Haji Ants

Haji Ants

 

By Chuck Michael

9/22/03

I am sitting on my porch at Camp Speicher, an Army airfield in the Iraqi desert near Tikrit. The crumbs from my granola bar are on the move. Closer observation reveals a little black ant pushing on a piece of granola three times his size. He is working it like a D9 operator would a tree stump. Pushing, gunning the engine till it exhausts itself and the tracks started to spin in the soft earth, then backing out and going around the other end and shoving it from that direction. In an attempt to vent his frustration at the granola he hares out and about, running around in circles for 5 or ten seconds and then back at it. Another ant approaches and he sallies forth to chase him away. Deciding finally he isn’t getting anywhere, he tears off in the direction of his nest as fast as his 6 legs would carry him. I know because I follow him. He is incredibly fast. For his size and considering the terrain he has to negotiate, it is quite amazing; as fast as my normal walk. These fellas have minds of their own. They get out of your way when they see you coming. They travel alone and never form a chow line like regular ants at a picnic. About 5 minutes later here he comes back again, pushing and biting and pulling like the Little Engine That Could. A few minutes more and a bigger ant arrives which the little one doesn’t try to chase off. Can’t you just hear them at the nest. “SPIKE! Spike! I just stumbled across a gold mine. You are not going to believe the size of this food Man. It is like stupendous Spike, and it’s like too good to be true Man.!This is some sort of new-fangled man made energy bar stuff or something. Its like the Empire State Building or something Man. I can’t move it by myself. C’mon Spike. Lets go get it”.

“Yeah, yeah….I’ll be along in a few minutes. I got to finish stacking these fly eggs for the Queen’s banquet tonight. Here. Grab that last carcass over there and push the payload out of her. I’m a mess. How does she stomach this crap? I’ll be along after I get cleaned up”, says Spike.

“Sure Spike. I mean you smell like you’ve been rolling in someone else’s vomit to be honest. Gad! This stuff is yucky. This is what she eats? Or is this just what she feeds her suitors? Hey. Hurry up though Huh? Like we have to get back out there before those red ants from B Company find it. You know how they are. We’ll be all day fighting them. “ They double-team that lump of granola all the way back to their nest, which is about 100 feet away. They dispatch half a shelled peanut with the same determination. Figuring the scale to our size would work out to dragging 10,000 lbs for miles, I estimate. Maybe these are imported Egyptian pyramid builder ants that hitched a ride through the Red Sea on one of Moses’s camels. The Bible isn’t clear on this point but it is feasible that these guys are decendants of Pharos ant farm. Wouldn’t that be cool, the ant farm Pharo had when he was a kid and one morning before heading off to be worshiped he has a closer than usual look and notices little teeny tiny pyramids…Naaaahh! Occasionally one of these ants would stop long enough for me to observe her closely. Their rear ends stick up in the air at about a 45 degree angle which reminds me of a funny car. They are built like a fork lift rigged for the Daytona 500; like something out of the Monster Garage. Their legs are long and light compared to their stocky bodies. The rear legs are jointed in the middle like a deer, which I suppose gives them their mind boggling speed; reminds me of something George Lucas would dream up. Their mouth is surrounded by large mandibles. I have seen them grab something, lift it up and when they started to move, the top heaviness toppled them forward but they didn’t let go, rather turned upside down, still gripping the food verticaly, head down, swaying back and forth, 6 legs flailing, trying for control again, then take a few steps further and repeat the process all the way rolling and tumbling to the nest. It’s funny to watch because when it happens they are repeating their rolling and tumbling routine every couple of seconds or so. You can see her out there 70 feet away; a little black dot on the desert, somersaulting with her granola on her torturous path to the crib. These guys don’t build mounds. They just have a nest with multiple entrances-holes in the ground if you will. Truly, if they were our size, we wouldn’t be here. They are picky about their food also. As if they have a lot of choice in the Iraqi desert. They won’t eat dead flies I swatted, but rather grab them and look in the carcass for eggs. If they find none they drop it and continue on their everlasting egg hunt to the next one, and finding one with eggs, scurry off to their nest fast like lightening. You can’t see them for dust. Watching closely, its almost as if you can watch them making a decision and once made nothing deters the sprint to the nest. Bee line. No time wasted. I dumped a packet of sugar out on the ground. They haven’t taken an interest in it. Surprisingly, they avoid any water I spill in their vicinity. They will walk through it but I’ve never seen one of them paying much attention to it; which reinforces my Red Sea Theory. They are perfectly suited to their environment. They remind me of HoDaddy surfers that love the beach but hate the ocean of which in their environment, there is plenty of the former and absolutley none of the latter. I crumbled a whole bar of granola for them, expecting to see the entire colony out there eventually. No, there were more ants gathering up the spoils but not many more. Seeing as how they are Hajji ants, maybe they are all Muslims and discourage women working outside of the home. For that matter they could be Amish, who generally feel the same way. No way they’re Baptists. Nevertheless, the next morning there was only one oversize crumb, which they were still sawing up. Given a choice, they seem to hunt around for the biggest piece they can carry at first before scrambling off. They know about power to weight efficiency. Like the song goes: “These guys ain’t dumb” I have a plywood porch supported by a 2 x 2 boards. Nooo. I know what you’re thinking. They didn’t try to carry off the porch. Once they decide on a piece worthy of their efforts off they go like some high school kid peelng out of the parking lot after school, fairly leaping off the porch’s edge rather than walking vertically down.” No time to waste. Got to get this back to the Queen so she can spawn more ants (or make her boyfriends eat it) and increase the size of the colony”; almost like they are awarded points for showing up with the most chow. Politically, I think they are Communists. Yes, it sometimes does get boring out here. And that’s all I got to say about that.

