Google will join with five other companies to invest in a 10,000 km trans-Pacific submarine cable to carry data to and from Asia.
By Thomas Claburn
InformationWeek
February 26, 2008 09:00 AM
Having outgrown the capacity of telecom companies to provide bandwidth for its online applications and services, Google (NSDQ: GOOG) is buying part of an undersea cable to carry data to and from Asia.
On Tuesday, Google said it would join with five other telecom companies -- Bharti Airtel, Global Transit, KDDI, Pacnet, and SingTel -- to invest $300 million in the construction of a 10,000 km submarine cable.
The high-speed fiber optic trans-Pacific cable, called Unity, will have a capacity of up to 7.68 Tbps and will run between the United States and Japan, about 6,200 miles. It is planned to accommodate demand for trans-Pacific bandwidth, which has grown at a rate of 63.7% annually between 2002 and 2007 and is expected to double biannually from 2008 through 2013, according to TeleGeography, a telecommunications consultancy.
When construction of Unity is complete in 2010, Google projects a 20% increase in the amount of available trans-Pacific bandwidth. NEC and Tyco Telecommunications will be handling the construction.
What Google gets is bandwidth at cost, said Stephan Beckert, director of research for TeleGeography, in an e-mail. Google, along with Comcast, is one of the few companies that have opted to purchase and light long-haul dark fiber, he said. It is the first non-telecom company to take an active role in submarine cable ownership.
"They are a huge user of bandwidth, particularly since their acquisition of YouTube, and have been very aggressive in their efforts to minimize their bandwidth costs," said Beckert. The current cost of trans-Pacific bandwidth is eight-times higher than trans-Atlantic bandwidth, according to TeleGeography.
Viewed through the lens of its interest in mobile advertising and phones, not to mention its participation in the FCC's recent spectrum auction, Google's previous investments in "dark fiber" -- unlit fiber optic cable -- have fueled speculation that the company aspires to become a network operator like AT&T or Comcast.
But Google's network acquisitions manager Francois Sterin, in a blog post, denies any such ambition. "If you're wondering whether we're going into the undersea cable business, the answer is no," he wrote. "We're not competing with telecom providers, but the volume of data we need to move around the world has grown to the point where in some cases we've exceeded the ability traditional players can offer. Our partnership with these companies is just another step in ensuring that we're delivering the best possible experience to people around the world."
There are three additional submarine cables planned: The Trans-Pacific Express Cable System should be lit in August of this year, adding network capacity between the U.S. and China, the Republic of Korea, and Taiwan. The Asia-America Gateway Cable System, planned to enter service in the first quarter of 2009, will connect the U.S. and several Southern Asian countries. And the third cable is being planned by Reliance FLAG, formerly FLAG Telecom.
TeleGeography says that when all these new undersea cables go live, bandwidth capacity between the U.S. and the Pacific will double and that the combined planned and current bandwidth across the Pacific now exceeds potential bandwidth capacity across the Atlantic.
Even so, all this extra capacity won't be enough. "You should also bear in mind that this cable is a single span of fiber across the Pacific," said Beckert. "It's not a network, and it's not a complete solution to Google's trans-Pacific capacity requirements. They will have to keep buying capacity on the increasingly diverse array of trans-Pac cables to ensure that they have redundant capacity. However, investing in their own cable means that they won't have to purchase as much capacity on other cables."
And given that five undersea cables were cut in late January and early February, some redundancy might be a good idea.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Is Google the Anti-Christ?
This is a statement I’ve made on more than one occasion, that Google, the user-friendly search engine company, is indeed the future dreaded Anti-Christ of the Bible. I say it tongue in cheek, but with a certain amount of reservation.
It’s no secret to folks who know me that I am a semi-literate computer geek-ish type person and for those who know me well, they are privy to my fears that technology is a bad thing. I love it and I hate it. I’m drawn to computers for reasons I can’t explain and like a child without proper supervision, I have an almost unhealthy fascination bordering on overindulgence.
However, I am not a child, in fact I am not even close to childish inclinations and I do see that this geek-ish fascination is probably going to end up a bad thing. It’s not bad because I like it, or because I spend too much time involved in it (as I earn money working with computers that I contribute to the family coffer), but it’s bad in that in the long run, technology is slowly enslaving us. Enslaving us?
Most people readily embrace new technology as an improvement. It’s true, they do and I do. If we own an electronic device and a newer version becomes available, we want it. If new software in the form of updates is offered, we download and install it without a second thought. Personally, I never take the default settings for granted when installing software or even as a reason for buying a new product - it’s not always a benefit for me, but the seller.
A good example of this is one of the many upgrades “patched” by all of us to Microsoft’s Media Player actually removed it’s abilities to write music from your computer to compact disk(CD), based on a set of rules in the update that perceived a violation of copyright laws. Let’s take an old-school look at it. We buy an L.P. album of Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of the Moon” and decide to make a copy of it onto cassette so we can enjoy it in our car, but because our record player has the newest technology, we can’t “tape” the record. All because someone decided we shouldn’t be able to do this and we were the one who downloaded this update to our machine.
We are inoculating ourselves on a daily basis with technology and Google is helping us make the transition. I love Google actually. They buy up great programs and make them available to us – free. Take the image managing program Picasa. When it first became available, it didn’t work very well and I uninstalled it. A few months later, I gave it another try and presto, it worked great. Last week, I scanned some old slides in high-resolution (1200DPI) and they were automatically migrated into Picasa by the program.
Looking at the bottom of the screen while in Picasa, I noticed a button “Order Prints”, so I clicked it and was offered a number of companies who would do the work for me, so I selected Snapfish and uploaded 3 of my scanned images to their web site. Clicking a couple of buttons after registering, I ordered three 8X10 color glossies delivered to my doorstep for about 12 bucks. Just like that. Technology. Google. Cool…
Want $20 million bucks? Google will give it to the first team to build a privately funded space craft, land it on the moon, have it roam for at least 500 meters and send photographs and video back to Earth. Google is everywhere and we are welcoming them into our homes like long lost relatives.
Google has either bought into or outright purchased over 50 companies since 2001 and the list is growing. They are so efficient at what they do (buy, improve and give away) that they wipe out anything that competes against them. All of this works for the consumer or so it appears and that is exactly why we welcome and use it and that is exactly how they gain control.
Google Earth has gone where only high-tech spy satellites dared to go and they are bringing it right into our homes. Panoramio, in cahoots with Google Earth is a geolocation-oriented photo sharing website. Currently, some of the photos uploaded to the site can be accessed as a layer in Google Earth, with new photos being added at the end of every month. The site's goal is to allow Google Earth users to learn more about a given area by viewing the photos that other users have taken at that place. Think about that for a minute.
Like I said, we welcome technology and upgrades with open arms and that is exactly why it scares me. Will we, the people, unwittingly welcome in that which we should have shut out?
The Anti-Christ will be viewable by everyone on earth simultaneously according to some sources. I no longer wonder how that could even be possible.
It’s no secret to folks who know me that I am a semi-literate computer geek-ish type person and for those who know me well, they are privy to my fears that technology is a bad thing. I love it and I hate it. I’m drawn to computers for reasons I can’t explain and like a child without proper supervision, I have an almost unhealthy fascination bordering on overindulgence.
However, I am not a child, in fact I am not even close to childish inclinations and I do see that this geek-ish fascination is probably going to end up a bad thing. It’s not bad because I like it, or because I spend too much time involved in it (as I earn money working with computers that I contribute to the family coffer), but it’s bad in that in the long run, technology is slowly enslaving us. Enslaving us?
Most people readily embrace new technology as an improvement. It’s true, they do and I do. If we own an electronic device and a newer version becomes available, we want it. If new software in the form of updates is offered, we download and install it without a second thought. Personally, I never take the default settings for granted when installing software or even as a reason for buying a new product - it’s not always a benefit for me, but the seller.
A good example of this is one of the many upgrades “patched” by all of us to Microsoft’s Media Player actually removed it’s abilities to write music from your computer to compact disk(CD), based on a set of rules in the update that perceived a violation of copyright laws. Let’s take an old-school look at it. We buy an L.P. album of Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of the Moon” and decide to make a copy of it onto cassette so we can enjoy it in our car, but because our record player has the newest technology, we can’t “tape” the record. All because someone decided we shouldn’t be able to do this and we were the one who downloaded this update to our machine.
We are inoculating ourselves on a daily basis with technology and Google is helping us make the transition. I love Google actually. They buy up great programs and make them available to us – free. Take the image managing program Picasa. When it first became available, it didn’t work very well and I uninstalled it. A few months later, I gave it another try and presto, it worked great. Last week, I scanned some old slides in high-resolution (1200DPI) and they were automatically migrated into Picasa by the program.
Looking at the bottom of the screen while in Picasa, I noticed a button “Order Prints”, so I clicked it and was offered a number of companies who would do the work for me, so I selected Snapfish and uploaded 3 of my scanned images to their web site. Clicking a couple of buttons after registering, I ordered three 8X10 color glossies delivered to my doorstep for about 12 bucks. Just like that. Technology. Google. Cool…
Want $20 million bucks? Google will give it to the first team to build a privately funded space craft, land it on the moon, have it roam for at least 500 meters and send photographs and video back to Earth. Google is everywhere and we are welcoming them into our homes like long lost relatives.
Google has either bought into or outright purchased over 50 companies since 2001 and the list is growing. They are so efficient at what they do (buy, improve and give away) that they wipe out anything that competes against them. All of this works for the consumer or so it appears and that is exactly why we welcome and use it and that is exactly how they gain control.
Google Earth has gone where only high-tech spy satellites dared to go and they are bringing it right into our homes. Panoramio, in cahoots with Google Earth is a geolocation-oriented photo sharing website. Currently, some of the photos uploaded to the site can be accessed as a layer in Google Earth, with new photos being added at the end of every month. The site's goal is to allow Google Earth users to learn more about a given area by viewing the photos that other users have taken at that place. Think about that for a minute.
Like I said, we welcome technology and upgrades with open arms and that is exactly why it scares me. Will we, the people, unwittingly welcome in that which we should have shut out?
The Anti-Christ will be viewable by everyone on earth simultaneously according to some sources. I no longer wonder how that could even be possible.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
A line in the Dust
Last year about this time, I made the paramount decision to be the first in my family to run for President of the United Snakes. I figured "Hey! Why not"? I immediately began pursuing my campaign in the true American Capitalistic spirit by announcing the creation of one of my ultra-cool and hip fund raising items, which just so happen to be a beautifully illustrated coffee cup with my handsome photo on it and my very Presidential winning attitude slogan of "Because I must!"
