Tee See Bee

"Act like you've done this before." That was my admonishmnet to my exuberant young charges when I had bunches of people to be responsible for. I meant it and I enforced it. Not in a dress code or speech code or anything like that. I simply provided a role model and refused to brook any buffoonery. Act like an adult or be grounded like a child.

I say that as I think about myself this morning. I am traveling home today, and am glad of it. Most people would throw on some jeans and a t-shirt for the trip. You know, it's all about my comfort. But not me. Never have been that way. I have on slacks and a dress shirt. OK, the sleeves are rolled up to just above the wrist and I have the collar open. But they are nice clothes. 3 button sleeves and a button down collar. Casual, but dignified. Like I've done this before.

Partly it's because I am nothing if not a clothes horse. OK, mostly it's because of that. But, it's also partly my dogma. I fly in seats with single digit numbers. Up here in 2C and out of here in 1C. And guess what? I look like I belong in 1C. Like I've done it before. My shoes are polished. My belt and shoes accent my pants and my socks are just a different enough shade to tie it all together without clashing. And my jewelry brings out the sparkle in my eyes. OK, just messing with you there. Mostly my jewelry just says, "Because I can." Do others notice? Maybe not. But probably, they do. And anyway, I feel good. When ZZ Top sang that women go crazy for a sharp dressed man, I not only took it to heart, I proved that it wasn't particularly true.

Was over on Coal Miner's Daughter's site this morning. What a great post she had. Whacked me right out of my mental funk. I felt compelled to respond, and respond I did. In a circular fashion and with great clarity. Trademark Ramblin' Ed stuff. My fingers were dancing across the keyboard like a fat drunken dancer, striking random keys and conjuring unintended words that neither looked right nor made sense. I of course corrected the wreckage.

I got just what I wanted to say in the small little box provided, and went to post it. Blogger said that it would need my particulars if it were to process the request any further. Knowing that I went against the Gunner's sage advice and loaded up the Blogger Beta, I copied the remarks to clipboard before continuing.

In true Blogger Beta fashion, the simple task of logging in was exceedingly painul and requiring of more coarse language than usual. But finally, after much wrangling, I managed to delete my work. Smiling to myself and what can only be described as my personal mental brilliance, I promptly called her post back up, went straight to the comments section (Red Queen - what exactly does huzzah mean?) and pasted nothing into the box. WHAT THE HELL????

Seems in my carefully orchestrated actions, I had managed to not only lose the post, I had also erased the clipboard. Coarse language again ensued. Firey deaths were imagined for the google employees responsible for the beta. And a sadness engulfed me. Then I just wrote it all again, as best as possible, from my often faulty memory. It came out OK.

After re-reading it and deciding it was good enough, a fortunate thing given that I had posted it rather than previewed it, I closed the Blogger down. I closed the Blogger down only to find, plopped there in the center of my screen, previously hidden by the open window, and grinning like the Cheshire Slug... the comment window fron CMD's post, replete with original comments. Pissed off does not begin to describe it.

OK, no poems today. I have been busy explaining my dress code and ranting about blog comment SNAFUs. Maybe later but, um, don't cancel any plans in anticipation.

Perhaps any road will get you there, out
Ramblin' Ed