The Promotion

The Promotion

by Chuck

 

Last night’s nightmare  has roots in fears of long-ago work experiences. I used to get fired a lot. Once I got too close to the bosses wife and once I was hired in the first place to be fired because of a company’s project being behind schedule and they were looking for a turkey to blame it on. Gobble gobble, so on more than a few occasions I ended up walking down the road mumbling to myself.  Rarely did I ever get fired for cause. Ok once. After showing up late for work one day on a job I hated anyway, the boss yelled across the room at me, within hearing distance of everyone on the crew: ‘What time is it Michael?’ Not really believing he would be dumb enough to open himself up like that my response of:  ‘ You are wearing a wristwatch, Didn’t they cover telling time on the GED?’ Got me mercifully fired for insubordination. Hooray!  On my next job interview that company showed up as ‘ fired for cause’. Ok. I eliminated that job on my resume and filled in the blank with some other lame job that couldn’t be verified. Never having been career oriented, leaving over 50 jobs for one reason or another never hampered either my conscience or pocketbook. One day I even quit to go surfing for the afternoon. Eventually I did run in to a career that I did care about, but the employers in that business are noted for bending, stretching and breaking rules for profit sake. The trouble is that they aren’t the ones that will be taking the heat. It’s the pilot’s license at stake, not their backsides for lack of a paper trail of verbal directions. ‘Hey, go out there, fly this way and do this and that.’ If you kill yourself or lose your license, they hire up another pilot. If you wreck their airplane and kill yourself they buy another plane with the insurance money and their new pilot flies that plane straight over your smoking carcass. So I got fired from a few and quit a few more but walked away with a clear conscience, flying license intact, but more importantly: vertical.

 

Conscience clear, vertical and smugly so, but it has to wear on a person, a history such as mine. The thought materializes occasionally: Who's trying to get rid of me? Who has a brother-in-law that wants my job? Is the boss going to turn out to be a jerk?  Always on any new job I like to start off playing the game: Where is HE? Or Where’s the jerk? (read 'Surrounded by Jerks' )Terminology changed slightly to protect the family readers here.  Where is the jerk? Because he is always there, boss or not, who is mired in jerk-ability.  Some tortured soul, unhappy at home or with life and eager to share his misery with anyone within range. It never mattered that much till I got my current gig, going on almost 8 years; longer than any previous job. Still, there is always that murky thought: Who and how are they going to get rid of you? In the back of my mind the thought that some boss or super is trying to get rid of me; lots of people out of work. The sinecure I’ve fallen into here presents a ready target for some managers’ unemployed son, brother-in-law, friend, wife, whoever. Indeed, always alert for any devious maneuvers, there have been initial gambits, exploratory management missions so to speak. I am however, unlike any of my prior employments, protected by a number of company policy circuit breakers. My ‘where’s the jerk’ game has revealed a number of them in this job, but any attempt on their part, short of my giving them what I would give them if we were logging together in the woods instead of this sterilized milquetoast corporate environment, is simply referred to a higher level. Now they can be a jerk to my supervisor, who, by the way, is a jerk. That tactic is sanctioned by company policy. It’s in the employee handbook! Whoaa!! The thought is still there though, meandering around in the recesses of my subconscious. “Who wants my job?” So here’s last nights nightmare.  

The Pointy Haired Boss, my department head, who, I have always suspected has a number of unemployed friends, in his typical , minimalist manner sent me an email. “my office, now” “What’s up Boss?” Optimistically leaving the door open as I walked in.  His secretary shows up with coffee as he is opening his mouth. She hands me a cup and congratulates me on my promotion. ‘What? Promotion?

‘That’s right’ Pointy Haired Boss chirps with a rare smile on his face. “Congratulations, You’ve been promoted.” I’m flabbergasted.  “ I’m not sure I want to be promoted”, I reply. “Well, he says, The next step up from your helpdesk job is bus mechanic.  Hey! Its half the pay but twice the prestige. You should be happy. You are to report to the School bus depot tomorrow morning. “No. I don’t accept the promotion. I said.  I like it where I’m at sitting on my butt, clicking a mouse. No promotion.” “Sorry, but it is against policy not to accept a promotion.”, Pointy Haired Boss smiles back. “See. Here it is in the employee handbook.” “That’s written in cursive.” I say. “Someone just wrote that in.” “That’s my signature so it makes it official”, PHB  retorts.  “No”, I respond. “I don’t know the first thing about working on school busses.” “Hey”, PHB says. “You will be in a true learning situation starting at ground zero.” PHB reaches for the phone. “ Our busses are high tech. The head grease monkey down there is expecting you at 7. I’m gonna tell him how glad you are to be working on school busses. With your technical background, you will be a tremendous asset.” PHB can hardly contain his happiness for me. He is beside himself with glee.

At that point, I woke up in a sweat, terrified, looking into the semi-darkness, dawning that it was a dream. Still, I’m wary of any ominous emails offering unique opportunities from management.

 

Help Desk

    Network Interface is their technical job description. Other names are Customer Support Engineer, Customer Account Representative, or however else they think to describe it. A Sanitation Engineer still picks up the garbage. They need the benefit of your years of technical schooling without letting on that what you will be doing is 'Helpdesk'. You may have answered the ad for 'System Administrator', but what they are really looking for is someone to answer the phone. Read Technical Secretary.  "Technical supervisor responsible for computer hardware and software maintenance, calibration and team development etc blah blah." However pretty they can make the worm on the end of the hook, but the job is answering the phone. 'Helpdesk' is a term avoided but lurking in the back of management’s minds; acting as a barrier between the developers, engineers, management and the great unwashed out there screaming for help. Management needs your help desperately.  They not only need someone technically aware, able to cope with the myriad of issues facing their customers each day but someone able to present a professional face. They need you. They need the Dale Carnegie course you took while selling real estate. They need your closing expertise. They need your skill in asking pointed questions cleverly designed to calm the nervous, frustrated and the egalitarian know- more -than -you because you Jane, me Tarzan. People skills for short. Oh. They’re out there and the person that hires you is looking for someone who can handle them diplomatically. Helpdesk is the company's public face. It's what forms the customer's opinion of the company. Frequently it’s the only contact the customer has.  Helpdesk is the company's image presented to every caller on the other end of the line. But 'helpdesk' is a dirty word in the computer world. It's the bottom rung of the career ladder for someone who has chosen the Information Technology field. It’s usually the graduate's first job. If he is to go anywhere, he needs to remain there, job market notwithstanding, for about a year before moving up to his/her desired specialty or risk pigeonholement. After a year, the Information Technologist has heard and addressed most of the technical issues she's going to hear and in economists terms, has reached the 'point of diminishing returns'. The quandary for management is that while they need a multi-talented person to shield them from the mundane, a person part salesman, PR person, publicity agent, psychologist, and yes, technical,  the pool of people qualified technically are usually none of those. They need someone with the temperament and empathy necessary to deal with their customers, who while requiring help, may be technically bovine, incapable of following directions, frustrated, impatient and, for the most part, strung out tense, stressed. How hard is it for management to find someone possessing the humility and knowledge to run a help desk in a field of self-absorbed elitist technocratic egotists whose self-image is calculated by looking down on others who are less technical. For some reason, the management has concluded that a 4-year degree satisfies all of the above even though an academic degree has little to do with any of it. 'B.A or B.S.' is the best they can come up with, but what they are really seeking is possibly something they can faintly visualize but not verbalize correctly in a job advertisement.

