I was up at 8:30am today. You would not believe how many people are out and about at this ungodly hour! The streets are already filled with cars and trucks. Runners and walkers on the sidewalks, sweating and listening to their i-pods.
It was a revelation. Since I have joined the ranks of the NCE, (*Not Currently Employed) I have been in the habit of sleeping until at least 9:00, sipping coffee and reading the papers on the porch before getting myself together for a mid-day stroll. Okay. I'm kidding. Just trying to rub-it-in to you poor SOBs have to get up and drag your ass to work everyday at some hellhole. :-)
In all honesty, I hardly ever get to sleep late. I do try to stay out of the way during my wife's daily multi-hour long preparations to make herself presentable for her co-workers. I usually get out of bed when she calls up to say that she is leaving for work.
She seems to think that if the coffee maker is left unattended, it will burst into flames. So, if I am not up and about, she unplugs the Mr. Coffee as she departs for the day. (Probably, she is happy to be in the relative safety of her car and out of the hazardous environment of our domicile.)
So I get up and make awake noises; otherwise, by the time I go down stairs to the kitchen I am greeted with 2 hungry cats and tepid coffee. In the cats' opinion, my wife doesn't feed them enough to get them through the next 12 hours of napping, so they hang around yowling for more food. She doesn't over feed them for a good reason. Someone, we are not sure which one, has been gobbling up breakfast, and then barfing it up on the rug. I am sternly informed that whoever feeds the cats is responsible for puke-patrol. I feed them anyway; I'd rather deal with the puke than the yowling while I'm trying to read the news.
So I get up and feed the cats (again), wash 2 Aleves down with hot coffee and read the papers. If it's cool enough I go out on the screen porch. Sometimes I go for an early morning walk. I know what you are thinking: why not just sleep until 9 and reheat the coffee in the microwave? Maybe I am too fussy, but I don't think coffee tastes as good when it has been reheated. But it certainly is a viable option.
People often ask me "What have you been up to lately?" as if I should be doing something exciting with my free time, or at least accomplishing something worthwhile. Most of my NCE friends are constantly working on projects, improving their properties and working on to-do lists.
Most of us have CE (working) wives, who draw up the to-do lists and check on the progress of said lists each night - usually while sipping their evening cocktail, waiting to be served dinner.
"So did you call the A/C guy today?"
"Yeah, I left a message."
"You left a message last week."
"Yeah, this is a new guy. I think they are pretty busy with this heat wave."
"Well how about the Fence guy?"
"Ah, I forgot."
"Plumber?"
"Left message..."
"How about the bedroom shades?"
"Yes, I went to Home Depot, they are out of shades."
"Home depot is 'out of shades'?" she asks in that mocking tone they all use.
"How the blazes can Home Depot be out of shades?"
"The guy who orders shades died the other day. He was crushed in an accident."
The real answer is, of course, that Home Depot has decided to change their provider for shades. Levellor is out and Bali is in. Two weeks wait before the new stock is in. Besides, I try to remind her that it is dangerous to shop there. But the CE wives are not interested in flimsy excuses.
I have been describing the last six months as a "Sabbatical" to justify the life of someone who is not expected to be anywhere other than meeting friends for lunch or beers. It is true that I have increased my time reading and working on outdoors projects, but I am disappointed that I have not been possessed of an urge to WRITE more. It was always my dream to be freed from the earthly bounds of a workaday job so I could bestow upon the world the jeweled gift of creative storytelling.
All I needed was a few months to recharge my batteries and then my Muse would visit, perhaps even take up residence. Oh, the short stories, the published articles, pithy observations, clever dialogue, witty repartee, the novels, the plays, the TV interviews, the fame, the new friends, the house on the Vineyard, the boat - no, the Yacht!
But, alas, my muse seems also to be on sabbatical. And, how could one with such majestic expectations be expected to spend even a fraction of the precious remaining days of his brief candle doing mundane tasks - like painting the bedroom, or getting the plumber to fix a leak in the toilet - just because he seems to the uninformed observer to have nothing better to do?
So, here I am. Much of my To-Do list remains affixed (uncrossed-off) by a magnet to the refrigerator, where I can clearly see it as a reproach each time I reach for a frosty Sierra Nevada.
7/25/2006
7/17/2006
World Cup Yawn
Ok, so maybe the world will not light candles and hold a vigil to protest my retirement.
Perhaps I shall best be remembered as "the well-fed white haired guy who used to sit in that cubicle over by the window (what the *bleep* did he do anyway?)"
Let's face it: For most of us, a working career is like a walk on the beach. Despite our furious dedication and excellence in our chosen field, our footprints in the sand will remain just until the next high tide. The morning after we are gone, little trace of us exists on the shores of commerce.
If you were a decent chap who treated your coworkers well and earned their trust, the memory of you will fade quickly. But if you were a backbiting, brown-nosing mean bastard who regularly screwed peers and subordinates, you might be remembered a bit longer. But, alas, all of these memories fade over time.
We end up with the realization that the results of all of our striving, persuading, earnestness and worry were at best temporary.
I was reading a book I got from the public library titled “Goal-Free Living” The author, Stephen M. Shapiro, believes that most of us are blindly pursuing goals, and driven by our goal-orientation to the point that we never experience exhuberance in our lives. He asserts that modern Americans are so wrapped-up in the accomplishment of plans and outcomes, that we tend to forego the feelings of joy and happiness that comes with a sense of adventure, of living for the moment.
About seven pages into the book, I fell asleep. I tell you, it was the best nap I have experienced since watching two minutes of the world cup soccer match between Italy and France.