They are very Presidential and patriotic looking and sure to get me elected. My platform opener is "If you vote for me and buy a coffee cup, I will vote for your special interests". My plan is to make a lot of money (that I do not have to account for) and truly represent my prostrate minions. I plan to be honest and straightforward. I'm for change. I'm for a lot of change. In fact, I'm drawing the line in the dust with my promises, so there will be no confusion.
"Hey, wait a minute, what's that you said? Not so sure that I heard you right"
One of my original plans was to try and get Oprah Winfrey to run as my Vice-P, but she's went and thrown in with 'those guys" and that pretty much knocked her out as a choice. I wanted Oprah for her ability to influence female voters – especially white female voters, something I recognized as an asset. Hey! I may look goofy at times, but rest assured, I'm as slippery as the next candidate come promise time. I need those women voters!
Being the increasingly unpopular white male Anglo-Saxon Protestant, who believes in all things associated with being, well, let's face it - white male and keeping it that way, I figured to get a ringer, someone who can tip the scales in the direction I need it to go, so I need a prominent non-white male as a running chummy. Danny Glover was a possibility, but he went and got all buddy-buddy with Hugo Chavez and since Hugo got "all medieval" with Exxon, I had to give Danny the boot. Baytown IS Exxon territory after all. I'm for keeping it real.
I need an unspecified individual who can bridge the gap; someone who can push me over the top; someone like Samuel L. Jackson! He's a man to be reckoned with and nobody's sweetheart when it comes to having a strong arm when it's needed. Know what I mean? Did y'all see how he handled that problem on the plane with all the snakes? That's what I'm talking about. He's my military vote getter – him or Chuck Norris.
Did you notice how I said "y'all"? That's right – the Southern vote is already in the poke sack.
Or maybe I could get Carlos Mencia. He's got charisma to spare and has a primetime cable show, so he's a real contender in my book. He has a lot of acting experience and since this Oval Office thingy requires a bit of theatrics, I could take lessons from him. I was thinking about getting Roger Clements for my number two, but boy, he has a temper! We have to stay levelheaded in front of the cameras, so sorry, Roger, I'll have to strike you.
"Hey, wait a minute; oh say that again. You're in the dust drawing a long straight line"
I actually have a full crowd-pleasing platform and I'll develop it further as we get closer to the actual Election Day (November something). One thing I'm big on is securing the borders – that's a given. I'm for taxing the ultra-rich (someone like Bill Gates) and giving the rest of us our money back. I'm for stem and seed research (who isn't?) and I'm for cheaper description drugs and Heath bar care that is paid for by foreign conquests.
I'm for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness and Capitalism. In my administration, I will encourage jobs and encourage education. Why, I'll just become the "Great Encourager"! Of course, I'll have to bulk up, trim down, speed up, look younger and run faster than my opponent John McCain and those other slackers and that's where my special Coffee Cup sales will come in handy.
Personal trainers and HGH injections are not cheap.
Order your cup today http://www.cafepress.com/ourbay.104073955
Lyrics: Bruce Hornsby
They are very Presidential and patriotic looking and sure to get me elected. My platform opener is "If you vote for me and buy a coffee cup, I will vote for your special interests". My plan is to make a lot of money (that I do not have to account for) and truly represent my prostrate minions. I plan to be honest and straightforward. I'm for change. I'm for a lot of change. In fact, I'm drawing the line in the dust with my promises, so there will be no confusion.
"Hey, wait a minute, what's that you said? Not so sure that I heard you right"
One of my original plans was to try and get Oprah Winfrey to run as my Vice-P, but she's went and thrown in with 'those guys" and that pretty much knocked her out as a choice. I wanted Oprah for her ability to influence female voters – especially white female voters, something I recognized as an asset. Hey! I may look goofy at times, but rest assured, I'm as slippery as the next candidate come promise time. I need those women voters!
Being the increasingly unpopular white male Anglo-Saxon Protestant, who believes in all things associated with being, well, let's face it - white male and keeping it that way, I figured to get a ringer, someone who can tip the scales in the direction I need it to go, so I need a prominent non-white male as a running chummy. Danny Glover was a possibility, but he went and got all buddy-buddy with Hugo Chavez and since Hugo got "all medieval" with Exxon, I had to give Danny the boot. Baytown IS Exxon territory after all. I'm for keeping it real.
I need an unspecified individual who can bridge the gap; someone who can push me over the top; someone like Samuel L. Jackson! He's a man to be reckoned with and nobody's sweetheart when it comes to having a strong arm when it's needed. Know what I mean? Did y'all see how he handled that problem on the plane with all the snakes? That's what I'm talking about. He's my military vote getter – him or Chuck Norris.
Did you notice how I said "y'all"? That's right – the Southern vote is already in the poke sack.
Or maybe I could get Carlos Mencia. He's got charisma to spare and has a primetime cable show, so he's a real contender in my book. He has a lot of acting experience and since this Oval Office thingy requires a bit of theatrics, I could take lessons from him. I was thinking about getting Roger Clements for my number two, but boy, he has a temper! We have to stay levelheaded in front of the cameras, so sorry, Roger, I'll have to strike you.
"Hey, wait a minute; oh say that again. You're in the dust drawing a long straight line"
I actually have a full crowd-pleasing platform and I'll develop it further as we get closer to the actual Election Day (November something). One thing I'm big on is securing the borders – that's a given. I'm for taxing the ultra-rich (someone like Bill Gates) and giving the rest of us our money back. I'm for stem and seed research (who isn't?) and I'm for cheaper description drugs and Heath bar care that is paid for by foreign conquests.
I'm for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness and Capitalism. In my administration, I will encourage jobs and encourage education. Why, I'll just become the "Great Encourager"! Of course, I'll have to bulk up, trim down, speed up, look younger and run faster than my opponent John McCain and those other slackers and that's where my special Coffee Cup sales will come in handy.
Personal trainers and HGH injections are not cheap.
Order your cup today http://www.cafepress.com/ourbay.104073955
Lyrics: Bruce Hornsby
Saturday, February 09, 2008
The Girl in the Swing
My bride is out of town this weekend and I have the house to myself, well sort of. My son is in from Austin and my beautiful daughter drops in and out often, so I am not even close to being alone. It does feel like it though – without her.
It was about this time, 31 years ago, that I stood in her front yard in old Pelly and watched her glide past me on the swing her Dad had installed on the limb of their giant cottonwood tree…and realized she was the one I wanted to spend my life with. She was and still is my “girl in the swing” and I still see her in that light.
She truly is the love of my life and my Valentine and she rarely leaves my side to pursue her own gratification. This weekend is one of those times and I must confess I miss her.
Every time my lady abandons me to have a retreat with her lady friends I go into a pity party that is plainly self-possessed and self-destructive. Last night for supper I ate copious amounts of cheese dip with Rotel’s habanera salsa and Tostito’s…twice. Pitiful and stupid, it was. It dawned on me this morning that without her, I would go downhill even faster than I already am. She keeps me on track. There is no way she would allow this delectable taste-thrill to pass for a nutritious supper.
A couple of times a year, she forsakes her home duties (and me!) and blasts off with her sister, sister-in-law and favorite lady friends for a refreshing time of laughing and fellowship and I actually encourage her. I cannot fulfill those lady things all women need and can only get from other women and I know it well. Men are a poor substitute for that inexplicable need women possess to “share” with other women. Men aren’t even in the equation.
Women have needs and it’s not what men think or understand. It’s women sharing their lives, desires, drama and secrets with each other, something that I personally ain’t gonna do with another man and don’t care to even think about. Women need other women and I know this, but it doesn’t make it any easier for me to share my bride. She spoiled me and in a roundabout way, it’s her fault I feel this dependency.
I sleep terribly when she’s gone and I did last night. I usually fall asleep about seven or eight pm, sleep like a baby (except I do not suck my thumb or wear a Depends) and arise somewhere between three and four am. I’m a morning person and by the time the day is wearing long, I hit the sack thinking about the morning with anticipation. Last night I dreaded my lonesome, wifeless bed and finally crashed and burned about ten pm, only to plop out, eyes vacant, to an empty house at three-something.
Thursday night, knowing she was going up Huntsville way Friday morning, I had another realistic and mysterious-sounding dream and I even threw it out for comments on the Baytown Sun forum to see what folks thought. Secretly I knew the answer, but here goes.
“I had a dream last night that I was arrested in Huntsville for littering. I wasn't guilty and resisted and the cops beat me until I needed a wheelchair to get around (temporarily).
I was sentenced to 90 days in the Huntsville jail and this is where the dream began.
I was pushing myself around in the wheelchair thinking how unjust the whole situation was. There was nothing weird about the dream and it was very real. Weird… huh?”
I awoke Friday morning feeling grouchy and I admit, selfish about my bride leaving. I’m a mess, a man-mess and deserve a sound thrashing, I know. Don’t pity me. Scold me. Kick me. I’m a bad boy, eating all that cheese-dip and stuff. I need to grow up and realize my lady deserves her downtime. Now - onto the meaning of the dream.
Let me see if I interpreted this dream correctly and you be the judge. My wife’s friends are the police and by taking my bride from me, I am not only blameless, but victimized and imprisoned at home and crippled(!) for what feels like three months…right? Right!
Guess I’ll go dig up a little breakfast. A double-decker Moon Pie and sausage links dipped in cheese sauce…again.
It was about this time, 31 years ago, that I stood in her front yard in old Pelly and watched her glide past me on the swing her Dad had installed on the limb of their giant cottonwood tree…and realized she was the one I wanted to spend my life with. She was and still is my “girl in the swing” and I still see her in that light.
She truly is the love of my life and my Valentine and she rarely leaves my side to pursue her own gratification. This weekend is one of those times and I must confess I miss her.
Every time my lady abandons me to have a retreat with her lady friends I go into a pity party that is plainly self-possessed and self-destructive. Last night for supper I ate copious amounts of cheese dip with Rotel’s habanera salsa and Tostito’s…twice. Pitiful and stupid, it was. It dawned on me this morning that without her, I would go downhill even faster than I already am. She keeps me on track. There is no way she would allow this delectable taste-thrill to pass for a nutritious supper.
A couple of times a year, she forsakes her home duties (and me!) and blasts off with her sister, sister-in-law and favorite lady friends for a refreshing time of laughing and fellowship and I actually encourage her. I cannot fulfill those lady things all women need and can only get from other women and I know it well. Men are a poor substitute for that inexplicable need women possess to “share” with other women. Men aren’t even in the equation.
Women have needs and it’s not what men think or understand. It’s women sharing their lives, desires, drama and secrets with each other, something that I personally ain’t gonna do with another man and don’t care to even think about. Women need other women and I know this, but it doesn’t make it any easier for me to share my bride. She spoiled me and in a roundabout way, it’s her fault I feel this dependency.
