Unfiltered Thoughts

Sense of Urgency

“A sense of urgency” is MBA-speak.
It often seems like an empty phrase,
Simply meant to build team motivation.
Then, you find people who are missing it.
Ouch.

Work sucks sometimes.
Well, most of the time.
That’s why it’s called “work”,
Rather than “play” or “candy.”
This is an important lesson.

I’m coming very close to having
To use a phrase in the office
That I never wanted to use.
One reserved for dire emergencies.

My wife will think this means
I am about to curse at someone.
(Technically, cursing is calling God down to do harm.
I usually just drop f-bombs. I don’t really expect to have sex.)

I’m not going to curse, although I would feel better.
I’m not going to imply someone should sleep with other species.
I am just going to have to take a deep breath, and say,
“Suck it up, buttercup. The deadline is today.”

I lost my sense of urgency for a while once.
I found it when I heard my boss coming down the hall.
(As Douglas Adams said, “I love deadlines. I like the
whooshing sound they make as they fly by.”)

A sense of urgency doesn’t mean killing yourself,
But it does mean a day’s worth of work takes a day.
If it takes a week or more, you might not have a
Very strong sense of urgency.

You might just be distracted. Or multitasking.
However, I don’t’ think that’s always the case.
Most times, you’ve just lost your sense of urgency.
Did you look under your chair?

Birthday Blues

I really don’t like my birthday much anymore.
I’m not really sure why, it used to be fun.
(I think it used to be fun.)
As I got older, it got less meaningful.
Is there that much difference between 52 and 53?

When you’re young, you’re the center of attention.
As you age, your kids are there,
Then your grandkids join in,
And, face it, they outrank you.
Plus, now you’re paying for your own parties sometimes.

Unfortunately, I was born the day after taxes are due,
So, once I got married (and divorced and remarried),
I had just spent three to five weekends or more
Calculating how little money we had and how much we had spent.
Worrying about wives and kids spending too much on you
Will always take much of the joy out of presents.

Also, presents get more expensive over time.
A Hot Wheels Lamborghini costs a lot less than a real one.
Not that anyone is ever going to buy me a real one.
Or even a Smart car.
(Mom-in-law did buy me a remote-control Mustang once. She was cool.)

What do you want for your birthday?
“A pony! A pony!” says someone under fifteen.
Over forty, it becomes something like:
“I would like to finally be out of debt. ” or
“I would like my tests to be negative.”

Growing old can be really hard,
I suppose that’s why we still celebrate birthdays.
Even if they also make you think of the ones you’ve lost.
You realize someday you might be older than your relatives,
Because they’ve stopped aging.
(Stopping aging may be worse than birthdays.)

I’m having cake later today (I’m told), and
I commit to do my best to be non-grumpy,
But I’m not promising anything.
After all, I’m old. And grumpy.

I will say this –
After this year, if everyone decides to skip my birthday,
Or move to once-per-decade celebrations,
Or just post insincere “Happy Birthday” notes on Facebook,
I’m down with that.

At least the taxes are done.

April 13th

It’s April thirteenth, and it’s Saturday.
So, there can only be one item on the agenda.
It’s time to finally finish the taxes.

I hate doing my taxes.
I suppose it should make me feel successful
With all the money that came in
Except most of it went right back out.

I suppose it should make me feel generous,
What with paying for all our government,
But I support charities that actually work,
So why do I have to pay for crap that doesn’t?

Why are our taxes so complicated?
Why does the IRS think I’m rich?
Why am I still stalling?
Is the coffee ready yet?

It’s interesting that each of us
Must account for every penny each year,
When Washington can’t tell us where
Billions of our dollars went after it left us.

I think you should be able to fund the programs you want.
NASA gets my money. And anyone in the military.
I don’t really care if Alaska gets a bridge, or
Our idiot President has a helicopter to go on vacations.

Considering the trillions of dollars of debt Congress has,
I’m not really sure my payment or refund is any more
Than a rounding error in the budget.
It may not even be enough to be a rounding error.

