Counting The Cost.

The new and gentler Babba is getting worn out. I now have people talking to me who previously been repelled by my aura of anger. Why are these silly people taking up my time with talk about their spouses, children, flooded basements, car problems, and money woes? Now that my defensive shield has been turned off a simple quick run to the break room for coffee can turn into a five minute confab.

Well, the word is out now. Bring your problems to Babba, he's the Oskar Schindler of the O.R. Life was sure easier when all I cared about were dogs and guns.

Being Nice Is Hard Work

I survived another week among the long-knives. A full week of penance where I recited a thousand times "how's the family" and a hundred "have a good weekend's". I find it a lot of work and it's time consuming when someone actually takes it seriously and replies with more than the one word answer I'm expecting.

Another challenge is that I have an expressive face; especially when it comes to disgust. Botox is expensive and it only gives you Pelosi-Face for a couple of months. I'm thinking about taking a dopaminergic blocking drug like Reglan. This way I can walk around all day with a mask-face typical of an eighty year old Parkinson's patient.

I also need to expand my repertoire of concern quips. I've thought up some new ones:

Do you think it's time to bring the plants in for the winter?
What did you do this weekend?
How about those Dolphins?

Everyday I go to my Higher-Power, my Source, the one and only Fred Rogers.

Shut Up, Ralphie

It seems that Ralphie is in trouble again. My name was mentioned in connection with not being PC. Some of my co-workers have complained that I'm too abrupt. They said all I do is bark orders and I never inquire about their families and their home life. I thought I was doing good overcoming my Asperger's Syndrome, but I guess please, thank you, good morning and have a nice weekend aren't enough.

You would think that after sixty years I would realize, " I don't have baseball players, I've got girls." It's really hard for me to do what doesn't come naturally. However, this week I did step out of my comfort zone and let a co-worker know her eye-liner was running down her nose. I've also added the tag line "how's the family" to all my greetings and requests. I'm really in uncharted territory here. Maybe because at the age of thirteen I took the Nazarene Vow I tend not to be too personal with the fairer sex. It just seems like I'm stepping into a mine field by trying to act like Fred Rodgers.

The chasm between myself and the crew became evident to me when one of them stated "work is where I come to develop relationships and socialize." It really struck me that I must be an emotional Neanderthal, because I thought it was where I went to earn money.

My week long apology tour ended on Friday. I must accept the things I can't change. I appeal to my higher-power to help me be more patient with people. I have to or else the Wee-Bees will prevail. I'm getting Botox injections to help with the eye-rolling problem. I also need to pick up a few new tag lines and learn how to say "Oh-Fudge" and really mean it.

Never Forget

Nine years after 9/11 where are we at? The World Trade Center hasn't been rebuilt, the country is balkanized and bankrupt. We have a President that has more regard for Islam then the United States. We have had a dozen subsequent small scale attacks and our major defense has been dumb luck. We have subcontracted our Space Program to the Chinese, along with our debt and manufacturing capability. Our southern border is a super highway and illegal aliens have a better chance of being hit by lightning than being deported. I think 9/11 was a turning point in the decline of the Western Culture and the rise of Islam.

I never liked the Twin Towers. One summer I worked doing dry-wall in the new General Motors building on 59th Street. I thought that 50 story building was tall enough. The next summer I worked a few weeks at the Twin Towers site. It always seemed like a "Tower of Babel" to me. It took the better part of an hour to get up to your work floor. At 3:30 the shift was over and it would be after 4 before I could get down to the ground taking four stairs at a time (I was nineteen). It reminded me of Oral Roberts' ridiculous high rise hospital that was a logistical nightmare. The higher you go the more floor space is used up by elevators, stairs and conduits. The highest I got in the towers was the 86th floor, that was high enough for me.

Another thing different about the building was that plaster, cement, and wire lathe weren't used on the stairwells and elevator banks. It was the first time sheet-rock was used in a NYC commercial building to enclose these areas. Our company also did wire lathe and sprayed fire proofing.
I got to visit a site of a fire in one of the company's former jobs. The amazing thing was that even this small fire caused the steel beams to buckle and twist. Anyone that doesn't think steel melts never ignored their car's engine temp gauge or fired a machine gun.

After the M.G.M. Grand fire anytime I hear their an alarm that announces, "An emergency exists in this building, Stay where you are and wait for further instructions" I get up and leave. I don't care if the waiter just put a steak in front of me.

I was in the 7th grade waiting to get into home-room when I heard that JFK was shot. I was working in Petersburg W.V. when the World Trade Center was attacked. The difference was that on 9/11 I realized the country would never be the same.

Keep Asheville Weird

A beautiful Labor Day weekend in Asheville. It comes complete with BMX Jousting, three bandstands and Prius's covered in lib bumper stickers.







Old hippies never die, they just get wrinkles.