In my interview, they asked me some technical questions, but what I think got me the job was that I remembered all of the names of the people sitting in the interview and thanked each one of them by name before leaving the room. That one act, more than any degree or technical qualification rang their bells. That set me apart from the other 10 candidates and they were right. They did choose the right person and I've grown in the job by transcending the frustration and routine and developing into part company salesman, PR person, publicity agent, psychologist, and technician. Every time I answer a call I learn something. Even if its never wanting to speak to that particular person again. After 5 years on the job I've learned I can contribute to the welfare of both the company and the customer by showing genuine concern for the caller's issue, solving their problem or pointing them to someone who can. There is a lot of satisfaction being a 'Network Interface' "psst...helpdesk" person. The positive feedback from a satisfied customer is immediate and frequent. In sales the saying goes there are 7 no's for every yes. In my job, there are at least that many smiles and expressions of gratitude for every frown.

At the risk of self-incrimination the four people who had the job before me left after one year. Did I say I've been here ten?. One was fired, one schmoozed her way into a promotion, one got married and moved away, and one left crying and screaming out the door. I too once went crying out the door. I just left. Didn't tell anyone. I just left and rode my motorcycle for 4 hours mumbling to myself. I vowed to quit. I returned and was piling all my stuff into a box when the boss called me into his office. Officially he had to reprimand me. He also showed me that he knew what I was up against when he informed me that I could walk out anytime it got to be too much for me, but 'just clock out and tell me you are leaving'. His empathy returned me to my desk. I grew professionally from that experience and his guidance and since then have never had to inform him that I was leaving for the day. On this job, I rub shoulders with some of the best technical minds in the business, touch on issues which would have never occurred to me, researched problems most deviant in computer, network and printer hardware and software. I've learned about viruses, malware, worms, spam, and the best (and sometimes free) programs for combating them. I've learned about imaging, operating systems, both Apple and Microsoft in addition to Unix. I can remote into other computers using 3rd party and built-in applications. I repair login problems, use Active Directory to configure user accounts, Entourage and Outlook, have become familiar with most of error codes. Most importantly I enjoy going to work in the morning. There are challenges sure, but the job has taught me a little about research, a lot about people, empathy, self-defense and the value of listening. Really listening; not just to the issue, but the tone of voice, stress level, priority and how to answer and how to vary my tone of voice and transmit my concern for their issue through the miles of phone line separating us. Most importantly: get them on my side besides motivating them to provide me with the information necessary to solve their issues and get them back to work. Salesmanship.

My most satisfying customers are the janitors and food service workers. Most of them are not computer literate and are eager to follow directions. They are also the easiest to work with. The most difficult are the middle management types who are still learning leadership. While most are co-operative, some are condescending, irritable, second-guessers, non-listeners and seemingly incapable of following directions. Then there are the ones who won't explain their situation and must be prodded for information, like the one complaining of lack of permission to a file she has always had access to only to learn after a number of questions that she is logged in as someone else altogether; or the person complaining that he couldn't log in using his temporary password. He was using the letter 'O' instead of a zero. "Oh! That zero." That one took a few minutes. Will you believe an answer such as “what's the difference? They’re both round” or “ the letter O or the number O?” It begs the question of the extent of thought put into keeping a place holder with a zero when there are 9 other more sensible possibilities. A technician on a job in a previous life once told me that if nothing seems to work, the problem seems incomprehensible or doesn't make sense from what the customer is saying then "you probably aren't thinking stupid enough." In other words, you may be a victim of 'assuming'.
I harken back to a conversation in a previous life as an aircraft electronic technician. The pilot says the radio doesn't work. You checked out the radio and it worked fine. What did you do that he failed to do? Describe what you did when you began troubleshooting the problem?"
"Well, I hooked up the auxiliary power unit to the aircraft"

"Then what did you do next"?

" I entered the cockpit"
"OK, we can be sure he did that. Then what?"
"I turned on the radio."
"Bingo!"

Helpdesk wise this translates to: "Oh. That's right. I shut off the power-strip on Friday and forgot." or "Well Now that you mention it I had to open the shades to find my desk."
Then there are the ones who are frustrated to the point of snapping. They have tried everything they know, have talked to their friends or associates, are most likely dealing with a deadline and have placed themselves in a pressure cooker. By the time they call you they are past the point of conscious thought and have convinced themselves that the problem cannot be fixed; least of all by you. A call to the helpdesk is taking a big risk for these types.

"Helpdesk. How can I help you."

"NOTHING WORKS"

"What doesn't work Sir"?

"NOTHING!"

Here is your opportunity to resist asking if the lights are on. Your first job is to calm them down and to remember that humor is definitely not the way to defuse them. These types are in no mood for humor. Empathy. What they want to hear more than anything is: "Miss. Whatever is wrong I can either fix the problem or connect you with someone who can." There goes the lid to the pressure cooker.  Now you can get to work. 

