Getting the Biz!
Mood:  incredulous
Now Playing: Harvard Business Review
Topic: Corporate Angst
Getting the Biz!

Just when I had decided to end my subscription to the Harvard Business review they come out with this January issue that is just excellent. I have not read it for couple issues. It's so much work. The last couple issues were filled with pedantic articles by supposedly really smart people that had very little content. It was like they were given an assignment to `sound like you're explaining something important. If there is no point than big words and long paragraphs don't make it any sharper.

It made me feel a bit inferior to not want to read it. It made me feel like a slacker. These guys are really smart, right? These guys have crispy parchment degrees from the best schools in their back pockets. These guys have run companies and know everything, right? When the world is on the brink where do leaders and thinkers turn? These guys.

Well they make it hard to like them. They seem to see almost everything within an academic framework that has no attachment to my reality. PHD's with unpronounceable names declaring things like "Will you survive the services revolution?" Duh, I don't know. As it turns out, after five or six tortured pages of small print, neither does he. Another B- thesis.

Now I have to ask myself the question; "Am I dense?" Is there some hidden brilliance in there, the me, with my puny 140ish IQ, just can't divine? Is it me? Is there a clique of my betters some where in first class sniggering at me and my bourgeois thought patterns? Oh my God! I'm the guy that doesn't get it?

I don't think so. I think it's a constant struggle for these guys to glean relevant material from the mass of academic idiocy that they receive. I may be Nouveau Riche, well technically nouveau-not-starving, but these guys are pedantic turds trading on their credentials to push bad product. I understand. It must be hard to come up with fresh ideas wrapped in readable prose when you have the world to run.

Of course there are some nuggets in each issue. They have access to the thought leaders of industry past and present. Reading a bad article by some of these guys has to make you a better person just by association. Maybe if you rub hard enough some of the hidden intellect will rub off. Every issue there is at least one useful article.

I originally subscribed because my boss kept sending me articles. Yes I am a dirty suck-up. I'm also a student. I was intrigued that there might be hidden keys in the pages of the HBR that would give me entitlement to the executive club that I am part of. My overriding driver was, "maybe I can learn something". Like everything else that smells of an easy answer, the HBR is a mixed bag. It does have some insight, and it does have some time wasting stinkers. I'm not sure which one outweighs the other for $100 bucks.

I do know that I like whipping it out on a airplane when the rest of the pawns read People or do expense reports. Look at me, I'm smart and successful. I read the advice of kings. I feast on the leavings of the knighted. I'm cool. I found myself at the gym today reading it on the exercise bike. What was the Joe next to me thinking? "Look at this stuffed shirt?" I found myself holding it in such a way that the title was clearly evident walking down the hall. Look at me, look at me! As the Offspring say, "The world needs wannabees". (Is it interesting that the spell checker want to change wannabee to `cannabis'?)

This January issue is outstanding. It has a great case study on corporate politics. Lot's of good advice on managing your time and the symptoms of being overwhelmed. This is all very relevant stuff in the weird business world of 2005. There is another scholarly piece by the HBR staff on the different demographics of top executives from 1980 and today. Really good stuff. Tactical and useful.

Damn. Does that mean I have to re-subscribe? Or are they just saving up the crappy stuff for later in the year?

Frumpy tourist sex fiends!
Mood:  amorous
Now Playing: In the seat next to me.
Topic: Travel Snapshots
She had her legs crossed high on the thigh. He had his hand casually resting between her thighs. It just struck me for a number of reasons. First she seemed unaware and almost blissful. Second they were old. I don't mean ancient, but 50's. Well past the casual sex age limit. It was overtly sexual but at the same time comfortable.

It was on a small commuter flight that was totally full. I had an aisle seat and they were across the way from me. They were a nondescript, frumpy couple, glasses, short hair; all-in-all a generic almost-middle aged married couple. She wore sport-like wind breaker clothes that tourists travel in these days. They were someone's parents. Maybe she was a part time school teachers and he a career postal worker.

Any place else I wouldn't even have noticed them, but there was that hand between the thighs like a red exclamation point. He was a good 4 inches from the Promised Land, but close enough to make me nervous. Close enough that if he felt like goosing her on a whim, she would be able to react fast enough to stop him.

Maybe it is my prudish New England up bringing that makes me crazy. Maybe it was their French Canadian mores that made them casual. I don't know but the hand nestled there was out of place like some modern art intended to shock you. It would be like the farmer in American Gothic grabbing his wife's ass, you just don't think about those things.