I sleep terribly when she’s gone and I did last night. I usually fall asleep about seven or eight pm, sleep like a baby (except I do not suck my thumb or wear a Depends) and arise somewhere between three and four am. I’m a morning person and by the time the day is wearing long, I hit the sack thinking about the morning with anticipation. Last night I dreaded my lonesome, wifeless bed and finally crashed and burned about ten pm, only to plop out, eyes vacant, to an empty house at three-something.
Thursday night, knowing she was going up Huntsville way Friday morning, I had another realistic and mysterious-sounding dream and I even threw it out for comments on the Baytown Sun forum to see what folks thought. Secretly I knew the answer, but here goes.
“I had a dream last night that I was arrested in Huntsville for littering. I wasn't guilty and resisted and the cops beat me until I needed a wheelchair to get around (temporarily).
I was sentenced to 90 days in the Huntsville jail and this is where the dream began.
I was pushing myself around in the wheelchair thinking how unjust the whole situation was. There was nothing weird about the dream and it was very real. Weird… huh?”
I awoke Friday morning feeling grouchy and I admit, selfish about my bride leaving. I’m a mess, a man-mess and deserve a sound thrashing, I know. Don’t pity me. Scold me. Kick me. I’m a bad boy, eating all that cheese-dip and stuff. I need to grow up and realize my lady deserves her downtime. Now - onto the meaning of the dream.
Let me see if I interpreted this dream correctly and you be the judge. My wife’s friends are the police and by taking my bride from me, I am not only blameless, but victimized and imprisoned at home and crippled(!) for what feels like three months…right? Right!
Guess I’ll go dig up a little breakfast. A double-decker Moon Pie and sausage links dipped in cheese sauce…again.
Saturday, February 02, 2008
This years nominees are…
Working in the same Plant for many years has made me an expert people observer and I would be willing to bet my personal Super Bowl football pot winnings from today's game, that others share like observations in each Chemical Plant on the ship channel.
My favorite category is of course, Drama - with Comedic performances taking a close second. Sometimes the two are so closely entwined, only a seasoned audience can tell them apart. Come to think of it, I imagine most administrative offices experience the same behavior, but in a basically male dominated Chemical Plant industry , the participants get little or no mercy from the audience. Men are very harsh judges of other men and yes sometimes they are downright cruel.
This year is starting off with a whole host of potential Oscar nominees and I might have to call in help to keep it all straight come awards time. One of the current front-runners is an aging athletic rotundic fella who is obviously and expressively sickish at least 4 times a year.
February has just begun and he's already ten days into his first presentation…and this exhibition of sickness is maybe one of his best performances!
I'm thinking "Oscar" in at least three (maybe four) categories. Drama, Comedic performance and Sound effects are shoe-ins, as no one has ever come close to getting four, at least not since my compadre "Maximum Bob" retired. My Buddy Bob, who I affectionately named Maximum Bob was, well, maximum in everything he did.
My favorite category is of course, Drama - with Comedic performances taking a close second. Sometimes the two are so closely entwined, only a seasoned audience can tell them apart. Come to think of it, I imagine most administrative offices experience the same behavior, but in a basically male dominated Chemical Plant industry , the participants get little or no mercy from the audience. Men are very harsh judges of other men and yes sometimes they are downright cruel.
This year is starting off with a whole host of potential Oscar nominees and I might have to call in help to keep it all straight come awards time. One of the current front-runners is an aging athletic rotundic fella who is obviously and expressively sickish at least 4 times a year.
February has just begun and he's already ten days into his first presentation…and this exhibition of sickness is maybe one of his best performances!
I'm thinking "Oscar" in at least three (maybe four) categories. Drama, Comedic performance and Sound effects are shoe-ins, as no one has ever come close to getting four, at least not since my compadre "Maximum Bob" retired. My Buddy Bob, who I affectionately named Maximum Bob was, well, maximum in everything he did.
On any given day, Bob would come into work in the most wrinkled pair of Nomex coveralls ever seen, hair askew, face unshaven, shoes untied and in bad need of 14 or 15 cups of coffee (his usual). He would be literally dragging a bag full of various accouterments, but most of all, his treasured one-gallon freezer bag of prescription medicines.
At some time soon after his arrival, he would dig through the freezer bag while mumbling and with no apparent order, or amount, self-medicate. No rhyme or reason which container he opened was apparent to us, even if we watched closely and no manifest change in his demeanor or obvious symptoms developed throughout the day. This was "Sick Bob" and we knew and loved him well.
The next day Max Bob would burst through the control room door, bag over his shoulder, spring in his step and an Exxon Styrofoam cuppa Joe in his hand. His hair would be greased down Fonzie-style, uniform neatly pressed and even his shoes were tied. He would head directly for the locker room, much to everyone's dismay and shortly appear with his tool belt, gloves and with channel locks in hand; out the door he would go. Make relief - NO, he didn't need no stinking relief; he was on a mission from god!
Shortly after this, alarms would start to sound as Max Bob uncovered one mystery after another in his quest for excellence. The guys running the Control Panel did not like Max Bob as much as they did Sick Bob.
My favorite was "Dancing Bob". Dancing Bob was quite the exhibitionist and in his mind, an excellent dancer. I worked with Max Bob for about 15 years and as far as I could tell, there wasn't anything in particular that could trigger Dancing Bob onto the scene. Dancing Bob was a cross between John Travolta and Tom Bombadil from "Lord of the Rings" lore.
The first sign that Dancing Bob was on the scene was certain music would set him off. When this happened, DB would make an "O" with his lips, hunch his shoulders and hold both hands out in front of him, with thumbs up. Inevitably, you would hear someone say "Dear Lord" and off DB would go into one of his self-taught crouching tiger and feet shuffling dance moves.
I saw DB numerous times and at least twice he got so wound up that he disrobed completely. It was a gruesome and ghastly sight to see as he took our objective and embarrassed screaming as encouragement. The wildest incident took place in front of at least 10 people and involved the inspirational song "Chariots of Fire", one which we all agreed never need be played again in DB's presence.
Although my buddy Bob was a kind hearted fellow and a Purple Heart recipient from his Army days in Vietnam, he could also be provoked into assuming "Mean Bob" and MB was no one to truck with. He was grouchy. We much preferred "Hungry Bob". HB had peculiar eating habits. My first real encounter with Bob's alter-ego HB, took place early one morning, when I watched him heat up a plate of mustard sardines in the microwave and eat them while gnawing on a whole purple onion, apple-style.
A reoccurring comment in the lunchroom was whether Hungry Bob would eat this or that, which was left in the refrigerator. No one would take bets though and HB one time told me he had eaten a rat sandwich, while in Vietnam. I believed him. Heckfire, we all believed him. "Hey, you gonna eat that"?
Yeah, we have a few front-runners already this year here at the Plant for Academy Awards, but they remember a legacy that will be difficult to meet. Our friend Bob (is it any surprise he is a Bob?) is out there somewhere and even if you don't know him personally, you know someone just like him…now, don't you?
At some time soon after his arrival, he would dig through the freezer bag while mumbling and with no apparent order, or amount, self-medicate. No rhyme or reason which container he opened was apparent to us, even if we watched closely and no manifest change in his demeanor or obvious symptoms developed throughout the day. This was "Sick Bob" and we knew and loved him well.
The next day Max Bob would burst through the control room door, bag over his shoulder, spring in his step and an Exxon Styrofoam cuppa Joe in his hand. His hair would be greased down Fonzie-style, uniform neatly pressed and even his shoes were tied. He would head directly for the locker room, much to everyone's dismay and shortly appear with his tool belt, gloves and with channel locks in hand; out the door he would go. Make relief - NO, he didn't need no stinking relief; he was on a mission from god!
Shortly after this, alarms would start to sound as Max Bob uncovered one mystery after another in his quest for excellence. The guys running the Control Panel did not like Max Bob as much as they did Sick Bob.
My favorite was "Dancing Bob". Dancing Bob was quite the exhibitionist and in his mind, an excellent dancer. I worked with Max Bob for about 15 years and as far as I could tell, there wasn't anything in particular that could trigger Dancing Bob onto the scene. Dancing Bob was a cross between John Travolta and Tom Bombadil from "Lord of the Rings" lore.
The first sign that Dancing Bob was on the scene was certain music would set him off. When this happened, DB would make an "O" with his lips, hunch his shoulders and hold both hands out in front of him, with thumbs up. Inevitably, you would hear someone say "Dear Lord" and off DB would go into one of his self-taught crouching tiger and feet shuffling dance moves.
I saw DB numerous times and at least twice he got so wound up that he disrobed completely. It was a gruesome and ghastly sight to see as he took our objective and embarrassed screaming as encouragement. The wildest incident took place in front of at least 10 people and involved the inspirational song "Chariots of Fire", one which we all agreed never need be played again in DB's presence.
Although my buddy Bob was a kind hearted fellow and a Purple Heart recipient from his Army days in Vietnam, he could also be provoked into assuming "Mean Bob" and MB was no one to truck with. He was grouchy. We much preferred "Hungry Bob". HB had peculiar eating habits. My first real encounter with Bob's alter-ego HB, took place early one morning, when I watched him heat up a plate of mustard sardines in the microwave and eat them while gnawing on a whole purple onion, apple-style.
A reoccurring comment in the lunchroom was whether Hungry Bob would eat this or that, which was left in the refrigerator. No one would take bets though and HB one time told me he had eaten a rat sandwich, while in Vietnam. I believed him. Heckfire, we all believed him. "Hey, you gonna eat that"?
Yeah, we have a few front-runners already this year here at the Plant for Academy Awards, but they remember a legacy that will be difficult to meet. Our friend Bob (is it any surprise he is a Bob?) is out there somewhere and even if you don't know him personally, you know someone just like him…now, don't you?
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Looking for the Philosopher's Stone
Last week I wrote about my love of Neil Young and his folk/rock music and within a few days I was called-out as an "old man" on the Baytown Sun Forum, albeit in reference to my article, which they read, but it kinda shocked me too. Like Steve Zissou said "It may be true, but it still hurts. It hurts bad". I'm 55 and yes, I realize I am old. Is it that obvious?
Within this same week I received a letter from Granny Adcock, our Highlands jewel and she always assures me I am a "young-un" along with many other words of support, so I guess it all balances out. Thanks, Granny; you are truly a blessing to us, almost one foot on a banana skin geezer columnists (read - Jim Finley and I).
My son tells me his longtime buddy Bryan "Peanut" White reads all my articles and this brings me mild surprise and also assurance that maybe I haven't lost my youthful touchstone/karma. Peanut, wherever you are – thank you for humoring an old feller in his last golden days. I promised Nick I would give you 2 thumbs up from now on.
