since it’s MY fucking blog I guess I can pretty much insert it wherever I want, eh??

Now….where was I? Oh, yes.. my story…

“A brief personal musical history in four parts”

PART A: The Bass

Early on in life, I realized that I just didn’t tune in to the kind of music that most everyone else did. They were all listening to Three Dog Night and Led Zeplin – the Folk Years… The Beetles…. Somehow, although I can certainly appreciate that music now, I just didn’t get it then.

I longed for happy music and those bands seemed, to me anyway, to conjure up images of sadness and angst. Hell, I grew up in a house with SEVEN brothers and sisters – I was all about the Angst, and wanted to ‘get shed’ of it as much as possible. But I just hadn’t really settled on a sound I knew I liked and would like me back. Unconsciously, I continued the search.

And so it was that when I was about nine years of age, and seriously thinking (and you can ask my brother about this) that I was really going to somehow get a subscription to Playboy magazine for my next birthday,,, (NOT!) that my parents had received an eight-track tape in the mail from some friends in Tennessee. It was a pirated thing….long before the authorities would toss you Under the prison for such crimes as “…not respecting the music” as the radio ads now admonish.

The music was that of The Lewis Family, from Lincolnton, Georgia. America’s First Family of Bluegrass Gospel Music....

Now, across the street from us lived the Bruce family, originally from Arkansas; Dow, Nita and their six children. Growing up on Millbury Avenue, ‘us kids and them kids’ were all pretty much inseparable, and most of the time just about driving our parents over the edge – ha!.

But anyway, my parents, knowing how Dow loved that old 'hillbilly' music, took this tape over one day so that they could all have a listen.

So they all had a ‘set’ (meaning they sat down) and popped that thing into the player and something strange happened within me…. out of those speakers came Little Roy Lewis’ crackin’ banjo on a song called Climbing Jacob’s Ladder and I just couldn’t believe my ears. I’d just never heard anything like it.

Now up until this moment I had only heard that particular song as a slow and mournful (actually pre-Civil War era) spiritual. But these cats had it GOIN’ ON.

I heard that music…and those sisters, Polly, Miggie and Janice singing in three part harmony and I’ll tell you ……for me….the lights went out and the rockets went up…..I knew ……deep down inside……. That’s IT. I just gotta get me some more o’ that!! “Happy Music”

I was completely amazed. Not only was the music totally brand new to me, but this was a real family nonetheless. Families just didn’t do that sort of thing. I mean…… MY family members certainly didn’t anyway. They didn’t hug, or say I love you, or any of that ‘family stuff’, let alone play instruments or sing together…

It was a turning point in my life and I can remember it as if it were yesterday.

(Since those days, oddly enough the Lewis Family and I have become close friends and stay in touch throughout the year, either by phone or letter - and for what it's worth, they are inductees into the Georgia Music Hall of Fame, the International Bluegrass Music Association Hall of Fame, the Southern Gospel Music Hall of Fame, and the Gospel Music Hall of Fame)

PART B: The Lead

A year or so later my father retired and we moved from Los Angeles to Kingston, Tennessee.

There I was introduced to friends of my parents, John Williams and his wife Loreen (they called her Renee - pronounced 'ree-nee'), who just happened to be a HELL of a cook – to this day I remember her fried chicken….yum!),

John, who played old-tyme fiddle and guitar taught me my first chords on the guitar and allowed me (at the tender young age of 11, mind you) to sit in on their Friday night jam sessions with all the solemn old-timers. It was a huge honor and I thought to myself then, surely he will not let me continue, because I just cannot keep up. I will mess up the whole group and no one will like me …I’ll never learn this! And just about the time I’d be ready to give up.. he would instinctively say something like: “Now, Allan, if you make a mistake just keep on a’goin’, cause nobody kin heer ya anyway….” What a beautiful man. What a beautiful life.

(There is a spot in the Hall of Fame of my memory …..in fact, it’s really a separate wing, in this hall of fame for the man, John Williams. There will never be any way to repay the gift of music and support and friendship that this man gave to me. There will never be any way to balance the books on that score…. It is a debt I cannot settle and I’m sure he wouldn’t let me even if there was a way. What a great time in my life… I knew it then and I certainly know it now. I just feel sorry for anyone who didn’t grow up like that.)

