Archive for the ‘Integrity’ Category

Trickle-Down Integrity Is The Only Trickle-Down That Works; Has Anyone Seen The Fucking Cat?

Friday, July 11th, 2014
  1. So. I’m attempting to set a new Santa Fe record for consecutive days writing, this making three such productive days in a row, and I’m finding it difficult to talk about anything not related to my new retirement.  My psycho analyst tells me that is because I’m sad and hurt by the events that prompted my early departure from what had been a fun and fulfilling work experience.  But there is this annoying Windows 8 dealio that places outline numbers into my postings for no fucking reason.  Anytime you see these examples of bad format, Blame Billy Gates, not me.

(Editor’s note:  When I started this shit it was, actually, for the third day of writing in a row, said writing to have been published for the third consecutive day.  Today is now Friday, and I’m hoping to actually finish and publish whateverthefuck it is that I’m trying to say before today becomes Saturday.  See, on Monday I got a call from a buddy asking me to discuss some stuff with him, so I closed this down, showered and dressed, and went to his place to talk.

We then discussed what it was he wanted to talk about. OK, after first talking about the wonderful rain we’d had the night before, we discussed what it was he wanted to discuss, and then after all that stuff, we talked about poker—my new profession—and what my plans were for the day.  One thing to another, and it slipped my mind that I planned to set a new Santa Fe writing record as I went to the casino. What comes hereafter was previously written Monday save, and except, for some editing and infill.)

Which reminds me.  I spent the day yesterday (please read here yesterday to mean “last Sunday” as I was writing this Monday) doing nothing but mindless chores and other shit with the dogs—cleaning the carport and shed, trimming landscape, running the vacuum, reading a poker book—and it was the most pleasurable day I’ve spent in a year.  I forced myself to be, as Dr. Sam I. Am-Johnson calls it, “in the moment”.  In the moment is another word for enjoying what you are doing as you do it.  OK, three words, but who really gives a shit?

And speaking of living in the moment, my mother’s dementia is worsening by the day and I’m speaking of the actual worse rather than her previously pretended memory losses.  Until recently I could never tell when Mother was gaming me with her dementia, whether she was acting like she didn’t know or was it for real a moment of forgetfulness.

Now, it’s for real.  For very fucking real.

Last night the phone rang and I could see Mother’s San Antonio number on the little display of my cell phone.  “Hey, Mother, how’s it hanging, baby?”

“Why doesn’t your sister ever call me?  I can understand you abandoning me, but never your sister.  The lesbians have told her to abandon me and it’s all your fault.”

When all I could do to fill the blank time was breathe heavily, Mother added, “I just wish the Lord Jesus would just take me right now!”

“Mother, you and I were on a conference call with Sister just an hour ago—remember?  We discussed my son’s wedding this fall and we tried to help you make decisions about that happy event—do you want to go, would you sit in the car for an hour with Sister and her wife or would I need to drive four hours out of my way to pick you up, and why didn’t either of your children ever call you?  Do you remember any of that?”

“Who’s getting married?”

Oh, for fuck sakes, I was thinking.  “For fucksakes, Mother, I’ve discussed this with you for the last month.”  I’ve been trying to say the word “fuck” so much around my mother.  Seems she has begun to think that her sweet Jesus will think less of her for what I say and do.

“I don’t know why the Lord doesn’t take me now before you swear me all the way to Hell.  I worked so hard to bring you up the right way and my reward will be to burn for all eternity in the fiery pits of Hell.”

“That’s fine, Mother,” I told her, “save a set of chains for me, will you?”

Her response was to ask me, “Where are you?” and then we did the “I’m in Santa Fe/what are you doing in Santa Fe?” dance.  I’ve done what I consider to be my best to heed my buddy BJ’s advice and not be angry or tormented by Mother’s mental deterioration.  It appears that my hard work has resulted in less motherly meanness, yet more motherly memory loss. Maybe I should stop retaliating.  Maybe I can feel better about Mother by enjoying her newfound niceness rather than trying to punish her.

A trade-off I need to discuss in my next psycho therapy session.

