Anonymous

I have not burst into flames for 14 days and counting. Hat damn! I’m on a streak.

I saw a news article today that reminded me of conversations I had been having with my buddy Steve (article ).

My buddy Steve and I have been discussing for some time the merits and downfalls of blogging. Steve really wants to “tell the truth” in his blog. Unfortunately, Steve often angers his current and former employers when he tells the truth. Steve has never exaggerated or lied in his blog. He is ultimately truthful as far as his data and brutally honest in his assessments.

Unfortunately, Steve has been threatened and sued for the content of his blog. He has put his livelihood at risk. Why? Steve is never rude in his posts. He is critical, but not without reason. In fact, the most controversial thing Steve ever posted was an absolute truth. It was not business sensitive information. In fact, it was arguably public information. Steve posted his salary at a former employer. And they hated him for it.

In the article above, Mini-Microsoft posts anonymously because he fears losing his job. I can understand the fear but I couldn’t take the lack of accountability. If what you are posting is the truth and isn’t considered proprietary information (secrets), you shouldn’t have to fear for your job. If you are just ‘causing trouble’ and ‘telling secrets’ you should be fired and/or sued. Why should you have to post anonymously?

I can’t imagine not taking credit and blame for my own actions and words. For example, if I were to write some garbage romance novel or the great American novel or even this crappy little blog, I would still want to use my own name. It’s not that I crave the attention, I just think it's the right thing to do. I am absolutely shy. I don’t leave the house on my birthday for fear of being the focus of attention. I can’t stand it. I want to be accountable for all I do. I don’t need anyone to take the blame for my failures except me. I also haven’t figured out how to cash a check made out to ‘Buck Naked’.

En Fuego

Last Friday I was at my favorite local card room, and I was “en fuego”, “on fire”, “smokin’” whatever figurative euphemism you like. Except I was really on fire!

To set the stage, I had been out with some friends consuming adult beverages and clowning around. As part of the festivities at some point my friend Dave placed several books of matches in the pocket of my sweatshirt. This in and of itself is not a strange occurrence. Dave and I have been taking mass quantities of this kind of non-descript matchbook from bars for a couple of years now. The number of matchbooks in your pocket is a pretty fair indicator of how many cocktails you are over the line. Anyway, Dave probably put about a half dozen books in my pocket. I had not taken any matchbooks.

Later in the evening I was playing poker at my favorite card room. As I was walking back to the table, I felt a warm sensation against my lower left belly. I put my hand where the heat was and I felt even more heat. I looked down and there was smoke billowing from my jacket pocket! I immediately crushed the contents of my pocket against my body to put out the fire. I spontaneously combusted!

I really have no idea what happened. I have some ideas around the match heads rubbing against each other or against my keys, but I really don’t know. I asked if any of the other patrons saw any “ball lightening”. But all they did was laugh and deny they saw anything but my smoking sweatshirt.

Fortunately I was not injured. My jacket has a hole on the outside and the inside of the left side pocket. It also smells like burning rubber. I guess that makes sense. I also get to tell people I was on fire at the casino and mean it. Truth be told, it wasn’t that great.

Spirit Guide

There’s a new restaurant I have been attending lately. It’s called the Ipanema Grill and they are a “Brazilian” joint.

Basically for a flat fee you get their version of the buffet. What happens is people come to your table and offer you slices of tasty grilled animal flesh. It’s very tasty. There’s also plenty. I often can’t finish the slice in front of me before the next slice is offered up. I could love this joint.

Anyway, last week I consumed so much meat that I entered a hallucinatory state. While in this mental state I discovered my spirit animal.

As you know, a spirit animal is physical manifestation of your own existential guide. An animal meant to teach you things about yourself. To help you better understand how you fit into the universe and guide your actions and inner most thoughts appropriately.

As it turns out, my spirit guide is a chicken, a six foot tall chicken that sounds and looks a lot like Foghorn Leghorn. I suppose any of you who know me really aren’t too surprised by that. “I say I say son. I say your doin’ it all wrong!” This explains a lot.