One of the many outspoken process operators at my Chemical Plant, who is a "Devil dog Marine in reserve" (someone who at one time served with honor in the USMC), now in his late fifties and still strutting his stuff was put down decisively the other day as a "washed-up old man", by one of the younger operators. I guess his Marine mojo has faded and he doesn't even know it… Poor fellow. Semper Fi anyway, my hat's off to him.
My beautiful and talented daughter Melody is attempting to turn me into a cultured and coiffed man (read – probable impossible task) and has provided me with a couple of liters of hair-growth shampoo and conditioner. I supposedly have a smallish area on the back of my head that is slightly thinning (read – barren as a cueball and the size of a grapefruit) and this topical panacea will remove my social stigma and restore this fallow field to it's former state of rich and full lustrous growth (according to the label on the bottle it will grow hair on an onion, or something – it was smudged). I want Billy Mays hair!
I see myself as a lump of coal, not a diamond, so if it happens…well, fine, but if not, then okeedokee – no damage done. I wouldn't want all those folks at the Baytown Sun to get me confused with someone polished and dignified, like Garry Brumback and Don Coffey or heckfire, even that handsome Peter Fonda look alike T-Bone Schaffer.
As I've said before, I'm more of a fashion terrorist with my shorts, hairy legs and sandals than a model for the cover of GQ magazine and I have to admit, often an embarrassment to my bride. What I need is the Philosopher's Stone, that alchemist's dream medium that can turn me into something totally opposite of what I am wont to be. Then I could be someone special. I could be a trendsetter! Yes!
With my new bushy hair and feet shod in shiny new Crocs, I could saunter down to Starbucks with the best of them. Folks would comment that it looked like I was a millionaire, or something. Of course, I'd have to get one of those Apple iPod telephone thingamagiggies, so I could whip it out while waiting for my double espresso-choco-latte with extra sprinkles and stuff…
I would get a tattoo of Chinese letters (never mind what it actually says, as until Baytown fills up with genuine Chinese-reading people, it's just cool looking and cryptic) and I would get it in a mysterious place, so I could tell folks who ask... and they would.
Maybe I'll take a drive over to Florida to see if I can find something Ol' Ponce de Leon might have missed. I read on the Internet that the actual "Fountain of Youth" is really there, just a well-kept secret. Based on the Geico commercial with Joan Rivers, I think there might be some truth to it too.
Of course I will just have to take a lot of vitamins and work out vigorously. Sheesh, that goes without saying, but since this is so obviously the answer and heretofore has evaded me, I just had to mention it. I think about an hour a day on the "stairmaster " will do the trick – wait a minute! I walked up real stairs for about 5 minutes and almost dropped my uppers! Who am I kidding?
I told my bride that folks simply expect me to be me and they are never disappointed, so until the day I wake up and all my lead has turned into gold…I'll just continue on being me.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Climbing Jacob's Ladder
Recently I caught a glimpse of a new TV program called "Dancing experts compete against each other using amateurs" or something. It took me all of 2 seconds (looking at the remote control buttons) to change the channel. I guess I'm not alone in wondering where television programming went wrong.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Peace Love and Dope?
I guess I became a folk music fan sometime around 1971, but I didn’t know it was folk music that was spinning my young American ears. I was a rock and roll guy - not country and to this day I eschew country music like it is something distasteful…I’m sorry, but that’s just the way I see it.
I was about 18, stationed in Great Falls, Montana, far from home and I remember Neil Young launched an album called "Harvest" and I would sit in my barracks room and listen to Ol' Neil wail out those lonely lyrics and feel his words tear through me like a dry wind out of the desert. One song in particular hit me hard. It was "Old Man", a song about something I didn't really understand. I do now, for I am rapidly realizing my own mortality.
Neil wrote it after meeting an older fellow up in Idaho who just couldn't understand how a young hippie musician could afford to buy so many things, especially real estate in Idaho, when he himself had toiled all those years trying to eke out a living.
Old man, look at my life, twenty four and there’s so much more
Live alone in a paradise that makes me think of two.
Neil, in his usual self-effacing manner told the man that he "was just lucky I guess" and left it at that. I wish I was more like Neil Young in that respect. Neil has weathered the storm of his occupation and is still in my top ten artist’s folder.
My life is a record with occasional poor decisions, but don’t feel sorry for me as I have taken steps to correct them. I learned the good old-fashioned hard way. And I’m not proud of some of it at all, but in order to qualify my current views of life, I will relate a portion, a dark time in my life. I hope for your sake that you can learn from my mistakes.
Like I said before, I was an Airman in the Strategic Air Command and the Vietnam War came for me. Orders came down sending me to Danang airbase, South Vietnam. Like so many young men in uniform, I was off to war. The 70's were a tough time to be a young person in the military and not because of the war, but because of the emerging dope scene and the way it was being projected as the answer. The news reports told stories about Willie Nelson bragging about smoking dope on the roof of the White House with secret service men and every Hollywood Star talking about how they get high on a regular basis and above all of that - cheap dope for G.I.'s in far away exotic places.
I finally gave into the temptation and yes, I bought into it. I embraced the lifestyle because it was the thing to do and above all – everyone else was doing it, a philosophy I learned to regret and to this day it is one of the main reasons I resist following the crowd.
I learned first hand about White Horse methamphetamine, Thai stick, mescaline, red rock heroin, Robilar RC cough medicine, mescaline, Window pane acid, PCP, Orange Sunshine, bongs, pipes and how to roll a one-handed joint with strawberry papers. I saw my buddies scratch themselves raw from heroin withdrawals and on occasion watched perfectly good American boys puke their guts out from an allergic reaction to the opium in the Thai stick they tried to ingest through a bong.
I caught you knockin' at my cellar door
I love you, baby, can I have some more
Ooh, ooh, the damage done.
I learned about delusional behavior and how a person can work 16 hour days, stay up all night and repeat it again and again only to "crash" and collapse when a day off finally was granted. Normal behavior was getting high 99% of the time and working 100% of the time. Lunch was a couple of joints and 3 cans of beer. Rock music was the thread that helped all of us cope with the many miles of smoke, alcohol and copious back-breaking long hours of work.
I was invited one time into the bungalow of a fellow G.I. to listen to music and the bare walls of his abode were lined with the empty bottles of high powered cough medicine - Robular RC out of England. 49% alcohol and 8% codeine if memory serves me right. This fellow weighed about 130 pounds sopping wet and him about 6 foot tall. I remember we listened to Texas musician Johnny Winter sing his early rendition of Rock and Roll Hootchie Koo, a song Rick Derringer later made famous.
I hit the city and I lost my band
I watched the needle take another man
Gone, gone, the damage done.
The keyboardist for the band “The Doors”, Ray Manzarek in a TV interview said something I will never forget, he said we were right about peace and love, but we missed it on the drugs. I agree with him 100 %. Music played a big part in my descent into the drug world, but in retrospect, it wasn’t the music, it was the culture, the times and my deliberate association. I still listen to Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd and appreciate the music and the talent more than ever; I just don’t include dope. I’ve been clean since 1975.
Long live American music, live as peacefully as possible, but leave the dope to the dopes.
I was about 18, stationed in Great Falls, Montana, far from home and I remember Neil Young launched an album called "Harvest" and I would sit in my barracks room and listen to Ol' Neil wail out those lonely lyrics and feel his words tear through me like a dry wind out of the desert. One song in particular hit me hard. It was "Old Man", a song about something I didn't really understand. I do now, for I am rapidly realizing my own mortality.
Neil wrote it after meeting an older fellow up in Idaho who just couldn't understand how a young hippie musician could afford to buy so many things, especially real estate in Idaho, when he himself had toiled all those years trying to eke out a living.
Old man, look at my life, twenty four and there’s so much more
Live alone in a paradise that makes me think of two.
Neil, in his usual self-effacing manner told the man that he "was just lucky I guess" and left it at that. I wish I was more like Neil Young in that respect. Neil has weathered the storm of his occupation and is still in my top ten artist’s folder.
My life is a record with occasional poor decisions, but don’t feel sorry for me as I have taken steps to correct them. I learned the good old-fashioned hard way. And I’m not proud of some of it at all, but in order to qualify my current views of life, I will relate a portion, a dark time in my life. I hope for your sake that you can learn from my mistakes.
Like I said before, I was an Airman in the Strategic Air Command and the Vietnam War came for me. Orders came down sending me to Danang airbase, South Vietnam. Like so many young men in uniform, I was off to war. The 70's were a tough time to be a young person in the military and not because of the war, but because of the emerging dope scene and the way it was being projected as the answer. The news reports told stories about Willie Nelson bragging about smoking dope on the roof of the White House with secret service men and every Hollywood Star talking about how they get high on a regular basis and above all of that - cheap dope for G.I.'s in far away exotic places.
I finally gave into the temptation and yes, I bought into it. I embraced the lifestyle because it was the thing to do and above all – everyone else was doing it, a philosophy I learned to regret and to this day it is one of the main reasons I resist following the crowd.
I learned first hand about White Horse methamphetamine, Thai stick, mescaline, red rock heroin, Robilar RC cough medicine, mescaline, Window pane acid, PCP, Orange Sunshine, bongs, pipes and how to roll a one-handed joint with strawberry papers. I saw my buddies scratch themselves raw from heroin withdrawals and on occasion watched perfectly good American boys puke their guts out from an allergic reaction to the opium in the Thai stick they tried to ingest through a bong.
I caught you knockin' at my cellar door
I love you, baby, can I have some more
Ooh, ooh, the damage done.
I learned about delusional behavior and how a person can work 16 hour days, stay up all night and repeat it again and again only to "crash" and collapse when a day off finally was granted. Normal behavior was getting high 99% of the time and working 100% of the time. Lunch was a couple of joints and 3 cans of beer. Rock music was the thread that helped all of us cope with the many miles of smoke, alcohol and copious back-breaking long hours of work.
I was invited one time into the bungalow of a fellow G.I. to listen to music and the bare walls of his abode were lined with the empty bottles of high powered cough medicine - Robular RC out of England. 49% alcohol and 8% codeine if memory serves me right. This fellow weighed about 130 pounds sopping wet and him about 6 foot tall. I remember we listened to Texas musician Johnny Winter sing his early rendition of Rock and Roll Hootchie Koo, a song Rick Derringer later made famous.
I hit the city and I lost my band
I watched the needle take another man
Gone, gone, the damage done.
The keyboardist for the band “The Doors”, Ray Manzarek in a TV interview said something I will never forget, he said we were right about peace and love, but we missed it on the drugs. I agree with him 100 %. Music played a big part in my descent into the drug world, but in retrospect, it wasn’t the music, it was the culture, the times and my deliberate association. I still listen to Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd and appreciate the music and the talent more than ever; I just don’t include dope. I’ve been clean since 1975.