How about the ones who refuse to believe you because the solution is too simple.

"THAT CAN'T BE IT! That is too easy. This problem is much more difficult than that.  Otherwise, I would have thought of it", they are thinking.

I once won a case of beer from a customer who called in a technician from the company because his on-site techs couldn't fix the problem.
He was a US Navy base commander in Izmir, Turkey. I flew out from Jackson, Mississippi. Arrived on site. Spoke to the techs about what they had done previously, inspected the radar, ordered two parts and retired to my hotel. The aircraft had been without radar for months and nothing seemed to fix the problem. They had replaced every component in the system and it never lasted through the next flight. Shortly after my shower the phone rang.
"The Skipper wants you to report to him in his office".
"I'll be right there..."
"You have been here a total of 45 minutes and say you have fixed the problem when my techs have been working on it for months. Now I want you to work on that aircraft till you fix the problem."

"Sir". I replied. Every part in the radar system has been replaced but the one that is causing the problem. These aircraft are 10 years old and I have repaired a number of these radars. When a radar head is ordered the antenna is not included. I have found a number of these antennas that are breaking down and arcing.  When it arcs it shorts a transistor in the radar head. During my research,  I also found which transistor is failing, but that is inconsequential.  I have inspected your antenna and I can assure you this is the problem." The failed radar head with the shorted transistor is replaced, but the same antenna is then reattached causing the transistor to short out again.
"But there is nothing in the troubleshooting logs about this", he replied.
'No. It is too fresh of an issue to make publication yet.'

"Well, that's crap. OK. We'll wait for the part, but that had better be it."
"Sir, I'm confident enough to bet you a case of beer on my solution."
"You're on, but if I win. There will be hell to pay. I'll wager you that."
I shared his beer with all the techs after the aircraft returned from its flight two days later with the radar intact. He refused to join us. His aircraft was fixed, but his ego dented. Another elitist is shown up by the help.
In the helpdesk world, the same types can't believe that the reason they can't log into the domain is that their computer clock is wrong.
"THAT CAN'T BE IT!."

    So into the realm of the possible. Out of the land of disbelief and into the reality of ether-space. Live in a world of self-belief, knowing that you are the momentary solution to the hundreds of lives you touch each and every day. For an on-site tech to repair a problem it takes gas, depreciation of company resources, shoe-leather. Helpdesk does it for the price of a phone call. 

    On a personal note: It helps to be old. I have finally come to appreciate the joy in my father's favorite bit of advice to me as a youngster: "Don't think". In reality, what I think he was alluding to,  was the path to Zen enlightenment. Release from the responsibilities of creative thinking opens new worlds, almost like being an avatar in an etherspace afterlife. Without the drudgery of expectation of thoughtful contribution to management solutions, I am free from the shackles of  the diabolical and time wasting maypole of endless meetings, avoiding the echoing war cry of the Millennial Management generation: “ I knew that”.  As the helpdesk person, I'm not considered as a decision maker or even a worthy contributor to issues under consideration by management. If I'm called into a meeting it's usually only to answer a simple question then leave. ISN’T THAT FREEKIN GREAT!! By the analysts and engineers, I'm only thought of as 'the guy who answers the phone'. Oh, they are thankful that there is someone around with the patience to do it but 'don't ask him to think' is their real opinion of anyone on the helpdesk. Hell, it's almost like being paid to be retired. Successful helpdeskness requires a Zen approach to ego suppression. Once you arrive at and are most of all happy with the fact that the company upper echelon community doesn't expect you to think you are on your way to corporate cube Nirvana, free in your off hours to pursue the important things in life like riding your Harley and fly fishing. Your most important text book, yea Bible, is "The Dilbert Principle" by Scott Adams. Your best friends and most fervent admirers, indeed source of job satisfaction, are the voices on the other end of the phone line. It is those voices the helpdesk must keep happy. Surprisingly, that is the hard part. The easy part is keeping your job and to do all that is necessary to keep management convinced that you are happy and enthusiastic keeping their customers happy and due to your embracing the Zen philosophy of ego suppression, and 'don't think' ideology, you are. Like Adulous Huxley's elevator boy the dedicated helpdesk person couldn't be more excited about announcing the arriving floor and the clever lad dedicated to keeping his job will convince management of exactly that. Ego suppression is a helpdesk skillset. A person wearing white coveralls with a flat lead pencil stuck in his ear and sawdust in his hair leaves a mental impression of a carpenter. A mechanic carrying a wrench around impresses people he is working even if he is only on the way to the bathroom. George Castanza wearing a disgusted look impresses people he is concerned. Anytime management is around the dedicated helpdeskee has a phone stuck to his ear and a concerned look on his face whether there is anyone on the other end of the line or not. An open technical book on his desk helps as well as a messy note tablet. Messy notes promote management’s impression that you are not capable of organized thought, thereby helping them resist any temptation they may have of inviting you to one of their meetings.  But if they are convinced that you are good at answering the phone and keeping their customers off their back then you have arrived at paycheck heaven. You have become indispensable. On a layoff, you will be the last one to go. Technical certifications become unnecessary although promoting the idea that you are diligently studying for the Helpdesk Support certification helps. Praising your boss while others are complaining is also a valued technique. It matters not what your opinion is. No one cares what you think anyway. Follow the Zen philosophy. Read and re-read 'The Dilbert Principle". An important survival ploy is detaching your self-image from your job. Your job is only a paycheck. No one enjoys the satisfaction of the corporate machinery running their way unless they own the company. If you find yourself overly concerned or dissatisfied with the way the company is being run or decisions being made then start your own company. Otherwise SHADDAP! 

