I was up at 6 AM Tuesday morning. Trying to finish writing some horoscopes, get in a little extra work before work. I still find it distasteful to heed my own advice, but heed I will.
While I was killing a few minutes, searching for elusive muses, I flipped through a couple of journals and I’m going to swipe one idea: Wide Open Spaces Fly Home.
The question of whether I’m “for” the war, or “against” the war has come up. I was chatting with a former journalist who actually covered “Gulf War I,” and she concurred plus cited physical evidence that there’s something that the government is holding back on, i.e., that little voice in the back of my mind that keeps telling me I don’t know the whole story – I don’t.
But I’m all for the right to speak my mind.
I have the distinct pleasure and honor to live in a country where I can say I think my commander-in-cheif is not my favorite. But I had a little lesson in military discipline a few years ago, and what I learned was that the team has to have a leader.
I’m working part-time for this one guy. It was a favor for a friend, originally. I almost like the job, on some days. Other days, the boss man is complete horse’s ass. The company’s structure is very simple. One man signs the checks. One man makes all the calls as to who does what when and where. Very simple, it’s all his business, all his show, he’s the boss. When I first started working there, I questioned some of the practices, but as I learned, the man knows how to run his business. I do what I’m told, and I’m given fair degree of leeway, but there are certain guidelines I’m supposed to follow. Plus ask permission instead of assuming.
I can’t locate the source, but there was a quote about the Dixie Chicks, a few years ago, “They sound like Country Music, but they dress like 20 year olds.” To which the Chicks replied, “because we are twenty something?”
Duck Soup starring the Marx Brothers. That song, you know?
