nobody asked…

(This post might be considered a sequel to the Shake Your Sugar… piece from last August. Different bar, different subject, same type of curiosity and observation on my part, similar quirky behavior from the subject. Read with your best Bogie voice impersonation of Sam Spade. Enjoy!)

It started and ended as just another uneventful evening. But with a tangy morsel sandwiched in between. Having worked a bit later than normal, Roomie out to one of her writers’ group meetings, and knowing that the only dinner waiting at home was mystery meat du jour between a couple of slices of whole grain, good-for-you, tough-as-styrofoam bread, I headed over to the local TGI Friday for something less healthy but more appetizing. Sitting at an elevated table in the bar with a view of several games on the TVs scattered around the room, I settled in to my first glass of Kendall Jackson and placed my food order. After checking out the TVs for anything of interest, I swept the bar area for anyone I might know. Not tonight. Just as well. It had been one of those exhausting days and I was not in the mood for trivial conversation. Just wanted to relax, enjoy my wine, and stuff my face.

I’m not sure why she caught my eye, but there was … something… She was sitting alone at the bar. I had a side profile view from maybe 15 feet away, so there was no guessing about the strange performance already in progress. I’m not good with ages, but I would put her in the mid-30s. Her fashion statement was just a tad uni with a not-too-well-kept coif to match. A barely touched glass of the house draft was at her right hand, while her left was kept busy with the cigarettes. Other than hand movements with the beer and cigarettes she had no noticeable body language. Perched on the barstool, she could have been a statue. No head movement, no expression, no apparent eye contact with anyone or anything except the objects of her immediate focus — cigarettes and beer.

Even if you’ve never smoked, you can envision this. Puff, tap, tap. Puff, tap, tap. Each puff, tap, tap cycle took about 2 to 3 seconds, then repeats with no pause in between. On a cycle of 2 to 3 seconds, give it a try — puff, tap, tap. Puff, tap, tap. When she had burned about half a cigarette, she would carefully snuff it out in the ashtray, take a very small swig of beer, and head off in the general direction of the restrooms. A couple of minutes later she would return, light another cigarette, and start the whole spectacle over again. After a while it became obvious that most of the bar patrons were mesmerized by this different way of smoking and bar hanging. She appeared to be oblivious to the crowd’s scrutiny.

Somewhere in the middle of my chicken tenders, just as she exited again, my eyes locked for a split second with a guy sitting close to her at the bar. We both shrugged, rolled our eyes knowingly, and silently smiled out loud to ourselves. At times she returned within half a minute, as if she had just walked out of the bar, changed her mind, and walked back in. Other times she was gone long enough to go potty, if indeed that was where she was going. Apparently she was a regular, or at least had an understanding with the barkeep, as he emptied the lone half-smoked cigarette from it each time she left.

My visit to Friday’s that night was probably about an hour and a half, and in that time, The Puffer, as I had decided to dub her, drank less than one beer, ate nothing, smoked — or wasted — close to two packs of cigarettes, and visited the restroom — or somewhere — 25 to 30 times. Cheap date for somebody, as long as she brings her own smokes.

This story from the BBC is not only hilarious, but also provides a real-life example of what an efficient system of justice can accomplish at little or no cost to the people. Too bad our system doesn’t provide for such expedient handling. We would have incarcerated the alleged perpetrator for months years through delay after delay in the proceedings, paying for his room, board, and medical care the entire time. Meantime, the goat would grow old, lonely, and tired of waiting and skip town with a dude named Billy.

Thanks to Joel at Pax Nortona for the heads-up on this warm and tender love story.

UPDATED January 25, 2006. See ADDENDUM below.

