no noise.

Listen.
Do you hear that? 
Silence.
If it's not golden, it certainly has a nice shiny color that attracts monkeys.
As I type this post it's quiet here except for the rhythmic tapping of my keyboard keys and gentle whirring of my computer fan.
My tympanic membranes are overly stimulated with music, people talking, kids screaming, cell phones ringing, and the list goes on.
It's nice when it all just suddenly vanishes and I can finally sit here with that tiny little voice in my head. It's the voice that says, "Does it make sense that your toothbrushes are less than a foot away from where everyone drops 'wolf-bait'?"
This must be what Buddha felt like when he was in his bodhi spot.
That is, until someone disturbed him by trying to rub his round belly for good luck. Still, it's nice to have a few moments just to sit in repose.
Ah, peace and quiet.

<Note: No sooner had I written this last sentence when my cell phone blasted an alert which scared the crap out of me!>

unionization.

I received the above note from my son, Juvenile Unit One, who was obviously upset with my oppressive demand that he wear pants. The weather was cold outside and I was only looking out for his best interest while also proactively keeping child protective services from having to do any extra work on my account. I'm good like that.
Needless to say, I was shocked.
A strike? Who does this kid think he is? Norma Rae? I had no idea that he had joined a union. I also knew that he didn't know the state of Texas is a right-to-work state which makes me an at-will parent. Still, a work stoppage meant that pets wouldn't get fed, vegetables would go uneaten, and little nubbin' teeth would grow fuzz from neglect. As the CEO, CFO, and ASS of the Corley Family, LLC., I had to act.
I made a compromise: he would wear pants and I wouldn't kill him.
Even a child knows the power, impact, and necessity of making a stand to correct the wrongs of the world. In his mind this note was a binding, legal document in full force and effect... and I had been served. Of course, this is the same kid that laps up salsa straight from the bowl like a puppy.

babysitting.

Whether it's a family member, friend, or complete stranger, the need to look after the safety and well being of an underdeveloped human being will be thrust upon you. Should you find yourself in this situation remember the cardinal rule of babysitting:

Don't KILL the child.

Sadly, the news reports are cluttered with stories of negligent caregivers whose actions meant doom for those in their care. If you plan ahead you can avoid many of the pitfalls that arise when babysitting.

For example, the word "NO" is the easiest and most effective way to avoid babysitting. In fact, the very same word can be used to avoid many different types of situations from giving people rides to staying out of time share programs.

Children are like gremlins. You mustn't get them wet, expose them to direct sunlight, and never feed them after midnight.

Adhering to this simple principle should make babysitting a breeze. Of course, if all else fails, there's plenty of day laborers who are ready, willing, and able. Good luck!

They call me "Dances with Facebook"

    “I will never join Facebook,” I had once declared with great hubris.

     I wasn’t going to be a “joiner”. I was immune to the hype. Several of my friends even asked me why I wasn’t on Facebook. I was too good for that. Nope. I wasn’t going to go there.

     I was determined to be the guy who stood firm in his little cabin on the side of Mt. Saint Helens while his neighbors waved goodbye on their way out of town. All while smoked billowed from its snowy peak.

     To quote one of my Facebook friends, “I caved.”

     After setting up my account, I was amazed to find the number of people that I actually know who were on there. It was almost as if Facebook was saying, “Where the hell have you been? You’re late.” I was nearly as shocked as the people who suddenly found my friend request in their in-box.

     The prodigal son had returned and everyone wanted to comment on it.

     I have been on Twitter for some time (@ArynCorley) so I’m not a total social media neophyte. I have this really great blog where I can produce and archive my rants. But, “Da’ Book” is a whole different animal altogether. I can see why people spend countless hours at work and at home sponging bandwidth to stay connected with people who were once avatars of their own memories.

     It’s great to see photos of people whom I haven’t seen in many years. My highly developed observational skills suggest to me that we all get a few wrinkles as we get older.

     I’m still trying to figure some things out. I haven’t “poked” anyone yet. I think I should probably restrict to only poking my wife so I don’t cause any hurt feelings and accusations of extra-marital poking. Tagging people in photographs seems to be a key feature. I haven’t done that yet. The “like” button is a handy little feature. It’s like when you get a “thumbs-up” from your proctologist. People like when they are liked.

     When I get a message about someone posting something on my wall, it reminds me of Paint Rock and how those paintings were like the “old skool” version of Facebook. If you wanted to leave a message on someone’s wall, you would just paint a buffalo, crow, or little dancing guy to tell them what you wanted them to know. 

     Here we are in the 21^st century using computers to do some 12^th century stuff.

     In some way, Facebook plays into that most basic of human needs: to have the rest of the tribe actually give a darn about us. 

     Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some poking to do.

