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Some things I just can’t make up.

I was sitting and enjoying a nice dinner tonight in Santa Clara when a somewhat geeky guy sits down next to me and begins to shovel his food like a starved man. He had a unique outfit, a European accent and the eyes of a mad scientist. He wasn’t wearing a badge. He was a Google engineer and I knew it.

When he asked me about my work I told him that I dabbled in programming but that I also did SEO consulting. We chatted a bit about C++, Java, Fortran and other mundane things before I asked him, “so, do you work for Google?”. He replied that he did, confirming my suspicions. He said he was an engineer.

I decided to have a little fun and pretend to enlist his help. “So, I want to rank #1 on Google for all queries” I said. “Can you do that for me?”

He looked at me, puzzled. But he seemed to want to give me a real answer. He said, “I can’t do that. Besides, it would crash your servers.”

“Not my servers”, I told him. “I have 2 servers and they’re really big.”

He insisted that it was a bad idea. So I gave in a little. “Ok, how about ranking #1 for most queries?” He still insisted that I wouldn’t get qualified traffic and that my servers would blow. I assured him that both of my servers were top notch.

I handed him my business card and told him that he could think about it and, if he changed his mind, I could take all the traffic from ranking #1 on “the Google”. He looked at me with an uncomfortable grin. And he said, “ok, but I really can’t do that”.

It was fairly obvious, hopefully, that I was joking. At any rate, I saw the engineer later and asked him if he was going to delete me from “the Google” for asking for his help. He assured me, “No, we won’t do that. Google is not evil, really.”

Thank goodness. I’m relieved.

Tomorrow brings the unusual combination of “Super Tuesday” as well as “Fat Tuesday”. Some will be blowing it out in New Orleans, getting all of their sins out of their system before lent. Others will be voting in primary elections. Maybe they’re the same thing (hey - it’s an easy joke!). For me, Mardi Gras always meant rugby.

It has been 22 years since I made my first trip down to New Orleans for the annual LSU Mardi Gras Rugby Tournament. I never really intended to go to Mardi Gras (I didn’t even know what it was), much less play rugby. But I didn’t get much playing time during the Saturday football games and my roommate was helping to start the first Rhodes College rugby team. I went to one or two practices, just for fun, but didn’t give it much thought. It seemed like backyard football to me.

One Sunday morning in the fall of 1985, after having too much fun at some late night party, Rock ‘em Sock ‘em Rusty B. barged into my room and announced that I was needed for that day’s rugby game. We were playing Ole Miss. I quietly complained about the noise, the light and my pounding headache. Clearly, that was not the right answer. Rusty yanked me out of bed, tossed my cleats in my direction and said something along the lines of, “Get yer ass up and get dressed - you’re playing!”

Rusty was about 6′3″ and weighed in at 275 lbs. He was a starting offensive tackle on Saturdays. At the time, I was a strapping 162 lbs. and, although I was speedy, I couldn’t escape his demands.

Within an hour, I was reluctantly on the field. The Ole Miss game quickly had me sweating, however, and I felt less crappy as the game went on. I didn’t know the rules and was called for a number of penalties such as diving on a loose ball and ‘knocking on’ - i.e. dropping a ball forward. I was certain that this would be my last game. I really didn’t enjoy penalizing my team every few minutes.

The game was tied 0-0 and the clock was winding down. Ole Miss was getting ready to score and it looked like we were doomed. But one of the Rebel players tried to turn the corner on my side when I tackled him, picked up the ball and sprinted the distance of the field for a try. The whistle blew and we won 3-0. I was hooked!

A few weeks later, we took the ultimate road trip to Baton Rouge where we played rugby by day and went to Mardi Gras parades in New Orleans at night. That was my first trip to the Big Easy and many more were to follow. The LSU Mardi Gras Rugby Tournament became a staple road trip. Here’s a great video one of my old teammates just sent me comparing rugby to soccer. I don’t remember it being quite so much like the UFC, but the home team always did supply the keg.

Kellie Lartigue-Ndiaye was serving as the director of the Global AIDS Program in Mali when she passed away tragically in December of ‘07. Her life was dedicated to helping others. I remember one of her most poignant sayings, “Give until it hurts.” She certainly led by example. I wrote more about that here.