Not because I think it's wrong. I'm very happy that these nondescript oldsters have an active sex life and are so comfortable with each other. I wish I could say the same. Maybe that's what it was. Maybe it was jealousy. Maybe it just made me mad that these people had some close physical bond.

But, it was more than quotation marks around their overt sexuality. The hand was a symbol of perfect trust. She didn't even notice the invasion of her private space by this man, her help mate and life partner? Was their relationship so mature that they had meshed physically and mentally into one body and mind? His hand between her thighs was the same as his hand on his own thigh. Communal property fully shared in the ripeness of love.

Man, I gotta git me a relationship like that!

Vacation fretting
Mood:  lazy
Now Playing: You just can't turn it off like that...
Topic: lyric laconic
Welcome to the last day of 2004. If you're like me you've had an easy week. Most of the people who populate my working world were on vacation this week. (Except for those who work in Canada who are on holiday) Most of the customers were off. Most of the sales cycles were put on hold. It was a quiet week. It was a whole week where the phone didn't ring. It was a whole week where the email was scarce as flightless dodo.

I got way too much sleep. I feel tired from sleeping too much. I slept past 8:00 AM a couple days. I feel the opposite of tired; `not-tired'. I feel well and balanced from spending time with my family. A lot of time. I feel fairly healthy from working out and spending some leisurely hours at the gym.

I should be happy and content, right? I should be sated with the life of a rich man of leisure.

But, alas, that's not how it works. I feel like I'm cheating. I feel like there are things that are not getting done. I feel like this whole week has been an opportunity lost. I almost feel dread and afraid, like this seasonal lull does not reflect reality.

Is all this lazing about dulling my blades when they could be sharpened? Rest does not prepare men for battle; preparation and war prepare men for battle. I could have been up at 5:00 AM like I usually am when I'm on the road. I could have been plotting strategy and preparing to execute with ruthless efficiency. I could have been the one the smiles with superior preparation instead of the one who searches his notes, unprepared.

Have I lost an opportunity to do something? There is a saying that one of the marathon runners of the 70's had in his wall; "Somewhere someone is training harder than you are, and when you meet he will win." Paranoid gainsaying? Because really giving 100% would quickly lead to an early death. That curve out of necessity must be asymptotic. How close do you skate to the line? How much of you do you sacrifice to them before the you is lost? I guess if you're thinking about it, it's too late. Or maybe if you're thinking about there may still be a chance?

Perhaps it's a survival genetic trait. Those hairy ape men who lolled around in the sun during times of plenty died off when things went bad. While those tortured and restless souls who struck out to find other lands sometimes avoided catastrophe. Is there value in directionless Diaspora?

And here I am the worst of both worlds, a hypocritical stooge. Not leading my harem east with a confident gleam in my eye. Sitting, enjoying the mild times while fretting like a nervous dog.

Thank goodness I have no more vacation for a while! It's so stressful.

Busted knee triology book 2
Mood:  loud
Now Playing: SOunds like Dave Barry?
Topic: No brakes!
Muscle Madness

I want to go on record right now, I'm not just a lumpy 42 year old guy any more, I'm a manly, body-building, weight lifter! I have been for over two weeks. That's when I joined the health club. It's paying off already; I can now hold the remote aloft clicking at a full 33 channels per second for almost 15 minutes without a break. Just ask my wife.

I joined this particular health club after extensive analysis which involved seeing which club had the most out of shape patrons. No sense starting with a handicap. My new club is nothing but tottering retirees and house-frau Jenny Craig drop outs.

Now I'm a serious body builder. I don't play around with that Nautilus machine stuff. I pump iron. As a famous California politician says; "Ze Nautilus is for Girly Men!" I must say that this is one of the few things Senator Dianne Feinstein and I agree on.

Like all men floundering in that gray area between youth and Florida, I'm constantly on the lookout for activities that turn back the clock. In this case, I would guess that pumping iron turns back the clock to "little boy". Let's face it, you don't have to scratch the surface of most men very deeply to find a little boy. (Especially if you draw blood)

Why do think guys like weight lifting? Pumping iron has all the elements of a guy sport. First of all, you can do it either before or after drinking beer. Second, you can wear clothes that you've slept in. Third, there is lots of grunting and brief episodes of exertion. Finally, those big metal plates really make great guy-type clanging noises. If you could throw in some spitting and a car crash it would be darn near perfect.