Office Supplies are a Steal For Some

The bible reads, “Thou shalt not steal.”

The Qur'an reads, “As to the thief (man or woman) let their hands be cut off, retaliation for what they did, a punishment from Allah.”

The sign at Jerry’s Meat Emporium reads, “Steal from me, and I’ll _____ your sister.”

Stealing is understood, by just about every culture on the planet, as the wrong thing to do. There are harsh sentences for those who steal. In some cases, States have allowed citizens to use deadly force to keep their possessions from being taken. Alarm companies make millions of dollars annually by giving people the peace of mind that someone cares about their stuff getting stolen. Stealing is a great way to make people feel badly.

I think there needs to be an asterisk place at the end of the above statements. “Thou shalt not steal” should include the caveat: does not apply to office supplies.

Webster’s defines stealing as, “to take the property of another wrongfully…” The Texas Penal Code defines theft as “…unlawfully appropriates property with intent to deprive the owner of property.” However, when it comes to office supplies, our attitudes shy away from this definition. If you steal your neighbor’s lawnmower you’re a thief. If you steal your neighbor’s pen, then you’re still a neighbor.

Stealing office supplies is a lot like cheating on a diet: everyone does it, yet no-one wants to talk about it or admit it. I don’t think people place a whole lot of value in office supplies. Regardless, they must be worth something. Otherwise, Staples and Office Depot loss prevention officers wouldn’t tackle you and beat you senseless for trying to purloin Post-It notes.

Try calling the police to make a report about a stolen paperclip and you’ll find yourself being the comedic relief at the next Christmas banquet.

Pens are like the Chevy Silverado of the office supply world. They are getting “jacked” all of the time. You can tell if a place has a high pen theft rate by the type of object used to keep the pen on the premises. I once used a pen in a gas station that was cable locked to a cinder block. That wasn’t nearly as bad as the transmission “pumpkin” that was attached to the bathroom key!
Still, it would be tough to get a jury of twelve people to send someone to jail for this.
Are there any real consequences for stealing office supplies?
Who knows?

But, I’m sure there is a small section in Hell reserved especially for those with no hands and a stapler in their pocket.

Writer's Blockade Closes Harbor of Ideas

Could this be writer's block?  

I’ve heard of it before, but I didn’t think it could happen to me. Let’s see. What are the symptoms.

Uninspired? Check.

Lack of creativity? Check.

Do I feel like my brain is constipated? Yep.

Wow. I think I have writer’s block. That’s not good though. A very bad case of writer’s block is what caused the character Jack Torrence to go “off his rocker” in The Shining.

How did it happen? I don’t think I hit my head on anything and I certainly don’t remember getting killed. Maybe this is what happens to people when they start writing and getting lots of creative juices flowing. Eventually, your muse takes a vacation and leaves you stranded like a jilted bride.

Actually, I have been doing lots of writing. My police reports are always keeping me busy. However, there is very little room for creativity. I try to make them somewhat enjoyable to read whenever I have room to flex my creative muscles. I have to be careful NOT to inject too much humor. Otherwise, I may seem flippant.

 “My investigation has determined the horse wandered into the roadway where it was struck by a large delivery truck. The blood and guts strewn on the roadway made a nice maple leaf pattern that reminded me of Winnipeg. Ironically, the truck was hauling glue.”

See?

 I’ve done some writing for school too. Essays and analytical type stuff. I think my professor appreciates the humor I inject into my writing. One of the downsides to being a college professor has to be the new batch of terrible writing that is generated for class. It’s like an unending harvest of dreck. The subject matter can be a bit dry when writing about such things as leadership principles. When asked for a term paper, “What makes a good leader?” I wrote of the importance of knowing when to say, “Yes, dear.” Also remembering to leave the toilet seat down is a key component of effective leadership.

I guess the only way out of writer’s block is to just start writing. If the ideas are there they will penetrate the membrane and release themselves. It’s a matter of taking the time to sit down and start hammering out words. Ah, that feels much better. J

If you can't stand the heat...

The air conditioning went out. My house is now a "sweat lodge". I understand that people pay great money for sauna treatments and the like. However, I'm not one of them.
Don't get me wrong. I prefer the hot to the cold. I just don't like it so hot that I need carrots and potatoes in my pockets.
To add insult to injury, the system needs to replaced completely. It's going to cost a wad of cash to replace. Compared to replacing an air conditioning system, it's cheaper to go to college! I would do without it if I could. Everyone in my house could stand to sweat off a few pounds anyway; particularly the baby. I just can't wrap my head around the idea of going to Brownsville to cool off.
I'm reminded of the adage, "If you can't stand the heat get out of the kitchen."
I would re-write it to read, "If you can't stand the heat, then you haven't been here long enough."