"THIS BUD'S FOR YOU"

Following in the famous and bloody footprints of history’s notables Hitler and Napoleon, I embarked on my conquest of Russia with a quick stop in Warsaw. As many of you know, I have begun a career into the world of records management, which at first glance appears to be the most prosaic and pedestrian forms of commerce. To my dismay, beneath this stultifying veneer lies what appears to be an exciting and interesting venture. Sadly, peel that back and you're back to a truly mundane enterprise.

Upon arrival in Warsaw, named the "Paris of the East" by people who apparently had never been to France, I was assigned a right-hand man by my document storage overlords.

Bud (like in "Budweiser" he helpfully explained) and I were quickly ushered into a series of presentations explaining the dynamic changes occuring in the records management business. It seems that records management is rapidly converging with the document scanning and paper shredding industries. Couldn't they have converged with the lingerie or brewing industries, I wondered?

After the presentations, I was issued my standard company millstone: the notebook computer. Ughhh. While I was fumbling around in attempts to find the "on" button, Bud was already contacting alien species on distant planets through some infared device that has probably already given birth to tumors in my spleen.

He produced a seemingly endless supply of wires and devices from his backpack like a Radisson lobby bar magician extracting silks scarves from his sleeve. When he was done, he took pity on me and very graciously offered to "help". His "help" took the form removing the anti-virus software and erasing the meager data I had managed to load into my Outlook program. I already loathe him.
I had plans to meet up with some old friends from my previous residence in Warsaw: Tod and Jan (pronounced "Yahn"). As Bud was at loose ends and we could always use a fresh audience for our tired stories, I invited him along for dinner and drinks.

An old acquaintance had opened up a new restaurant that served as a compliment to his wine importing business. As I marvelled at the lush surroundings, Bud flatly said, "Is this a wine place? I don't drink". This does not bode well.

Over drinks, Tod, Jan, and I laughed over our exploits in Warsaw in the early days just after the transition to democracy and capitalism. The stories have been refined, conflated, and edited over time to follow a classic story arc, excepting of course a moral. Tod introduced his new wife and very large baby, who wisely left early before the more outrageous and incriminating tales were related.

Bud laughed heartily and in a brief lull, muttered: "You guys must have been something in your prime". "My prime?" Tod exclaimed indignantly. He strected out his expansive six-foot-three frame and in his full Arkansas rural, Foghorn Leghorn-like style responded, "At least I had a prime!" Never leave Bud alone with clients, I noted.

The topic quickly changed to girlfriends, wives, ex-wives, etc. And as I had little to add to the conversation, Jan and Tod related the twists and turns of their situations. I'm glad to report, after a few failed marriages and other unhappy relationships, I've never see either of them so happy and contented. Jan is now dating a young widow. "Terrific" I said without thinking, as I am wont to do. My point was that ex-husbands can be a major nuisance and that life was a little easier without one in the picture. As my parents may read this blog, I won't go into the source of my knowledge on the subject, but trust me. Not that I wished anyone in particular dead, but as he was already a goner, well . . . terrific. Jan offered a compliment of sorts, "That's what I like about you, Todd. You always go with your first instinct."

"Not me", said Bud, "I'm never getting divorced, I think its wrong, you should stick with it all the way". This guy isn't drinking? What is he thinking? Man, I'm going to work him like a dog.

Jan and Tod (along with Adrian Blake of Omaha, Nebraska) are my best sources of new music, and the conversation inevitably turned to their recommendations (to be included in this blog in the near future). Bud enquired, "What's the best concert you ever saw?" A topical enquiry; wonders never cease. The three of us culled our fading memories for something esoteric and unpredicatable; Keith Richards solo at the Aragon Ballroom was my offering.

Bud's contribution was Elton John and Billy Joel in tandem. I couldn't help myself. "You know what would have made that even better? A giant meteor crashing into the stage and engulfing them both in a fatal conflagration. Maybe Sting strapped onto the meteor for good measure. He was not accustomed to such finely honed musical critiques and sulked for the remainder of the evening. I felt pretty bad about it, but "Captain Jack" and "Nikita" in one night, come on.

On the long cab ride home, the wine and jet-lag took had their effect and I began to doze off but was saved from restful sleep by my new right-hand man. "Did you see Janet Jackson on Saturday Night Live?" I had, but wondered whether a "yes" or "no" answer would elicit a shorter response. "No", I lied.

I guessed wrong. "You see she dressed up like Condoleeza Rice, and she had the gap in her teeth and everything, . . . . . . . " I'm going to make him wish he was making bricks for Pharoah if I have to endure this. "It was so funny because . .. . . " Note to readers: Never, ever use that phrase; if it requires explanation, its not funny. Q.E.D.

NEXT INSTALLMENT: FROM RUSSIA WITH "LUFF"