My best weight lifting `move' is not the bench press or the bicep curl; it's the `spot'. Spotting is when you help some real weight lifter finish his or her `set' by applying a gentle counter-gravity force to the bar. I'm a spot artiste. I make them work and scream for that last push. Sometimes I don't lift any actual `weights', I just preen in the mirror and spot people.

The best thing about lifting is that it doesn't waste time with any energy-sapping so called `aerobic' activity. You sit around for awhile - you heave the weight - you sit around some more. It closely simulates what the male has to contend with in his wild environment, what with the stuck jar lids and stubborn window jams.

Like most male activities, and ladies, you'll surely agree with me on this point, it consists of a small amount of violent activity surrounded by a lot of sitting around and posturing.

Uh oh...My wife wants me to go to the kid's dance rehearsal...Sorry Honey, but I've got to go work out.

Sleigh ride
Mood:  irritated
Now Playing: Jingle bells
Topic: Horses
The sleigh ride was cool. Actually it was cold; 7 -9 deg F with a strong bone-chilling wind. The location was Albany N.H. This is considered to be pretty much part of North Conway.

I on one side and the wife and two girls bundled under a rug on the other side of the `one horse open sleigh'. How Christmas is that? How appropriate? The sleigh ride was at 5:30. The sun was long since down. The moon was nearly full and risen up high in the horizon. Bundled and raw with breath steaming we embarked into the frosty North Country night. Sleigh bells ringing, don't you know?

The inn was perched atop a hill that anywhere else in the world would have been called a mountain. The rental Grand Marquis struggled up the snowy step road. Some internal traction computer was having fits trying to keep the big engine from spinning the wheels independently. The air was acrid with that hot transmission smell when we reached the inn.

If the moon had been higher or the sun had still been out we would have been treated to one of the peaks of Mt. Washington. Conway N.H. sits at the base of the mountain. The inn dining room windows look out across the winter waste to another approach of that same granite peak.

The sleigh was, as previously noted, a one horse open sleigh. The lady in attendance took some snapshots of us with the horse. What a nice horse. I'm not a member of the horsy set, but this one was a beauty. His name was Spike. Spike was 2500 lbs on brown work horse that easily pulled us up, over and around the hill. With the sleigh and driver I have to guess we totaled up to 900 lbs for him to drag. He did it with no complaints.

I thought about that life. Pulling tourist around in the cold for a living. Sounds like more honest labor than most of us will ever do. Spike worked up a sweat and he had drool icicles hanging from his snout as he nuzzled my ten year old. She loved it, although she complained that everything smelled like horse sweat at dinner. Remember Zero Mostel in "A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum"?

As the helper woman was bundling us in I made one of those intellectual jokes that certain situations drag from my liberal arts prep-school brain. I said, "This is just like that Tolstoy story,:" fully expecting only the horse to know what I was talking about, but from out of nowhere the driver started in... "Yes, but there are no wolves, except when the neighbor's Alsatians get loose, and when we get to the meadow it will look a lot like Siberia." Go figure...

The woods were close in and the stars were bright against the dry winter sky. The snow sparkled in the driving lights. The meadow certainly did look like Siberia with a cold wind sending whirls of snow biting into the women's faces. But, it was raw with beauty when he switched off the lights and the pregnant moon reflected off the wastes mirroring the village lights below.

Think like a dog
Mood:  hungry
Now Playing: woof!
Topic: dog world
What's that noise? Somebody's up. I hear the water running upstairs. The toilet flushes. The alpha dog mutters something. The stairs creak under his weight. I life my head and cock my ears in the direction of the sound. I see his pants and sock clad feet round the corner. He sees me. I push myself up onto my front paws and smile at him through the cage doors.

"Mornin Boo," he says in my direction, opening the cupboard for a cup.

Grand Marquis
Mood:  irritated
Now Playing: Cars and points
Topic: Travel Snapshots
The Mercury Grand Marquis

I got a rental car today. I had a $200 Avis voucher that I had to use by 1/5/05. It is one of the perks of traveling every week. I get a bazillion frequent flyer points. I've gone to lots of places on points, but not as many as I should have. I should be flying hither and yon, but I don't.

It's a pain in the ass to use the points. You have to make sure you are getting a good deal. You have to book your flights and your hotel and your car separately. They don't cut you any slack if you're a points person.

I let over 200,000 United flight vouchers expire once because I just didn't have the time to work through the process. You actually have to take a day off to spend on the phone during working hours to line up and balance all the different providers. It helps to have an avaricious wife who will cut a fearless swath through the bureaucratic nightmare.

