Joining the Navy at 17 and spending much of my early adult years in that testosterone-soaked environment helped shape me into the Joaner I am today. Thinking back to the seeds of what I can only call my negative outlook on life, I can think back to the days when I wrote evaluations on the people who worked for me. They were drafted often, juniors were drafted every six months and seniors drafted annually, sometimes as many as forty people at a time. I remember complaining to my fellow bosses about the ease of writing “dirty bag” and run of the mill evaluation verses or a great one. It seemed very easy to bring down another, slightly more difficult to give the impression that a subordinate could walk on water but in the middle of the street, or that an average artist could be equated to picking off his nails with rusty pliers. capable, pedestrian and the kiss of death mediocre were the words we used to describe those unfit to advance, words that should have neither a negative nor a positive connotation could be used to bring down another. We also had a book on the correct phrases to use for certain performance levels, most of the examples read were at the end, taken from actual British Navy assessments, I remember my favourite, "Somewhere a village misses an idiot" Now the British they know how