Author Archives: jdtharp

Case of the slows…

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When President Lincoln fired General George B. McClellan, he cited the general’s “case of the slows” as one of the primary reasons. It seemed that no amount of prodding, pleading, or gesticulating from the White House could convince McClellan to actually use the splendid army he built to mercilessly crush the rebel Army of Northern Virginia and end the Civil War.

Now I’m not quite as opposed to a couple of slow days as Lincoln was, but I have my issues with them. First and foremost, slow days seem to drag on forever… Like when you look at the clock on the wall convinced it must surely be time for lunch only to discover that it’s not quite 9:30. Being busy can leave you battered and bloody, but at least it does seem to make the day go by. Counting ceiling tiles has its own special charm, but you can really only do that so many times before you go batshit crazy… and surprisingly, even Facebook gets remarkably quiet during the early afternoon hours when everyone is working.

Maybe the worst thing about not being particularly busy is that you start looking over your shoulder and wondering if it’s just you or if everyone else is bored to tears but just afraid to say anything out loud. I’ve been around for the better part of a decade now and know that there are two generally slow times of year; from around Memorial Day through the 4th of July and the month between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Every year it seems to catch me slightly off guard as I transition from whirling dervish to terracotta warrior and back again.

NATO…

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The logic behind protesting against the one international institution that has actually accomplished anything since its inception is sort of beyond me. The UN, that loveable gaggle of windbags created in San Francisco and headquartered in New York, never seems to be able to find its ass with both hands and a map. On their watch North Korea got the bomb and Iran seems to be right behind them, the Middle East is as much a hotbed now as it was fifty years ago, and a dozen genocides and failed peacekeeping missions dot its less than impressive resume. Since 1945, the UN has been the preeminent forum for talking about the world’s problems and promptly doing nothing about them.

By way of comparison, the signatories of the North Atlantic Treaty have spent the last 60-odd years deterring communist aggression, policing Bosnia and Yugoslavia, raising arms against the common foe when the United States was attacked in 2001, and more recently using air power and special forces troops to knock over a two bit dictatorship in Libya. It seems to me, all of those are good and commendable things to do.

So yeah, when it comes to understanding why the streets of Chicago are full of protestors, all I can do is scratch my head. Godspeed Chicago PD, knock heads and take names… and try to get a few licks in for those of us who can’t be there in person to help out.

Goodbye George…

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I had to say goodbye this week to George Forman, well, to his grill at least. I may have some pots and pans that have been around longer, but they mostly just sit in a cabinet getting dusty. George was the longest continuously serving piece of gear in my kitchen, getting drug out two or three times a week depending on what was on the menu. He was old school – no fancy removable plates or accessories, no digital settings. He was the original “grilling machine.”

Sadly, in his later years, George began tending towards incontinence; ignoring the drip pan in favor of spewing grease all over the countertop. Even so, his cooking was as reliable as ever. Sadly, there’s something about needing to degrease your kitchen counters (and George’s undercarriage) a few times a week that just doesn’t lend itself to continuing your long and productive relationship. When there were more drippings on the counter than in the pan, I knew it was time to put George out of his misery.

Sometime yesterday afternoon, UPS delivered George II. He’s got removable, easy to clean plates, can double as a waffle iron, and came with accessories that I haven’t come up with a use for yet. He’s sleek and new and isn’t caked with “gunk” that no amount of industrial degreaser would remove. I have no idea how well George II will actually stack up against his predecessor, but at least he’ll look good doing it.

The trouble with compromise…

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I’ve been told from time to time that I have a tendency towards being an uncompromising bastard. I’m fairly sure that wasn’t meant as a compliment at the time. It occurs to me, though, that we spend an inordinate amount of time looking for the win-win solution. At best, most people accept a win-lose proposition where at least one person gives up some part of what they were trying to achieve. More often, we tend to settle into the lose-lose option where everyone walks away equally dissatisfied with the result.

It seems to me that life is too damned short for half measures. When’s the last time you remember anything great happening because someone settled for “enough”? If you said “never,” you’re on the right track.

Maybe that does make me uncompromising. I think I’ll find a way to live with it.

Stupid lists…

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I start nearly every day of my life with a list. Sometimes it’s a real list written on paper or filed away in a “to do” app. Other times it’s a simple mental check list of things I want to get done before the lights go out sometime between 10-11:30 that night. The only thing all of these lists have in common is that I haven’t managed to work my way all the way to the last item on any of them since before I can remember. Some days these damned lists are longer at the end of the day than they were at the beginning. That feels wrong on so many levels. At the rate I’m tacking things to do onto the bottom of my most current list, I should be catching up sometime around summer 2015.