Don't get me wrong. Points are a good thing. If I have to strap my ass into a commuter plane to meet some pinhead in Peoria in February, then I should get something out of it, right? Plus if you build up your frequent flyer miles, they start treating you a little more human.

I have been gold on United, Gold on American and Gold on USAir at different times in my career. I never had the points on Continental because luckily enough I haven't had to spend too much time in Houston or Newark. (Maybe they should change their name to "The Stinky Industrial Shit-hole" airline.

I'm currently Silver Medallion on Delta. This means they put me in first class a lot. First class used to be really cool in the old days. Now it's just a big enough seat to get some work done. Coach class has gotten to the point where that if the a-hole in front of you reclines, you're screwed. There is basically about six inches of air space between you and the bad hair piece in front of you. It is so close that you can not even read a book because you can't get it far enough away.

First class also gives you the free drinks. It doesn't do anything for me because I don't drink any more, but in the old days it meant tying on a buzz on the airline's nickel. That was a good end to a long day of getting crapped on in Peoria.

I've been traveling on business for 20 years. I've flown into and around all the continents. Over the last decade I've criss-crossed the USA hundreds, if not thousands of times. I've learned to deal with the vagaries of travel.

I remember the pre-deregulation days when business air travel was akin to the transatlantic steamship lines of earlier days. Everything was ridiculously cushy and customer pandering. I would be remiss to say the customer service was better, but the pandering was friendly in a non-value-added kind of way. It wasn't any more efficient, but there was a pretense of caring. Like a warm blanket, when you're not really that cold.

Now it's really more like bad bus service than bad steamship service. The downsizing and competitive initiatives are well documented. The ironic effect, from the traveler's point of view, is that it's all for naught. The airline and their support structures haven't gotten any more efficient. All in all, they're just meaner.

It's not a calculated meanness. It's meanness by default that comes from having to put too much effort into something that doesn't really make sense. You can tell by the look of the employees that they have nothing to believe in. They are a leaderless tribe, waiting for the sun to rise each morning and set each day with no potential of greatness, progress or relief. They soldier on. The ranks filled by default by folks who have something else to live for besides their jobs that make their jobs bearable. Having lived and breathed the stale air of umpteen airports over the last 20 years, I'm qualified to make judgments.

It took the guy 40 minutes to figure out how to use the voucher at Avis. He had to call support. It took three tries for him to navigate the entry screens. The voucher has as section entitled "Agent instructions" that tell the guy exactly how to do it but... So when it came time to get the car, I went for the premium car, a four door Mercury Grand Marquis. What a boat. Rear wheel drive. Four tons of Detroit steel. Handles pretty good in the snow, too!

I'm going to take the Marquis up to NH and go skiing. Wish me luck.

Christmas cut scenes
Mood:  incredulous
Now Playing: Car parts and executive psychosis
Topic: Random comments on ...
Christmas cut scenes

Driving to the gym, I pass a junkyard. It is Christmas Eve. The Junkyard is an anachronism. It is a throwback to distance days when this part of Massachusetts was the wilds. Now it is exurbia. The people who live around here now would seldom have the calling or desire to disassemble a used transmission or pull a spare engine. The houses on the other side of the highway go for ? of a million bucks. It's all bankers and executives now. There are no plumbers or carpenters. I remember when along this stretch there was a saw mill and a sand pit too.

The funny thing is that there are many cars at the junk yard now on Christmas Eve. I think to myself, what are these people doing there? Is it a younger generation pining of the older ways? Tomorrow morning will these software engineers present their fathers with tie rods and greasy quarter-panels in homage to days of yore? Do they wish to recall when family time between dads and scions was spent sprawled on their backs in driveway pools of 10W-40?

Cold days on the cement with Chevy's and Ford's propped precariously on jack stands where raw knuckles bled white from slipped wrenches. Thumb nails blackened by hammer mis-blows. Days of pounding metal and swearing at the gods of Detroit steel. I don't know. I never had that disease.

My brother did. He would always have two or three junk cars in states of disassemble. He and my dad would spend time in the garage replacing ball joints and ripping sheet metal with a pneumatic chisel. Heat it with the torch. Hit it with the hammer. There must be some deeper meaning there somewhere.


I have never seen so many people at the gym. Remember that this is Christmas Eve. I went to lift weights, like I always do on Friday. Some psychosis of pre-Christmas exercise had infected the masses. What were they thinking? Probably that they were not going to work out for a couple days so they needed to `store up' exercise for the weekend.

