Poets Day US

No time to talk. Sometimes I have a brilliant idea of what I want to pontificate on and then the whiteboard downstairs in the foyer messes it all up by announcing that today is the day that *Saturday Night Fever first appeared in theatres back in 1977 and all preconceived ideas jump out the window and I am stuck with ‘that’ song in my head. Music loud and women warm, I’ve been kicked around since I was born Then I realize that there is a whole group/gang/gaggle/clusterfuck of people that probably don’t even know what Saturday Night Fever is and what it did for a weird Scientologist who doesn’t want to come out of the closet, never mind the cultural significance of bell bottom pants and disco in general. Those of us who were around at the time sincerely want to forget the dress code but still, guiltily, enjoy the music.  And now it’s all right. It’s OK. And you make look the other way. We can try to understand The New York Times’ effect on man Some of you are

Yes I know it has been a few weeks since I last wrote here in my ultra secret personal diary of a madman but it's not like I haven't had things to do, places to go, people to say. Actually, in all honesty I haven't had people to do, things to say and places to go and I have known what I have wanted to write here in my ultra secret personal diary but I just haven't done it. Sometimes life is like that, and sometimes you just gotta say "what the heck". So my buddy Tdom (with the silent and ineffective 'd' - I do love that joke) was talking to me the other week about not attending an event in Starbucksville as the flight back meant he might be late or miss the end of year company shindig. The event in Starbucksville was actually a pretty big deal, well at least it seemed like it to me. I cannot recall exactly what it was called but essentially it involved underwater people carriers with big nasty fireworks and the last time his brother would be command

Sometimes these blogs are amusing, sometimes they have a little too much swearing (according to Mum) and sometimes these blogs may give you something to think about – this week I am hoping to combine all three to provide a thinky amusing sweary blog. Of course, as per usual, there is no guarantee that this week’s blog will be anything apart from a word jumble with a minor semblance of coherency but that is par for the course – and if you have ever seen me play golf, Par and I are not friends. It was a pretty well known fact back in 1988 in Dunedin that the cheapest beer in town was at the Army Territorial Mess but unfortunately the only way to be able to get in there on a regular basis was to sign a piece of paper committing to serve as a weekend warrior for a country with an incredibly proud military history for such a small nation. It was a tough choice but the price differential was pretty substantial for a student with limited access to funding and the chance to run around oc

A great friend of mine recently gave me the book ‘The Last Punisher’ to read (get it and read it when you get a chance, is an excellent book). It is based on some work that the author did in Ramadi with The Legend prior to working on the film about The Legend. If you have no idea whom I am referring to you might also want to read American Sniper, or in most of all y’all’s case watch the movie. Anyways, in the book he keeps referring to the mantra ‘Slow is smooth, smooth is fast’ and I guess that is what this weeks collection of words in disparate order is about. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast is of particular import to operators as it is drilled into them for a reason, you don’t rush into a possible engagement without checking all around you and being cognizant of all the variables of the environment you are in. My mother used to believe that using the slow lane when driving into Auckland from our old house in Manukau was the quickest way to get into town as the slow lane was con

Picture this, the ball spins wide from the breakdown and I see a hole in the defense. I break into full sprint calling the person outside me to back me up as I might not be able to score but if they run good support lines they most definitely will. Just as I kick into full turbo there is a pop, instant nasty pain below my left buttock and I hit the ground as gracefully as a sack of potatoes. I know it’s not good, my buddy asks if I have cramped up but no, not me. A bit like Jean Claude, the famous French Fighter Pilot and lover extraordinaire, when I go down, I go down in flames. Off the pitch I hobble then straight to the Urgent Care at the local Orthopedic, torn hamstring is the verdict so crutches, handicap parking placard and rehab are my not so distant future. It sucks getting old :) None of this should have happened but as I love to say, you can’t fix stupid, and I am a poster child for that statement currently (actually historically and most likely in the future also but l

Recently I was fortunate to experience a power reduction issue at my house – I say fortunate as many people in my area had the power reduction issue coincide with a generous oversupply of water and/or were able to finally answer the question “If a tree falls in a hurricane does it make a sound and will it take out my power for a week?” The weekend started with a hurricane type weather event. I was fortunate to get tickets to NC State vs Notre Dame in Too-Many-Pads Ball. It was a tad wet and we were really lucky we weren’t playing Oregon as they would have killed us – their team being called the Ducks and all (joke explanation inserted for Mum back in NZ). After the game the Monkey and I swam home to the Turtle and her new favorite babysitter, Blonderine (it was a wee bit windy and rainy) and power was still doing it powering stuff thing. However that would not be for long. A few loud crashes in the neighborhood and screams could be heard around the burbs as all of a sudden X Box