Anyway, I promised you that I would provide you with a copy of the short presentation I devised years ago to aid my employees with their decision-making processes and behaviors.  Here it is:

Integrity from the Top Down

Leadership Principles for Success

  1. Critical Thinking on a Critical Path- the Scientific Method.
  2. Stop Peeing on the Campfire (It’s never too late).
  3. The Man in the Mirror.

 

This was designed by me because I have this business philosophy related to my employees.  It’s pretty simple, actually, and it goes like this:  I want every employee to be a leader, reach their full potentials, and do those two things even if they find another, better job or go out and start their own competitive company.  Good, smart thinking and decision making skills are critical to business success, and better businesses make for a better life.

I’ll leave that with you to ponder and if I remember to follow up, I’ll fill in the blanks on what should have been the fourth day in a row.  In the meantime, help me with my Hobby Lobby protest sign slogans.  Everything I think of is too long and clumsy to fit on the stiff corrugated plastic signs I favor for protesting work.  And by the way, has anyone seen the fucking cat?

Fuck Walmart!

 

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An Actual Apology; Hens’ Teeth And Other Rarities

Sunday, February 2nd, 2014

 

So. One of Nature’s miracles has happened here to Enchantedland. One of those freakish events that set your mouth agape, and in this case, warms your heart. OK, and also gives you hope that spending your adult life practicing your personal morals is worthwhile.

You know how some practicings of personal integrities often go as many good deeds sometimes go, right? As with many of the small niceties you spread among the general population as an honest and caring person that end up with a smack to the face. Just like that time I informed the nice lady that the back rope to her Matador Red thong had slipped its groove and was riding wide right, and had gathered the flimsy fabric of her short skirt to the point that I could read the artfully-applied “I (tattooed heart) Homeboy” ink splatter displayed on the cheek of her adorable bottom at just above the crease where cheek meets thigh.

That last sentence might require several readings to gain the imparted knowledge, therein, but reread with the understanding that it says, with a high degree of precision, precisely what I meant to say. And also know that my ADHD seems to be in check this beautiful morning.

We were in the big mall down to the ABQ, and I had gathered the moral strength to speak to her. Having prior experience in these matters, I knew a certain light hand was required. “Ah, Miss,” I carefully interrupted her conversation with a second woman I assumed was her Homegirl, “I just want you to know that…” and I told her of the wardrobe malfunction in a carefully detailed recounting. We were in the “Young Misses” section of Macy’s, and I finished with, “When I first noticed, you were in the shoe store, I saw that you were in trouble when you tried on that pretty pink leather jacket there to the Petite Casuals store. I didn’t want to bother you until I was certain you were in jeopardy here.”

Cute Latino lady gave me a smile followed by a quite quizzed look, and then one of the hardest slaps I’ve ever had. “Usted inappropriano madre fucker,” and, “Whap!!!”

As a man having been slapped often, I can tell you that it would be the slight woman that will slap stars on your face. Husky women seem to have a heavier punch, but the slight ladies will slap the Milky Way all up in your head.

Anyway, as you know, I’ve recently taken the highest possible moral ground a man can take—the ground that lay prey to personal punishment and retributions for having homesteaded said high ground. I was at first punished and had my integrity impugned for having done the right thing. Human events being what they are occasionally, I was shown to be not a liar but a man with at least a modicum of integrity and things were made right.

In fact, things were made as right as they could get as the other human being involved in the matter made one of the most heart felt and sincere apologies I have ever heard. And made it twice.

I must admit that having stood my ground during this event gave me a giant sense of well being as a man. Knowing that you can do the right thing when rubber meets road is a truly good feeling about yourownself. And this apology did the same thing for my opinion of people in general. Knowing that there are men and women who can admit wrong and make amends in a meaningful way seems to be a lost art.

We see it every day as athletes and celebrities and politicians make their meager apologies on the TV—apologies not designed to actually make amends, apologies instead orchestrated to limit damage and restore brand. I see these apologies and lose even more respect for the apologizer than already lost.

OK, except for when I had no respect in the first place. Like with the tyrant, Cesar Chris Christy. Anybody think that egomaniacal bastard has it in him to actually apologize?

Fuck me running. Word Check just informed me that egomaniacal isn’t an actual word. It also approved Homeboy but not Homegirl.

“Eat shit and die, Word Check.”

And Fuck Walmart as well! Mas tarde, y’all.

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Integrity- A Devalued Currency

Monday, January 20th, 2014

 

So. I sit here on a glorious Sunday morning in Enchantedland, heavy of heart and soaring in spirit. I never in a million years would have thought that I would find myself enjoying a self-comparison between my veryownself and the Pope of all Catholics, but, and none the less, here I sit in precisely that seat. And having just evaluated all the selfnesses contained in those first two sentences, I find that my thoughts at this moment aren’t really all about me. OK, maybe my thoughts aren’t all about myself.

I’m growing to like this Pope Frankie. His recent firings of 400 abusive priests have pushed me over the line and into his court. My admiration for this humble man started when I heard that he sneaks out to tend the untended of Rome and grew greatly when he took a hard stand for the actual words of Jesus and against unbridled greed. I have a promise with myself that until the Holy Roman Catholic Church takes real steps to end its terrible culture of sexual abuse, I will use every opportunity to take cold, hard shots at it.

But for the first time in 2,000 years, a Pope seems Hell-bent to the leather to both preach the teachings of grace that his beloved Saviour left as the legacy for all Christians, and then follow through in his actions. The integrity that this Pope has so far exhibited is remarkable to me. That he continues to hold this sacred ground in the face of scathing opposition from every corner of the Earth is cause of my admiration.

To tell the world that you have values and represent that you will hold true to those values is easy. History is littered with the skeletons of powerful men and women who have promised personal integrity for advancement, and we live every day with the stench of the decay many of them left when their promises were broken. Unlike this Pope (to-date), most powerful people lose their integrity with the gain of that same power.

Integrity is a tough mantle to maintain. Like lies. How small must a lie be to not be a lie? I remember my college philosophy class back to what must have been 1968, when our professor opened an hour-long discussion on just that question.

“Is it possible to tell a lie without debiting your credibility?” she asked.

Me, having already taken Accounting 101, knew what the fuck she was asking, but most of the class was confused. “OK,” she continued to the questioning faces, “let me ask a different way. Is it possible to tell a lie that is not a lie?”

Now me, and once again I’m speaking only for myself, I saw the logic trap just set by the pretty professor. I forget her name, but she was one of those liberated Sixties college women with a fertile mind who reveled in her work. She covered her unfettered breasts with the billowing, flowery peasant dresses of the Hippies times, and I spent countless hours in my attempts to imagine with accuracies the definitions of the fertile female body beneath the loose fabrics.

Having already spent an inordinate amount of time in heavy discussions on the “chicken/egg” and “tree falling” philosophical questions that occurred while under the influence of any variety of mood-altering substances, I knew that I needed to be careful before entering this particular scholarly fray. Net result of the discussion was this: A lie is always a lie regardless if it is good intentioned or if it results in a positive outcome. And my conclusion is “egg”, and “yes”.

Have I ever told you that I have the dreaded ADHD?

For a public person or celebrity or business person in a position of authority to have and maintain personal integrity is an absolute bitch to do. Many times integrity must be compromised to get into those lofty positions, a conundrum all into itself. How can you maintain integrity that has no history, no foundation? Integrity has become a devalued currency because so many stake their claims without mining the ore.

I’m not a public person, not a powerful person nor do I enjoy celebrity. I now lead a rather simple life, choosing to only interact routinely with people I like and trust. With age, I’ve grown to understand that I should surround myself with people I trust and allow the others to go fuck themselves. I’ve grown to know that people you trust are far less likely to hurt you in unkind ways. And I’ve also grown to learn that I might not be as good a judge of those trustworthy traits as previously believed.

Which reminds me. One of the things I most liked about the Sixties was how we “Hippies” used to make up new words and phrases and how we added new layers of meaning to the existing. Like when I used “heavy” up there when discussing the chicken/eggie discussions. Groovy, doobie, spliff, don’t Bogart that joint, sock it to me, far out, wow!, ‘ere, gay pride, heavy.

God, I love those words. With a heart made heavy by the pain that can only be caused by someone you trust, I have the sense of self pride that can only come from holding firm to your values in the face of personal harm or loss. I find myself feeling a kindred spirit with the Pope.

Holy shit! Who would have thought I would ever say that?

Fuck Walmart, the Koch brothers, and fuck those first 400 priest rapists! Manana, y’all, and I mean it.

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