nobody asked…

The Eagles were popular back when I was. We old birds still have it… heh… Well, actually, they still are… and still do… Notice how the young folks in the audience know the words, sing along, and get into the groove…

• PASSWORDS: When you’re creating a new password, why does the software show asterisks to hide from you what you’re typing?
• FASHION: When the Hispanic population in the US surpasses 50%, will guayaberas be acceptable for all American men, even for formal evening wear? I hope so. They are so comfortable. Plus they mask so many physique flaws…
• BIG BROTHER: I saw a stack of shrink wrapped bundles of logs outside a convenience store. They were marked USDA Certified Firewood. What does that mean? Some piece of our tax dollar is used to fund a group within a division within a department within a bureau whose sole mission is to look at firewood and certify that, Yep, it’s firewood, alright.
• CALL FOR RECOUNT: Mono- means one. I have a shirt with a monogram consisting of three initials. Whaaat…?

An executive is a person who always decides; sometimes he decides correctly, but he always decides. – John H. Patterson

Eric, the original Straight White Guy, and his lovely Missus are off on their annual trek to Scotland to pay homage to her homeland and make the yearly plea for her family to continue allowing him to claim kinship by marriage. I have been deeply honored and humbled by Eric asking me to be one of several journeymen who will ghost guest blog in his absence. I can vouch that all the others who will be keeping the SWG machinery oiled are certifiable, and most likely should be in restraints anytime they are off their medz. I, of course, was hand-picked by Eric to add a balance of reason, logic, and intellect… of course… ahmmm…

So if you have spare time on your hands or get too bored elsewhere, come on over to check out the droppings on Eric’s back deck…

When I drift off to sleep, nothing rattles me. I have slept through many noisy calamities, tornado like weather, and family members being awake and sick with lights on and making noise enough to wake the dead. My own snoring, which I am told causes window glass vibration throughout the neighborhood, does not wake me. When I sink into the arms of Hypnos and Morpheus, my position in bed does not change. Apparently I don’t twitch a muscle until hours later when I arise and quickly move with a stiff, hobbling sprint to the restroom for urgent urinary relief. I am what you might call a heavy sleeper, or deep sleeper, both of which mean the same as sound sleeper.

On the other hand, Roomie is the antithesis of that, as she usually has trouble getting to sleep and will waken at the drop of a tissue three houses away. She tosses and turns, kicks and bucks, thrashing the night away, in and out of bed until she can’t stand it any longer and just gets up and stays up. She might be described as a light or shallow sleeper.

On several occasions my good Welsh blogging friend, Liz, has made reference to rough sleepers. I understand the words rough and sleeper, so initially I thought I knew what she was talking about — someone like Roomie who kicks and thrashes about in a very rough manner. But that was nonsensical when used in Liz’s context. Yet again, Liz often weaves fantastical mysteries for her American readers by writing about such things as fish pie, Mumbles, beans on toast, titchy spaces, portakabins, dithering, and… well, you get the picture. English is the native tongue for both of us, but my American version is not nearly so rich as Liz’s Welsh slant on it. I have not heard her voice, but I can imagine that it has that same richness and melodic quality that we love to listen to.

According to dictionary.com, a rough sleeper is an informal UK phrase used to refer to “a homeless person; a person living on the streets.” So, if you’re reading Liz spinning her stories about George, her often misbehaving pup, and her charming life in Swansea, Wales, if she mentions a rough sleeper, she is really referring to what we know in the States as a street person or homeless person. As for titchy, I have not a clue…

[In yesterday’s exciting opening act of this meme, we followed the request and instructions of Pagan Sphinx, who recruited me into participation in this important discussion. The opener included hair raising commentaries on my To Do list, and what I might do if I became a billionaire. If you have not had the pleasure of reading that first installment, it doesn’t matter since it has nothing to do with today’s conclusion, but you are certainly welcome to jump back, Jack, and read it prior, during, or after reading today’s edition… ]

4. Three bad habits… are difficult to sift out of the many that I have. Hmmm… I guess number one would be eating patterns — no breakfast, lunch on the fly or not at all, gigantic dinner followed by too many late night snacks. Secondly, though I quit a while back, I am and will always be a smoker. Every hour, every day, I want a cigarette. It’s like being an alcoholic — there is no such thing as being over it. It’s forever just one hour, one day at a time. And in third place… I don’t know… I’m torn between picking my nose while driving and farting out loud when there’s nobody around.

5. Five places I’ve lived… if you call it living. Pittsburgh PA, Richmond IN, Meridian MS, Knoxville TN, NYC (briefly) and currently Franklin TN, which is suburban Nashville. That’s six and there are more, but this question is boring.

6. Five jobs I’ve had… ran the gamut from clerk in a department store, to pin setter in a bowling alley, engineer in a major industrial plant, middle-management position for a  Fortune 50 company, and currently business owner/entrepreneur. There are several more. Perhaps one of these days I’ll find something I can do…

Now here is where I balk. I played the game. I gave it my all. And I sincerely hope that Pagan is not too terribly embarrassed or disappointed. Or sorry that she picked me. But rather than tag folks and have them stalking me for all eternity with revenge in their hearts, I will leave it for you, dear readers, to honor Pagan with a visit to her blog . If you are among the first three to read these words (I can assure you that you are), then take it upon yourself to respond as if I had tagged you myownself. Honor system, now, boys and girls…

[Written in bits and pieces over the last week, which may explain any temporal juxtapositions that seem to lack harmonic continuum synchronization.]

Just as I was beginning to think I had safely hidden from all the remaining memes, here comes another one. It is not yet clear what I did to deserve this, but my new found friend, Pagan Sphinx (doncha just love that name), has whapped me upside the head with a tag. I s’pose she is working off her anger from being dragged into it herownself. Or maybe she was having a bad hair day. Or maybe I really did do something wrong that raised her ire — but I certainly don’t know what that might be. Whatever the case, I am but putty in her hands. So with that bullshit out of the way, here goes…

1. Ten years ago I was… several years younger than I am now.

2. Five things on today’s To Do list… will probably not get done. The list includes taking the dog out before I go to work, going to a customer’s site to investigate a problem that I already do not not know how to solve, returning to the office and installing hard drive upgrades in two notebook systems, call Roomie a couple of times to see if she’s OK (still recovering from hysterectomy 2-1/2 weeks ago), a visit to Waffle House and/or Donut Den, cursing spiraling gas prices and the beneficiaries of those excessive oil company profits (think Bush and Cheney for starters), and then in the afternoon I will…

3. Things I’d do if I were a billionaire… do not include working my ass off as I now do. Some things that first come to mind include paying off everything and telling all my creditors to go to hell, taking care of my extended family’s needs, including getting my Mom out of the nursing home and into a place of her own with full-time paid round the clock help. Significant donations to my alma maters, University of Tennessee and University of Pittsburgh, and setting up a major research foundation for stem cell research (go to hell, George W. Bush!). I think a new house on one level (bad knee) would be in order, something like the California contemporary that I designed and built several years ago, the one my ex stole from me. Whatever billions are left, I would turn over management of to my good friend and customer, who I believe to be one of the brightest financial advisors in the land. Then, I would have me some fun… maybe even buy that shetland pony that Santa never brought me…

… Join us again tomorrow, same time, same station, for Part Deux, the exciting conclusion of this mind expanding post …

And now, girls and boys, a little change of pace as we cruise into the weekend…

Thanks to Jackie Sue and her cousin Big Tex for holding the lantern while I found this.