Long live American music, live as peacefully as possible, but leave the dope to the dopes.
Sunday, January 06, 2008
Enter the disposable relationship
I am perplexed by a mystery and it continues to baffle me. I don’t like to be baffled and I’m not sure I can solve this one. I’m talking about the tragic personal relationship epidemic our country as a whole, friends and acquaintances are experiencing with intimate relationships and the failure of this once written-in-stone desirable lifestyle.
I’m the kind of person who mulls and sifts information ad nauseum. I just can’t let things go and I’m reminded of this daily by my bride, most especially when I’m irritated about something – something that ‘gets my goat” – which it appears is quite often. Too often.
“Met a girl, thought she was grand - fell in love, found out first hand - went well for a week or two - then it all came unglued”
For a few years now, I’ve ruminated on why people can’t “stay in love” anymore. It used to be common to see the same two people year after year at functions and they had their obvious ups and downs, no sweat. Everyone knew they were “a pair” and when you saw one, you automatically looked for the other.
What I now hear is women think all men are trash and liars, with no substance and no chance of changing. The men I talk to at work (who for the most part are twice/ thrice divorced) think the very same thing about women in general (and I mean wholesale general). Both sexes share the same experiences of lying, cheating boy/girlfriends, mates, husbands and wives. The hate their Ex’s and one fellow told me his Ex makes sure she finds a way to make his life miserable every single day, even though they’ve been divorced 14 years. He stated in earnest “I would shoot her if I could get away with it”.
They speak of the opposite sex spewing anger and hatred. I can’t write the harsh words that are used to describe the opposite sex in general, when it comes to pointing out fault. Both men and women tell me they are not the problem in the relationship.
“She was queen for about an hour - after that (everything) got sour - she took all I ever had - no sign of guilt - no feeling of bad, no”
“All men are (insert an expletive)”! “All women are (think of the something real bad and it goes here)”! “See that little kid over there? They will grow up only to cheat and lie and break someone’s heart”, I was told by someone a few days ago.
Frankly, I am appalled by this degradation of social interaction between sexes. I don’t have experience in this arena though and if I did, I might be more sympathetic or sympathetic period.
I received this email message from a high school friend the other day “Hi, by the way, my boss kicked his fiancée' to the curb this weekend” and on another mailing list I Admin, was this: “Just wanted to let y’all know that the engagement is off. He’s not over his Ex”. What?
I asked my High School peers how a man can love a woman and still kick her to the curb and I was informed in so many words that I did not understand the word “love”. I argued that I well knew what love is (reminded me of Forrest Gump’s plea to Jenny) and the difference in my view is based on my commitment of love to my bride, not a hormonal blast that goes bye-bye the first time there is a disagreement.
These two email messages are not isolated incidents, but indicative of the shallowness of current standards of commitment in my book. Sorry, but after 30 years of marriage and my many attempts to correct my own poor efforts at maintaining a relationship, I realize that both parties have to do their share, which means about 90% of the work each, to keep their partner happy. I know my bride works very hard at it, because she tells me I make it difficult for her…and I am the guilty party.
“In a trapped trip I can't grip - never thought I’d be the one who'd slip - then I started to realize - I was living one big lie”
Yes. I said it. I am my own worst enemy in our relationship. I make poor decisions sometimes. I jump to conclusions. I make angry outbursts. I say things in anger that are not true. I pass the buck and unfairly place blame. I introduce drama that would be better off left alone. I am the reason our relationship takes dips.
Is it really all my fault? No, it’s not, but I can belly up to the bar and take responsibility for my share of the relationship. I can go old-school retro-esque and act like a responsible caring man and set an example for my lady and children that they can be proud of, or I can “git some” for myself and “who cares what others think, cause I looked out for number one”.
It’s up to me to make or break my relationship.
Lyrics by Puddle of Mudd – She hates me (warning- explicit)
I’m the kind of person who mulls and sifts information ad nauseum. I just can’t let things go and I’m reminded of this daily by my bride, most especially when I’m irritated about something – something that ‘gets my goat” – which it appears is quite often. Too often.
“Met a girl, thought she was grand - fell in love, found out first hand - went well for a week or two - then it all came unglued”
For a few years now, I’ve ruminated on why people can’t “stay in love” anymore. It used to be common to see the same two people year after year at functions and they had their obvious ups and downs, no sweat. Everyone knew they were “a pair” and when you saw one, you automatically looked for the other.
What I now hear is women think all men are trash and liars, with no substance and no chance of changing. The men I talk to at work (who for the most part are twice/ thrice divorced) think the very same thing about women in general (and I mean wholesale general). Both sexes share the same experiences of lying, cheating boy/girlfriends, mates, husbands and wives. The hate their Ex’s and one fellow told me his Ex makes sure she finds a way to make his life miserable every single day, even though they’ve been divorced 14 years. He stated in earnest “I would shoot her if I could get away with it”.
They speak of the opposite sex spewing anger and hatred. I can’t write the harsh words that are used to describe the opposite sex in general, when it comes to pointing out fault. Both men and women tell me they are not the problem in the relationship.
“She was queen for about an hour - after that (everything) got sour - she took all I ever had - no sign of guilt - no feeling of bad, no”
“All men are (insert an expletive)”! “All women are (think of the something real bad and it goes here)”! “See that little kid over there? They will grow up only to cheat and lie and break someone’s heart”, I was told by someone a few days ago.
Frankly, I am appalled by this degradation of social interaction between sexes. I don’t have experience in this arena though and if I did, I might be more sympathetic or sympathetic period.
I received this email message from a high school friend the other day “Hi, by the way, my boss kicked his fiancée' to the curb this weekend” and on another mailing list I Admin, was this: “Just wanted to let y’all know that the engagement is off. He’s not over his Ex”. What?
I asked my High School peers how a man can love a woman and still kick her to the curb and I was informed in so many words that I did not understand the word “love”. I argued that I well knew what love is (reminded me of Forrest Gump’s plea to Jenny) and the difference in my view is based on my commitment of love to my bride, not a hormonal blast that goes bye-bye the first time there is a disagreement.
These two email messages are not isolated incidents, but indicative of the shallowness of current standards of commitment in my book. Sorry, but after 30 years of marriage and my many attempts to correct my own poor efforts at maintaining a relationship, I realize that both parties have to do their share, which means about 90% of the work each, to keep their partner happy. I know my bride works very hard at it, because she tells me I make it difficult for her…and I am the guilty party.
“In a trapped trip I can't grip - never thought I’d be the one who'd slip - then I started to realize - I was living one big lie”
Yes. I said it. I am my own worst enemy in our relationship. I make poor decisions sometimes. I jump to conclusions. I make angry outbursts. I say things in anger that are not true. I pass the buck and unfairly place blame. I introduce drama that would be better off left alone. I am the reason our relationship takes dips.
Is it really all my fault? No, it’s not, but I can belly up to the bar and take responsibility for my share of the relationship. I can go old-school retro-esque and act like a responsible caring man and set an example for my lady and children that they can be proud of, or I can “git some” for myself and “who cares what others think, cause I looked out for number one”.
It’s up to me to make or break my relationship.
Lyrics by Puddle of Mudd – She hates me (warning- explicit)
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Dreams, Fact or Fiction?
I must admit, I don't put a lot of credence in dreams, but occasionally; I have one that sticks with me and makes me wonder if there was more to it than a nighttime matinee.
Last week I had a curious dream that seemed very real. In it, I was hiking along with my 2 dogs (I only have one dog) when a medium sized brown dog attacked me. It came straight for me, with ears pulled back, teeth bared and the hair standing up on its back. It happened so fast, my 2 dogs did not respond.
I realized immediately it planned to viciously injure me, so reaching down, I grabbed a handful of the fluffy soil I was standing in and threw it straight into the eyes of the attacking dog. I remember doing it twice in rapid succession. This had a straightaway effect, by stopping the dog in its tracks.
I immediately felt satisfaction, having bested the dog using superior strategy and technique, but my victory was short-lived when I looked at the defeated dog and saw it in a helpless state.
Its ears were hanging down and its eyes and muzzle were packed with dirt. It was thoroughly defeated and humbled. My elation turned to guilt and sympathy as I recognized the poor dog was defeated and without my help, destined to fall prey and die.
The last thing I remember in this dream was looking around for a source of water to wash the dirt from the poor things eyes and taking it on as another friend.
What do you think of this dream and do you also have dreams that appear to be out of the ordinary?
I asked this pair of questions on a number of mailing lists and forums and a fellow Baytonian suggested the website www.dreammoods.com
Other interpretations, suggestions and comments from friends follow.
· I think it says a lot about you as a person. You do what you have to do in order to protect yourself. But, it doesn't mean you are proud of hurting others and still feel compassion for all life. One could draw a connection from this to Joe Horn. (Not that it's what it means to you).
· It sounds like a parable to me. The medium brown dog represents the immigrant element and you are torn between neutralizing the problem with a legal approach and the hurt it might cause those illegal aliens who are just trying to make a living and don't really understand the law of the US. I believe that Jesus uses parables because they reflect the parable nature of our dream life thereby communicating with both the conscious and the unconscious. Just a theory I came up with years ago when I noticed that dreams have a fable like symbolism. Perhaps it is representative of a conflict in your mind period. What it shows is that you are going to solve a problem and then deal with painful fallout later.
· Your two dogs are two people close to you. An outsider threatened your safety. Going into survival mode, you used something to neutralize the threat and attack their weakest area, but you are not sure if the threat is/was real. Now, in hopes of gaining another friend, you feel the need to mend a possible wrong doing on your part.
· Interesting dream, I often have dreams that come true. There have been many instances in my life where I have dreamed about certain events regarding family, or my life and they have come to pass. Some of them are warnings and some of them are good things about the future. I don't believe every dream I dream is a message but I have learned to distinguish the difference. Usually dreams that stick with you and you can't seem to shake it off are usually ones that are significant.
In summation, I have no idea what this dream has to do with reality, if anything, but it was interesting and not the run of the mill "bean" dream, so I thought I would pass it along.
Happy New Year to all in 2008! This year is almost history.
Last week I had a curious dream that seemed very real. In it, I was hiking along with my 2 dogs (I only have one dog) when a medium sized brown dog attacked me. It came straight for me, with ears pulled back, teeth bared and the hair standing up on its back. It happened so fast, my 2 dogs did not respond.
I realized immediately it planned to viciously injure me, so reaching down, I grabbed a handful of the fluffy soil I was standing in and threw it straight into the eyes of the attacking dog. I remember doing it twice in rapid succession. This had a straightaway effect, by stopping the dog in its tracks.
