Tuesday, February 15, 2005

A Golden Circus Tent

A Golden Circus Tent

Yesterday, it was unseasonably nice and sunny in Austin; it was about 80 degrees, with the sun shining and the birds chirping. So, I get to work, after a pleasant drive in-the morning coffee coming out incredibly nice-smooth, with a touch of sugar, enough milk to make it creamy, and a hint of hazelnut for flavoring.

Then I'm thinking, "wouldn't it be nice if I could go somewhere and sit outside for lunch?" Steve IM's me, I "lunch?" him, and we decide to go to Manuel's to sit outside on the patio. What a great choice for a lunchtime get together. We got a nice, quiet spot in the corner, under the arbor, and enjoyed the afternoon and the enchiladas.

He asked if I had heard about Carla and the problems at HP. I said yeah (who hasn't?) and we started talking about high tech a bit.

"She got like 21 million after she was canned," I said.

Steve suggested, "I think it was more; they were speculating that with her stock options, well, I think her golden umbrella was like 35 million. Oh wait, did I say umbrella? I meant parachute?"

To which I responded, "Crap, for 35 million, that's more than an umbrella or a parachute. That's like an entire freakin'"

"Circus tent?" says Steve.

"Yeah. Circus tent. Complete with midgets and some guy flying out of a canon, instead of a canon ball. Crap, come to think of it, 35 million could get you a lot of canon balls and a lot of midgets to fly along with them."

"And a lot of clown shoes," says Steve.

Indeed, 35 million could buy yourself one Hell of a circus. Imagine the big shoes, red noses, and white elephants you could get with that. You could have all kinds of ladies spinning around on high wires, some of them even without beards. 35 million is, in fact, one Hell of a golden parachute and you could use it to buy yourself one heck of a big top. For 35 million, I'd run a freakin' high tech company into the ground, like she did, and retire my sorry fired off arse to Bimini (or wherever the canned CEO's currently go to retire these days.) For 35 million, I could have even spun off a lucrative printer business. But, I suppose, that's just me.

At least the enchiladas were good. I suppose I should feel sorry for poor Carlie. I mean, she got fired and she didn't have any fine tasting enchiladas to enjoy for lunch, under an arbor in the sunshine, like I did.

Until next time...

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