My will shall shape the future. Whether I fail or succeed shall be no man’s doing but my own. I am the force; I can clear any obstacle before me or I can be lost in the maze. My choice; my responsibility; win or lose, only I hold the key to my destiny. — Elaine Maxwell

The first time I read this declaration I latched onto it. So Ayn Rand-ish, and those who read here regularly know that Aunt Ayn’s (I wish) philosophical system of Objectivism is one to which I subscribe. It takes an occasional reminder — a recharging — to maintain close adherence to the tenets and principles of Rand’s epistemology and challenge, especially living in the face of dwindling freedom. As citizens of a true democracy … a much overused and abused word, and which the US of A is not and never was … there are few barriers to living and becoming who and what we want to be, few ceilings other than our individual limitations. As personal and civil rights are eroded by an evil, corrupt, and paranoid President and his administration, our natural human tendency is to revert to a defensive posture, sliding down Maslow’s pyramid to a lower level.

This is my declaration of rededication to living a full, productive, and rewarding life, first of all for myself. Only if I am whole can I effectively provide opportunities for others, and then only for those who are willing to take responsibility for their own lives and destinies. The allure of a Rand-ish society will never be completely achieved, but it can provide a model for us to work toward. Even if was possible to recover and restore our country to what it was a few years ago, there would continue to be the regulatory, legal, financial, taxation, healthcare, and security concerns that detract from our abilities and opportunities to control our own lives. We must not allow the current malignancies or their spawn to deter us from the effort.

I swear by my life and my love of it that I will never live for the sake of another man, nor ask another man to live for mine.
— John Galt in Atlas Shrugged, Ayn Rand

Where are you, John Galt?

ADDENDUM February 25, 2006, 8:25 AM CST

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abulia n. (also aboulia)
1. abnormal lack of ability to act or make decisions.
2. loss or impairment of the ability to make decisions or act independently.

Formed by combining the prefix a-, meaning “without”, with the Greek word boule, meaning “will”. Abulia, or without will, is “most often used in medical or psychological contexts to describe physical or mental conditions that make it difficult, if not impossible, for an individual to act or make decisions…”

This is quite obviously not Bush’s problem, as evidenced by his port decision to turn over management of our chicken coops to the fox. Now, what’s that word for stupid, dangerous, wreckless, dumb-ass decisions?

You are Jean-Luc Picard

A lover of Shakespeare and other fine literature. You have a decisive mind and a firm hand in dealing with others.

Head nod to PaulaO.

…I want some!

First glimpse of the photo in William Williams’ Creating Places column in The City Paper, 2/15/06, made me freeze for a split second, followed by an under-breath utterance of something like “What th’ ….?” Louisville has recently announced a new addition to the downtown skyline. Designed by the avant-garde international firm, Office for Metropolitan Architecture, the… ummm… different kind of structure will top out at 61 stories with a projected cost of $380 million. Completion is expected in 2010.

Museum Plaza will be anchored by a contemporary art museum. The urban design mistake statement will integrate offices, retail, restaurant, residential condo, hotel and parking. As if it needed another bizarre unique feature, there will be an open-to-the-public acre-sized island perched 22 stories above ground.

You know, the more I look at this rendering and think about it, the more appealing it becomes. When 2010 gets here, if Museum Plaza is finished and I am not, I can see a day-trip up to Louisville just to share in the experience.

Pre-printed sticky-note pad on a customer’s desk…

If you can’t say something nice about someone,
I want to hear it!

Yikes! Holy Bat Balls, Commissioner, I’ve been tagged by Stu Savory for another one of those damn fool meme things. Since this one has been floating around for the past couple of weeks I have been hiding out amongst the reeds and lillies at the edge of the pond, hoping upon hope that no one would spot me. But that Stu is a sly one. Crept up behind me, he did. Now I would not get trapped into doing anohter meme, except by a pretty face or someone a helluva lot smarter than me. Take a good look at Stu’s photo over at his site and you’ll understand — Old Stu is a fairly smart cuss, doing the Mensa thing, and all, but by my tastes, purty he ain’t. So for Stu, a really decent bloke, and in the interest of not starting another international incident, here goes…

Four Jobs I’ve Had:
1. Bowling Alley Attendant (College, part-time)
2. Engineer (What I trained to be)
3. Corporate Manager — Minority Business Development (Most rewarding and fulfilling)
4. Business Owner (I’m the hardest boss I ever had!)