I am not alone in my puzzlement at the popularity of soccer around the world. It seems to me that it is one of those sports (like Golf, Fishing, Curling that is exciting to be a participant as opposed to a spectator. Perhaps the fans in countries like Italy and France -where baseball and football are not national sports - are re-living their own youthful experiences as players.
Certainly, Soccer is not a good sport for tv coverage. The field is too big. People are all over the place, mostly kicking the ball to and fro somewhere in the middle or along the sidelines. The matches usually end in a 1-0 or 2-1 after hours of running back and forth. Where's the excitement in that?
The French guy, Zidane, says he headbutted the Italian guy for calling his mother a terrorist . After 18 years of playing soccer, this is how this guy will be remembered by most of us. Fodder for the late night comics: "The annual G8 summit of the wealthiest nations gets underway tomorrow. Officials say this year the hardest part will be keeping the leader of France from head butting the leader of Italy." --Conan O'Brien
Most of my fans and detractors alike are probably snickering at the thought that I would be reading a book on goal-free living. I have often been accused of having a low sense of urgency and no apparent plans to accomplish anything important. I deny this of course. I am planning to read another chapter of the book this afternoon. Within a few minutes I shall be blissfully asleep, perhaps dreaming about tomorrow's blog entry, where Bush calls the French soccer star to ask his mother to "get Hezbollah to stop doing this shit."
Perhaps I shall best be remembered as "the well-fed white haired guy who used to sit in that cubicle over by the window (what the *bleep* did he do anyway?)"
Let's face it: For most of us, a working career is like a walk on the beach. Despite our furious dedication and excellence in our chosen field, our footprints in the sand will remain just until the next high tide. The morning after we are gone, little trace of us exists on the shores of commerce.
If you were a decent chap who treated your coworkers well and earned their trust, the memory of you will fade quickly. But if you were a backbiting, brown-nosing mean bastard who regularly screwed peers and subordinates, you might be remembered a bit longer. But, alas, all of these memories fade over time.
We end up with the realization that the results of all of our striving, persuading, earnestness and worry were at best temporary.
I was reading a book I got from the public library titled “Goal-Free Living” The author, Stephen M. Shapiro, believes that most of us are blindly pursuing goals, and driven by our goal-orientation to the point that we never experience exhuberance in our lives. He asserts that modern Americans are so wrapped-up in the accomplishment of plans and outcomes, that we tend to forego the feelings of joy and happiness that comes with a sense of adventure, of living for the moment.
About seven pages into the book, I fell asleep. I tell you, it was the best nap I have experienced since watching two minutes of the world cup soccer match between Italy and France.
I am not alone in my puzzlement at the popularity of soccer around the world. It seems to me that it is one of those sports (like Golf, Fishing, Curling that is exciting to be a participant as opposed to a spectator. Perhaps the fans in countries like Italy and France -where baseball and football are not national sports - are re-living their own youthful experiences as players.
Certainly, Soccer is not a good sport for tv coverage. The field is too big. People are all over the place, mostly kicking the ball to and fro somewhere in the middle or along the sidelines. The matches usually end in a 1-0 or 2-1 after hours of running back and forth. Where's the excitement in that?
The French guy, Zidane, says he headbutted the Italian guy for calling his mother a terrorist . After 18 years of playing soccer, this is how this guy will be remembered by most of us. Fodder for the late night comics: "The annual G8 summit of the wealthiest nations gets underway tomorrow. Officials say this year the hardest part will be keeping the leader of France from head butting the leader of Italy." --Conan O'Brien
Most of my fans and detractors alike are probably snickering at the thought that I would be reading a book on goal-free living. I have often been accused of having a low sense of urgency and no apparent plans to accomplish anything important. I deny this of course. I am planning to read another chapter of the book this afternoon. Within a few minutes I shall be blissfully asleep, perhaps dreaming about tomorrow's blog entry, where Bush calls the French soccer star to ask his mother to "get Hezbollah to stop doing this shit."
7/05/2006
Who Mourns For Ken?
I wonder how many hearts were gladdened this morning upon hearing the news that Ken Lay died of a heart attack yesterday. He was 64. Having been convicted of his ENRON sins, Lay was looking at a pretty hefty stretch of minimum security prison. Not the Gulag treatment he deserved, but still confinement. Most of the people he and his cohorts screwed out of their life savings probably did not feel this mild punishment would be sufficient justice for ruining so many lives. Today, I'll bet a lot of them are feeling a little more cheerful.
I know I would not feel sorry to read of the death of some of my former bosses and/or backbiting coworkers. Since no one reads this blog anyway, I can confess that I check the obituary pages of the paper every day hoping to find at least one of the names on my shit list. The list isn't very long. It contains maybe a dozen people who have played a material part in thwarting my career objectives or otherwise endangered my net worth.
I regard forgiveness as a gift that you only bestow upon your friends, unworthy as they may be, and some relatives. Not very Christian of me, but there you have it.
If I had been directly affected by the outrages at Enron, I would be gleefully dancing a jig this morning. The world is better off without Mr. Lay and his ilk.
I know I would not feel sorry to read of the death of some of my former bosses and/or backbiting coworkers. Since no one reads this blog anyway, I can confess that I check the obituary pages of the paper every day hoping to find at least one of the names on my shit list. The list isn't very long. It contains maybe a dozen people who have played a material part in thwarting my career objectives or otherwise endangered my net worth.
I regard forgiveness as a gift that you only bestow upon your friends, unworthy as they may be, and some relatives. Not very Christian of me, but there you have it.
If I had been directly affected by the outrages at Enron, I would be gleefully dancing a jig this morning. The world is better off without Mr. Lay and his ilk.
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