I immediately felt satisfaction, having bested the dog using superior strategy and technique, but my victory was short-lived when I looked at the defeated dog and saw it in a helpless state.
Its ears were hanging down and its eyes and muzzle were packed with dirt. It was thoroughly defeated and humbled. My elation turned to guilt and sympathy as I recognized the poor dog was defeated and without my help, destined to fall prey and die.
The last thing I remember in this dream was looking around for a source of water to wash the dirt from the poor things eyes and taking it on as another friend.
What do you think of this dream and do you also have dreams that appear to be out of the ordinary?
I asked this pair of questions on a number of mailing lists and forums and a fellow Baytonian suggested the website www.dreammoods.com
Other interpretations, suggestions and comments from friends follow.
· I think it says a lot about you as a person. You do what you have to do in order to protect yourself. But, it doesn't mean you are proud of hurting others and still feel compassion for all life. One could draw a connection from this to Joe Horn. (Not that it's what it means to you).
· It sounds like a parable to me. The medium brown dog represents the immigrant element and you are torn between neutralizing the problem with a legal approach and the hurt it might cause those illegal aliens who are just trying to make a living and don't really understand the law of the US. I believe that Jesus uses parables because they reflect the parable nature of our dream life thereby communicating with both the conscious and the unconscious. Just a theory I came up with years ago when I noticed that dreams have a fable like symbolism. Perhaps it is representative of a conflict in your mind period. What it shows is that you are going to solve a problem and then deal with painful fallout later.
· Your two dogs are two people close to you. An outsider threatened your safety. Going into survival mode, you used something to neutralize the threat and attack their weakest area, but you are not sure if the threat is/was real. Now, in hopes of gaining another friend, you feel the need to mend a possible wrong doing on your part.
· Interesting dream, I often have dreams that come true. There have been many instances in my life where I have dreamed about certain events regarding family, or my life and they have come to pass. Some of them are warnings and some of them are good things about the future. I don't believe every dream I dream is a message but I have learned to distinguish the difference. Usually dreams that stick with you and you can't seem to shake it off are usually ones that are significant.
In summation, I have no idea what this dream has to do with reality, if anything, but it was interesting and not the run of the mill "bean" dream, so I thought I would pass it along.
Happy New Year to all in 2008! This year is almost history.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Examining personal beliefs
Last week, in response to my sister's question, "Tell me what you don't believe", I pounded out a rather lengthy list. Here we are, a couple of days before Christmas and if there is one time in the year that I should put a positive foot forward, it's the Christmas season.
I believe that anyone who causes me to examine my beliefs is doing me a favor. Too many times in the past I allowed myself to be swayed by an "expert", only to find out down the line that by doing this, I put my own judgment in neutral.
I believe the average person of any country does not want their government interfering in their lives any more than is absolutely necessary, but want to be free to pursue a happy and meaningful existence, unhindered by over-regulation.
I believe a personal experience with Jesus Christ is something only those who have experienced can fathom. Folks who spend a great deal of energy trying to disprove the existence of God, will most likely come to a place in their life where they call out to him for mercy.
I believe men and women can only enjoy a monogamous relationship if both work at it daily. When both do their part, marriage is heaven on earth. It is a partnership of the most intimate kind and requires daily maintenance and a copious amount of patience.
I believe we as the decision making older generation, need to push for less general education in our schools and more technical vocational options. With three High schools, one of them should turn out students with practical money making trade skills, allowing them to move directly into the work force, or go on to college.
I believe if I were given a chance to go back in time and relive or change something in my past, I would decline the offer. I try to live each day as a learning experience and do my best to not repeat mistakes and wrong choices. I've made a lot of mistakes, but what has happened has happened.
I believe one of the wildest things I've ever heard of was my friend Kester Coleman being tricked into thinking he had won millions of dollars in the Texas Lottery. He was so convinced that he was on his way out of the Plant, when my coworkers finally had to tell him. KC is amongst the chosen few, who know what it feels like to win the lottery.
I believe I saw a little girl looking at Santa Claus at the company Christmas Party and her eyes said it all – there is Santa – right…THERE! By the look of wonder on her face, I was able to return to my own days of innocence.
I believe my sister and brothers are all successful because my strict mother made us pay room and board when we got jobs as teenagers – one third of our bring home pay and this contributed to the welfare of the family. All of us learned a strong work ethic and to this day are gainfully employed or retired. Thanks, Mom! I didn't understand it then, but you were right.
I believe that every person in a position of authority should spend a day as often as necessary, using a shovel in the hot sun. This is to help them remember what real work feels like and what the person on the bottom experiences. Attending countless meetings and calling that "work", makes for a mighty thin soup and I base this observation on personal experience.
I believe that for every policeman, schoolteacher, Boy Scout leader and preacher who does wrong and violates the honor of their profession, there are hundreds of good ones toiling silently and without recognition. It's time we recognized the good ones and restore trust in these fine professional endeavors.
I believe inside every person is the desire to do the right thing. A kind word of encouragement, a favor or a boost, a pat on the back or a helping hand is our gift to them and does more for a person than simply throwing money their way. However, I also believe anything worth having is worth working for.
I believe our community is and will be only as good as we make it. This next year is our chance to make a difference. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to one and all!
I believe that anyone who causes me to examine my beliefs is doing me a favor. Too many times in the past I allowed myself to be swayed by an "expert", only to find out down the line that by doing this, I put my own judgment in neutral.
I believe the average person of any country does not want their government interfering in their lives any more than is absolutely necessary, but want to be free to pursue a happy and meaningful existence, unhindered by over-regulation.
I believe a personal experience with Jesus Christ is something only those who have experienced can fathom. Folks who spend a great deal of energy trying to disprove the existence of God, will most likely come to a place in their life where they call out to him for mercy.
I believe men and women can only enjoy a monogamous relationship if both work at it daily. When both do their part, marriage is heaven on earth. It is a partnership of the most intimate kind and requires daily maintenance and a copious amount of patience.
I believe we as the decision making older generation, need to push for less general education in our schools and more technical vocational options. With three High schools, one of them should turn out students with practical money making trade skills, allowing them to move directly into the work force, or go on to college.
I believe if I were given a chance to go back in time and relive or change something in my past, I would decline the offer. I try to live each day as a learning experience and do my best to not repeat mistakes and wrong choices. I've made a lot of mistakes, but what has happened has happened.
I believe one of the wildest things I've ever heard of was my friend Kester Coleman being tricked into thinking he had won millions of dollars in the Texas Lottery. He was so convinced that he was on his way out of the Plant, when my coworkers finally had to tell him. KC is amongst the chosen few, who know what it feels like to win the lottery.
I believe I saw a little girl looking at Santa Claus at the company Christmas Party and her eyes said it all – there is Santa – right…THERE! By the look of wonder on her face, I was able to return to my own days of innocence.
I believe my sister and brothers are all successful because my strict mother made us pay room and board when we got jobs as teenagers – one third of our bring home pay and this contributed to the welfare of the family. All of us learned a strong work ethic and to this day are gainfully employed or retired. Thanks, Mom! I didn't understand it then, but you were right.
I believe that every person in a position of authority should spend a day as often as necessary, using a shovel in the hot sun. This is to help them remember what real work feels like and what the person on the bottom experiences. Attending countless meetings and calling that "work", makes for a mighty thin soup and I base this observation on personal experience.
I believe that for every policeman, schoolteacher, Boy Scout leader and preacher who does wrong and violates the honor of their profession, there are hundreds of good ones toiling silently and without recognition. It's time we recognized the good ones and restore trust in these fine professional endeavors.
I believe inside every person is the desire to do the right thing. A kind word of encouragement, a favor or a boost, a pat on the back or a helping hand is our gift to them and does more for a person than simply throwing money their way. However, I also believe anything worth having is worth working for.
I believe our community is and will be only as good as we make it. This next year is our chance to make a difference. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to one and all!
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Sorry, but I don’t believe that.
My wife tells me I am the kind of person who doesn’t go out of their way to make people feel comfortable. I thought I was simply stating what I believe to be logic, but she knows me better than almost anyone else, including moi. At the recent Texas Avenue Christmas parade, the lady in front of me saw our new city manager and commented to a friend that he she heard he wasn’t well liked. I butted in with my 2 cents and stated I liked him because he was a strong leader and Baytown needs a leader with backbone.
She turned and asked who exactly I was and I told her I was Baytown Bert. She said "Oh" and then went on to say she only said what she did because she had read about the city manager on the online forum Baytown Talk and some folks weren’t happy about the police thing and the way the new city manager handled it. My alarmed and shy bride was once again subjected to my aggressive public behavior and this justified her observation.
However, it all ended peacefully and after chatting with her husband, who turned out to be an old friend from my ARCO Chemical days, we turned our attention to the parade. I would like to say his name is Bob Hoskins, but I wouldn’t want to embarrass his beautiful and kind wife.
A couple days ago, my sister Connie, who is an engineer on the Motiva refinery expansion in Port Arthur challenged me to list a few things I don’t believe in, on or about. I responded in my typical fashion of pounding the keyboard until my inspiration dries up, so without further ado, here it is.
-----
I don't believe the Virgin Mary will ever appear on the side of a building. Or in a sandwich, or anywhere and if someone tells me she has, I’ll forever put a question mark on them.
I don't believe in Capitalism without a conscience. I love to sell stuff and give folks a good deal to boot, but I also give a lot of stuff away, especially if I think the person needs a boost. Whenever I find I have more than I can use of anything, I start figuring out ways to give some of it away.
I don't believe in following the crowd, unless it is my decision. I guess I am simply a rebel and I have an innate distrust of almost everything initially. I have found that I am very good company when I go alone.
I don't believe in neglecting pets. I love dogs and I’ll pet cats, if they behave. I talk to dogs and they understand me. They can sense that I am a dog lover. Dogs are pack animals and don’t understand being left alone for long periods of time.
I don't believe in obsessing over sports. Call me unpatriotic and Un-American, but I have better things to do than memorize sports numbers, stats and player history. The whole industry is over-blown and out of control in my opinion.
I don't believe the grass is greener on the other side of the fence. If I want something, I do the required educational research BEFORE I jump into it and get what I want the first time. I don’t window shop period, so I avoid unnecessary temptation.
I don't believe in being mean to women because they are women. I tend to see all women as ladies until they act otherwise. I do believe in being equally mean to men, women and children when they violate my personal space. I try to give everyone the benefit of the doubt until they prove their true nature.
I don't believe there is any food that beats bacon for intrinsic flavor. Bacon is the food of the gods and just about enhances anything it touches. I’m wondering when they will make Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla with chocolate-dipped bacon bits.
