A Consulting Axiom

 

I’ve been downgraded from an ear infection to a “full-blown” ear infection. Last week, the doctor at walk-in urgent care gave me an Amoxicillin prescription and told me to come back if the symptoms didn’t improve in four or five days.

Prescription

They didn’t, but I went to a different walk-in clinic this afternoon to work a second opinion into the process. The doctor gave me a prescription for Levaquin to replace the Amoxicillin.

I know, nobody cares about this. I only mention it because it reminded me of something important.

I was a consultant for many years and I’m going to share with you now one of the axioms of consulting:

Whatever the client is doing, advise them to do something else.

If whatever they’ve been doing was working, they wouldn’t need a consultant, right?

Is Levaquin “better” than Amoxicillin for ear infections? No, but you see what I’m getting at.

The Renaissance Man

 

I’m looking at these last few posts where I’ve strung together W.H. Auden, John Dewey, Meat Loaf and Franz Kafka, not with any sense of purpose, just things I’ve read or listened to on my winter break.

What a renaissance man I am!

Why, if you were here, we could talk about poetry, education, philosophy, sex, drugs, rock ‘n roll, existentialism . . . and we’d have a good time too, considering we’re all going to die . . .

Experience and Education

 
Experience and Education by John Dewey

How many students, for example, were rendered callous to ideas, and how many lost the impetus to learn because of the way in which learning was experienced by them? How many acquired special skills by means of automatic drill so that their power of judgment and capacity to act intelligently in new situations was limited? How many came to associate the learning process with ennui and boredom? How many found what they did learn so foreign to the situations of life outside the school as to give them no power of control over the latter? How many came to associate books with dull drudgery, so that they were “conditioned” to all but flashy reading matter?

— John Dewey, Experience and Education

Bat Out of Hell

 

And I ran up the stairs to my parents’ bedroom
Mommy and Daddy was sleeping in the moonlight
Slowly I opened the door, creeping in the shadows
Right up to the foot of their bed
I raised the guitar high above my head
And just as I was about to bring the guitar
Crashing down upon the center of the bed,
My father woke up, screaming
“Stop! Wait a minute! Stop it boy!
What do ya think you’re doin’?
That’s no way to treat an expensive musical instrument!”
“God Dammit Daddy! You know I love you, But you got a hell of a lot to learn about Rock ‘n Roll”

— Meat Loaf, “Wasted Youth”

Couriers

 

They were offered the choice between becoming kings or the couriers of kings. The way children would, they all wanted to be couriers. Therefore there are only couriers who hurry about the world, shouting to each other — since there are no kings — messages that have become meaningless. They would like to put an end to this miserable life of theirs but they dare not because of their oaths of service.

— Franz Kafka

Another Way Computers Are Making Life Better for Everyone

 

His mom took the boy’s laptop computer away because she didn’t like his attitude about something or other, and now he’s trying to involve me in a secret plan to get it back.

Webcam

I ask him, “Why don’t you forget about the computer and do something else tonight? Read a book or something?”

He says, “I need the computer so my friends and I can talk to each other.”

“Use text messages. Or a phone. There’s an idea.”

“We need video.”

Video? What do you need video for?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Exactly. So you don’t really need the computer.”

“‘Don’t worry about it’ doesn’t mean I don’t need it. It means don’t worry about it.”

“What are you going to do? Have a biggest dick contest?”

“Is that what you used to do?”

“We didn’t have webcams when I was your age. We had to take ’em out and do a side-by-side comparison. Everything’s easier nowadays thanks to computers.”

EppsNet Movie Reviews: Gran Torino

 

It’s sad to see Clint Eastwood get old but somebody’s got to do it.

It seemed to me as far back as Unforgiven and In the Line of Fire that while other actors were trying to stay artificially young forever, no one else was putting on screen an honest portrayal of what it’s like to be an old man, what it’s like to feel yourself diminished.

Gran Torino ticket stub

And that was 15 years ago, when Eastwood was in his early 60s. He’s now 78 and looks it.

I was trying to think of another leading actor who’s doing roles where the central fact about the character is that he’s gotten old and tired and scared . . .

Robert De Niro? No, he’s still doing the same cops and mobsters roles he’s been doing for decades.

Al Pacino? Dustin Hoffman? No. Same roles, plus they’re both around 70 years old with absurd fake pompadours piled on top of their heads. In order to do these roles, you can’t be someone with cosmetic surgery and fake hair who has to use makeup effects to look his own age.

I once read where Michael Douglas is proud of the fact that he has taken on “challenging” roles. You want a challenge? Knock it off with the facelifts and the young wife and show people what it’s really like to get old.

They can’t even admit it to themselves, these guys.

Jack Nicholson? He looks his age, but he’s doing wacky old guy roles in Rob Reiner and Adam Sandler movies. Eccentrics. Not the same thing.

Sylvester Stallone? He’s only 60 but you can tell already that he’s not going to do it. He’s still making Rocky and Rambo movies, for god’s sake.

Rating: Four stars (out of five). I added one star for Clint Eastwood being the only man brave enough to get old in front of a camera.

Footsteps

 
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

He looks up the trail trying to see what’s ahead even when he knows what’s ahead because he just looked a second before. He goes too fast or too slow for the conditions and when he talks his talk is forever about somewhere else, something else. He’s here but he’s not here. He rejects the here, is unhappy with it, wants to be farther up the trail but when he gets there will be just as unhappy because then it will be “here.” What he’s looking for, what he wants, is all around him, but he doesn’t want that because it is all around him. Every step’s an effort, both physically and spiritually, because he imagines his goal to be external and distant.