    There is one danger. As indispensable as you may be to the company, you are more vulnerable than most to the boss who has a friend looking for a job. Short of showing constant dissatisfaction with your performance, your boss has innumerable resources at his disposal to make your life miserable and convince you that you would be happier elsewhere. Since you have no management power your only defense is political. You have to get his boss or someone with power on your side. There are avenues available here for the enterprising Helpdesk guru willing to extend the effort. Join the Better Business Bureau, Knights of Columbus, Lions Club. Get noticed in the community by writing concerned letters to the editor of the local newspaper. Become a Mason or Shriner or join a similar organization that contributes to the welfare of the community. Network through Linkled, Facebook. Write technical articles and submit them to the company's Sharepoint. My boss replaced my name as author with his on the articles I submitted. That's a compliment, I suppose. What to do? Barring any of these know that Helpdesk technicians are in high demand and always remember that to do and keep and be happy in your job you must be smarter than the average bear while presenting an image to the contrary.

His Kid

by Chucky

His father made some great movies

While riding my Harley down a wide , palm-lined street in Southern California I was passed like I was a telephone pole by a speeding crotch rocket. As he disappeared into the horizon I noticed his helmet , which was on the luggage carrier, flying off and bouncing down the road. I caught up with it at about the time it rolled to a stop.   I slowed and parked the bike on the shoulder of the road and walked out to retrieve it. Just as I reached down to pick it up the helmet again took off down the road. As if it had so much kinetic energy that was not expended even though it had come to a standstill in the middle of that highway. The thought crossed my mind that that was ridiculous and a blatant violation of the laws of physics as I took off running after it. My belief in Gods laws were next challenged when to my amazement the helmet made a sharp right turn and continued on in a zig zag pattern, almost winding up moving in the opposite direction from its initial path. I halted my pursuit to watch and see where it was going next as it slowed to a halt. As I once again approached it the motorcyclist on the crotch rocket rolled up and parked his bike. As he was putting his kickstand down I walked over to the helmet and reached down to pick it up whereupon it took off again, making a beeline for the fellow on the rocket, who was now standing beside his bike, watching me with a very familiar grin on his face. Very familiar indeed. He was slim and tall with sharp features and long wavy blond hair. It can't be him, I thought as I approached him, following the helmet, which came to yet another stop at his feet. He bent down and picked up the helmet and was reaching inside just as I arrived.He pulled out a small, curly haired little dog, apparently unharmed and very excitedly  licking his hand, as if to thank him for providing the harrowing ride he had just been on in the spinning and bouncing helmet doing 100 miles an hour down the pavement. "Thanks for stopping". He said, looking at me with that all too familiar grin. I resisted the urge to reply with "That's ok Richard, It wasn't any trouble" and instead just stood there looking at him for a moment with what must have been a very quizzical look. He was much too young to be him. I was watching his movies when I was a teenager and at my ripe age of 67 I knew he was either very well preserved or …
"Are you Richard Widmark's kid?" It blurted out before I could stop the words from rolling off my tongue. "Yes, I am" He hesitated and said "..but I try not to advertise it."
"You don't have to. You are his spitting image. You know they make a special cage for animals so they can be transported safely on a motorcycle", I lectured.
As he  petted his apparently appreciative  little dog he replied  "Oh, he wouldn't like that. He likes riding in the helmet with his head sticking out in the wind just like me. I guess we are both chips off the old block. He has gotten used to flying off the back. This isn't the first time. I think he looks forward to it." We spoke for a while longer about nothing in particular before shaking hands and climbing back on our bikes. As I put the Harley in gear and rolled away I reminded myself why I left California and moved to Texas in the first place. "Its just too crazy out there."

The Reel Reason

The Three Stooges
by Chuck

I want to share my thoughts with you of a comedy act that began in the 30s and continued making shorts and movies for over 40 years. Its universal popularity continues to this day.

The reason why I think this act is so popular, especially with men is that this act communicated on multiple levels. The kids loved it for the slapstick but I submit that there was another message on a deeper level directed toward men.

The 3 Stooges, a serial of 3 morons presenting their answer to living in an insane world, dare I suggest it, reflects a man’s ideal world; a world without a second thought for the propriety, role modeling, social positioning or political manuvering under which every working male must labor to earn his daily bread, find a mate and set examples for his children.

If such a burden were not placed on our shoulders we would all be free from the binds of logical thought, propriety and our efforts of maintaining sanity in an insane world. Just like the Three Stooges.

Two of the characters of The Three Stooges are a microsim of what we all desire as men, deep down, from which we wish to escape. The third an example of the freedom we really wish for in life.

Theirs is a world of serious graphical violence but with hammers that didn’t hurt, harmless whackings with rubber 2 x 4s, ladders, and iron pipes. They hit one another with just about everything imaginable over the 437 shorts and movies they made. Excitement without damage. Theirs is a man’s world.

Moe: Moses Horowitz The intolerant authority figure and group disciplinarian who takes himself and everything else way too seriously. Moe did all the hitting on purpose, the others by accident. In real life he was a gentle man who disliked the role. "Whyyy Youuuu!!" . Despite his being the boss, he was just as big an idiot as the rest of them.

Larry: Louis Feinberg The compliant and ever trying to please employee slash companion. Another testimony to why we look forward to the joys of early retirement.

And then there's Curly: Jerome Horowitz The imaginative, expressive, self-confident and superbly individualistic rebel. Merrily skipping along his path in life with out a care in the world, leaving a chaotic trail of leaking water pipes, flooded basements, wrecked mansions, water spouting electrical outlets who takes nothing seriously, and when conforonted by Moe replies “Your brain is too tense. Two tenths the size of what it oughta be, Nyuck Nyuck” Curly, our hero.

Without the rules society places on us who among us wouldn't want to be Curly. We men, who must do everything right or pretend that we can.

However destructive they were in the main plot they were always heros in the sub plot, just before being chased out of town in the last scene.

These guys live in a world without sin, only chaos. They innocently sleep together in the same bed. Despite their universal incompetence they’re always employed, well fed and well dressed. They have lots of girlfriends in uncomplicated relationships who are lovingly unaware of the fact that they are total morons. What more could a man want in life?