Can’t we just look at my forced paycheck donations
And call it “close enough”?
What if we all just took a year off?
Now, that would be a Paperwork Reduction Act
That I could get behind.

Tears at a Funeral

I’ve seen a lot of death lately.
Three family members since Christmas.
Plus assorted friends and acquaintances.
This is not helpful for the psyche.

Funerals have a guest of honor, but
The guest doesn’t ever say anything.
This is the difference between a funeral and other occasions.
At least, the guest doesn’t have to give a speech.

If you look around at a funeral,
Almost everyone in the room is crying.
Everyone knows why – sadness.
Really?

I used to think everyone was missing the guest of honor.
However, now I think rather differently.
I’m not happy about what I’m thinking now.
This is also not helpful for my psyche.

Some people don’t cry, because at some point,
Somebody told them that crying was bad.
They are suffering inside, and crying would fix this.

Some people are caught up in the moment,
Just like crying at a wedding or sports victory,
They are crying tears of peer pressure.

Some people actually miss the guest.
They assume “he’s in a better place.”
They cry tears of loss and hope.

Some didn’t bother to say “goodbye”, and
They had unfinished business with the guest.
They cry tears of loss and disappointment.

Some are named as beneficiaries, and
Never knew the guest thought of them.
They cry tears of loss and joy.

Some are named as beneficiaries, but
Not to the extent they would like.
They cry tears of bitterness and disappointment.
They don’t have time to suffer loss.

The chosen few are executors.
They will carry on with paperwork
Long after the guest is buried.
I think they cry the most of all.

Bucket List

Time to check on the bucket list,
To see if I’m getting ahead.
I don’t want to do all of them too soon,
In case completing it means you’re dead.

Visit Australia.
Check.
Multiple times, in fact. It’s Texas with a funny accent.

Have my salary be my age in thousands.
Check. Uncheck (Thank God.)
This only made sense when I was young. And single. And dogless. And broke.

Visit all fifty States.
Close.
Still have a few to go. Wondering how to get a business need in Alaska.

Go on a cruise.
Check. Check. Check. Check.
Now, a yearly ritual. Apparently, on someone’s else’s list, as well.

Sail from London to New York.
Scheduled.
Someday soon, this will be done. I hope.

Make my own beer.
Check. Uncheck.
Ick. This is really bad beer. Need to try again. Or just drink Guinness.

Make my own soda.
Check.
Sorry about the grape stains on the ceiling. It may have been over-carbonated.

Make my own wine.
On the list.
Have to find grapes. And equipment. And time. And patience.

Marry my soulmate.
Check. Uncheck. Check.
Wow. Divorce really sucks. Luckily, it’s not cheap.

Own a pick-up truck.
Check. Check.
It’s a Texas thing, I think. Or a guy thing.

Ride the train cross-country.
Check. Partially.
Been from Chicago to both coasts. Just not on one trip.

Ride the bus cross-country.
Reconsidered.
See partial check on train trip. Planes are much faster.

Earn one million AAdvantage miles.
Check and a half.
Business travel. Not as fun as it sounds. Trust me.

Trace my family roots.
Pending.
Met some of my relatives. Interest waning. No offense.

Write a novel.
Reconsidered.
A poem a day is hard. Who has time for a novel?

Have a dog.
Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check.
May have over-achieved on this one, just a wee bit.
(RIP Sparky. RIP Max. RIP Bubba.)

Visit Ireland.
Hic.
Water of life. Mmmm. Don’t remember a lot of it.

Sing with Paul McCartney.
Check. Check.
OK, everyone else in the stadium was singing, too.

Sing with John Lennon.
Damn.

Write a book.
Check.
It was a Redbook, but it counts.

Run a radio station.
Check.
OK, that wasn’t on the original list, but KNON rocks.
(Also, the station manager knows I really don’t run the station.)

Give a eulogy.
Check. Check.
RIP Rose. RIP Dad. This one sucked. Twice.

Sleep with a grandmother.
Check. (Actually, a multitude of checks.)
I may get in trouble for that one.

A Brief Comment

People read my collected works.
I see page hit numbers every day.
Some people even enjoy my words.
They hit the “like” button. Yay!
Yet, almost no-one ever comments.