Another guilt assuaging activity in our guilt ridden society. When they are spending time with their families they can only think, "Oh crap, I missed my work out." Now they will be able to say "One more piece of pecan pie won't hurt because I worked out pretty hard yesterday." The psychosis is not troubling but the self deception is.

I had an interesting thought. Most of the executives that I deal with, the powerful men and women, are all in good shape. It is part of their power. Since their bodies are within their sphere of direct control they are managed with the same discipline and commitment as any other part of the business.

The interesting thought comes in when I see very powerful people who are physically a mess. I can only assume that these are the true psychotics. These are the ones to look out for. This would seem to be a direct assault on the executive mantra of control and discipline. How can the same breed that wills itself out of bed at 5:00 AM specifically to get the drop on the rest of the world allow the temple to fall into such disarray?

I can only guess that this is some outward manifestation of mental rot. Some weird cry in the wilderness. Some unspoken wish to get off the corporate treadmill, or fall off, or be pushed. Keep an eye open in their direction because who knows when the breaking point will be reached and the true psychosis will be revealed. Armageddon.

In one of Kurt Vonnegut's books, an inventor creates a device that reads people and quickly determines if they have any mental problems. He is shocked to discover that when he turns it on the titan of industry who gave him the invention money, it comes back with "paranoid schizophrenic". Then he realizes that this is ok, because all successful men are insane.

Merry - Happy to all of you out there in TV land.

My daughter's holiday Hiaku

Holidays calling
Stockings wreaths and menorahs
Happy holidays

Writing the executive holiday message to employees.
Mood:  celebratory
Now Playing: Manipulative bastards walk among us
Topic: Corporate Angst
To write a holiday greeting to the employees?

It's a bit of a quandary. In communicating with the employees, as an executive you have to be extremely careful. Any message can be misinterpreted. People are conspiracy minded in general and the smallest things can set off avalanches of innuendo.

You might ask "Why do you care? Speak from your heart and let these silly people twitter over you use of certain adjectives and build dung hills from your verb tenses. Why should their morphological inanities impact you?" And you would have a good point.

The problem is that as an executive you have two kinds of power, paper power (or authority) and real power, (leadership). This is your capital of success or failure. People will follow you under threat of punishment only until they have an opportunity to slip the knife in. People will die for you if you represent something worth dying for. This capital is not spent unwisely.

One of the most powerful tools of leadership (read `manipulation') that I possess is my mastery of communication and more specifically written communication. Therefore, you can sense my quandary. Yes, the Christmas message is a throw away gesture in this sense, but it is also an opportunity for me to deposit gold in my leadership bank account.

The easiest thing to do would be to write something devoid of any meaning. Like;
`I wish you a merry Christmas and a Happy New year, have fun, relax and enjoy your time with your families." Now, this is mostly pulp. There might be a little capital in the mention of `family' that shows I have a heart and care about other things than work.

I could go `corporate' on them; "This has been a challenging year, and I expect we will face more challenges next year, but with the help of this great team I'm confident that we'll come out of the Christmas break relaxed and ready to go for it!" That really sucks doesn't it? I give the impression that the holidays are all about them resting up so that they can continue to go out and get their asses kicked for me, and it's a good thing? Woo-Hoo! Rah-Rah!

I could do the thoughtful message. Show everyone how deep I am and how there's so much more to me than making the numbers and working late. "I've worked in this industry for 20 years now, and this time of year always gives me pause to think about what is important in life. I appreciate the time I have with my family and you should too. Your work may come and go, but your family will always be there for you. This time of year gives us an opportunity to sit back and think about what we have to be grateful for. I'm grateful to have a good job, a healthy family and a good crew of honest, hard-working people to share the challenges of business with. I look forward to, and am grateful for the opportunity to meet these challenges with you in the New Year after we all return from the holiday break. So...enjoy your cake and pudding we'll see you next year." I like that one. It `keeps it real'.

Of course certain personality types will see it as weakness. They will try to take advantage of my softness. Too bad. Many have mistaken my style for weakness. They no longer work here. Unimaginative people equate power to violent power. The more subtle and intelligent among us wield power in different ways.

Jesus! I'm a psychotic. See what management does to us? It creates Caesars, but also creates Machiavellis when what we really need is Stonewall Jacksons and Jack Kenedys.

