I hear the throaty growl of an accelerating engine, and look up just in time to see the smear of a black car flying past. Simultaneously, I hear an enormous BOOM, and see pieces of my car showering all around.

The short story: guy passed out, hit the accelerator, and smashed into my car.

Cadillac STS 1, Toyota Corolla 0. Both cars non drivable. My car: probably totaled, since the rear quarter panel is crunched, the rim is destroyed, it and the tire are pushed up into the wheel well (bent axle), pieces of the bumper are in the road, and what’s left of the brake lights are somewhere up the street.

So I run outside (I’m working at home, barefoot…brrrrr), glancing at the mangled remains of my car. I ask a neighbor raking leaves across the street “Did you see that?”

“No, but it made a whale of a racket. I think that may be the guy who hit it,” he says, motioning up the street. There, three houses away, is a black Cadillac, angled into the front yard of an innocent neighbor.

I sprint (more like hop, skip, and a jump due to the frost-covered cement) up to the car. The driver’s an older guy, scared, but unhurt. I ask if he needs medical help, then chat with him a bit after he declines emergency service. Now thoroughly chilled, I excuse myself, then tippy-toe my way back home for shoes, a coat, a pen, paper and cell phone.

Armed with the requisite technology to get paid half what my car is worth and far less than what I’ve paid so far to the insurance racket, I return to his car and ask for his insurance paperwork.

He hands me his insurance card. The name printed thereon: J. Philip Sousa III.

Yes, my car was totaled by a man named after a 19th century marching band composer; My ride obliterated by a fellow named after the father of the instrument I played in marching band.

Assuming the obvious, I ask the guy if he’s related to the composer.

“No,” he says. He just happens to be the third in a line of guys named John Philip Sousa.

The cops have arrived. Well, driven past, actually. Seems that parking on one’s lawn doesn’t warrant the sufficient awareness of peace officers in this here neck of the woods. I turn to wave them back to the conductor of this mayhem, and glancing back at his Cadillac, I’m struck by his license plate. Seems our JP Sousa, like his namesake, is a marine. You know, that group of combatants who’s rousing anthem is “Semper Fidelis,” written by none other than John Philip Sousa.

We travelled to Ft. Thomas, KY this past weekend. We flew from Denver to Chicago, then drove the 6 hours through Indianapolis and Cincy. What a beautiful part of this country. Wow. How lucky are we, huh? So, we looked at lots of houses and … we had an offer accepted on one! The new place is in Kentucky: 48 Rossford Avenue. See this photo show for pix of the place. Itâ??s cute, and has an amazing back yard. Thereâ??s a bit about it that reminds me of my teen-years home in Hugo, Colorado. Thatâ??s a good thing, because I liked that place. We think (and by we, I mean the whole family) that it will be a great place to live! Weâ??ve got a truck reserved for a move on the 26th of June. Now…who wants to help?

Another cool tidbit. Remember the whole iMac episode? Well, the College just finished the acquisition of new computers for faculty and staff. Guess what? 21 of 27 (78%) ordered Macs. Amazing what a little show and tell can do! Apple….are you listening?

BTW, with my new role, the schoolâ??s decided to buy me a Mac too. Excellent! I opted for the über-portability of the 13.3â? MacBook (in black), plus a 23â? cinema display. Nice.

For now, hereâ??s a short video of a house we had an offer on (above photo), which fell through after a competing party threatened to sue the owner. So far, weâ??ve made offers on two other houses, which havenâ??t closed for various reasons (primarily due to the difficulties associated with buying a house in a town 1200 miles away sight unseen).

Yesterday, Charita and I informed the Dean at UCCS that weâ??d not be seeking employment with the college after graduation. It took him off guard, but we both felt it only fair to let him know now so that he has time to backfill.

Iâ??ve posted a video that I created a while back on my iMac… Itâ??s silly, but was fun to do something creative and spur of the moment. It shows scenes from Yermo, California, where I grew up. Itâ??s 1.7 MB in size and requires QuickTime 7 (free).

And finally, of interest to probably only me, the Windows XP on Mac contest I mentioned on 2/3 has run its course, and result in a workable solution for dual booting Windows XP on the Intel-based Macs (video showing iMac booting Win XP). W00t! The contest paid nearly $14,500 payoff to the guy that figured it out.

My youngest son, Nate, has been diagnosed with a fairly rare blood condition that causes severe bruising (idiopathic thrombocytopenic purpura). Basically, itâ??s a poorly understood condition (hence â??idiopathicâ?) wherein the spleen destroys the platelets. His platelet count is so low that any sort of minor bump on the head poses severe risk. So, Iâ??m at home caring for him to the best of my ability. No, the play-doh bucket isnâ??t functioning as a helmet.

