I was really about to make a point and it is this: It’s not OK to use “ok” in your correspondence as a stand-alone sentence. It is in fact, insulting to whomever you are attempting to communicate with. And yes, this is where I wish we had a Dear Abby to scold the offenders and codify this into the rule book of etiquette.

For many of us, in our work-a-day worlds, we have a couple of choices for communicating with our co-workers. We can send them an email, we can drop by their cubical, we can call them on their iphone or Blackberry, or (drumroll please) we can send them an instant message. IM’ing has become such a favored method for communicating in the modern work-a-day world that their are commercial instant messaging applications a’plenty. They sit charmingly on your desktop at work and play a lovely musical chime when someone wants to chat you up. Bllllliiiiiiiinnnnng! There, wasn’t that charming?

Yea. Charming.

Now I realize that the form of communication in the information age is changing. I recognize that we are awash in a world of tweets, but there is a difference. Tweeting is serial communication. It is a composite, in real time of life as it happens in 32 bit segments. I’m OK with that, because no one ever simply tweets “OK”, and leaves it there to stare at you. Not so in the workplace.

Let me give you an example: The other day/week/month I was IM’ing with a colleague and providing a progress update on a project. Back and forth the dialogue went, an even exchange for the most part and an effective and efficient way to conversate (yes, I just used the word conversate he he he) and then it happened. I concluded my half of the conversation with “well, that about sums it up” and then, what glared back at me from the cold little white box in the corporate instant messenger was just two letters. An “O” and a “K”. Could anything have been more non-committal? Could anything be more ineffectual?

Ladies and Gentlemen, “OK” is NOT the worlds shortest stand alone sentence. It is, in truth when used that way terribly insulting to the reader who has just crafted a sentence for you using a subject and a predicate. It is not OK. It is disturbing and you who use it, should cease and desist, and yes this includes my boss. If you need a single word to use in your IM’ing that will indicate your general and singular detachment and lack of caring about anything (much less a fellow human being) try, using “hmmmmm”, or if you can stand to type more than two lousy letters, perhaps you can manage an: “Alright” or a “Thanks”, but keep your stand alone OK to yourself.

I’m sure there are other bloggers who have written about this poison pill of a pseudo-word both in and out of this context and I suspect my lone voice will die off as you walk down the corridor to your next mind numbing meeting, but I hope that the message will persist with a few of my faithful readers. Remember, when you IM there is a live human on the other end. OK?

There I was, in my usual custom seated at my desk, enjoying my morning dash through my google dashboard when I happened upon Happy. I found him inside a widget that I oft enjoy called “Shorpy” a picture repository that aggregates exquisite frozen moments in time. I particularly love the dead people. All of them are of course, because Shorpy pictures all come from the turn of the century. So it’s like looking at your grandma or grandpa when they were unwrinkled. Pretty cool.

And in this wandering in Shorpyland, sometime you will fall upon a singular countenance that will sustain your day. Such is my good fortune on this day. And so dear reader my story comes to a close with only the briefest of postlogues. Here is the face of Happy. All it takes to get Happy, is to be Happy.

Everywhere you go….Curly Larry and Moe. From Bob Latchaw’s lips to God’s ears.

Here in fact, where we are is clearly marked. And so it was.

This particular map shows the location of my recent jaunt north to the county known as Plumas.

In the county known as Plumas, there are many interesting phenomenon. The first, and by far the most spectacular can only be called the Brigadoon effect.

It was most obvious when watching the parade on Saturday, or just listening to neighbors gossip at the fair. Quincy which is the county seat, is only one Goober short of a Mayberry.

And sis, just so you know….I only pretended not to be afraid of heights. These were taken from high atop the kiddy Ferris wheel. Boy am I glad the big one wasn’t running.

And it’s not just about the rides oh no. This is the real deal County Fair.  For instance, ya got yer rodeo…

And ya got yer friendly pet rooster.

And even Arnold the pig from Green Acres.

The big grandstand event on the second night was the Lumberjack contest. The stands were SRO.  And since lumbering is an important commercial enterprise in the region, these were real lumberjacks.  When interviewed after the performance, not one of them could even hum the Monty Python “Lumberjack” song. I rest my case.

Next – The parade. Episode two. Check back often. Both of you.

I place them here if not for my general readership; then for my son the horror writer. I will add more frothy and fun postings for the general readership later, but for now, this one’s for Doug. I saw this horse drawn hearse and knew you would be all over it like….well you know…. a zombie on a drumstick.  Bon appetite!

Stay tuned for more scary stuff from the road.

