RIP O'l Jimmy

We had a death in the family.  It has been hard. 

While it was not a complete shock, somethings were just meant to live a short time, it was still jarring.

31 is such a young age...but if done right, the 31 can be very, very rewarding.

Everyday that we were together was wonderful. 

Strength and flavor...those would be the words that I would use to describe him.

31 months for a coffee pot is just too short a life.

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I bought o'l Jimmy the Coffee Pot when I moved to VA.  The day after Thanksgiving 2007. 

He was on a center cap at Walmart.  A Black Friday Special.  Four bucks.

Yes, I bought Jimmy for $4. 

And he brought me 31 months of flavor...robust, full bodied flavor.  He brought me strength...the kind you can only find with a good Kenyan or Cuban cup.  Not the steroid induced, Turkish style.

He was Mr. Reliable...for only $4.

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We went through our Dunkin Doughnuts faze...it only lasted one bag and I am ashamed.  Sorta like the Flock of Seagulls faze so many of my friends went through.

We went through our "Last Resort" mornings...you know, where you wake up and are out of coffee, but you really want something so you use the hotel coffee from last December.

We went through the expensive, Craft Kenyan time.  Wow that was a lot of fun and we both loved it, but like driving a BMW, it is fun while you do it, but then you realize that it costs way more than things should.

And when he died, we were in the midst of a Cuban Love Affair.  Ahhhh, the supple flavor, the smokey finish, the tan body...Yes, I am talking about coffee.

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I will miss O'l Jimmy...yes, he has already been replaced with a fancier model.  This one even has a timer so I wake up to the best smell when waking up.

So, maybe I won't miss him, but I am sure there will be times, the quiet times, where O'l Jimmy sneaks back into my thoughts.  When I see a plain white coffee maker or when I drink coffee at a diner.

Until then, Rest In Peace dear Jimmy.  Rest in Peace.

Einstein Could Not Spell Either

A door opens and an 8 year old Nicholas yells out "Dad, how do you spell fighting?"

"F-I-G-H-T-I-N-G" came the quick reply.

A door slams and off Nicholas runs to write whatever it was that he was creating.

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It was never that easy for me.

"How do you spell..." questions were answered with a quick "You know where the dictionary is."

I stopped asking and started guessing.  I am not sure that was the parenting technique that I will emulate because to this day, I can't spell very well...but I am a frigg'n wiz with the dictionary!

The Land Barron

Owning a yard is work...

When we moved to KC, I wanted to be a Land Barron.  No small back-yard was going to do it for me. 

No sir.  I needed land.  Big tracks of land for frolicking and rolling.  A huge expanse where I can stand at my door and say in my loud, booming, radio announcer voice:

"ALL THAT I SEE IS MINE!"

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Now, I own my little plot of land...3/4ths of an acre actually. 

It is big, but not quite as big as I imagined.

But, I got to say...when I stand at my door, usually it is a whimper coming out of my mouth...

"All that I see needs, mowing and weeding and trimming and watering and fertilizing and picking and cutting and piling and, well, work."

Gone is the booming voice.  Gone is the desire to own large swaths of land.  Gone is the proud thought of being a Land Barron.

And all that took its place is work.

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Is it bad that in some way I miss the apartment living?

Bogart is the Prophet

We were playing cards the other night with some neighbors.  Their twelve year old son was hanging out with us.

We were all discussing music, girls and Costco. 

Since we have moved in, we have converted our neighbors into Costco people.  They bought into our incessent talk about the "Happiest Place on Earth" and how wonderful it is there.

The son has decided that he also loves it there and during our conversation he said:

"I feel like Costco is becoming my religion and Bogart is my prophet."

Tax on the Stupid

I don't like the lotto.  I think it is a tax on the Mathematically Stupid.  I think it disproportionally punishes the uneducated and poor.  It is nothing more than state sanctioned gambling hiding behind the idea that it is "for the kids".

Yet, every week I put $1 into a pool with 3 other Directors at work and play the Powerball.

Why?  That is a good question.  I am sure we are not going to win.  I know that we are lucky to match one number, let alone all 6. 

And yet I can't be left out.  Like those stupid commercials say, "You Never Know". 

What happens if...well, I would be left at my company, the only senior guy, left to run the 3 businesses that the others left behind.  I have enough work to do without having to be the guy picking up the pieces behind those that would do doughnuts in the parking lot after striking it rich.

Why do I play?  Well, because it is fun to spend 5 minutes each week talking about what would be different if we won.  How Rich would pull his car into the driveway outside of Jim's office, throw his office keys and badge through the window attached to a brick, yell something like "Its been a great ride!!" and then burnout all the way from the building to the street.  Or how TB would just call in and say "Good Luck everyone!"  Or even the Goldman...he says he would just quietly not show up.  It is fun to talk about those things.

Why do I play?  Because it is pretty funny to watch the people that work for us spend 10-mins each week trying to figure out why their bosses keep handing $1 bills to each other.  One of them figured it out and then asked what would happen if the four of us won.  "There would be some career opportunities for many of you." we responded...her face went ghostly white.  It was so cool!

The lotto is a stupid waste of money.  I am just handing money to the gas station and getting nothing in return.  It is a tax on the stupid. 

And yet, all four of us high-fived when we won $4 this week.  FOUR BUCKS!!!

Yes, I am a lotto winner.

And I already tossed my buck in for next week.

Don't Call Me Lady

Disturbed and rough...

Gifted and brilliant...

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Sometimes, the concert is good, but the encore better.  That was the case last night.

Every one of the hits, plus a couple more from the upcoming album...including a ballad about a strapping young lad from Nebraska.

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Beautiful and stunning...

Bloody and rough...

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Totally stoked that an artist would mention Jesus in a positive way, but was feeling like there were parts that were offensive.  Yes, Jesus loves everyone, even "uglies and gays"...but somehow it was framed in a way that was not quite comfortable.

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Troubling and confusing...

Enjoyable and entertaining...

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Lady Gaga puts on a great show...yes, it is disturbing and we sat dumbfounded a few times, but that girl is gifted.  She is someone who has a clear sense of who her "Character" is and makes no apologies about it.  I guess I can respect it...well, I can at least enjoy rocking out to the music!

Would I pay to go see her again?  Maybe...no, probably...well, depends on how much. 

Will I buy her new album?  No doubt.

Am I going to listen to Fame Monster for the 4th time in 2 days?  You can count on it.

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And I would be remiss if I did not mention how hot my wife looked last night...are you kidding me? 

Freak'n smok'n!

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Oh, you want to know about the costumes?  There were some, not as many as we had hoped, but there were some memorable ones!!!