PART C: The Tenor

So now I am nearing my 45th birthday. My mother and father are now gone, as are John and Renee Williams. The Bruces, Dow and Nita… they’re all gone… and in their place are these wonderful memories... But the one tangible thing that I carry with me from those times is the music itself. I still play the upright bass, and am now myself involved with a family group of some repute here in south Florida.

We call ourselves The Untold Riches, after the family’s last name (Rich), and we’ve been together just a little over a year. We’ve done quite well as a group, and I must say that I'm quite proud of what we've accomplished in such a short period of time.

Bill Rich plays the banjo and sings lead. His eldest, Amy, plays fiddle and has a superior voice for harmony (also graduated at the top of her class, pre-med, Boston College.). Her brother, Nathan, plays guitar – and I don’t mean just ‘plays’ guitar – he OWNS bluegrass guitar in all of south Florida and sings tenor. So together we’re quite a neat little enterprise.

When our group first hit the stage with the South Florida Bluegrass Association last year ... well … they ALL took notice. We were the group to watch. And subsequently, there was some bitterness on the part of a few members of the Association….. ( you know the kind….they can’t keep up so they try to break your legs to make it appear that they walk better).

One in particular – Mr. C.., another erstwhile local band stud… And while I am not professionally qualified to determine whether or not Mr. C. suffers from a chemical imbalance,,, I mean, medically, I am just not able to make that diagnosis… But I can say that based on other individuals whom I have known to have severe chemical imbalances…..Mr. C’s behaviors strike me as alarmingly similar. (how’s THAT?)

One day he was quoted as saying ….. “That Miller should spend more time practicing the bass and less time visiting....” (well, I’m not going to get into it all here …but just suffice it to say that if there’s a better bluegrass bass player in South Florida then I ..... I have yet to meet them. So Mr. C can just kiss my bass... the B is silent)

PART D: The Alto

Now, toward the end of this rant, hopefully I can tie all these fragmented memories together to make a final point, because I do have one - and have basically said all ‘that’... to say this:

Lets fast forward to this past weekend and the opening of the Carnival Center for the Performing Arts in Miami.

Fifteen stages and every kind of music under the sun represented. The Carnival Center had asked the Association for audition tapes of all the bands in order to make sure that ‘our’ kind of music was properly represented… This was a Huge event, with literally thousands of people in attendance over a four day span.

The president of the SFBA called us several months ago and asked us to submit some samples of our work. And so we did …….and so we were …….chosen…. to represent bluegrass music in south Florida.

I was given all the proper paperwork and the loading-dock pass so that I could unload our instruments. We had to wear neck badges/backstage passes... all exciting stuff for a little 'living room picker' from Kingston, Tennessee. When I pulled in to have our things unloaded I was met by a very busy and overworked volunteer who was fielding questions from about 8 other people from various groups. I just waited my turn.

Finally she approached and asked….

“Are you with a group?”

“Yes, ma'am, I am Allan Miller with The Untold Riches”.

A huge smile came across her face.

“Ahhh… The Untold Riches…..we’ve been expecting you - Welcome!”

This is nice, I thought. Finally, after all the frustration and wading through traffic and bad directions, etc., just a little bit of friendliness and recognition.

A volunteer had been assigned to us and escorted us to our private dressing room, with the private bath and room to change. This volunteer would be with us for the entire time we were told. She would escort us to the Green Room, just before stage time. She would escort us to the Stage and then back again. She would ensure that we found our way to the annex where the catered buffet was waiting for us after our performance. In short, we were treated like royalty.

We needed very little warm-up time, as we'd played a gig just the night before, but still sought to tune up and ramp up until:

Our volunteer approached –

“Excuse me,,, it’s time…..”

Wow…. time for the stage….this is it….

All of those memories come flooding back to me now… John Williams….. the first listen to the Lewis Family, sitting around in the circle at age eleven with all the old timers playing until 3:00 a.m. how proud my mother would have been just now…

The Introduction …… The welcoming applause…….the first song flawlessly done…….

The soundmen seemed a little confused about their particular roles, and had no idea how to stem the awful feedback and distortion ….. until finally, our fearless leader stopped in mid-song and said… “We can’t do this.. this is a mess….. and jumped off the stage… then motioned for us all to join.

