the counter's dream

Last nite I had a dream. Part of it took place at church where, before worship services began, one of the ministers got up and exhorted the crowd with "I hope you enjoy the show today." The show?

And if that weren't enough, during the mid-service meet & greet -- the church's 7th inning stretch -- that same minister returned to the microphone. "OK. Let me encourage you to make your way back to your seats now. When you get back to your seats, be sure to check the attendance cards in the back of the pew in front of you, because during the break, one of our ushers has placed one $50 Carrabba's gift card in one of those rack of cards! Good luck!"

Indeed, this ill-advised promotional stunt in last nite's dream may have been a foreshadowing of this morning's anemic count of 527 -- and the sort of dramatic steps that might be needed to restore attendance to the dizzying heights of two years ago.

I'll check with my new Assembly Counters group on Facebook to see if it is normal for an emotionally invested counter to have these sort of prophetic dreams.


Random thought: What if brands could arrange for product placement in your dreams?

Leftover Meeting Food

- Food

r.i.p. carlotta

We buried our beloved black lab in the backyard about an hour ago.

The inevitability of her condition gave me time to dig her grave this afternoon, a most surreal activity as she hobbled around in pain just feet away from the pit in the unseasonably warm afternoon air.

Symbolically, the temperature plummeted as we lured Carlotta into the car for her last ride, a sad and quiet trip with our family to meet our compassionate vet who finally eased her cancerous pain.

I rejoice that yesterday we got to share a great afternoon with her at Arbor Creek Preserve, watching her come to life as she splashed in the creek and occasionally trotted.

And we are forever grateful for this member of our family who constantly surprised us with her capacity to please and her ability to bring joy.

The Time Value of Money

Consider the Sovereign Bank clock.

I do just about every weekday, en route to the train station. In theory, it should give me a sense as to whether or not I'll catch the 8.04 heading downtown.

The reality requires some degree of guesswork and mathematics, though, as the Sovereign Bank clock is comically inaccurate, off by an average of 70 minutes.

(It was 7:10 pm when I took this picture.)

Guess this could be viewed as an apt metaphor for the sad state of the financial industry today.

At the very least, a bank that can’t keep time doesn’t exactly instill confidence in this prospective bank customer.

“Hello, I wanted to check my balance.”

“Certainly, Mr. B. Looks like you have somewhere around $500 in your checking account.”

“Hmmm . . .I thought I . . .

“You know, give or take $200. You might have had a couple of transactions since last week. We’ll probably be updating our files pretty soon.”

To be fair to the Regional Director of Timekeeping at Sovereign Bank, it’s only been a few weeks since we went off Daylight Savings. I can only imagine the vast coordination and planning involved in pulling off the Herculean task of changing the time on that giant clock -- twice a year! Of course, in this day and age of people sporting their fancy “wrist-watches” and all, the public display of time could be viewed as a luxury rather than a necessity.

But keeping and displaying an accurate measure of a valued commodity seems like it should be right in a bank’s wheelhouse.

As opposed to that of my wife, whose bedside clock inaccuracies rival those of Sovereign Bank. But that’s another post . . .

Worst Series

What a farce.

That the penultimate series for the "boys of summer" was nearly decided in tonight's comically wintry conditions is yet one more reason to shorten the season to 154 games.

And while the owners might cringe at the loss of eight games' worth of revenue, perhaps they can divvy up the proceeds from the brisk sales of those WS2008 long sleeve turtlenecks and wacky earflap hats. Those will look mighty good at the ballpark next August.

The Filter Monster!

Just replaced our pool filter.

Judging from this warning sticker on the new filter, I'll be hiring a lion tamer to change the DE.

I'm not exactly clear what's going on here, but, best I can tell from the visual, one wrong move and the filter lid awakens, opening wide its well concealed jaws to either taunt you with sharp insults or secrete an acid-like substance to temporarily blind you. This maneuver seems counterproductive, though, as it would severely limit your ability to enjoy the spectacular pyrotechnic show that eminates from the filter's midsection.

Apparently, just prior to this dramatic event, the filter has gnawed your feet off in a thoughtful manner as to leave you with smooth nubs to balance upon and contend with the menace that is the agitated and clearly provoked Filter Monster!

perspective

“The most valuable things in life are not measured in monetary terms. The really important things are not houses and lands, stocks and bonds, automobiles and real state, but friendships, trust, confidence, empathy, mercy, love and faith.”

Bertrand Russell (1872-1970) philosopher & mathematician

"But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal." Mt. 6.21

believe in a church?

Maybe the good folks at First Baptist have some research that suggests this approach to church marketing is spot on.

But this billboard on the Tollway left me wondering if believing in a church is an issue.

Let's back up:
I'm not sure what it means to believe in a church. (To me, this is quite different than believing in the institution of the church.)

To believe it exists?
To believe it will have potlucks and attractive, shiny people?
To believe it will meet my spiritual, social and emotional needs?

I assume it's the latter option.

The church is people. And I want to believe in people. That they'll treat me well. They'll do what's right. They'll be selfless. They'll be encouraging. They won't let me down. They'll live by the Golden Rule.

Of course, people screw up. They don't do these things. They cheat, gossip, get small, petty and selfish. As a result, I lose faith in people. Perhaps the research and focus groups said they'd had a bad experience at a church. I get that.

Yet for an organization ultimately selling a higher belief, as well as a community united through that belief, this billboard struck the wrong chord with me.

employee recognition

DART passengers disembarking at the Arapaho station are greeted with this poster at the train stop.

Let me congratulate Mr. Gardner II (undoubtedly from a proud lineage of train operators) on this recognition. This humble commuter looks forward to riding on a train captained by this lord of the rails.

I'm afraid I may be too late, though.

With this honor, I would expect he's risen above merely driving the train. No doubt with his new pedigree, he'll take on a Captain Stubing sort of role onboard, mixing it up with the rank and file riders. ("How's your ride this morning?" "Why, that's an unusual fragrance you're sporting." "Good afternoon, Homey, is that the new Snoop album you're listening to?")

Maybe JMG2 would invite a select few to dine with him at the Rail Operator's table. Or graciously point out some of the facts of the train, to say nothing of engaging the stunned commuters with his charming repartee. He would reassure and edu-tain over the tinny PA system. "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. It's a pleasure to have you aboard. In the next 20 seconds, we'll be reaching a maximum speed of 51 miles per hour, then rapidly decelerating for another stop. I hope you've had as much fun riding the train today as I've had serving you."

Sure he might take the wheel for a ceremonial drive, for a fundraiser perhaps. Or for part of his DART farewell tour as he takes the big offer from Amtrak.

Of course, there's a downside of having your picture posted on a train stop that services such a diverse and colorful constituency. Let's just say I wouldn't expect Mr. Gardner II's shining face to be unblemished for too much longer. In fact, it would seem to be the equivalent of an open book test for taggers. Or it could be a brilliantly disguised sting operation to flush out the city's defacers. Regardless, over the next few days (hours?) I'm afraid the shining visage of our city's Rail Operator of the Year will undergo a significant and entirely unsanctioned overhaul, including (yet not limited to) blackened teeth, "crazy eyes", and, quite possibly, devil's horns.

Seems like a curious way to recognize a top employee -- and a heckuva train driver.

how i'm coping with the financial crisis

While ingesting a steady diet of bad news in The Wall Street Journal and recalculating my retirement age, my mood was brightened considerably when our 6-year-old altered this picture of Paulson and Thain. Timeless schtick.

Takes me back to the days of creating similar art, with church directories, yearbooks, and freebies from realtors as my canvas.