Iâ??ve never put a lot of trust in the medical community. But, I will say, Iâ??m thankful for them at this moment in time! Early in the week, we were referred to a childhood cancer clinic, because the symptoms of Nateâ??s ailment are very similar to leukemia. Turns out that diagnosing ITP is purely a process of elimination…and the diseases they have to eliminate to get to that diagnosis are not pretty. At that clinic, I was struck by the bravery of children afflicted with cancer, and saddened by the hollow, scared look courageously masked by the strength parents must conjure up at times like this. Upon finding out that leukemia had been eliminated, I was so thankful. But I was also aware that such a blessing hadnâ??t been bestowed on the families in the next rooms over.

As it sits, weâ??re in a waiting game, hoping that the treatment ($2000 a shot) will counter the platelet loss, pulling Nate of immediate harmâ??s way, and that this syndrome will work its way out of his system. You see, there is no available cure…

Iâ??m so very thankful to the courageous people at the center, who daily give comfort to the ill children and their families.

Now, Iâ??d love to go off on our lack of nationalized health care. For me, itâ??s as obvious as asking why a modern nation, governed by free and intelligent people, wouldnâ??t make universal health care a basic right. But, Iâ??ll save that rant for later, because anger is the last thing we need right now!

So as to get my mind back into the game, Iâ??ll post the following CUKT (comparatively useless knowledge turd):

A competition has been set up to reward the person who can describe and provide evidence that Windows can be booted on the new Apple iMac Duo. Today it is over $10,000.

A number of people have been commenting that Macs donâ??t fit well into the workflow of our College. Theyâ??ve variously informed me that Macs wouldnâ??t interface well with our NT-based file servers, that the Internet would be slower, that VPN was problematic, and that Office documents couldnâ??t be used. Classic anti-mac sentiments based on misinformation.

Now, given the state of IT on our campus, I would have been within my rights to be a bit nervous. But, I figured, if the Mac can connect and function here, that would be a real testament to its capabilities. Itâ??s kind of like the new kid trying to fit into the established clique, all the while maintaining his authenticity… I usually root for that guy.

So, on Day Two I disproved all of those misinformed assertions. I connected to the file shares — and all parties, including the tech support guys, commented that even though I was using wireless, the file directories appeared much faster than on Windows. I then opened every Word, PowerPoint and Excel document thrown at me, from a number of â??interestedâ? parties. Of course, I was able to VPN into the campus network with nary a problem. It just keeps getting better and better.

I then demonstrated to several staff and faculty members how quickly a web site could be built, even using advanced technology typically out of the reach of that audience, such as blogging, photo albums, RSS feeds, and podcasts.

Looks like the Mac may have a place in the College of Business after all.

I think Iâ??ll leave it here overnight so that I can use it tomorrow at work.

Several of us in the class agonized over whether to submit papers that honestly reflected how we felt about the course. Kudos to the instructor for taking the heat and stepping up to the plate. Now, if the people on both sides of equations such as this would respond more honestly and employ integrity, we might actually be able to change things. Of course, it remains to be seen what, if anything, comes from atop the tower of babel known as the administration building.

[EDIT: Of interest is that no response from the Chancellor has been received as of my graduation on May 19, 2006. Change starts at the top, and an organization reflects the characteristics of senior management. So as the Chancellor goes, so goes the institution.]

Melissa,

For so long, I have wanted you to know about my life since you died. I wish these words could find their way to your soul, and that you might know me through them nowâ?¦

Recently I stood, staring out across the broad swath of sea, focused on a freighter no-doubt filled with goods from Asia, cleaving the horizon, awash in a rain squall not yet acquainted with the island. I found myself wondering aloud how I came to this place. Before me lay the great expanse of blue margarita water, teaming with life that I could only have begun to imagine in my National Geographic retardedness. Behind me, an 800 foot waterfall crashed down Hawaiiâ??s Waipio cliffs. Great gusts of mist buffeted me, swirling downward to the young rocks below.

Just a year prior I had escaped my corporate employment, on the advice of your widower. Iâ??d become disillusioned by the greed, dishonesty and narcissistic career-building that I had witnessed around me; a practice I had become a part of. It was a situation typical of the American corporate experience: a scenario claiming the best intentions of good people and turning them into ladder-climbing egocentrics, hell-bent on promotion.

My journey to this island could (and should) be traced back to a time prior to my abandonment of the corporate lifestyle.

You know I married young, at the age of 21, to an equally young and similarly naïve woman. I dreamt of stardom and chased it as a musician. She dreamt of being an artist, but then sold it for an opportunity to prove her love for me by working full-time as a payroll clerk. I didnâ??t see it that way then. It is only recently that Iâ??ve come to that regrettable conclusion.