Comments are hard work.
You have to open a little window,
You have to type in sentences.
Basically, you have to think.
Thinking is hard.
“Like” is easier.

I really shouldn’t complain,
Since I hardly comment on other people’s works.
Mainly, for the reasons stated above.
Who likes to think for fun?
I barely think when I’m paid for it.

Maybe, next year, I will have a resolution
To comment more on other people’s creativity.
I will like it and comment why.
It will confuse some of those people.
(That’s just a bonus.)

Rocky Blues

Me nombre es Rocky.
I hope I don’t sound cocky.
I really don’t speak Spanish.
I really just speak Dog.

Please don’t start to panic,
If Rocky doesn’t sound Hispanic.
A car ran me down last year.
Mom saved me and Dad paid.

Dad said I fought the car like Rocky.
I’m so glad I don’t play hockey.
He would have named me Gordie.
That would be a terrible Spanish name.

(Mom says I act like Satan,
But she’s just in one of her moods. )

I don’t quiero Taco Bell,
That’s my third cousin Manuel.
I prefer dog food and shoes.
And pecans. Pecans are tasty.

Chunky Blues

Editor’s Note: This is pulled from the archives. On a long road trip in 2001, Blind John Ellsworth drove through the town of Chunky, Mississippi. His first thought was “In the annual Miss Mississippi pageant, who would want to be named Miss Chunky?” This piece is dedicated to all the Chunky women, wherever they may be.

Walked into Chunky, Mississippi
And whatever did I see?
But a pretty Chunky woman
Who was smilin’ back at me

I love my Chunky woman
She loves to hold me tight
Along the Chunky River
On a Mississippi night

We moved out to Virginia
The best place I could find
Drivin’ my old pickup
With a wide load behind

No matter where we wander
From sea to shinin’ sea
My Mississippi baby
Is a Chunky girl to me

Monday Morning

Woof. Woof. Woof.
Oh. God. No. It’s Monday.
Four out of five dogs are asleep.
One Shih-Tzu without a snooze button.

I did not have enough fun this weekend
To explain feeling this bad right now.
How am I hung-over without drinks?
Time to find my motivation.

A shower always helps.
Except on Mondays.
On Mondays, it just makes you damp.
Maybe I should work at home.

Let’s see. It’s ten after seven.
Meetings start at nine.
So, I’m already late for work.
I hate Dallas traffic.

I would just call in sick, but
I’m not in third grade anymore,
And Mom wouldn’t come make soup.
(She didn’t last Monday, anyway.)

Spousal Unit just reminded me
That her first appointment is at noon.
She will be back in bed before I leave.
I will poison her coffee on the way out.

It’s time to go.

Pets

I’ve never been able to understand people who think any deceased person can immediately be replaced with a dog. Perhaps it’s because I’ve spent twelve years in and around animal rescue, but the worst possible gift for anyone is a living being that requires constant care and feeding. It is the gift that keeps on costing. (I have five dogs. I love my dogs. The costs never end.)

A pet as a gift makes no sense any time, much less as a distraction from grieving. A pet is a living being with a unique set of needs and a unique personality. It is not a fashion accessory. A pet owner makes a commitment to a pet to care for him for his lifetime. This should not be a commitment by proxy. It should not be an arranged marriage,

Pet owners require the ability to find their pets. Hopefully, this will happen at their local rescue. The human-pet bond is a magical thing, but it cannot be forced or assumed. If you’ve decided to adopt, go to your local Adopt-a-Pet and meet the pets. If your dog is there, you will recognize him. If he’s not, try again the next week. Your dog is waiting for you. However, your friend’s surprise pet is not.

You can divorce a hastily-chosen spouse. You can’t divorce a pet. Divorcing a pet means leaving him at the shelter – which depending on his age, size and breed could be a death sentence.

The next time one of your friends is widowed or divorced or dumped, just drop off another person of the proper sex and age and say “Here’s your new partner. You have to clean him and feed him, but I’m sure you’ll get along fine. Forever.” If you think that seems insane, why would you do it with a dog?