Work Series

The builder called Friday to tell me that he would be over to start building the screen porch on this coming Tuesday. This is excellent and surprising news. I only signed the request for a building permit a few days ago. I figured it would take at least another month to get something going. I always knew I was a "fill-in" job, and I accepted the fact that this small job would get bumped by conflicts of larger jobs The contact agreement had a final deadline of May 3, 2005. But, now the builder seems to think that he will get most of it done in the next few weeks.
The only downside is that now we will need to come up with the money sooner.

On Tuesday afternoons, several of us guys usually meet at George's for "tea". You know, Ice cold frosty "tea" that comes in six packs. This week, I think we should move the Tea here, so we can supervise the work.

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Last weekend, I completed a freelance writing job. Then on Monday, I called on a local business nonprofit to look at their database and discuss fixing some reporting problems. I think they liked me. I gave them a written proposal for 40-60 hrs of work. No response yet.

I'm thinking actively soliciting more business writing gigs. I think I am good at this type of writing, and the remuneration is excellent. The uncertainty of work and the prospect of down times between jobs is much preferrable to a tedious work series of fifty 40 hour weeks per year. And, you know, someone needs to keep an eye on the guys working on my new porch. So, I am optimistic about the prospect of small occasional work to pay for my lavish lifestyle....

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The other day, a retirement expert-financial planner called to offer his services.
"Well, I might be interested if you can answer one question." I said in my most cooperative tone.
"Sure. What's the question?" he asked, helpfully as he mentally began to tote up his commisson.
"When am I gonna die?"
"Excuse me?"
"I know how much money I have. The only thing I don't know is how many years to divide into the nest egg?"
The silence on the end of the line spoke volumes. Finally, "Well, actually, it's not quite that simple..."
"Oh yes it is," I interjected. "Tell me! When?"
"Sir, I am not in a position to answer a question like..."
"Hey, it's the only question I have about financing my retirement." I hung up, not to string the poor shmuck along any further. I really need to find another way to entertain myself - instead of jerking around with telemarketing callers. But it is fun.

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Last night just before game one, Steve Tyler from Aerosmith sang the National Anthem. In my humble opinion it was the best work I have ever heard him do. Well, maybe "Walk This Way" was a little catchier. (Or, was that Led Zeppalin? I dunno. Neither of those bands fall within my golden era.) Anyhoo, just as Tyler finished the SSB there was a low fly-over of two F-150 Air Force jets. Or is F-150 a Ford Truck model? I don't know nuthin' about jets - or trucks. The timimg was awesome. I figured I had enough time to get up and get a frosty brew. By the time I got to the fridge there was this tremendous roar overhead. It scared the crap out of me for a split second. The cats - who are quite accustomed to the noise and vibration associated with the occasional but noisy passing of freight trains - panicked and ran under the table. Then, I realized it was the Fenway fly-over jets on the way back to Hanscom Field in Bedford. Through the rear slider I could see the lights speeding through the dark sky as they screamed overhead, dishing thunder to the ground below. It makes you wonder: how the hell does anyone get any sleep in Iraq?
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Speaking of Jets, the Pats kicked their New York asses all over the field today.