I failed pretty miserably as a musician, being a bit too right brained for heavy metal, a bit too impressionable for artistic integrity, and, as it were, a bit too eager to make the next move. My musical career culminated in the birth of my first child, whereupon I summarily quit the band, bought a house, and sought a respectable corporate job.

Fifteen years later, life has come around full circle. I find myself studying daily in the shadow of the building where you drew your last breaths ten years ago. That building, where you died, has changed, like I have. Neither looks anything like we did then. Yet inside, the memories of our past remain.

These days, I work adjacent to that memory, studying business and the various disciplines that make it work. And on Tuesday nights, this past semester, I have studied a topic I wish you and I could have discussed: the ethical responsibilities of business to stakeholders.

Given the experiences that led me to this place and time, I often struggled to bite my tongue, as waves of newly minted capitalists conveniently abandoned the teachings of their savior (beatitudes be damned), demonstrating their ability to justify the enrichment of the few on the backs of the poor. Apparently, Nikeâ??s pursuit of profit absolves it of all but the most heinous forms of exploitation. It was fascinating to watch the oft unnoticed dichotomy of personal versus business ethics go unresolved as the weak-hearted chose the well-worn path that leads to the utterance of the line weâ??ve all heard: â??Nothing personalâ?¦itâ??s just business.â?

Do you remember Bhopal? It happened the year you graduated. To this day, people are still suffering from Union Carbideâ??s decision to operate a plant that failed to meet U.S. safety standards. They got away with it because they were operating in India. Faced with these sorts of cases, I was shocked to hear the opinions of most of my classmates; U.S. companies need only meet local safety requirements. Apparently, whatâ??s good for white America is too good for the brown world. And the main reason given? It all boils down to low prices, Wal-mart style.

As the course progressed, I found myself feeling like a victim of a sham company â?? one whoâ??d taken my money and disappeared into the night without a trace. Here we were, 100+ students, packed into an echo chamber masquerading as a classroom, studying the responsibility of business to its stakeholders, unable to hear an instructor who knew the environment wouldnâ??t support the format of the class before it even started. I was there during the summer, when he first got word of the Universityâ??s decision to merge multiple sections, including a Masterâ??s class, into one giant free-for-all. As I watched the semester unfold, I realized that this institution had failed, at the most basic levels, to practice the very tenets of business which they so rigorously advocate across the curriculum: continuous improvement, customer-centrism, good faith, and the ethical treatment of stakeholders.

In the final analysis, as I reflect upon this course, I realize I got more out of the experience than I initially thought. I witnessed, first hand, how languid our attempts to right wrongs are, and how proficient we can be at adjusting our moral compass to point to whatever inner north benefits our desire to maintain status quo.

In Meditations, Marcus Aurelius speaks eloquently of such practices. It would seem that our business code of ethics has taken a page from Aureliusâ?? stoics, then applied it in some half-crazed psychotropic manner:

“Say to yourself in the early morning: I shall meet today ungrateful, violent, treacherous, envious, uncharitable men. All of these things have come upon them through ignorance of real good and ill… I can neither be harmed by any of them, for no man will involve me in wrong, nor can I be angry with my kinsman or hate him; for we have come into the world to work together…”
â?? Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book II, Part I

This is NOT to say that I was ever on a concerted journey towards altruism, for I understand ethics must be based on egoism. My direction, most simply described, is the pursuit of happiness; a state wherein I might find equilibrium in my emotional well-being. It is within this framework that I choose to weigh the merits of the actions of myself and others. It is this framework where I define my ethical ethos.

With love, your brother,

Chris

It was just over a year ago that I left my corporate employment, having become disillusioned by the greed, dishonesty and narcissistic career-building that I had witnessed around me; that I had become a part of. It was a situation, in talking with the many people I have met since, typical of the American corporate experience; a scenario claiming the best intentions of good people and turning them into ladder-climbing egocentrics.

My journey to this island could (and should) be traced back to a time prior to my abandonment of the corporate lifestyle.

I married young, at the age of 21, to an equally young and similarly naïve woman. I dreamt of stardom and chased it as a musician. She dreamt of being an artist, and sold it for an opportunity to prove her love for me by working full-time as a payroll clerk. I didnâ??t see it that way then. It is only now that Iâ??ve come to that regrettable conclusion. I failed pretty miserably as a musician, being a bit too right brained for Metal, a bit too impressionable for artistic truth, and, as it were, a bit too eager to make the next move. My musical career culminated in the birth of my first child, whereupon I summarily quit the band, bought a house, and sought a respectable corporate job.

This change was monumental, for it spelled the literal death of a youthful dream. Like the biblical character Samson, I cut my hair and soon lost my source of personal power.