Before Curly showed up indeed it was only a kids act. Curly’s repitoir of antics was classic and yet one only has to watch very young children to realize the source of his material. Curly, not unlike our own children, takes us to another level.

Duty bound fathers being dragged to the Saturday matinee by their 5 year old to suffer through uni-dimensional plots presented by Lash , Roy, Wild Bill, Tom Steele, Tim Holt, bang bang shoot'emup, discovered Curly. With Curly the act made sense. Curly made the matinee worthwhile. Uuggggghhhhhh..weeebbeebebeee

Who can forget the Curly Shuffel, Nyuck Nyuck, wheeeeeee , the two handed face self slap .

Of the Thousands cast in Stooges episodes see if any of these ring a bell..and I never got past the Cs: Bud Abbot, Lou Costello, Backus, Bogart, Allyson, Edie Adams, Fatty Arbuckle, Max Baer, Lucile Ball, Wallace Beery, Dan Blocker, Ben Blue, Brennan, Bridges, Sid Caesar, Hume Croynan, to name a few. The Three Stooges act was actually nominated for an Academy Award. Larry Feinberg was an accomplished violinist and a money-winning prize fighter.

I suggest that the popularity of the 3 Stooges erupted from the level beneath slapstick. They represent the world as it is and how men would like to see themselves in it.

The Other Fruit

A snake with an apple? Oh come on! What really ticked Him off? "Don't eat from that tree!..?".
Its a little ludicrous isn't it? I mean really! An apple? No. can't be. Not an apple. Not a tomato, or pear either.
What about sex? Was it sex? Whatever it was, surely it involved disobedience of Gods law, but what law? Through sex man creates. Could it be that creating was against God's law i.e. sex.
Yes. It had to be sex. The Bible was written by Jews and Jews are all about sex. The Japanese and Chinese don't think anything's important about sex. To them its simply another bodily function. No stigma at all to them. No Jews in China or Japan. So here's how it really went down.
"I am the creator or all things and stuff. Not you. So wander around in this here garden I created for you."
"Well, What will I do God? Just wander around?"
"Dunno yet. I'm working on that. Just go in there and wander around for now."