Christmas Cookies

 
Pillsbury cookie dough sheets

My wife and son brought home some Pillsbury cookie dough sheets (see photo) but we’ve got a problem. Even though the packaging shows cookies with festive holiday shapes (“I want the ones shaped like Christmas trees,” my son says), the sheets are not pre-cut, and we don’t have cookie cutters.

I say, “It looks like what you’re going to get are cookies shaped like rectangles.”

I Went Deaf on Christmas Eve

 

I. At home

I tell my son I’m going to the urgent care walk-in clinic.

“What for?” he asks.

“I want to find out why I’ve gone deaf in my left ear.”

“You’ve got an ear infection,” he says. “I had one when I came back from Thailand. I was also coughing 24/7 so I had to take this insane cough syrup and ear infection pills.”

“I’m not coughing 24/7. I’ve got a lot of congestion though.”

“You’ll just get the ear infection pills then.”

“When you took them, could you feel your ear canal cracking open? Man, that’s the best! It’s almost worth it to have a clogged passage just to feel it cracking open again.”

“Yeah, but it takes a couple of days.”

II. At the doctor’s office

The nurse takes my blood pressure. “100 over 60,” she says.

Nurse

“Is that good?” I ask. (I already know it’s good . . . I just want to hear her acknowledge that, even though I’m much older than she is, I’m in excellent physical condition and could undoubtedly satisfy her sexually.)

“Yes. Now I’m going to take your pulse.” She takes it and writes it down on the chart.

“What was it?” I ask.

“Sixty-four.”

“Is that good?”

“Yes. The doctor will be right in.”

The doctor looks in my ear and tells me I have an ear infection. She gives me a prescription for antibiotics and recommends Sudafed — “the kind you have to ask for” — for the congestion.

III. At the Pharmacy

I pick up my prescription and I ask the pharmacist for Sudafed.

“What kind?” he asks.

“The kind you have to ask for.”

(A couple of years ago, the original Sudafed, and all other products containing pseudoephedrine (PSE), was moved “behind the counter” by federal legislation because PSE can be used to produce methamphetamine, also known as crystal meth. The over-the-counter version of Sudafed is now called Sudafed PE and contains phenylephrine instead of PSE.)

So the pharmacist brings the Sudafed, asks for a photo ID, and says, “You have to initial the form there to indicate that you’re not going to resell it.”

“Really? How much do you think I could get for it?”

“Kids resell them at clubs for 3 to 10 times market value.”

“Wow. That really highlights my lack of initiative. I’m just hoping it makes the inside of my head feel less like a toasted marshmallow.”

A Time to Worry

 

It was a weird day for dog walking. Just after Lightning had a run-in with a rottweiler, who fortunately turned out to be docile, we came upon a young man and what looked like his mom walking a pit bull.

The woman said “Hold ‘im, Cody” to the kid in a chain-smoker voice and I veered Lightning in another direction.

I wasn’t taking any chances because they looked exactly like the kind of people who’d own a violent pit bull. You’ve got Ma, the chain-smoking meth addict, and her boy Cody, the kid with the white trash name.

Whenever I hear someone say “Hold ‘im, Cody” to a guy with a pit bull, I am outta there . . .

There are Different Kinds of Small Dogs

 
Are you talkin' to ME?

FYI — I’m a small dog, but I’m not a “pretend to be brave at the end of a leash” small dog, I’m a “this leash really is holding me back” small dog, as a neighborhood Rottweiler learned when he bounded across the street at me a few minutes ago.

I don’t like big dogs running up on me — it’s disrespectful — but the woman walking him was too small to hold him back. So I put my front paws on his shoulder and growled in his ear, and when he couldn’t look me in the eye, I knew everything was going to be okay.

My owner said later he thought at least one of us was going to be killed . . .

— Lightning paw

Winter Haikus

 
Winter night

Outside the window, snow,
A woman in a hot bath
Overflowing.

— Nobuku Katsura

See the river flow
In a long unbroken line
On the field of snow.

— Boncho

Confined within doors
A priest is warming himself
Burning a Buddha statue.

— Natsume Soseki

Through snow,
Lights of homes
That slammed their gates on me.

— Buson

I Got a Snow Globe for My Blog!

 
Merry Xmas pug

One of my owner’s friends gave me a Christmas pug to use on my blog. My first present of the season! Thanks, MS!

The pug looks a little sad, probably because someone made him wear that stupid Santa hat. Pugs don’t like to wear hats. We may look like funny little animals, but don’t forget we are descended from the mighty gray wolf. Before you put a Santa hat on a pug, try putting a Santa hat on a wolf. That will teach you a good lesson.

Don’t think that the pug is sad because of the snow. Pugs love snow! A day in the snow is the best day ever! Now that I think about it, every day is the best day ever!

Oh, one more thing: I do NOT endorse Popdarts.com. Do not go to that site. Go to sites that support pugs.

Oops — my owner just told me that if you tell people not to do something, that just makes them want to do it even more. It’s called “reverse psychology.” That doesn’t make sense to me. Pugs can be a little stubborn, but mostly we like to do what we’re told, because it makes our owners happy.

Here’s another phrase my owner taught me recently: “eating your own dogfood.” To humans, it means doing what you tell other people to do. To dogs, it means . . . well, I guess it’s pretty obvious what it means.

Merry Christmas, everybody! I’ll post some more Christmas pug pictures later.

— Lightning paw

Death of a Programmer

 

I’m reviewing my year-end Benefits Summary at work . . . I’ve got life insurance plus supplemental life insurance at a multiple of my annual salary.

I’m having a Willy Loman moment where it seems like after all the highways, and the trains, and the appointments, and the years, you end up worth more dead than alive . . .

Thus spoke The Programmer.