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Sorry, Joy, I just had to steal this. We need a symbol for global peaceful coexistence of diverse people. Perhaps this is it. Betcha can’t look at this picture without at least cracking a smile.

To the one I offended — I sincerely apologize. Never once in my real or virtual lives have I set out to hurt or offend anyone. On the rare occasions in my life when I have inadvertently done or said something untoward that did offend or hurt someone else, I felt miserable. I feel that now. I am sorry you were hurt. You may not feel or understand it yet, but you have chosen to lose a good friend. We both have lost. I am still here if you choose to return. If you opt to not come back, that is your prerogative, that is your right, and that is OK. We both were complete before meeting. We are both complete still. And I will miss you. Goodbye and best wishes, my friend…

Recently a well known and highly respected fellow blogger took me to task (privately by email) for use of some words that he/she found abhorrent in one of my posts. Being quite taken back with this seeming out of character attack, I muttered my way through a reply. While I did not apologize for my language, I did admit the possibility that that particular piece was poorly conceived and written. Read more

It is totally impossible to live without making mistakes. One key to our growth is learning from our mistakes. One key to our character is the ability to forgive the mistakes of others.

A man who is afraid to make mistakes is unlikely to make anything. — John Cleese

You must learn from the mistakes of others. You can’t possibly live long enough to make them all yourself. — Sam Levenson

I have no idea what or where a Tahlequah is, or even how to properly pronounce it. Words with “h’s” thrown in where they don’t seem to belong trip me up every time. Chaz Hill of dustbury fame recently reported that …

Tahlequah singer Eddie Glenn’s eight-song CD Un-PC is literally so: it was recorded on Eddie’s Macintosh. And that other meaning of “PC” is given similar disdain.

Now, I don’t know Eddie Glenn or his music, but this verse from Winnebagos makes me think he’s one of us … meaning not one of them. ‘Cept he’s got a thing or two to learn yet…

They take a quarter of a paycheck that’s s’posed to be yours
Just to keep the old codgers socially secure
It’s keepin’ ‘em comfortable but keepin’ us poor
And they wonder why we drive so fast.
Well, the reason we’re runnin’ you down, you old fart
Is we’re trying to get to Hardee’s, Taco Bell and Wal-Mart
To work for minimum wage and take part
In supporting your wrinkled old ass.

Who’s he calling old? Oh. Moi? OK, guilty as charged. But remember, sonny, this old fart is still working his wrinkled old ass off everyday to finance a frigging illegal war that he does not condone — waged by a lying snake of a president who he did not vote for and does not support — allegedly to bring freedom and democracy to people who don’t want it, who kill our people daily, who hate us and want to destroy us for reasons we will never understand.

You will probably get to be an old codger too if some weirdo with a dish towel wrapped around his head doesn’t shoot your ass or blow you up. As a bonafide old fart you can join the rest of us in paying hundreds of dollars a month for pills that the rest of the world get for pocket change, so that the pharmaceutical companies make more money, so their stock prices and dividends go up, so that the Washington fat cats get fatter and more arrogant and decide to wage war on another country. You think we’re comfortable? Not with the thermostat set down to 65 or 62 because we can’t afford to pay the heating bills this winter — because prez and his boys want more profits out of their energy holdings, and they see nothing wrong with the oil and gas companies gouging the American people to make that happen.

Don’t be too surprised if we run your ass over trying to beat you to “Hardee’s, Taco Bell and Wal-Mart” to stand in line for one of those minimum wage jobs. ‘Cept most of us don’t have a chance of getting one because we are too old, too experienced, too educated, and too American. They don’t want people that can think for those jobs, but people who will keep their mouths shut and blindly follow orders without causing too many problems … kinda like Bush supporters. Of course, Mr. Bush says that Americans don’t want those jobs. Let’s see him go down to the State Employment Office and tell that to the line of real Americans trying to get a job — any job — yes, even those menial task minimum wage jobs.

Other than that, I like your song.

Aaahhh … I feel all better now…

Nobody in the game of football should be called a genius. A genius is somebody like Norman Einstein. — Joe Theismann

NOTES FOR READERS: