smays.com

Google.

David Weinberger wants to have hot monkey sex with Google and talks about it on the radio.

Our Halloween Parties

didn't have much to do with Halloween. Many of us remember these as the best parties we ever attended or hosted. Like most such events, it probably had something to do with dressing up in a costume (required). So many parties, so many pictures, so many beers. The origins of our Halloween parties are unknown to all but a few. Some trace the beginning to The First Memphis Halloween (right). A great party by any measure. Perhaps The First Halloween Party of Modern Times. [From The Basement Diaries]

The Black & Gold

The awful truth is... I like a good honky-tonk better than a football game. I finally experienced (there is no other word) The Black & Gold this past weekend. I've spent my share of time in nasty little watering holes but The Black & Gold is right up there with the best (worst?). A little cinder-block building out on Business 70 in Columbia, Missouri, this (bar? club? juke joint?) place is a study in White Trash Chic. The place is obviously popular with the college crowd but --I'm told-- equally so with the blue collar crowd for whom happy hour is seven a.m. Beer is served in cans because they do less harm when thrown. When the owner had a problem with broken windows, he just bricked them up. Problem solved. The night I was there, Big Head Ed was deep-frying chicken in a skillet and the air was heavy with grease and cigarette smoke and two Rams cheeleaders (Lacy and Amy) were in attendance. In the proud tradition of Tommy's North-End Cafe and The (original) Shilo, I give The Black & Gold five tab-tops.

Laid-Off.

Scott came to work today just long enough to introduce me to Odd Todd.

Twenty-four Years

If you only make one correct decision in your life, finding the right partner is the one to make. Barb and I got married 24 years ago today. The ceremony was held in her parent's living room and took about 15 minutes. I wore a sportcoat and tie, Barb a nice suit. After the ceremony the minister rode off on his bike and we went out to the patio where most of our friends were listening to the MU football game. We guzzled beer all afternoon and then went home to change into our costumes for the annual Halloween party/reception. Barb and I dated for six years before we made it official, so we've been together for 30 years. Not one real argument in all that time. I have never been nagged about anything, large or small. Up until "My Big Fat Greek Wedding," (she liked it, I left after 10 minutes and went across the hall and watched Triple-X) we agreed on almost every movie we ever saw. We like and read the same books. She thinks I'm funny. I think she's the kindest, most even-tempered person I've ever met. Another 30 would be just about right.

Mizzou-rah!

Attended my first Missouri Tiger Football game on Saturday. Our company has had the broadcast rights for all of the 18 years I've been with the company and this is the first time I've attended a game. I'm just not a football fan. Even Barb --who is a fan-- thought the game was boring enough to leave at the half. So we missed seeing the fans tear down the goal posts. This was, I gather, something of an embarrassment since the team the beat --Kansas-- wasn't very good. It's a little difficult for me to imagine the people sitting around me mustering enough enthusiasm to rip open a bag of chips, let alone demolish some big metal goal posts. I'm not much on well-mannered crowds, let alone mobs so it's probably best I left early. Apparantly the players led the attack on the goal posts. They talked it about it on the post-game broadcast (move the Media Player slider in to the 4 hour 12 minute mark)

Blogging

by Biz Stone is far and away the most useful of the several books I've read on blogging. Some real practical stuff that I'll keep close at hand.

Playing Chicken.

I've been trying --without success-- to make sense of George Bush's plans to invade Iraq. I believe Douglas Rushkoff has.

Red Dragon

Better than I expected. Manhunter far the better movie. Every performance in the original was superior to the re-make. William Petersen much better as Will Graham. Brian Cox will always be Lecter for me. And Tom Noonan's Dolarhyde makes Ralph Fiennes seem silly.

Born, not made.

I've been thinking about work place dynamics a lot lately. Managers, employees, bosses, leadership, morale. For most of the past 30 years I was part of "the management team." A couple of years ago I worked my way back down the corporate ladder so that I have several bosses (instead of one) and nobody calls me boss. The two most significant results of this devolution are I don't get invited to lunch as often as I used to and life is much sweeter.

During the peak of my Management Years I read books and attended workshops and seminars and took it all very seriously. Most of it was bull shit. I stopped all that after reading my first Dilbert book. Scott Adams describes The Boss this way:

"His top priorities are the bottom line and looking good in front of his subordinates and superiors (not necessarily in that order). Of absolutely no concern to him is the professional or personal well-being of his employees. The Boss is technologically challenged but he stays current on all the latest business trends, even though he rarely understands them."

Most managers don't have any idea how they're doing because they look to their boss for feedback instead of the people reporting to them. Looking back (and maybe a little ahead, too), I think the difference between good companies and great companies is that good companies have good leaders...and great companies have great leaders. Nothing wrong with being a good leader or working for a good company...but it's a little harder if you've ever worked for a great leader at a great company. And don't let anybody shit you...great leaders are born. They're not made. And the men and women down in the trenches can tell the difference in an instant.

Older than I feel.

I started an excercise program about 14 months ago. Membership at fitness center, personal trainer, the whole deal. I can do 50 pretty good push-ups now and feel great. Last week Traci (the trainer) suggested I let them do a series of tests to determine my physical age (compared to my chronological age). The clock says I'm 54 and I slid in at a cool 48. And, if I'm willing to live like Lance Armstrong, I can take that down to about 30. Call me skeptical. I think we'll shoot for 45.

Come in Rangoon.

It's nice to think that all of the people that read these thoughts could pile into my Toyota and go out to dinner together. And that they are all people with whom I'd like to have dinner. How flattering the recent emails asking if I was alive. Just barely.

Working night and day on extensive make-over of our corporate Web site. The difference between a really shitty Web site (the one I did) and a really good one (the one Andy and Kory created) is a hell of a lot of work. I find it almost impossible to stop --even for a few minutes-- until the project is complete. I am mining a deep vein of obsessive/compulsivness that I have always known was there. I wonder if we are creating a digital Delorean or Tucker. Are we delivering a state-of-the-art Stair Master to native islanders with no electricity or desire to exercise? We shall see.

The only safe place.

Brother Blane writes from Indonesia: "Just wanted to let you know we are all OK here. Seems like Indonesia just can't stay out of the news. We don't feel at all threatened here, but then I guess you never do until the terrorists strike. It is total madness. As I read about the sniper in the D.C. area I am reminded that the only safe place is to be where God wants you to be."