And so we did, and moved right into the center of the hall - and that audience - to finish our set.

The audience had no idea what Bill Rich was doing when he jumped… But we all did… and they LOVED it…..many of them came from the rear of the room to gather around and listen to us do our stuff. What a great day…. I’d have given anything for the ultra-negative and mentally deranged Mr. C. to have seen it…… I wanted so much to say to him: “See??… apparently they DO like me/us just fine without your guidance, you twit!”

I wanted to tell him that …..but then I couldn’t have …

You see…. he wasn’t there ……. We had the back stage passes…… He didn't.

ahh.....harmony!

A Moment of Truth

2006-09-14T03:24:00.000-05:00

Years ago, when I was about 25, I owned a small restaurant and catering business in my hometown of Kingston, Tennessee. (pop. 4500). I’d kind of batted around after high school wondering what the hell direction my life would turn, and living in fear of a real job to the extent that this seemed to be just the right compromise. I mean,,, you were Rich if you had your own business – right?

My shop was situated in the old Roane County Courthouse on the town square, adjacent to Kinser Drug, the First Baptist Church, First National Bank, and the New Courthouse could be seen in the distance as well.

Now after the new courthouse was completed there were a certain number of folk in town who just couldn’t bear the though of razzing the older place, hence, the Roane County Heritage Commission was formed – for the purpose of “Preserving the Past for Future Generations” and so the building was spared for what would become Kingston’s ‘first (and to this day ‘Only’) mall’…

The building was an anti-bellum pre-Civil War relic with large white columns and beautiful hardwood floors. Graceful old oak trees lined the walks leading up to the building, and I remember a quaint old lattice work bandstand out on the lawn, where on Friday evenings the Heritage Commission would have engaged some sort of entertainment – be it a barbershop quartet or a local bluegrass band, you never lacked for exciting things to do on Friday evenings in downtown Kingston!

Life for me was pretty good in that old shop, for a while anyway… I was about 4 blocks down from the local high school and got great traffic from the ‘cool kids’ who could afford to leave campus for lunch. We also got a ton of traffic from the new courthouse and the many lawyers’ offices surrounding town square as well as friends from the church I attended.

(One of the first rules of small town business: As quickly as human possible after hanging your shingle – get thee to a large local church and request a membership (Run! Don’t walk))

But people knew me and people liked me …..I guess you could say I was finally popular.. I was finally accepted. I was makin’ a pretty good livin’ and havin’ some fun as well. Life was good.

Now, across the street from that shop were some rental row houses… and in one of them were a trio of some of my most frequent customers. I don’t remember their names, but they were husband and wife and daughter. I think the daughter must have been in her early twenties. She was a bright girl but a bit overweight and (not kidding here) didn’t really have a neck. I know she was a bit down on herself because of her appearance and it was difficult for her to keep a job. I felt for her. Her father, a really nice man, who drove a truck when he could find work, just couldn’t seem to keep his act together either.

So in the evenings, about once, maybe twice a week, I’d call them and ask them if they could do me a favor: I would tell them that I’d just had too many dogs and burgers left over at the end of the day and really couldn’t sell them the next day… so rather than having to throw them out “Would y’all mind to come get em and take em off my hands?” Well of course they would and be happy to do so. Nice people. I was glad and honored to be able to help without damaging their pride. It felt good, and we developed a comfortable little friendship of sorts.

A few months into our acquaintance, I was sitting in church one Sunday morning chatting with friends – being the ever-popular ME, and the more-than-able star of the Allan Miller show. Entertaining the troops as only I could…. And who should walk down the isle of that crowded church but my ‘hot dog’ family….

I froze instantly. I thought to myself ….. justifying my snobbery.. “now this is church and NOT work… I deserve to be free to not have to politic for the shop on Sundays at Least!” And so I turned my head and looked away. One of my friends even said to me rather snidely: “Hey, Mr. Miller... aren’t those your friends from the shop?” I actually lied and said something like: “Well, I see them come in all the time, but don’t know them that well”.

Something inside me died at that moment. It was a genuine Moment of Truth for me. One of those moments where you cannot hide, least of all from yourself. I knew better than that.