**Post Mortem** (Latin for "Too late now, the dude's dead")

This time of year always gives us pause to think about the important things. We appreciate the time we have with our families, (especially those of us with new editions!). Your work may come and go, but your family will always be there for you. This time of year should give us an opportunity to sit back and think about what we have to be grateful for. I'm grateful to have a good job, a healthy family and a good crew of honest, hard-working people to share the challenges of business with. I look forward to, and am grateful for, the opportunity to meet these challenges with you in the New Year after we all return from the holiday break. So...enjoy your cake and pudding we'll see you next year.
Joyeux No?l et Bonne ann?e.
Steyne,

In the end I went with a modified version of the thoughtful message. I shortened the prose hyperbole to make it more readable, (think Hemingway - Kansas City Star when you do your second edit).

I also changed some of the personal pronouns to collective pronouns. ("I" to "we") The less initiated of you will think "How nice. He's being inclusive and welcoming." While those who have jostled at the corporate trough long enough will recognize the assumptive close in sheep's clothing. When the "I" is changed to "we" the responsibility and accountability has been assumed to be everyone's. Meaning that, without your permission, I have just made you responsible for and accountable for my deliverables. How nice, you manipulative bastard, you just used a holiday wish to volunteer us for meeting the challenges of the New Year!

Like bating the bull, you must sometimes show a flash of your red-caped inner self to draw them out. You leave a piece unprotected to draw the response, because without feedback in a control system, there is no control.

The one response I got from a thoughtful wag was:
"Joyeux No?l et Bonne Ann?e ? toi aussi !
Relax, enjoy, and don't think too much, brain must be shut down once in a while!"

She doesn't know that thinking, for me, is something I can't shut off. That is why I am in management. As a class, we can't put `it' down. We are like the undead, cursed to walk the earth thinking of systems, challenges and angles when we should be baking sugar cookies with our kids. Our muses are restless and ceaseless in their whisperings. They drive us to excesses, ulcers, successes and occasionally, quite by accident, fulfillment.

Happy Holidays - Merry Christmas and Funky New Year.

Je veux simplement vous souhaiter ? tous, une merveilleuse p?riode des f?tes, que No?l soit des plus agr?ables.

Buddy in the chair
Mood:  cool
Now Playing: Dog TV
Topic: dog world
He is a smallish black and white dog, a border collie. Today he is depressed. He is evidently filled with some inexpressible angst. He sits in a chair staring longingly out the window. He looks to me with sad eyes and whines. It is a low and plaintive sound that encapsulates an implicit request that I have not the capacity to understand.

The chair is not a large overstuffed dog-friendly chair as you may have first imagined it in your minds eye. It is a wrought iron and wicker dining room table chair, quite inappropriate and uncomfortable for a perched dog. But the chair is in front of the dining room table and has an excellent view of the world. He has willingly sacrificed physical comfort for the power of knowledge, just like many of us do each day.

There is not much to see out there. The front yard is filled with a smoky fog. A cold drizzle falls. The thin layer of snow on the ground from last week's storm has become sticky with the rain and fights for survival. It may not be a white Christmas.

He has been out already this morning, so I don't know why he sits there whining at me while I'm trying to work. I call him over and caress his warm deep fur with comforting fingers and tell him that it's ok. He leans his head against my thigh insistently looking to maximize the body surface contact.

He's a funny caricature, sitting there in the uncomfortable chair staring out the window. It is almost like the window is a T.V. show that he is watching that I don't get.

All of a sudden he is alert and tense. His muscles flex under soft fur. He is silent and rapt. There is a noise and movement at the front door. I look up to see there is a State Policeman there. The trooper is in uniform with boots and gun. He is built like a trooper, big and tall, but with a cherubic Irish face.

Most people would be perplexed to find a State Policeman standing on their stoop, even if, like me, they have long ago outlived most of their vices. It doesn't bother me at all because this particular trooper is my next door neighbor.

He often surprises me while I'm working at my home office desk. It is in fact not me at all he is interested in, but the dog. As a state trooper he works odd hours and often has time during the day to go for a walk with his dog in the woods behind us. His dog is a lab of the chunky variety, black and gregarious.

The lab and my collie have struck up a friendship and one of their great pleasures is to run through the woods together. My neighbor stops by to essentially say, "Can Buddy come out to play". And off they careen in a flash of black-and-white-and-black off into the drizzle.

He'll be back in twenty minutes covered with mud and Labrador spit. He'll resume his perch in the chair by the window watching his own reality show called `my front yard'. Every so often he'll turn in my direction with a low whine as if to say `you should have seen what we did today!"