Tag Archives: management

South America

El submarino está detrás de nosotros

Each sailor’s recollection started sometime in early April 1945. And he remembered exactly where he was, doing what, if any, task he performed on that fateful May 8th when the news that became known as Zero Hour arrived.

To a man, none thought he’d survive the war. The submariners knew Germany had lost World War II on D-Day. While there were fanatics, hardcore Nazis among them, most sailors remained clearheaded. They must. Putting ideology ahead of seamanship increased the likelihood of disaster.

God never entered their deliberations. There would be no absolution asked from Him. Everyone knew what he’d done for Germany. Better to express that sentiment as “for Germany” than the leader. Duty to country made their conduct palatable.

In their minds, at least. Continue reading El submarino está detrás de nosotros →

Baboon America, Struwwelpeter for Adults

The White Bone of Truth

Could the results of Election 2024 have been any more dreadful for the United States?

Is it worse that voters have mindlessly reinstalled Donald Trump into the Oval Office? One of the absolute least among all Americans. Weren’t his prior four years warning enough? What didn’t he degrade then?

Our language. Our honor. Our civility. Our integrity. He smeared shit across each. Continue reading The White Bone of Truth →

Agitprop/Propaganda, Dim Neon, Poky Town

Neither Shaken nor Stirred

Las Vegas may be the last true union town in America. Not a great union town, though perhaps one of the last. The locals are too polite. Forget about breaking any heads or a persuasive fire bomb smashing through a window. Hell, it would be tough here to find any natives who’d roll a car.

Chicago, Detroit or Cleveland Las Vegas isn’t. Continue reading Neither Shaken nor Stirred →

Dim Neon, Green Venom, Poky Town

Shoulder to the Wheel

Three Augusts ago I resided at ease in suburban splendor. So much so I took several vacation days to visit Kewpie in Miami. She’d been laboring on film shoot. Warren joined us.

When she wasn’t eye-rolling on-set shenanigans or prima dona outbursts, we treacherous three gamboled along South Beach. Had I known my carefree days were short, I would’ve behaved way more carelessly.

Hmmm. Just might suggest that as my epitaph.

Two years ago, Quarropas, the old hometown, remained somewhat recognizable. That was if a long-time resident squinted. By this time last year, it was less splendiferous since every soul making that loaded word “home” a desirable refuge had died away.

August 2014 marks my first year in Las Vegas. Continue reading Shoulder to the Wheel →