Monday Threat

I drive by an international airport twice each day. Dutifully, I pass it by each time. One of these days, I'm going to park the car and walk up to a counter that will sell me a ticket to a place that will make my everyday life wholly forgettable.

When I get there, I will buy the first round.

Just When it was Getting Good

I was offered a ride back to the office by a middle-management type in a car that was not only not her, but one she came into rather suddenly. My combination of admiration for the car and advice on it's poor performance in right-around-the-corner winter conditions must have been seen as some remarkable act of kindness, because she was about to make me a beneficiary of her attempts to conceal a fair amount pf upper-management financial wrongdoing.

I had never heard of OfficeResidence, and now I had one. It was in a new building built right on a rocky part of the bay. The previous occupant had left the company, in part, in acknowledgement that she was, responsibility wise, over her head. As I looked around, I had no idea how my efforts for the company, as they were, would justify such a grandiose budgetary line item as the lease on this space.

Upon entry from the typical corporate corridor, there was a small reception area, doors that led to meeting space, and stairs that led to a studio and a top-line production suite. Behind reception and the meeting rooms was the residnece; very open and modern with tall ceilings and a clear lean toward large-scale entertaining. The whole thing spilled out to a wide, landscaped cement terrace that gradually sloped down to a 30-foot drop to the water.

I guess they were going to say that they were operating a design and production facility on the West Coast, which I'm sure sounded good to someone. I just didn't know how I was going to make it look like it was running. The production suite could handle a any live HD telecast, but it would take 25 people to do so. The space could host drinks and finger food for 100, but who would they be? Should I play along with all this and see what I can accomplish or get out now knowing that someday this will all come to a bad, sudden end. As it always does.

I was walking through the place, giving yes/no answers to a couple people who were to become my support staff, playing with the lights and the automatic drapes, when I saw previous occupant standing, plian as day, right there in the middle of the room. I was plenty surprised, since she had left the company months before. I couldn't express any outward sign of surprise when it became evident that only I could see or hear her.

Struggling

It's really been one of those days weeks months.

painting by Adam Stennett

ISTJ Humor

Joe Friday, Eeyore, Fred Mertz, Cliff Claven and OctaneBoy walk into a bar.

Actually, there is no punch line.

A Matter of Inches

The Eversons didn't see the cow falling and didn't know what happened until afterward. Charles Everson said he kept repeating: "I don't believe this. I don't believe this."

There would be no way to tell when the photograph had been taken. At least, that's what it said on the back of software packaging.

Tracking the Mole

You're trained to notice the inconspicuous. That's day one. After that, most of your studies are of the conspicuous. Is that one a bumbling fool, or the fox, trying to throw you off?

Fifty feet to the elevator. A brisk pace will get me on the car now chiming its arrival. One mark to avoid, on his mobile. I break to the left, he dreamily fades left. I slow and wind around right, he goes right, dense as ever. Briefly distracted by my attempt to decipher the accent, I succumb to decorum and stay behind just as he realized (but does not care about) his obtuseness. The doors close and the car ascends without me.

I push the up button. It's an onerous wait. Finally doors open, I step inside and press five. Who should join me? The wandering, connected foreigner. He presses two. Son of a bitch.

Wondering what I've done to deserve such arrogance, I notice that he's got a temporary badge and the picture doesn't even vaguely match. Using two legs that could have mustered two flights of stairs, he steps out and blends into the activity on the second floor, but he's long blown his cover. My text message has been sent, and the receiver understands both discretion and thoroughness.

Oh, to Be Able to Say You've Done it.

I landed a 747 at Kai Tak. I never lifted through Eau Rouge. It was me who brokered the lasting peace. I made it through October without getting a cold.

Motoring Mag Mystery

So you think it's really good, yeah? You should try making the bloody thing up. It's a real pain in the arse.

- James May

It Happened on the Twenty-Third

I lied down in the grass with oil on my face. No mechanic's righteousness could guide this mower's soul back down the path to my dwelling. My beer even spilled. Surely the rest of my days of my life would feature some goodness and love and not this trouble I wouldn't wish on my enemies.

Rod came by to shepherd me to a place near Stillwater. I didn't want to go at first, but he said he had a dinner reservation at a snooty French place. The food and staff made for a comfortable night.

Even though we walked through the valley between the old buildings, we didn't fear the evil of the fios gras, for together; we had shadowy death on the run.

Looking Up With Wonder

When I see contrails in the sky I wonder if it's Al Gore.

Unresolved Storm

It was evident the weather was coming. The stop/go/stop traffic was going to make it interesting. Maybe I should have left the motorcycle in the garage today. By the time I turned east, the sky was boiling and showed its hand with lighting flashes.

Faster now in the commuter lane, past smoky buses and cell phones, putting some distance on the darkness.

Slow again, really slow, around downtown. Still have to cross the river. Some raindrops, but it's not the real thing. The sirens are wailing and swirly tails are dropping from the cloud deck. No lane is really faster than another. The sky is black behind the tall buildings in my mirrors.

Finally over the river. All lanes are occupied by the unsure and the disconnected. My exit lane is plugged with those unable to make a right on red. These people are destined to be rained upon, and not just today; but in life in general. Huge raindrops are pinging off the fuel tank and my helmet, but it's still not really raining.

Heading south. Only blocks to go. It's really starting to rain now. Left then right into the alley, and under the garage roof overhang, sort of. The sky opens. I made it with no time to spare.

And somehow it's unsatisfying.

Demons of Eastern-European Lineage

She was wearing a cape and burning the furniture; that was the last we saw of Aunt Dede.

Credit to Neko Case

Everything Under the Sun is in Tune

The new dish went up while I was at work. The installer didn't use the post on the side of the house that worked fine for the previous several years. He said that the dish had to be on a new mount, more 'out of the elements' and then proceeded to put the new one higher up on the roof where it's more exposed.

She called me to say he was gone and that the dogs were calm again. I asked how it looked, afraid that our house now looked like an NBC affiliate. "I can't find it," she said.

"Whadaya mean; the dish?"

"Yea. I don't know where he put it."

"Can you walk around the house and look?"

"I can't find it."

I didn't find it myself until after dark. The installer may not have been learned about atmospheric science but he managed by pure luck to place the new dish in such a place, at such a declination, that it's top edge gets illuminated by a street light down the alley. When I come in the back yard, I think for a second an orange moon is breaking over the roof.

Not so, just a happy accident of the complicated webs we weave.

Not Superman

Hangnails are my Kryptonite