…value-added, win-win, net-net, deliverables, what’s the ask?, off-line, drill down, tease out, paradigm shift, get down in the weeds, let’s get our ducks in a row, going forward, think outside the box, keep me in the loop, actionable, blue-sky, buy-in, cadence, circle-back, gain traction, triangulate, face time, change management, wheelhouse, wow factor, ramp up, robust dialogue…
My last speeding ticket (well, hopefully, my last speeding ticket) was in 2009, and alas, landed me in the Cleveland Court system to answer for the transgression.
We all got herded in and out like a military operation, and the labyrinthine rules and procedures were fascinating in a there’s-nothing-I-can-do-but-sit-here-and-watch kind of way. One after the other, each person saddled up in front of a clearly bored judge and spilled their guts about rolling through stoplights, expired plates, right-on-red-at-the-wrong-time-of-day, and so on. The judge then interrogated the accused, blabbered procedural stuff and sent them on their way with a fine.
It was all highly efficient, and like most traffic courts, very lucrative. I walked out paying $200.
Money which I had really hoped to use to buy a radar detector.
But I digress.
Btw, I prefer cheddar, or even swiss…
Is being ‘The Fastest Man Alive’ really that impressive? If you’re getting knocked around…if the planet is under siege by intergalactic terrorists bent on destroying the earth, who are you gonna call? A guy who’s, well…really, really fast…or someone like Superman, or Batman? I mean, c’mon.
When it comes right down to it, take the Johnny Lightning stuff away, and I think Jimmy Olsen could probably kick Flash’s ass.
It’s Memorial Day weekend in Cleveland, and it’s also the true beginning of ‘fest’ season, beginning with The Great American Rib Cook-Off and The National Rib Cook-Off, or Rib-A-Palooza, or something like that. I can never remember, because at some point in the summer, there’s about 248 rib fests, and frankly, I can’t keep track of them all.
The big ones though, are this weekend, and along with them, the requisite music acts, 2 of whom (the B-52’s and Todd Rundgren) are criminally overlooked by the purported Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame.
Anyway, so when they say ‘National Rib Cook-Off’, is there, like, a structured play-off system of some kind? I mean, are there divisional winners, and play-offs etc. in order to get to the national stage? I dunno, it seems like it should be televised, too. Bring in Terry Bradshaw, or Bob Costas to host – maybe we could get Madonna for a halftime show. Or, Meatloaf – there’s gotta be a cool tie-in there.
Unfortunately, I picture pre-game warm-ups to be a bunch of sweaty, greasy, BBQ guys, in ill-fitting, Hanes beefy-T’s (now, there’s a pun) going through ‘dry rub’ exercises, and…
Um…I think I better stop right there.
The trend in kid’s names lately, seems to be leaning toward the fairly pretentious. The days of Doug, Bob, Donald, Mary, Connie, etc. are long gone, replaced by pseudo-victorian, or vaguely familiar monikers, such as Henry, Ava, Grace, Miriam, Preston, Washington…celebrity references are getting common as well, as in, Anderson or Cooper… and for the ladies, we’re hearing a lot of flowery names like Madison, Abigail…you get the idea.
I can’t believe though, that in this day and age of trendy kid’s names, that “Wally” hasn’t gotten much play. I mean, why not? It sounds classic (“Walter”, “Walt”)…it has pop culture cred, and well, it just sounds awesome to say.
Of course, you could always roll with “Beaver”.
And if you did, you would get my utmost respect.
I’m 53, but I feel like I’m 30.
Actually, that’s kinda/sorta bullshit. I feel every bit of my 53 years, but I act like I’m 30. Or, is it 27? 32?
Whatever.
The whole age reference thing is an odd mind-game we play on ourselves, and seems like its picked up steam over the last decade. It’s gotta be a vain, baby-boomer thing. We’re all getting up there, and we really don’t wanna talk about it, so we mask it with psycho-babble. 50 is the new 40. 60 is the new 50…
53 is the new 53.
I’m a huge morning type of guy.
Not so coincidentally, I’m also a huge coffee drinker. Well, morning coffee drinker. I rarely touch the stuff in the evenings – I reserve that for, well, ‘health-type’ drinks, like Manhattans.
And, I’m not all that picky about where I score my caffeine. I’m happy with instant coffee, single serve Keurig stuff, and even the über pricey, headache-inducing, Meth-Latte’s served by my local barista.
In any event, I’m well on the way to my fourth cup…and it’s, what…8 am?
When I was about 11 or 12, we finally got a color TV and the next time “The Wizard Of Oz” aired, I suddenly realized the whole Oz part was in color.
Nice. I’m always late to stuff.
Also, anyone who bullies an entire region around (as in, the entire Tri-State, metro Oz area) and has issues with H2O, probably shouldn’t leave random buckets of water around the castle.
Consider that my PSA to green-skinned, sorcerer-type, despots everywhere.
Does any company ever really call it the ‘personnel’ office anymore? Isn’t it like, ‘human resources’ or something? ‘Personnel’ makes more sense…
This is the kind of stuff I think about at 7 am…