So our Jew forefathers who seem to be so sensitive to sex, manifested it into an apple. And the snake? Really! Give that a think.
"Yo Eve. What's for dinner?"
Eve, munching on an apple replies: Haven't given it much thought Adam. I'm not hungry and I been thinking of other things, like why do you walk lopsided and where did we learn to speak English, and where's our belly buttons and why are our names Adam and Eve when we are in the Middle East."
"No you aren't hungry. You been stuffing yourself with apples ever since you showed up. You need to start thinking of my dinner."
Eve reaches up for another apple.
"You are looking good Hon. Matter of fact. The more I see of you, the better you look. I feel something. Haven't put my finger on it yet, but its a different kind of hunger Mama."
"Kinky Adam. I'm starting to feel something too. Do you think we can create something out of this?"
"Creation is God's gig isn't it? but Hey. come over here and squeeze me Eve. Lets see where it goes. You squeeze me and I'll squeeze you 'cause I'm starting to feel the need for something strange Baby, and you the strangest stuff around 'cause like, there ain't nobody else here".
"oh yeah Baby. Hugging has got to be good. Here. Put your arms around me. Whoa! What's that?
"Dunno Adam Honey, but I'm starting to drip.You think its gonna be ok with God?"
"Baby. at this point I don't care. Come here with that apple Momma!"
"Well, Ok. I'm not sure what this is all about but lets just hug."
"Oh yeah Sweetums. Hugging is good."
"Oh Baby. I think we are starting to create. Yeah. Thasit. Create for me Baby."
"Oh Adam. Create for me. CreateCreateCreate..procreate. "
"Got a cigarette Baby? Light me one too. Whatever that was it was great. I'm ready to do it again."
"Roll me over Adam Honey."
"HEY!... WHAT IN TA-HAIL ARE YOU TWO DOING DOWN THERE?"
"Well, not sure but it sure was swell Huh Eve. "
Eve nods in agreement.
"Well, that's my job. You're doing my job. Nobody does my job. This is my garden and I'm supposed to be doin' all the creatin'"
"Is that what you call it God? See Eve Honey. It was creating. Well we don't think its fair, you doing all the creating so we thought you wouldn't mind if we tried a little creating ourselves. Creating is fun. Isn't it Eve."
Eve takes a bite of her apple and nods pensively.
"We didn't know it was your job. We was just doing something. I mean it felt so natural. It sort of just happened."
"I was afraid of this. I should have known. You two wandering around with little to do. Idle hands, the devil's workshop. Its my fault, but I haven't invented the Xbox yet. "
"Its not like you didn't set us up for it God. I mean this is a very romantic place. Peaceful, and green and supple, and fruitful."
"Oh Baby give it to me!"
"Wait one Big Guy. God is talking and what's worse he's watchin' and apparently he don't like what he sees. Maybe he don't want us doing this."
"I don't care. Lets get it on Baby."
"NOW JUST HOLD ON THERE ADAM; GET AHOLD OF YOURSELF!."
"I been getting ahold of myself. I've been getting real tired of getting ahold of myself, then she shows up. Looks like I'm not going to
have to get ahold of myself anymore. Hotdamn! Comehere Honeybunch. I loves you Baby."
"Just a damn minute! You two are jumping the gun a little. I was saving that for later. Now you've gone and spoiled my surprise. I'm kicking your asses out of the garden. And for additional punishment you have to wear these fig leaves."
"Fig leaves? Why fig leaves? Ok. What do I do with it? Pin it to my chest?
Adam looks to Eve.
"That is sort of nice Eve. Wearing it in your hair, but sort of a pain, God. Always having to make sure our fig leaves are on. What about if we just not eat apples or something? How about we just don't eat any more apples. We both love apples and that would be punishment enough, don't you think?. No fig leaves."
"Yes fig leaves. Wear them over your crotches."
"Crotches? Why?"
"Cause I said so, That's why. I got to kick you out of the garden. You are going to have to grow your own apples and fight off wild animals and stuff. These lions and tigers and other big puddy tats you been friends with? Their relatives outside the wall aren't nearly as cuddly. It won't be the same on the other side of the wall, but on the other hand you will be able to procreate to your hearts content. The flip side is that your fig leaves are easily removable at a moments notice."
"Well ok then. That can't be all that bad."
"See. I still love you my children...but I still got to kick your asses out of the garden. You want to continue procreating you have to do it outside the garden. You are on your own. I'm the only one doing any creatin' in my garden. I don't tolerate anyone creating in my garden but me, so you got to leave. Tell you what. Your choice. Stay in the garden and be nice, no more playing hide the sausage, or get the hell out and screw yer brains out. What'll it be?
"Which way is the main gate?"
"Hang on Adam. This is a nice place."
"Eve...!!?
"Its been nice knowing you God."
"Ok. Put on yer fig leaves and get the Hell out then. Can't control yourselves then get the Hell out. Make like a fig tree and leave. Leave! Get it? Leave? Fig leave?. Ha Ha. Never let it be said God doesn't have a sense of humor."
"Yeah. That's a real thigh slapper Big Guy."
I love you...but don let the gate hit you in the butt. Frankly, I'm disappointed.
"Ok. He's disappointed but I got a nice spot all picked out over here Eve. Just outside the gate."
"Oh Adam. How romantic. This is nice. King size bed made out of bird feathers. How did you do this so quickly? I think maybe its going to be ok outside the garden."
"Sure Baby. Its going to be ok. I love you. Lets try out the bird feathers. I got some candles already lit. You like wine. Here Sugarlips. I've brewed up some applewine. Have some wine. Ok enough wine. Over here on the feathers ok?"
"Do you think God will mind?"
"Who cares what God minds Eveeekins. He done kicked us out. In the garden we had eternal life. Now we got to make hay while the sun shines. So long as we wear these fig leaves sometimes he probably doesn't care. Uhh Munchkins, yer still wearing yours. Wouldn't you feel a little more comfy in something else? ..like nothing? After we get done in a week or two we can put them back on and everything will be cool Baby. Here, let me get you into something more comfortable. C'mon Mama, lets Mambo!"
"Oh Adam. I love it when you talk dirty."
"Yeah Baby, but your still wearing yours. Here. Lets just lie down on the King size bird feathers. Baby. Let me fluff up your pillow a little. Right here Pussums. Hang on. I'm gonna put on some Sinatra. There. Isn't that better? Ok. Here. Hon. I'll just unbuckle this fig leaf for you. See. that wasn't so bad huh. Sort of breezy in the night air. Its gonna be so good Baby. You'll see.
"You think God is watching Adam? I don't feel right God watching."
"God's always watching Baby. He's everywhere. There's no gettin rid of Him. Just relax and ,here, have some more wine."
"But He's watdhing Adam."
"Sure He's watching. I think he likes to watch. Remember what he told us before we left? 'Go forth and multiply. Go ahead. Screw your brains out. See if I care.' Remember that Sweetcheeks?"
"Well, Yes, He did say that didn't he."
"Sure he did Sugarbritches, sure he did. Like he was ordering us to do it. "Go yonder and whip it out, get it on, do it, hop on it. Ok. If it'll make you feel any better we can ask Him just to be sure, later on in the week, we'll ask Him.
"Ok Adam. If you put it that way. I suppose its my duty to obey God, and we can ask Him in a day or so."
"Sure Baby. God's Law. Day or so. Couple of days. Just keep thinking that. A few days. Sure. Next week. Yeah. Late next week. Ok. Now I'm just going to kiss your neck a little, up around the back of your ears. God told me to do this, he volunteered some pointers. He loves us. I love you Drippylips. Hozzat Butteryums? Is that good?"
"oh yes. Adam. Ohhh!..Is this what they mean by raising Cain?"
"'zackly Sweetums. Now I'm new to this just like you so tell me when you are getting tired. I've got some coffee on the boil in case you get tired Hon. If you get tired just let me know and I'll get you some super expresso. Its all about you Tootsie Pie. I put an extra 50 logs on the fire so it won't go cold. You like coffee don't you? Here, have some more wine. "....Fly me to the moon, and let me play among the stars....."

The Sink

Ever wonder about those dilapidated sinks in the cheap hotels?

THE SINK

Being raised in a strict military family has restricted

and limited my powers of observation. I'm convinced of that.

As strictly as we were all raised-the top half of the

family anyway-we were for all of our childhood and much early

adulthood ingrained not to think, not to question, but to

blindly obey. Needless to say, as adulthood approached, I

sought an escape from that confining framework, and began to

progress toward a goal a mite more far reaching than retiring

as a Corporal.

Still, early training becomes part of the foundation,

and is hard to reconstruct past adolescence. Rules were meant

to be unquestionably followed, or so we were drilled. In

retrospect I suppose I just had too many questions to

continue blind in life's journey much past seventeen.

Slowly at first, and then as I gained more confidence

more blatantly I began abrogating some of my father's rules:

"The Right Tool for the Right Job"; "There is Only One Right

Way"; "Don't Touch! You'll Break it." And of course that

shining gem: " That's what you get for thinking." The result

of this brain washing was a slow and methodic approach to

something so simple as running for a hammer when I knew full

well that a tap with my on-hand pair of pliers would have

done the job adequately. Twenty years of the " don't think

rhetoric began proving a burden when I approached the

responsibilities of adulthood. Analyzing and solving problems

became a real chore for me. Nothing seemed to go right and

the expectation of my efforts never seemed to yield the

desired results.

I'm certain my father's training helped me, and at times

certainly kept me alive. Always an avid student; I learned,

to a degree, better to obey the direction of my instructors

and ask questions later. This especially came in handy

learning to sky-dive, and learning to fly crop dusters. Oh

Yes! No denying that, up to a point, good corporaling has its

merits. But there came a time when I decided that is was

necessary to cast off the panoply of platitude and learn how

to think.