Instantly I was crushed and disappointed in myself – I felt the full weight of something called ‘integrity’ bearing right down on my young and foolish chest – and I was ashamed. Hilda Catherine and Lewis Joseph had NOT raised their children like this, and even if they had it was still wrong.

I sat there during that church service, and pure truth gnawed at my colon like a cancer in its final stages. I was furious, probably more so than I had been at anything in a long time – but this time it was at myself and there was no place to hide. I ……was Wrong.

As I let the thought of knowing that I had done something truly vulgar in the universe wash over my soul I determined right then and there that if it was the last thing I did – I was going to fix this before I walked out of there that morning. I could look almost anyone in the eye and lie for political expediency but I could Not look myself in the eye when it came to such blatant dishonesty on a soul level and give myself a pass. I somehow knew that if I sat on this and did nothing there would be a long hard road to recovery.

After the sermon, during the invitation to the altar (commonly given at the end of a sermon in many Protestant churches – and especially the Southern Baptist kind … ) the Hot Dog Family had come forward to speak with the pastor about joining the church… about being ‘part of us’. And so after clasping hands, and hugging, the pastor had them stand in front of the church as he told the congregation how blessed we were to have this nice group of people want to join our fellowship – and wouldn’t we please be sure to drop by to greet them and give them the right hand of Christian fellowship, and on and on… (at this point, many of us I’m sure were thinking: “Would that man stop at Nothing to ensure his people would not be able to beat the Methodists to the local cafeteria??~ Doesn’t he have ANY idea what time it is?)

As the the chairman of the deacons stood to offer the benediction – I rose from my…. In fact, you might say I ‘launched’ my ass right out of that seat.. I walked down to the front of the church and shook hands with the Hot Dog Family as though they were long lost relatives and stood there with them while just about everyone else in church filed past and offered their welcome and good wishes. (I won’t lie here and say that it Didn’t feel awkward because it did – but not nearly as awkward as it might have felt had I done nothing that day)

And from that day to this I have never let what other people thought about me stand in the way of doing what I thought was ‘the right thing’. Now, don’t misunderstand, I don’t always do the right thing but it’s certainly not because I am afraid of what someone else will think. (And even if somehow I miss doing the right thing I'm never afraid to acknowledge it or apologize and try to make things right)

Peer pressure isn't always a bad thing…… if you happen to be amongst the right peers… And since then, I’ve always tried to surround myself with the right ones.

I’ve heard it said that “A friend is one who knows the song in your heart and sings it back to you when you have forgotten the words”. I have since then always tried to surround myself with like-minded people who knew me well enough to call me on such matters of integrity and to give wise council without the added strain of an emotional tie. And even though the number of people I consider to be peers in my life these days is drastically smaller than when I was president of the Allan Miller Fan Club years ago… I am proud to say that they are still a reflection of me, my ideals and values, and all that I’m trying to be.

George Washington said it best when he said: “I would rather be utterly alone than to be found in the presence of bad company”. One of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do would be to make the choice to distance myself from people in my life who did not reflect my core philosophy or values; or people who would drain my life's energy through the some form of emotional blackmail. But looking at the person I am now vs. the person I was on my way to becoming that fateful Sunday morning years ago it’s certainly been worth the effort.

Peer Level

2006-08-25T07:57:00.000-05:00

There it was…..right there in my very own stack of personal correspondence and bills which would never be read before going to the shredder… The Summons.

I am now officially an adult, and I have been requested, and rather strongly I might add, by the county of Palm Beach to serve on a jury of someone’s peers.

Jury Duty. Hmmm,,, somehow, I always thought you had to be a property owner in order to qualify, but I guess not. Somehow I thought that just about anyone would be called for that – except me. I mean, this is something other people do – other adults, not me. I enjoy my cloistered life, and the real world just doesn’t come crashing beyond my gate that often.

Instantly, my mind begins the race… How to escape?? I’ve heard from all the experts in the past: “Just tell them you hate black people.” Or “Just refer to ‘them people’ or just use sweeping generalities… “Or you could say things like: “Oh great.. he commits the crime.. I get the sentence!” “That should get ya free!”

I need to do something though – I just don’t have time for this. I have a job you know. And it' not like just anyone can do it in my stead. What I do is highly customized to meet the needs of my employer and while yes, while there Is an employee procedure manual – it’s all in my head and I have been writing it up there since day one, nearly three years ago. This is simply too much of an inconvenience.