Cruisin’ now is a more genteel repast. On any lazy Santa Barbara day you will encounter buttloads of people on their bikes. My friend Sterling bought himself a “beach cruiser” the other day, and with me on his mountain bike, and him on the wheeled lazyboy, we set out for the beach. It is worth noting that the afore mentioned Bootiesatva (nickname for Mr. Sterling Branton) carefully mapped out a nearly flat route to the beach on his built-in tomtom.  He climbed atop his trusty steed, and out into the neighborhood he rode…

I followed shortly behind and Bill and Ted’s big adventure began. We road past the bakery….(yummmmmmm)

Then we continue to peddle our asses off (not really, but had to work that into the post somewhere – I was originally going to use it as the title) arriving at last at the starting point of any good bike ride down the beach – the Santa Barbara marina.

Finally we arrive at the beach.  See? It’s the large body of water on the other side of the sand. I am gesturing to it in this picture as a public service for my many readers who are directionally challenged. And yes, we know who we are…

Becuase, like the moon launch there will always be skeptics who, for their own twisted political purposes want to subvert the truth, here is another picture of the previously discussed ocean. This time with boats – real boats. And a palm tree. A real palm tree.

And of course, no trip to the beach would be complete without chick watching. Here is Bootiesatva preparing to watch chicks.

And actually watching chicks….

Finally we made it back to the hood….

Good nite Santa Barbara…

Be prepared for this particular portion of our tour of Don Warrick’s life to be a little longer than usual. We have some catching up to do. Yesterday, I headed down the 101 through Oxnard, Ventura, then a hop across the Filmore freeway (remember we have already discussed the differences between freeways and highways) to Simi Valley. I can only describe the experience as surreal. I was prepared with map, emails, netbook, GPS, cellphone, and a small stack of wood to make a smoke signal fire. Needed none of it. Turns out, there is an inner me that I have not been in touch with for a while. This inner-me has been storing information, taking notes and recording driving directions since I owned that 73 Pinto. Yes, some of you remember it. This offers as good a segue as any to the following photographs. Once I got to Simi, as if there were an “Auto Pilot” mode in my car, I drove straight to the place on Tapo Canyon Road where I took said Pinto off a cliff back in 76. Back then, we would time trial to the top of the windy road. Now, there is a golf course there. It was more than a little freaky. I believe however that this is exactly what I saw back then before I uttered the immortal words “Ah, shit” and became the first Pinto in the space program.

This was the curve in the road that I approached at 70 MPH. Remember I had just dropped the pinto down to 1″ off the ground. Why? because I could. The upside was, she handled like a go-cart on sterio-roids. The downside was….well if you know the story…I didn’t make the curve.

This last picture doesn’t really capture the image that the Wright Bros and I saw when we first became airborn. Since then, the gully that you can sort of make out here has filled in with brush. It was an interesting stop on the tour however. “May I play through?”

I was meeting an old flame and dear friend (Brenda, you know who you are) for lunch, and had a bit of time before the lunching hour so I let my fingers do the driving and ended up at the second stop of our tour today….

I wish that I could sing a verse of the school fight song for you here. Since I cannot, I am going to wager that my good friend and partner in many juvenile crimes, one Mr. Nosmo King will be commenting on this post and will bring with him a copy of the verse for all to enjoy. The following picture looks down the hallway toward the room of the most universally hated and despised teacher of our junior high experience. I don’t remember her name, but again I am quite confident that my comrade, the afore mentioned Mr. King will. What I do remember is an incident involving a tennis ball can, and a partially dissected fish from the biology lab.  I challenge Mr. King to fill in the gaps for the readers of the Trifling Blog.

The quad…

7 little Tyroloftovornochevskavichskyvornachevskys. The following picture is of the MPR (Massive Punishment Room) and the stage door sans Johnny. (extra points for those of you that got that one) This was the scene of an early crime from the brothers King. On this very stage they performed, for no particular reason, their own version of  the Marx Brother’s skit “The Doctor’s Office”.  T he running gag in the skit was the name of a patient: Tyroloftovornochevskavichskyvornachevsky.

This was the second stage that I had performed on. The first was at my elementary school in Lompoc, and no travelogue would complete without a picture of that fabulous theatrical space as well, so a little backtracking reveals…

The play was called “Dick and Jane in Wonderland” and I played the roles of both Dick and Jane, causing serious psychic injury which probably explains a lot to my friends and family. But really folks…ba dum bum… And who could forget the quaint little house on Arlington? Actually, I could. For a lot of reasons all resonant with the odd theme that keeps reappearing in my life that we lovingly call: “Sins of the father” – but that’s for another post. In the meantime it is nice to know that the old homestead still stands proud. Could stand a brisk sage-ing though.

The next pic is for my sister Trink. She was a year ahead of me in school, and when we got to Simi Valley we both hung out at a little rec center at the top of the street. The reason that this one is for Trink is….well kinda private. But I remember. Hope this brings a big smile to your face.

I was taught by my southern mother never to wear out my welcome, so I will close this little entry in our travelogue until the next issue where we will return to high school. In closing I would just like to share a random picture of marijuana.  Love to all…smoke em if you got em.