I was quite along in life before I found something

really worthy of my first effort. I wasn't used to thinking a

lot and the first chore was to think of something to think

about. I moved around a lot, saw a lot, talked a lot, ate a

lot, read a lot, but didn't think a lot. It affected my every

waking moment, my relationships with people, my working

relationships on the job. Indeed the celebration of life

itself seemed to be a continuous corridor of wrong doors. In

all of my travels to all of the foreign countries, living in

hotels from Edinburgh to Seattle, I always observed, but

never questioned why, without exception, the sink in those

coldwater rooms were torn away from the

wall. If you have ever stayed in a cheap hotel I'm sure

you've noticed.

Admittedly, for years I never gave it a second thought.

It never entered my mind. How unobservant.

"Because that is the way it is."

"To make little boys ask silly questions...

"You'll understand when you get older."

" Don't ask why; just do it"!

I never had cause to place enough pressure on a sink in

order to cause it to pull away from a wall; still, after

years of hotel rooms with platoons of fallen sinks, barely

supported by the plumbing, I began to wonder. Certainly I

never had cause to place enough pressure on a sink to cause

it to fall away from a wall--unless I stood on it. Was

everyone standing on the sink? I searched the wall above the

sink for a moment, my attention momentarily diverted from the

silhouettes of the buildings out of the window. I was in

London, just off of Carnaby Street; I began to regress,

dividing my attention between the dark skyline and the yellow

swirling down the drain.

The bathroom was always down the hall in these places.

"Sod that," as the British are fond of saying.

Don't piss into the Sink!"

No. He never said that, but I'll always wonder if he did

He taught me to pee down drain of the tub while showering,

but it was always somehow forbidden nay, never even brought

to mind when I was a child to do it in the sink. I haven't

the courage to ask him so I don't suppose I will ever know.

"Hey Dad. Did you ever piss into the sink?" That just isn't

something that you ask your father. Not my father anyway. It

certainly came in handy during these cold nights in the

company of a four pint bladder. "Hope the toilet works.

Hope I can find it. Hope the light works; if it doesn't,

hope I get lucky and hit it. I can't remember when I first

did it. It was probably just one of those things that simply

happened. The pressures of a bladder full of beer and a long

line in some bar.

My first recollection is when I opened a window and

whizzed out into the street, but one day, come to think of it

was in February, that I decided it was too cold to continue

that practice; besides, someone saw me and instead of just

walking by, stopped to watch.

The first time I did it I thought: "Never mind Pop. If

Mom saw me she would keel over with heart failure."

" What am I doing"? I asked myself as relief became

guilts welcome partner. Mental images of my parents'

assiduous efforts in child-rearing on my behalf swirling

counterclockwise on the worn porcelain.

" I'm peeing into the sink."

Even through four drunken, ribald years of wild youth in

the Navy I had never done something like this. Oh. I did it.

We all did it. But only because the head in those

Philippine bars were always crowded and we were all having

too much fun to stand in line waiting our turn, and I was too

drunk to remember social protocol. That was different; it

wasn't a conscious act of rebellion; even when we did it out

of the barracks window it wasn't "on purpose", as it were

but simply testimony to the distance down a cold and drafty

corridor to the john, and again, we were usually drunk. Of

course I can imagine the consequences if the Navy had caught

me urinating out of the barracks window.

The thought of trooping down that cold clammy hallway

toward the head brought me back into reality and assuaged my

conscience.

That was it of course--the thought of the lonely journey

of uncertainty down the hall way in the middle of the night.

It wasn't an act of rebellion at all; and it began in the

Navy, cranking it out of the barracks window. Or into the sink. In a word

convenience.

Hold that thought and come with me now into 25 years of future. To London Town.

There was dew on the railing of the fireescape staircase across the

alley from my window. Dawn was breaking; my favorite time of

the day in London--even though it usually was the coldest

part. My digs for the night are a 4th floor walkup bed and breakfast in

Bethnal Green.and the water closet was at the end of a dark and drafty hallway.

The answer to my perplexing query came to me then; while

standing there enjoying the skyline of London chimneys and

rooftops silhouetted against the dawn. I wondered how many

other men--business men, wearing their Fleet Street blue

suits and derby hats along with their aloof airs--fail to

muster the courage to negotiate that cold hall way. They

would deny it of course.

They aren't the cause of the sink coming away from the

wall though. Like so many other sinks in cheap hotels, this one

was coming away from the wall. Certainly they aren't so arrogant as to stand up

on the damn thing, or maybe they are, pretending to do it on

the world; believable but hardly likely.

The guilty party, the cause of the sink--wall schism are

all female. They are sitting on the sink and tearing it away

from the wall. Oh! They deny it vehemently. But it is so

terribly obvious if given some thought.

Who, more so even than men are considered the comfort

creatures. Who are the ones that would be just a wee (excuse

the pun) bit reluctant to negotiate a dark and unknown

hallway in an strange place. No. Men don't have a monopoly on

eschewing a cold hallway in the middle of the night,

especially with an ice cold, and sometimes seatless and

soiled toilet as their reward.

Oh! They deny it emphatically. But the evidence is

blatantly clear in the cheaper hotels from London to

Timbuktu. They will accuse me of being totally ignorant of

the female anatomy; challenging my masculinity, insulting my

parents and even trying to change the subject, but those

tottering sinks, barely standing, glare accusingly and wax

feminine.

The girls have been doing it for years. The cold

hallway to be trodden? Sitting undefended in a strange little

tiled room, on a really freezing potty in the middle of the

night? Come on ladies--fess up. It takes a man to admit she

did it. No sense denying it any longer.

It is just a little disconcerting that, given a choice,

you have little conscience about diddling into our shaving

bowl. But Hey! What are we here for anyway?

So the next time you're up shivering on a cold night with

a bladder full of beer, take a good look at the broken-down

sink and enjoy your new found freedom from parental

hypocracy...but send the kids down the hall; let them figure

it out for themselves._