“Take I-95 to…. And park in the lot behind the convention center. Parking is free and shuttle service will be provided.”

“Ladies and Gentleman, we would like to thank you for your time today. We know that there are a thousand other things you’d rather be doing right now and we appreciate your selfless contribution to the one aspect of our judicial system, above all others, that makes our democracy great.” (First of all, how could anyone work in or around the court system and not know that what makes our country great is that we do NOT live in a democracy.. but a Representative Republic… ) Yes, there are a thousand other things I’d rather be doing right now – a root canal without the luxury of painkillers tops the list at this particular moment.

“When your name is called please meet in the front office, with the officer of the court, (more commonly known as the bailiff) and he will escort you to Judge Labarga’s courtroom.”

(hmmm Labarga… why do I know that name? – ah, yes! This is the judge who presided over the now world-famous Palm Beach ‘Hanging Chad’, Bush/Gore recount fiasco in the year 2000. – please note: this comment is in NO way meant to demean or slight Judge Labarga, whom, in my opinion is probably one of the more brilliant minds I have seen in quite some time, and truly a valuable asset to our legal system.)

Two grueling days of questions… while potential jurors sit and fidget, and look at watches, and sigh heavily, and sheepishly raise their hands to be excused to the restroom… and remember to turn OFF their cell phones. Two days of hearing the same thing over and over and over again, in a deliberate and measured attempt to select the most unbiased and level-minded individuals from a pool of over sixty potentials. During this time it is difficult to put into words my sheer terror at the thought,,, as the horror of being chosen. This could be devastating, I think to myself… no… It Will be devastating if I am chosen.

Prosecutor: “…. And so, if ….IF ….as a juror, your responsibility with regard to the evidence presented, was to return a verdict of guilty or not guilty – based solely on the evidence alone could you do that?”

“If…..IF……the state, which carries the burden of proof entirely in this instance is only required to prove…..beyond ‘reasonable doubt’….that the person charged with the crime actually committed the crime – and was able to do so - could you, simply based on that premise alone, return a verdict of guilty?

Voice from the pool: “Excuse me..?”

Prosecutor: “Yes, ma’am..?”

Voice from the pool: “So if the circumstances surrounding the crime were such that we understood the person to have committed the crime… say… in self defense… we would still need to return a verdict of guilty?”

Prosecutor: (now a little frustrated) “Ma’am, I hear what you’re saying, but we are not concerned with motive here. All we are asking is if the state were able to prove beyond reasonable doubt that the person charged with the crime – for whatever reason – actually committed the crime, would you be able to return a verdict of guilty based on that premise alone?”

“And is there anyone here who would have a difficult time with that?”

Me: “Excuse me, but I would have a difficult time with that.”

Proscutor: “Ahh.. Mr. M…. I hear your concern so please let me explain to you again…”

Now, for reasons of brevity and time economy:
Proscutor: “Explain, explain, ‘various examples’, blah, blah, blah, …explain..”

Me: “Yes, I understand what you are saying, Sir, but I am still not comfortable with separating the crime from a possible and justifiable reason for committing it.

For example, if someone has broken into my home and is on the way into my bedroom and I need to take them out before they reach their intended target… – As a Libertarian, my philosophy is such that “If I do not have the right to defend my property then I do not have a right TO my property." (Looking back, I am most certain now that this is the line which has stamped in huge red letters across my forehead: “EXCUSED”)

Judge: “Now… Hoooolllldddd on for just a moment……now were into long examples and someone breaking into a home… we can’t get off on this tangent now..”

Me: “I understand, Your Honor, but with all due respect, the prosecutor was allowed to make his point using similar examples and I was only trying to do the same – I’ll play by the rules.. I’d just like to be certain of what they are.”

Judge: *extended pause….” Please proceed, Mr. Prosecutor.” And so he did.

What an amazing process, I must say. It is predicated on the concept that ten guilty should go free before one innocent might be convicted. I have to tell you that I was certainly and eventually moved by it all. However, the one thing that moved me the most was almost identical to the words of my Dear Friend, M.E. written in http://twentysomethingblog.blogspot.com

Once the jury had been selected and there breathed a collective sigh of relief, the judge sat us all down for a little talk and really put some jelly beans on the scale for me. By that, I mean to say that in order for me to buy into the concept of jury duty as a just deviation from my daily routine there had to be some greater sense of value to the process presented to me than that which I had perceived before simply walking into that courthouse merely 48 hours before. I almost wish he’d been able to say these words to us beforehand, but I don’t think they’d have meant as much not having gone through this process.