I don't believe marijuana is the devil drug it’s made out to be. I sincerely think the crackdown on pot has done nothing but facilitate the importation of easier to conceal drugs like cocaine and heroin and the theft of pharmaceuticals, increased violence and inflated street prices. Plus it has filled our prisons and court dockets to the point where violent criminals are released.
I don't believe Hollywood entertainment can beat God's handiwork for personal gratification. The television is a blight that needs to be self-regulated into small doses, if not turned off altogether. Aside from the poor selection of quality programs, the constant bombardment of advertisement for items we don’t need, but have come to desire makes the television a poor substitute for almost anything found in the great outdoors.
I don't believe that I could find a better mate than my wife. My lady compliments my life in every way. When I am harsh, she is gentle. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about how good she is for me.
I don't believe in living each day at work, wishing I was somewhere else. Long ago I accepted the simple fact that "work" was not play and I was going to spend a large part of my life at work, so I learned to enjoy myself at work and when it is quitting time, I simply shift gears.
I don't believe we Americans really understand how to live a quality life. Here in America, it is all about money, the accumulation of money and all the stuff a person can buy. The accumulation of vast amounts of worldly possessions supposedly equals happiness and quality of living. We are fed a steady diet of commercials to keep us wanting more until we truly believe the H2 Hummer or the winning of the lottery equals Nirvana. I don’t believe it.
I don't believe looking at dead people in caskets is the best way to remember them. When I do go to a funeral, I do not look at the person in the casket. I don’t want to remember them that way and I’ve asked to be cremated, so folks won’t see the shell I used to live in.
I don't believe the present times compare to the turbulent 60's. I was a teenager beginning in mid-1965 and this country was at war, on the verge of civil collapse, the shooting of political leaders and peace activists, the Communist Red scare and the open embracement of the drug culture. Nope, the 60’s were something I do not believe I want to repeat.
I don't believe a young man can be lonelier than a G.I. stationed far from home at Christmas time. I spent four Christmas’ away from home as an Airman and I can say from experience, it is a sad, sad time.
I don't believe a person can do more to prepare for their future than read books. Books! Give me a book and I will travel back in time, or into the future. I will survive long years as a POW, or be marooned on a desert island. I will tour the world with a rock band, or explore a hidden jungle. And in doing so, I will excite the part of my brain that will help me live a richer life.
I don't believe there is a higher calling than a combat medic. My longtime friend Don Trumps, the son of a Pentecostal Preacher and a man of faith himself, went to Vietnam as a C.O. (Conscientious Objector) combat medic and served his country without carrying a weapon. His stories of personal sacrifice, danger and saving lives in the jungles of Nam under the harshest of circumstances make my trials and tribulations seem silly and self-pitying in comparison.
I don't believe in compromising my income through gambling. For every honest person with a dollar, there appears to be three people scheming to take it away. Is there any rational person who thinks Las Vegas is ran by anyone other than organized crime? I work for every cent I make and have no visions of getting something the easy way.
And last, I don't believe in running over animals on the road if I can safely avoid them. I get no satisfaction by killing a living animal while driving my car. One time I saw four dead raccoons in the road. A mom and 3 babies – all were dead. It saddened me.
She turned and asked who exactly I was and I told her I was Baytown Bert. She said "Oh" and then went on to say she only said what she did because she had read about the city manager on the online forum Baytown Talk and some folks weren’t happy about the police thing and the way the new city manager handled it. My alarmed and shy bride was once again subjected to my aggressive public behavior and this justified her observation.
However, it all ended peacefully and after chatting with her husband, who turned out to be an old friend from my ARCO Chemical days, we turned our attention to the parade. I would like to say his name is Bob Hoskins, but I wouldn’t want to embarrass his beautiful and kind wife.
A couple days ago, my sister Connie, who is an engineer on the Motiva refinery expansion in Port Arthur challenged me to list a few things I don’t believe in, on or about. I responded in my typical fashion of pounding the keyboard until my inspiration dries up, so without further ado, here it is.
-----
I don't believe the Virgin Mary will ever appear on the side of a building. Or in a sandwich, or anywhere and if someone tells me she has, I’ll forever put a question mark on them.
I don't believe in Capitalism without a conscience. I love to sell stuff and give folks a good deal to boot, but I also give a lot of stuff away, especially if I think the person needs a boost. Whenever I find I have more than I can use of anything, I start figuring out ways to give some of it away.
I don't believe in following the crowd, unless it is my decision. I guess I am simply a rebel and I have an innate distrust of almost everything initially. I have found that I am very good company when I go alone.
I don't believe in neglecting pets. I love dogs and I’ll pet cats, if they behave. I talk to dogs and they understand me. They can sense that I am a dog lover. Dogs are pack animals and don’t understand being left alone for long periods of time.
I don't believe in obsessing over sports. Call me unpatriotic and Un-American, but I have better things to do than memorize sports numbers, stats and player history. The whole industry is over-blown and out of control in my opinion.
I don't believe the grass is greener on the other side of the fence. If I want something, I do the required educational research BEFORE I jump into it and get what I want the first time. I don’t window shop period, so I avoid unnecessary temptation.
I don't believe in being mean to women because they are women. I tend to see all women as ladies until they act otherwise. I do believe in being equally mean to men, women and children when they violate my personal space. I try to give everyone the benefit of the doubt until they prove their true nature.
I don't believe there is any food that beats bacon for intrinsic flavor. Bacon is the food of the gods and just about enhances anything it touches. I’m wondering when they will make Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla with chocolate-dipped bacon bits.
I don't believe marijuana is the devil drug it’s made out to be. I sincerely think the crackdown on pot has done nothing but facilitate the importation of easier to conceal drugs like cocaine and heroin and the theft of pharmaceuticals, increased violence and inflated street prices. Plus it has filled our prisons and court dockets to the point where violent criminals are released.
I don't believe Hollywood entertainment can beat God's handiwork for personal gratification. The television is a blight that needs to be self-regulated into small doses, if not turned off altogether. Aside from the poor selection of quality programs, the constant bombardment of advertisement for items we don’t need, but have come to desire makes the television a poor substitute for almost anything found in the great outdoors.
I don't believe that I could find a better mate than my wife. My lady compliments my life in every way. When I am harsh, she is gentle. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about how good she is for me.
I don't believe in living each day at work, wishing I was somewhere else. Long ago I accepted the simple fact that "work" was not play and I was going to spend a large part of my life at work, so I learned to enjoy myself at work and when it is quitting time, I simply shift gears.
I don't believe we Americans really understand how to live a quality life. Here in America, it is all about money, the accumulation of money and all the stuff a person can buy. The accumulation of vast amounts of worldly possessions supposedly equals happiness and quality of living. We are fed a steady diet of commercials to keep us wanting more until we truly believe the H2 Hummer or the winning of the lottery equals Nirvana. I don’t believe it.
I don't believe looking at dead people in caskets is the best way to remember them. When I do go to a funeral, I do not look at the person in the casket. I don’t want to remember them that way and I’ve asked to be cremated, so folks won’t see the shell I used to live in.
I don't believe the present times compare to the turbulent 60's. I was a teenager beginning in mid-1965 and this country was at war, on the verge of civil collapse, the shooting of political leaders and peace activists, the Communist Red scare and the open embracement of the drug culture. Nope, the 60’s were something I do not believe I want to repeat.
I don't believe a young man can be lonelier than a G.I. stationed far from home at Christmas time. I spent four Christmas’ away from home as an Airman and I can say from experience, it is a sad, sad time.
I don't believe a person can do more to prepare for their future than read books. Books! Give me a book and I will travel back in time, or into the future. I will survive long years as a POW, or be marooned on a desert island. I will tour the world with a rock band, or explore a hidden jungle. And in doing so, I will excite the part of my brain that will help me live a richer life.
I don't believe there is a higher calling than a combat medic. My longtime friend Don Trumps, the son of a Pentecostal Preacher and a man of faith himself, went to Vietnam as a C.O. (Conscientious Objector) combat medic and served his country without carrying a weapon. His stories of personal sacrifice, danger and saving lives in the jungles of Nam under the harshest of circumstances make my trials and tribulations seem silly and self-pitying in comparison.
I don't believe in compromising my income through gambling. For every honest person with a dollar, there appears to be three people scheming to take it away. Is there any rational person who thinks Las Vegas is ran by anyone other than organized crime? I work for every cent I make and have no visions of getting something the easy way.
And last, I don't believe in running over animals on the road if I can safely avoid them. I get no satisfaction by killing a living animal while driving my car. One time I saw four dead raccoons in the road. A mom and 3 babies – all were dead. It saddened me.
Sunday, December 09, 2007
Jury Duty – Panel 13 – Part Deux!
As you may recall, last week I answered the honorable request of my host county (Harris) and was assembled with other dignified citizens for a panel of prospective jurors. I humbly submit the conclusion.
"Panel 13 – to your feet"! The flat-topped-coifed Marine-looking bailiff bellowed! I found this quite impressive, especially since the woman was only about five feet tall. I know I was the first to jump to my feet. She assembled us in formation and I am happy to say that I was obviously the only one of panel 13 with military experience. While the others beboppered along - out of step I might add, I marched ramrod straight, hitting the heel down hard and in step with Sgt. Flattop. It was a proud moment for me and I did not allow myself to be distracted. I was marching for justice! An old boot camp cadence slipped into my conscience and I occupied myself with the comforting words "hup toop treep fo, hup toop treep fo"!
Down, down and down we went into the mildewy Houston tunnel system where we passed thousands of less important people. I was this close to yelling "Out of our way! Potential jurors coming through!" but once again my military training took over and I held my tongue. It was a truly righteous act of self-control and dignified to the "enth degree". The righteous feeling returned and I felt my face redden, as I counted... "hup toop treep fo".
We were escorted into the courtroom and I couldn't help but notice the awe which the court reporter, bailiff and a covey of lawyers exhibited at our grand entrance. "It's the potential jurors!" I heard some nobody whisper. Once again I was humbled and yes, I broke into a grin. It was "our moment" and I could not imagine a better place on earth.
Abruptly we were introduced to the lawyer teams and something called "Voir dire". In American speak, this is the process by which prospective jurors are questioned about their backgrounds and potential biases before being invited to sit on a jury.
One of the attorneys looked at our summons cards and addressed my fellow potential juror – the Professor. "Mr. Johnson, how are you this morning"? "Huh? – fine I guess". "Mr. Johnson, what exactly do you do for a living"? "Uh, I drive a port-a-can vacuum truck". ("What tha?" I thought!). "This case also involves a truck driver, Mr. Johnson. Do you think you can be a fair, unbiased and impartial juror"? "Uh, like you mean I can – do what"? "Can you as a juror, give this man a fair trial, even though you also drive a truck"? "Uh, like, uh, yea, I guess". "Thank you – I like this one Judge".