The outpouring of support for her 3 sons and her husband has been amazing. The boys have been temporarily enrolled in school, Karim has had successful surgery and volunteers have chipped in to help feed, house and transport the family while they are in Atlanta. Giving is a good thing. If you would like to help the surviving family members while they are in Atlanta (through February and March), please contact Anna Brittain at abrittain@cdc.gov. These boys still love going to the skate park and eating pizza - every little bit helps.

On a greater scale, the Kellie Lartigue Memorial Fund has been setup to help support the many causes important to Kellie and to also provide for the education of her children. I can’t imagine a better cause. Checks can be made to:

Ndiaye/Lartigue Education Account
CDC Federal Credit Union
P.O. Box 49169
Atlanta, GA 30359
Attn: Executive Park Branch

Or you can call for more information 404-325-3270 ext. 5448

I could write volumes about Kellie Lartigue and still not scratch the surface of who she was. We were friends for over 21 years. She took me to places and showed me things that I would have never braved myself. She giggled in the face of danger and could disarm hostility in an instant. She will leave a lasting impression on all who knew her. And her work will continue to make the world a better place. The guest book here has some great memories of Kellie.

Blessed are the peace makers.

Last Friday, she was traveling with her family from Mali to Senegal when a tire blew, causing the car to roll. She was thrown from the car and killed instantly. Her husband and 3 little boys were unharmed, physically at least.

Hours after hearing the news, her parents in Memphis received a bouquet of flowers from Kellie herself. Two days later, her Christmas presents arrived as if to say, “I’m still here!” And she will keep showing up, as she always does, to make our lives a little bit brighter. Even if our vision is blurred by tears.

*Update* After some x-rays, it was found that Karim did suffer some spinal fractures and he and the boys will be sticking around in Atlanta for the next few weeks. The good news is that he can be treated here before heading back to Mali and many people have opened their homes to them. There are a lot of kind people here and it is heartwarming to see the depth of support.

Learn about the Kellie Lartigue Memorial Fund.

I have 2 brothers and none of us have tattoos. That’s not to say that we’re a bunch of prudes; quite the opposite, really. I have lots of friends with inked arms and ankles. And my brothers’ friends have an even greater propensity to paint their skin. But it’s not something that has even been a vague interest of mine, or my brothers. And that is likely because we all knew “Booger Bear”.

Booger Bear was a large man, about 6′ 2″ and weighing in the 240 lb. range. He worked down the street with Mr. Gardner at the pool table / juke box / pinball machine repair shop. He was illiterate and did most of the heavy lifting jobs as well as delivery. When Terry and Jerry weren’t available, Booger would be sent to my dad’s restaurant to pick up the coffee for their shop. He was the low man on the totem pole, so to speak. I didn’t know any other grown-ups that couldn’t read. He certainly inspired me to do well in school.

As with any regular customer at the restaurant, everyone knew Booger Bear. He was always friendly to my brothers and myself and liked to joke around and tease us. He wasn’t the quick wit and perpetual jokester like Mr. Gardner, but he tried. Typically, we poked fun at him behind his back. And my mom did not hide her disgust of Booger’s tattoos. She would often solicit his advisement. “See there, look at Booger Bear’s arms. You don’t want to have tattoos like that when you grow up. Ain’t that right, Booger?” The obvious answer was “no”. Mom had a definite sense of right and wrong. But what made the answer obvious was that Booger had crossed out a couple of his tattoos, a sure sign of regret.

Although there were several tattoos that were done professionally by someone during his Armed Forces tour of duty, Booger had a few that were obviously self inflicted. The name “Susan” was crossed out. Just below Susan was a crossed out “Nancy”. And while Donna was no longer a sweetheart, her name remained unscathed. All of them were in the handwriting of a small child. An illiterate man really shouldn’t be trusted with the tattoo pen.

“Once you have a tattoo, you can’t take it away. It’s there forever.“, my mom would say. Her message stuck.

I was probably in high school when Booger Bear learned to read. A retired school teacher had taken an interest in helping Booger. And he was extremely motivated. I’ll never forget the day when he came in the restaurant, sat at the counter and proudly read me the menu as if I were still wondering what it said. His world had opened up and his smile was almost perpetual.

It’s been over 20 years since the owner of the game shop ran his Cadillac into a telephone pole and the business closed. I don’t know what happened to Booger Bear after that. Maybe he got a better job in another part of town. Wherever he is, I’m sure Booger Bear is still inspiring others to enjoy life, read well and stay away from the tattoo gun.