The judge began: “I want to thank you all for your time. I know that all of you made sacrifices to be here for the past couple of days, and hopefully have a much greater understanding of our judicial process than you did when you came in.”

We all nodded.

“We live in the greatest country in the world and, again, the backbone of the system that makes us great is that we are not tried in court cases by our government. We are tried by a jury of our peers.”

“I can guarantee that if you were in Cuba right now things would not have gone this way at all. In Cuba you would have been taken out behind the courthouse probably no less than twenty four hours later and shot on site – if you were lucky enough to get that much of a stay.” “And in Saudi Arabia if you had been here for stealing this very afternoon you would have been missing a hand.”

“You see, in our country we do things a bit differently. In our country it’s not I, the judge who tries you, nor is it the prosecutor, nor is it any other entity – but your peers; everyday citizens just like yourself, with no particular axe to grind. All the prosecutor can do is bring forth evidence to the one final arbiter: The Jury. It is the jury who will wade through the evidence and then make a decision and bring forth a verdict.”

“Let me ask you to picture something with me for just a moment.” “Let’s say that you are having dinner with someone this evening at City Place (local trendy entertainment complex) and you have a glass of wine.. just one. And on the way home the officer spots your tag light out and pulls you over. He smells alcohol on your breath and that’s it: the cuffs go on and you’re getting a free ride downtown.”

“The next morning you find yourself sitting ... Right There… in that chair… and you are depending on people just like yourselves to sacrifice their time and their energy to ensure that your government doesn’t just railroad you in to jail and you are never heard from again.”

“And I ask you: NOW how smart do you think you were to fool the court into thinking you weren’t qualified to serve, if that was your intention?” “I’ll never know – only you will know.” “And that is the beauty of our system.” “Thank you all again for your time and have a great afternoon.”

Wow… talk about adding value to the scale. I am now a believer and even if no one ever reads this I can still say to myself without reservation that should I ever again be called.. well, just suffice it to say that I will A: Show Up (hint hint) …and B: well, I think you know the rest…

What Are You Doing Here?

2006-08-14T22:10:00.001-05:00

It seems I heard once that one of the top five most commonly uttered lines in movies was: “What are you doing here?” It’s typically some sort of slapstick comedy that finds a use for the tired old phrase; some comedy of errors involving situations that only the audience can see in total. Perhaps an innocent hug - and in walks the husband or wife of the hugger – or hug-ee (if that’s even a word – well I guess it is now). "What are YOU doing here~!?"

But we’ve all been there and seen it for ourselves, rolled our eyes, suspended belief – cause hell,,, we’re already out sixteen bucks and that doesn’t even include the popcorn (so expensive they sell it from a jewelry case in the lobby) and the vat of diet coke (light ice, please) with the diving board on it. And at that point wondered "What am I doing here?"

But somehow, despite the cliché-ness of it all, I feel compelled to answer that at the outset in this inaugural post: What AM I doing here…?

I’m not here for any noble cause; I can assure you of that. I’m not thinking that what I write here will somehow redound to the betterment of mankind. I am here with self first in mind…. To in some way get it all off my chest, and if anyone else happens to gain a smile or have a new or stimulating thought provoked then that seems like a fair enough residual effect to me.

I have a wealth of experiences and amazing stories from my past, centered around, but not limited to, family, church life, growing up in a small town, career, my love of, and participation in acoustic and bluegrass music, personal development, relationships, leadership, food and food art, politics, education, and a philosophy for living a life that sings.

I wouldn’t trade places with anyone. You’ll never see anyone happier to be in their own skin than I am.. and you'll never see anyone so comfortable about laughing at themselves, along with other mortals who can’t wait to point out the most recent faux paus. I’m ok with that and hopefully I might be able to pass a little of that out along the way as well.

It’s been an incredible ride so far and I (along with several others, for that matter) thought it time to finally put it all down ‘for the record’.

I hope you enjoy – I certainly did