Next, attention was turned to the lady who I had pegged for a NASA astronaut. "Good morning – oops – Good afternoon Ms. Koliganowskioffoven! Did I say that right? What do you do for a living Ma'am"? "Hee hee hee – I am telemarketing instructor for the Billy Mays Television Commercial Institute". "Very good! Ms. Koliganowskioffoven, this case involves a telephone and a possible misuse of said communication device and do you think you can be a fair, unbiased and impartial juror"? "He hee heeeee! Wha"? "Can you, as a juror, give this man a fair trial, even though he might have used a phone for the wrong purposes"? "He hee heeeee! Wha"? "I'll take this one, Judge".
"Mr. Marshall is it? Good morning"! "Good morning counselor, it's a beautiful day". "Mr. Marshall – can I call you Baytown Bert"? I nodded. "Tell us a little about yourself sir"? "I've been a Process Operator for a large Petrochemical Company here on the Gulf Coast for the last 30 years. I also write a weekly column for the Baytown Sun and operate 6 mailing lists and 22 websites. I'm a Vietnam Veteran who was honorably discharged after serving his country. I have been married to the same woman for 30 years and have 2 children who support themselves".
Imagine my confusion as I walked the 14 blocks back to my car.
"Panel 13 – to your feet"! The flat-topped-coifed Marine-looking bailiff bellowed! I found this quite impressive, especially since the woman was only about five feet tall. I know I was the first to jump to my feet. She assembled us in formation and I am happy to say that I was obviously the only one of panel 13 with military experience. While the others beboppered along - out of step I might add, I marched ramrod straight, hitting the heel down hard and in step with Sgt. Flattop. It was a proud moment for me and I did not allow myself to be distracted. I was marching for justice! An old boot camp cadence slipped into my conscience and I occupied myself with the comforting words "hup toop treep fo, hup toop treep fo"!
Down, down and down we went into the mildewy Houston tunnel system where we passed thousands of less important people. I was this close to yelling "Out of our way! Potential jurors coming through!" but once again my military training took over and I held my tongue. It was a truly righteous act of self-control and dignified to the "enth degree". The righteous feeling returned and I felt my face redden, as I counted... "hup toop treep fo".
We were escorted into the courtroom and I couldn't help but notice the awe which the court reporter, bailiff and a covey of lawyers exhibited at our grand entrance. "It's the potential jurors!" I heard some nobody whisper. Once again I was humbled and yes, I broke into a grin. It was "our moment" and I could not imagine a better place on earth.
Abruptly we were introduced to the lawyer teams and something called "Voir dire". In American speak, this is the process by which prospective jurors are questioned about their backgrounds and potential biases before being invited to sit on a jury.
One of the attorneys looked at our summons cards and addressed my fellow potential juror – the Professor. "Mr. Johnson, how are you this morning"? "Huh? – fine I guess". "Mr. Johnson, what exactly do you do for a living"? "Uh, I drive a port-a-can vacuum truck". ("What tha?" I thought!). "This case also involves a truck driver, Mr. Johnson. Do you think you can be a fair, unbiased and impartial juror"? "Uh, like you mean I can – do what"? "Can you as a juror, give this man a fair trial, even though you also drive a truck"? "Uh, like, uh, yea, I guess". "Thank you – I like this one Judge".
Next, attention was turned to the lady who I had pegged for a NASA astronaut. "Good morning – oops – Good afternoon Ms. Koliganowskioffoven! Did I say that right? What do you do for a living Ma'am"? "Hee hee hee – I am telemarketing instructor for the Billy Mays Television Commercial Institute". "Very good! Ms. Koliganowskioffoven, this case involves a telephone and a possible misuse of said communication device and do you think you can be a fair, unbiased and impartial juror"? "He hee heeeee! Wha"? "Can you, as a juror, give this man a fair trial, even though he might have used a phone for the wrong purposes"? "He hee heeeee! Wha"? "I'll take this one, Judge".
"Mr. Marshall is it? Good morning"! "Good morning counselor, it's a beautiful day". "Mr. Marshall – can I call you Baytown Bert"? I nodded. "Tell us a little about yourself sir"? "I've been a Process Operator for a large Petrochemical Company here on the Gulf Coast for the last 30 years. I also write a weekly column for the Baytown Sun and operate 6 mailing lists and 22 websites. I'm a Vietnam Veteran who was honorably discharged after serving his country. I have been married to the same woman for 30 years and have 2 children who support themselves".
Imagine my confusion as I walked the 14 blocks back to my car.
Sunday, December 02, 2007
Harris County Jury Duty – Panel 13!
A few years ago I was invited to be part of the Harris County Court system on Congress Avenue in Houston, as a possible juror candidate! I was obviously (or evidentially) selected for my noticeable integrity, past evidence of sound judgment and proved logic. I still savor the spike of adrenaline (accompanied by a metallic taste in my mouth) I received when I saw the official envelope. Jury duty? Me? Wow! Cool beans!
"They've evidentially heard of me", I shouted to my bride. "I'm among the distinguished," I boasted. I picked up the phone and called my near as the real thing-lawyer brother Bruno. "Well, I've been summoned," I told him "and I'm going to serve – if they will let me"! He coughed a bit and begged off saying he was in the middle of something (much to my chagrin and need for self-important confirmation), but I know how it is and as I hung up I could hear the Simpson's playing in the background.
I felt pretty smug driving into Houston that great and event-filled day and even as I drove up and down close to a hundred different (maybe) streets, looking for the jury building, the feeling of superiority only grew stronger. I didn't mind parking 14 blocks from my destination and cramming a fiver into the money slot of the unattended parking lot – I was on a mission from God, by golly! I was a juror candidate and I felt invincible. I just knew the various bums, hobos, vagabonds and street urchins recognized it too - for I had "the look".
No one was going to mess with me in this big bayou city and I sallied forth from the lot to the jury building with a swagger reminiscent of the old west (or the oil field of Goose Creek and Pelly).
Upon arrival, I was a little bit taken aback by the other characters who filed into the Juror selection room, but my confidence level was hitting triple digits by this time and being an extremely patient man, I hunkered down to await the call to separate myself from this motley bunch of rabble-rousers. The thought crossed my mind (as I settled into a chair with my back to the wall) that it was as if a pirate ship had unloaded in front of the building and if I wasn't a bit of a world traveler and a past scalawag myself, I might have been a tad alarmed in this dubious company. Not to worry though, my time here was fleeting. I was sure of that.
A policeman came in and called us all to attention (I was this close to saluting, but held off, being a man of control and all). In came the judge, all "robed-up", as someone correctly observed) and we took our seats. We were given an official "juror's handbook", which was a one-page sheet of paper with a lot of "if you do this, we will Taser you" wording on in and I chortled with a loud snort (which didn't even get a second look from my neighboring riffraff), because I figured correctly that the sheeple needed a stern warning. "It's how they control them", I thought.
The judge, a portly looking lady of maybe 25 years of age and evidentially a bastion of judicial knowledge, explained in simple language how honored we all were (what tha?) to have answered the summons and we would now be reseated in order, according to our selection number (I have to be honest with you now and say I was a little perturbed at this new development, but being the solid citizen that I am, I obediently stood against the wall to await my new place in the chute).
I bounded into my new temporary seating place with the others of my group and danged if I didn't notice that the 30 or so of us, weren't the cream of the crop after all! Well, let me tell you, I was back in the game! My faith in the system was restored and I looked around and squirmed like a toddler in a toy aisle. "We must be onto something important"! "Let's see", I thought, "doctor, lawyer, chemist, philosopher, professor – she's a NASA astronaut! I'm in sound company"! The bailiff called us panel thirteen – a highly auspicious number and I could feel the open admiration of our fellow pirate-filled panels as they gave us the once over.
"Panel 13 – to your feet"!
(to be continued)
"They've evidentially heard of me", I shouted to my bride. "I'm among the distinguished," I boasted. I picked up the phone and called my near as the real thing-lawyer brother Bruno. "Well, I've been summoned," I told him "and I'm going to serve – if they will let me"! He coughed a bit and begged off saying he was in the middle of something (much to my chagrin and need for self-important confirmation), but I know how it is and as I hung up I could hear the Simpson's playing in the background.
I felt pretty smug driving into Houston that great and event-filled day and even as I drove up and down close to a hundred different (maybe) streets, looking for the jury building, the feeling of superiority only grew stronger. I didn't mind parking 14 blocks from my destination and cramming a fiver into the money slot of the unattended parking lot – I was on a mission from God, by golly! I was a juror candidate and I felt invincible. I just knew the various bums, hobos, vagabonds and street urchins recognized it too - for I had "the look".
No one was going to mess with me in this big bayou city and I sallied forth from the lot to the jury building with a swagger reminiscent of the old west (or the oil field of Goose Creek and Pelly).
Upon arrival, I was a little bit taken aback by the other characters who filed into the Juror selection room, but my confidence level was hitting triple digits by this time and being an extremely patient man, I hunkered down to await the call to separate myself from this motley bunch of rabble-rousers. The thought crossed my mind (as I settled into a chair with my back to the wall) that it was as if a pirate ship had unloaded in front of the building and if I wasn't a bit of a world traveler and a past scalawag myself, I might have been a tad alarmed in this dubious company. Not to worry though, my time here was fleeting. I was sure of that.
A policeman came in and called us all to attention (I was this close to saluting, but held off, being a man of control and all). In came the judge, all "robed-up", as someone correctly observed) and we took our seats. We were given an official "juror's handbook", which was a one-page sheet of paper with a lot of "if you do this, we will Taser you" wording on in and I chortled with a loud snort (which didn't even get a second look from my neighboring riffraff), because I figured correctly that the sheeple needed a stern warning. "It's how they control them", I thought.
The judge, a portly looking lady of maybe 25 years of age and evidentially a bastion of judicial knowledge, explained in simple language how honored we all were (what tha?) to have answered the summons and we would now be reseated in order, according to our selection number (I have to be honest with you now and say I was a little perturbed at this new development, but being the solid citizen that I am, I obediently stood against the wall to await my new place in the chute).
I bounded into my new temporary seating place with the others of my group and danged if I didn't notice that the 30 or so of us, weren't the cream of the crop after all! Well, let me tell you, I was back in the game! My faith in the system was restored and I looked around and squirmed like a toddler in a toy aisle. "We must be onto something important"! "Let's see", I thought, "doctor, lawyer, chemist, philosopher, professor – she's a NASA astronaut! I'm in sound company"! The bailiff called us panel thirteen – a highly auspicious number and I could feel the open admiration of our fellow pirate-filled panels as they gave us the once over.
"Panel 13 – to your feet"!
(to be continued)
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