Now let’s face it, I’m a pretty productive guy. In fact, I take great and perverse pride in my ability to get things done. Even so, I’m starting to wonder if there isn’t a better way. Maybe it really is time to outsource some of the domestic responsibilities around here so I’ve got a snowball’s chance of getting caught up any time in the near future.

Self censorship…

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Every now and then I manage to write a post here that strikes exactly the tone I was looking to hit. That makes it all the more troubling when you read it one last time before hitting the “publish” button and realize it’s chock full of things you can’t say out loud. I’m not confessing to kidnapping the Lindbergh baby or anything, but it was just one of those moments of clarity that screamed out that things weren’t quite ready for prime time. That wasn’t the first time I’ve had to self censor and I’m sure it won’t be the last. I share so much on here that sometimes it’s hard to remember that not everything needs said as soon as it pops into my head. Blogging is a real double edged sword like that. Things that seem like a good idea while I’m writing them, seem slightly less enchanting after they’ve gone live. I guess that’s the price we pay for instant communication.

As usual, I’ve filed my original post away in the archives and hope that it might someday see the light of day again. Unfortunately, that means for tonight you’re left with this post explaining why you’re not reading anything terribly interesting tonight. Sorry about that. Better luck tomorrow.

Pack Leader (Part 2)

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When it comes to leadership, the first lesson is almost always that your most important job is taking care of people. The same is true when you’re the pack leader. Unfortunately, I didn’t bother going to school to become a veterinarian, so that means for anything other than minor issues, I’m stuck relying on the expertise of others about how best to provide medical care. Now with most dogs, as long as they’re getting quality food, regular baths, and the requisite amount of attention, they’re mostly good until the end of their days. Unfortunately, half of my pack consists of an English Bulldog which guarantees that the vet and I are going to become very close.

Lovable as they are, the bulldog is a walking medical disaster. Eyes, nose, joints, food and skin allergies, and a plethora of other genetic issues plague the breed from beginning to end. I knew that going into the experience as a bulldog owner. I almost feel sorry for the people who see a bulldog pup in the window and take him home without knowing what they’re in for. Winston is a fairly healthy bulldog and in four years his medical bills have run somewhere around $5,000. Trust me when I say that bulldogs are not for the faint of heart. The little buggers will bleed you dry. But they’re cute in their own pug-nosed drool covered sort of way… and hopelessly loyal… and stubborn as the day is long. That’s their charm. And why we tolerate the madding expense of keeping them around.

Pack leader…

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I am the pack leader. I set the rules, provide the food, and make sure we are sheltered from the weather every night. When they get snippy with each other, I restore order and tranquility. So riddle me this, if I’m the pack leader, what makes it ok to poke me in the forehead with your cold wet nose? I know I’m definitely not the one who decided it was ok to wake up and hit the ground running at 6AM on a Saturday morning… but still, here I sit thirty minuets later clicking away at the keyboard while the rest of my pack has curled up on their beds and gone back to sleep. Anyone who ever said that leadership was glamorous clearly never had a dog.

It’s a good think I like mornings… and an even better thing that I like standing on the porch with a cup of coffee steaming in my hand watching the night give way to morning, listening to the horses across the road waking up, and enjoying an hour or two of peace before the rest of the world catches up with me. Maybe the dogs did me a favor this morning after all.

Seriously…

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As a rule, I think people take themselves and the value of what they do too seriously. Heart surgery? Sure, that’s serious business. Making sure prisoners don’t escape from jail, yep, I’ll sign off on that one too. Airline pilot? You guessed it, another example of serious work requiring people to be serious. Sitting in a nice cushy office tweaking version twelve of a PowerPoint presentation somehow fails to rise to the level of seriousness that justifies having an inflated sense of self importance. Lord knows you couldn’t tell that from looking around at a room full average bureaucrats, though.

To me, the only really serious issues are the once that involve life and death. Almost everything else falls into the category of nice to have/do. Some of the other stuff is important enough, I guess, but is it really “serious as a heart attack?” If you have to stop and think about it, the answer is almost certainly no… And that’s ok, because when everything is a priority, nothing ends up being a priority.

What I’m saying is I’m going to need everyone to take an operational pause, suck in a deep breath, and just relax for a minute. I promise that no matter how important you think that PowerPoint slide is, 200 years from now it’s not going to be under glass at the National Archives laying alongside the Charters of Freedom in the rotunda. It’s not even going to be stored in the Library of Congress with your Twitter feed, so take a minute, collect your thoughts, and remember that history isn’t going to give a rat’s ass who we are or what we happened to be doing on a random Friday in May.

Most people seem to find that thought a little disturbing. It disturbed me for a long time until I realized what a gift it was. Once you embrace it, being an anonymous face in the crowd gives you a remarkable sense of freedom.